Chapter 3 - Arko
I didn’t believe my damn luck. That fire my men set off couldn’t have been timed better.
Beatrice and I were huddled up in a corner when it started, right next to the service passage, and just like that, the Lebedev princess allowed me to lead her right out of the club, away from her family and bodyguards.
Either the girl had no self-preservation, or she thought she was invincible.
It couldn’t have been that easy, but it was. It was unbelievable how smoothly everything went. No one saw us. Her entire fucking entourage, right about then, must be wondering where the hell she went.
I held back a smile, not wanting a single glitch in my plan that would require her to trust me just a little longer, and turned to face her.
She was pale, curled up into herself with her back against the door, staring at her shaking hands as tears poured down her face.
“Beatrice?” I asked, scooting over to lay a gentle hand on her arm. “You okay?”
She barely registered my touch, let alone my words. She just kept staring at her hands, her entire body trembling. I hit a wall of confusion, replaying what happened. The fire was meant to serve as a distraction to whisk her away, yet somehow, she looked like she’d been through hell.
Had I missed something?
“Beatrice?” I asked again. “Are you hurt? Did something happen?”
She shook her head and began to breathe in a wild, panicked manner, completely out of rhythm. Dear god. She was falling apart in my backseat. I only meant to take her, not to scare her.
A voice in my head screamed at me for being such an idiot. A fire, Arko? Did you really have to go start a god damn fire?
“Hey, you’re safe,” I whispered, reaching for her hands. Only when I took them did she gasp and look into my eyes, all wide-eyed like I’m the surprise of the century.
“You’re okay,” I said fiercely, willing my confidence to seep into her. “You hear me? You’re okay.”
“I can’t—” she gasped, pulling her hands away and clutching at her throat. “Can’t breathe—”
Fuck. She was having a full-blown panic attack. I knew the signs because my sister Anja had them when she was a teenager, after our mother died. I’d spent years learning how to talk her down from the ledge.
“Look at me,” I commanded, taking her hands in mine again. They were ice cold to the touch. “You need to match my breathing, okay? It’s the only way to calm down. Take a slow, deep breath through the nose and exhale gently through the mouth. Just follow my lead.”
I set the pattern in practice and pulled away a hand to demonstrate. I rested it on my chest, let her see just how much it expanded, before I breathed out.
After a few rounds, her eyes locked into mine, the wildness pulling me even deeper in her orbit, but she started following along.
“That’s it,” I said calmly. “Slow and steady.”
God, she looked so small, so vulnerable, sitting in my back seat, looking at me like I was her salvation. Her breathing was still too quick to be called safe, and I knew if we didn’t get in under control, she could soon pass out.
My driver kept to the route, taking us toward the safehouse where the next part of our plan was to be completed. In that moment, watching Beatrice panic, I felt that dreadful guilt rise up in my chest.
It was just business, I told myself, but look at what I was doing to the poor girl. If a fire freaked her out so much, I wondered what signing the marriage license would do.
But we needed to stick to the plan and get to the safehouse before anyone realized she was missing. So, we kept on driving, and I never offered to drop her back home.
She never asked, the panic clearly working to my advantage—and her disadvantage. I shifted closer and placed my hand on her back, making slow, easy circles against her back.
Her skin, to be exact. The dress was god damn backless.
“Breathe with me,” I murmured, trying not to think about how soft her skin was.
She didn’t pull away from my touch. In fact, to my amazement, it seemed to comfort her. She leaned in slightly against my chest, unconsciously seeking calm. I slid my arm around her shoulders, further pulling her against my side when I noticed I was doing something right.
“That’s it,” I encouraged as her breathing started to slow. “You’re doing great.”
Every second prickled in my awareness, time itself slowing down. A deep, quiet lull fell in the car, the only sounds being her gradually slowing breaths and the hum of the car. The city traffic and noise fell behind—way, way behind—along with her family.
That was when I became aware of how soft her raven hair felt along my neck, how floral her shampoo was, how small she felt under my arm. I could have broken her in two, and for a second, I felt mad at her for having put herself in such a situation.
There was something seriously wrong with me, I thought to myself. She was a Lebedev, the key to my plot, and I was sitting right next to her, comforting her like I gave a damn, worrying like she was my responsibility.
Well, she wasn’t. She was my god damn asset. I met the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror and motioned at him to drive faster. Every second wasted felt like we were inching closer to being discovered.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a long silence, at last. “I just—I panicked.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. I might have lied about my name and my occupation. Might have lied about many things, actually, but that part, I meant. “It was chaos in there.”
She looked up at me then, her face inches from mine, those brown eyes now shy from the awareness of our proximity. I wondered if she felt it too, this zap in her skin where ours touched.
Her lips parted slightly, and for a heartbeat, I imagined what it would be like to taste that full lower lip, feel her melt against me from a place of desire, and not panic.
The thought rose from such a wretched place of want that I knew I was seconds away from forgetting who I was, who she was, and why we were here.
Without thinking, I pulled back, and she cleared her throat, soothing out her hair, as though she, too, had noticed we were on the precipice of trouble.
Just then, the car came to a stop.
Beatrice looked out of the window. “Where are we?”
“My place,” I lied. “I didn’t get the chance to ask you where we could drop you off. You were…terrified. Why don’t we head in for a cup of tea?”
A cup of tea, and the start of her new life. But I had to remind myself to take it slow around her. She scared easily, was already skittish, and I needed her inside before things turned ugly.
I stepped out of the car and headed to her side of the door, opening up to extend my hand to help her.
She looked confused, conflicted.
“You’re wearing really high heels.” I gave her a soft, non-threatening smile. “And you’ve been through hell.”
At that, she smiled. Finally, she put her dainty little hand in mine, and as I closed around it, I felt a river of current weave up my arm.
“Wait here,” I told my driver quietly as Beatrice climbed out.
I led her into the small suburban house, one of my side properties that no one really knew about, bought through a friend’s shell company. Which meant, even if the Lebedevs learnt she was with me, they’d never find us here.
I finally had Beatrice Lebedev in my crutches, and from this point on, I planned to use her as a message to the family that had humiliated me in front of the entire world.
Dante Lebedev took what was meant to be mine, so I took his sister. One could call that cruel, but to me, it was good old honest revenge.
I flicked on the lights and watched Beatrice take in the sparsely furnished space.
“You…you live here?” she asked, and there was something in her voice, a tinge of suspicion.
“I know the place doesn’t look lived in.” I tried to cover up as quickly as I could. “But I only just moved in. Have to get it remodeled.”
Her eyes flashed to mine, then quickly travelled down me.
Already, I felt like I was losing the plot.
She came from a wealthy family, as wealthy as could be.
Of course she knew my shoes and clothes cost more than a rental in a place like this would.
Of course she knew I could’ve afforded a god damn hotel while I got the place done up.
I had to act. Now.
But before I could lead her to the god damn papers, her eyes narrowed, that clever mind of hers working overtime. “Viktor, I appreciate you helping me, but I really should call my family. They’ll be worried sick.”
“Phone’s dead,” I lied again, watching her like a hawk. “How about you give me some time to charge it, and then you can call them.”
She took a step backward toward the door. “I should just go. I can get a cab—”
“It’s the middle of the night.” I moved toward her. “And we’re pretty far from the city now.”
Fear flickered in her eyes again, but different this time. It wasn’t the blind panic from before, but the kind where even a Lebedev princess knew she might have fucked up. I could practically see her mind racing, connecting dots I’d hoped she wouldn’t so soon.
“Why the hell did you bring me here?” she demanded, her voice now shaking. “You could have asked where I lived, even if I didn’t offer it. I was having a god damn panic attack.”
“Beatrice, we can talk about this.” I tried to calm her because she was dangerously close to the fucking door. She took two more steps back.
I moved toward her, as slowly as I could, fully prepared to grab her if I needed to, but it’s like the woman read my mind.
She turned and pulled open the door. Bolted right in front of me, and all I could do was watch how surprisingly fast she ran in those ridiculous heels.
The girl had talent, no doubt.
I cursed under my breath and lunged after her, but she was quicker than I’d given her credit for. She was darting down the stairs before I could reach her.
I was right behind her, my longer legs working to my advantage. My driver stood alert by the car, but made no move to intercept her. He wouldn’t, unless I ordered, and Beatrice Lebedev was my god damn problem.
I caught her just in time, before she reached the sidewalk. I locked my arms around her waist from behind. She fought like a wild thing, using her elbows and nails and shoving that perfect ass against my groin as she tried to make me lose my balance.
“Let me GO!” she yelled as loudly as she could. I winced, praying the neighbors didn’t hear. Though, honestly, I chose this neighborhood because it was the kind where people minded their own business.
“Not happening, princess,” I growled into her ear, lifting her clear off the ground.
She kicked out, nearly catching me in the shin with one of those lethal heels. Furious at how easily I almost lost her, I hoisted her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
“I said put me DOWN!” she screamed again, pounding her little fists against my back.
I led her straight back into the house, the curve of her ass right there in my face, sending a jolt of heat through me that had no place being there in this moment.
I gritted my teeth and reminded myself why I was doing this. I had to prove to the Lebedevs that I wasn’t a man to be crossed. Little did I expect their sister to be a weapon in her own right.
How the hell did I allow myself to let her climb under my skin in the span of a single night?
I cursed myself as I kicked the door shut behind me, making sure to lock it with my fingerprint this time. Now? She couldn’t escape.
Only then did I set her down, but I kept a firm grip on her wrist.
“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded through gritted teeth, the anger making her look even more beautiful.
“My name is Arko Pavlov,” I said gently. The color drained from her face.
“Pavlov?” she whispered, the fear crushing at her words.
“So you’ve heard of me?” I smiled.
She tried to pull herself free from my grip, but I held on tighter. “Listen now, little Bea. We’re done playing around, you hear? Your family humiliated me. Your brother married a woman who was meant to be mine. And tonight? You’re going to be my wife.”
“What?” she gasped, but I ignored her, pulling her toward the dining table where the marriage papers were already laid out, a pen placed neatly beside them.
“You’re insane,” she spat, trying to twist away from me. “I’m not signing anything.”
I tightened my grip, pulling her closer until we were chest to chest. “Yes, you are. Because if you don’t, I’m going to go straight for your brothers, and you don’t want that, do you?”
Her eyes widened in terror at my threat.
“They’ll kill you,” she whispered.
“They haven’t managed to do that so far,” I answered. “You really want to see how that ends?”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“Because your brother took something from me,” I said simply. “Now I’m taking something from him. You’re no stranger to our world. An eye for an eye, right?”
“Last I heard, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” she hissed back, with defiance.
“So be it,” I insisted, handing her the pen and forcing her wrist to stop above the signature line. “Sign here, and your family stays safe. If not? I swear there’ll be war on your doorstep before you can even say no.”
She took a moment, her gaze averted to the marriage license, her hand trembling as she thought. But I knew, deep in my heart, that nothing mattered more to Beatrice than her family. Even in the haze of her panic from that fire, she asked about her sisters.
It was a wild bet, but one I had to take.
I was proven right when, at last, with tears spilling down her cheeks, she put the pen to paper.
“There,” she said, throwing the pen like it had burned her. “Happy now?”
“Depends,” I answered, picking up the papers and tucking them into my jacket pocket.
God, she looked furious, and for some reason, I reveled at the sight of her anger and defiance.
All this while, I thought she was a sweet little thing, but ever since she ran, ever since she started smart-mouthing me, I discovered Beatrice Lebedev wasn’t just a sight for sore eyes.
She was more, and I wanted to explore every aspect of that.
“Depends on what?” she hissed, finally meeting my gaze.
“Depends on how much of a fight you put up, Mrs. Pavlov.”