Chapter 6 - Beatrice #2
“My mother was Italian,” he said, surprising me with yet another personal detail. “She insisted we learn.”
“My mother was Russian,” I offered without thinking. “But she died when I was young.”
I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
“Mine too,” he said softly.
For a moment, we sat in silence, connected by that shared loss. Then I remembered who he was, who I was, and why we were here.
“So,” I said, setting my glass down before the air between us got any more serious. I didn’t know why, but being vulnerable around Arko and seeing him connect at the same frequency had kind of thrown me off, and I needed us to reach safer waters. “You set the menu here yourself?”
“I did,” he smiled.
“How did you decide on the dishes around here?”
“Well,” he started to tell me of his travels through Italy, and despite myself, I was engrossed and hanging on to every word.
Soon after, the appetizers arrived.
Arko watched with anticipation as I took my first bite of a truffle-infused arancini.
“Good?” he asked.
I nodded reluctantly. “Very.”
His smile hit me like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It was the kind of smile that screamed he liked seeing me happy, and that confusing understanding made my stupid heart trip over itself.
We talked as we ate, and I found myself relaxing, enjoying the food, the wine, and, surprisingly, even the company. Arko was intelligent and surprisingly funny when he wasn’t being a kidnapping asshole.
Throughout the meal, I noticed diners nodding in respect as they passed. Even the chef came out to personally greet him, and not just because Arko owned the restaurant.
I was used to power, and the Lebedev name opened doors everywhere, but this was different. This wasn’t inherited respect; it seemed somehow earned through a truth I didn’t want to face about my family’s enemy.
The night went on easily, and I thought I’d gotten away without being recognized, when I noticed a strange man staring at us from over at the bar. I thought nothing of it at first, but by the time the dessert arrived, he still had his eyes on us.
When I glanced his way just to make sure, he didn’t look away. In fact, he sat up even straighter, like he wanted to be seen.
To say I started to feel paranoid didn’t even cover it.
“Don’t look now,” I said quietly, “but there’s a man at the bar who’s been staring at us for at least twenty minutes.”
Arko didn’t even turn his head. “Let him.”
“Let him?” I hissed. “What if he recognizes us?”
“So? People are bound to recognize us, don’t you think? A Pavlov and a Lebedev. Talk about a power couple, huh?” He smiled, slow and lazy.
That’s when I felt my innocence for what this night was shut down in its tracks. I realized, with growing horror, he wanted us to be seen.
This wasn’t just dinner or a simple offer to show me around town, so I didn’t get bored at the house. He wanted to use me to send a message to my family.
That’s when it clicked. “You wanted to be seen,” I said, the pieces falling into place. “That’s why we’re here. You want people to know you have a Lebedev.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Smart girl.”
My appetite vanished, and I felt the urge to stab my fork right through him. But I saw no point in actually doing that.
This was Arko Pavlov we were talking about, and it was my fault I let myself forget he was the enemy. All for some food and fucking wine.
Fine, then. If he wasn’t dropping his agenda for revenge, then I wasn’t dropping my plan to escape either.
I felt the effect of the alcohol fade away as my mind became clearer. If someone recognized me here, maybe they could help get me out, too.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said after some more casual conversation, so it wouldn’t look suspicious.
“Don’t be long.” He gave me a grin.
Cocky bastard.
I walked away to the restrooms at the back of the restaurant, and as I passed the bar, I noticed the man who had been watching us standing up.
I knew then, my plan might just work.
Instead of turning into the ladies’ room, I lingered near a potted plant, just behind the screen where Arko couldn’t see me. As expected, the man approached.
“Excuse me,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Are you Beatrice Lebedev?”
My heart raced. “Yes. Who are you?”
He glanced around nervously. “Someone who knows you shouldn’t be with Pavlov. Your brothers are looking for you.”
Hope surged through me. “Can you help me? Get a message to them?”
“Better,” he said. “I can get you out of here. Right now.”
I hesitated. This could be a trap, but I was already trapped with Arko, and this could be my only chance to escape.
“There’s a service exit near the bathrooms,” he said, gesturing subtly. “We can slip out before Pavlov notices.”
“Why are you helping me?” I asked, just to be sure of my decision.
“Let’s just say I owe your brother Caspian a favor,” he replied. “Will you come?”
I nodded, and he immediately took my arm, guiding me toward a door marked “Staff Only.” My heart hammered against my ribs as we pushed through it into a narrow hallway.
“This way,” he urged, pulling me toward another door that presumably led outside.
But as we neared it, his grip on my arm tightened painfully, and he hurried his steps, like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“Ow!” I protested. “You’re hurting me.”
His expression changed to one so cold, I knew I had made a grave mistake. “Shut up and keep moving.”
A chill ran down my spine. “Who are you really?”
He shoved me roughly against the wall, his forearm across my throat. “Someone who knows an opportunity when he sees one. The Lebedevs and Pavlovs at each other’s throats? Perfect time for the Volkovs to make a move.”
I’d heard that name before. The Volkovs were a smaller organization, always looking to gain territory from the established families.
“My brothers will kill you,” I gasped, struggling against his hold. “Let me go.”
“Your brothers don’t know where you are, and they’ve been asking around everywhere,” he sneered. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you enter tonight. Now, move.”
He dragged me down the alley, and panic surged through me. If he got me out of that door, I was as good as dead.
I brought my knee up hard between his legs. He doubled over with a grunt of pain, and I shoved past him, aiming for the door back to the restaurant. But he grabbed my ankle and sent me crashing to the floor.
“Bitch!” he snarled, standing to loom over me.
I scrambled backward, kicking out with my other foot. The stiletto heel caught him in the shin, and he howled. I used the moment to struggle to my feet, but he lunged, tackling me against the wall.
His hand squeezed around my neck. “Stop fighting, or I’ll snap your pretty neck right here.”
Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as I clawed at his fingers.
This was it.
I was going to die in some god damn alley, and no one would know where I went.
The panic was so loud in my ears, I felt like I was about to lose consciousness, but just then, I heard a gunshot. The man let go, and I fell to the ground, gasping for air.
When I looked up to see where the gunshot came from, I saw Arko moving toward us, his face terrifying from how angry he looked. The man turned to pull out his own gun, but Arko pulled the trigger first.
The man dropped dead in under a second.
I screamed just as Arko ran toward me, dropping to a crouch before me.
“Are you hurt?” Arko asked softly, tucking his gun away.
I shook my head, still struggling to breathe normally.
“Can you stand?”
I nodded, and he helped me to my feet. My legs felt wobbly, and he placed an arm around my waist, holding me back.
“I’m okay,” I protested weakly. “I can walk.”
“Let me help you,” he said, his voice tight with what I couldn’t believe was concern. “Please.”
The “please” silenced me. I let my body droop against his.
Just then, we heard footsteps running down the alley.