Chapter 9 – Ilya
T he knife flipped over and over through the air before landing in my palm. It wasn’t meant for her. But I needed something to hold so that I didn’t reach out and take what was mine.
The stylized beauty of the room paled in comparison to the vision before me. There, nestled into the white blanket, lay the woman who had her claws dug deep in my chest. I hadn’t anticipated the strength of her presence when I saw her for the first time a mere fortnight ago. I expected it to dissipate with each encounter as I grew accustomed to being near her.
It hadn’t.
Isabella Rinaldi was classically beautiful, bordering on the divine. Sculptors would go mad trying to capture the lines of her face. Painters would fail to recreate her image. A photograph? It would be dull compared to the real flesh and blood siren slumbering in front of me. Her dark hair fanned out against the pillow, framing her face in soft waves. Each rise and fall of her chest was a soothing rhythm, her breathing gentle and steady. Her skin, kissed by the faint moonlight, seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance.
It was impossible to deny obsession at this proximity.
This beautiful creature was mine, and I would have her.
She chose me.
My molars threatened to crack from the force of my jaw. The plan to kidnap her at the dinner party failed, but in that failure, I saw the fatal flaw with my plan. The Rinaldi Famiglia would move heaven and earth to bring their princess back. The solution? Fake her death so they had no reason to come after her.
That was exactly what I’d done. A new plan set in motion, I had everything in place to create a tragedy.
Only…the siren escaped my clutches at the restaurant.
As with any plan, there had been unpredictable pieces. I was prepared for the various scenarios. But the one piece I was fast learning I couldn’t control was the woman lying in slumber before me. Isabella realized there was a fire, unknowingly made counter moves, and made taking her away impossible.
You little troublemaker.
The scent of green apple lingered in the air. It came from the lotion she applied before bed. The first night I haunted her, I tore the room apart until I discovered the source of the scent. While she spritzed a purple flower water on her pillows, she preferred the sweeter fruity smell on her body. It was a battle not to steal the container and use it as I gave into the primal need for release.
Like everything else about her, the ripe, lush scent was at odds with the image she presented to the world. The polished, royal appearance was a costume she wore in public. But Isabella wasn’t a socialite. She was an ancient soul, who loved all things sweet and cozy, basking in the comfort of those things here in her sanctuary.
The knife descended again, and I hissed as I missed most of the handle.
Viciously, I stabbed the blade back into its holster before I cut myself badly enough to do real damage. I pulled out the strip of cloth I used to cover the lower portion of my face and wrapped it tightly around my hand.
I shouldn’t be here, sneaking into her room night after night. My jaw worked back and forth as I gazed at her slumbering form. As stupid as it was, I couldn’t stay away. She was the one. She might have disappeared from my city, but I found her. I stalked her, and it was just a matter of time before I would take her away.
Her lips, slightly parted, curved into a faint smile, and I wondered what dreams were drifting through her mind. Her hand, delicate and graceful, rested on the edge of the blanket, fingers curled slightly. The white blanket itself seemed to cradle her, highlighting the perfect contours of her form. I was entranced by the simple beauty of her, the serene picture of peace and contentment.
That was what a temptress did best. Most cultures had stories of the terrible beauties who drove men mad before they discarded them.
Well, she wouldn’t succeed. She couldn’t rid herself of me that easily. I found her, and what was the little monster doing? What sirens did best! She was playing with another man’s heart. While it was highly unlikely, there was the possibility that she felt something for her fiancé. No matter. Any thought of another man would be erased and replaced with a craving for me.
It was going to take time to create another scenario where the Italians believed Isabella to have perished. Reaching behind me, I pulled the package of saltwater taffy from the waist of my pants where my backup pistol was normally concealed. This was meant for her to enjoy while we drove to Chicago. Too many days might pass before that could happen, and I wanted her to have it.
Isabella really seemed to enjoy this sticky, gooey crap. In an effort to understand her, I’d tried a piece and it stuck over all my teeth. It took a vigorous brushing to remove it from the recesses of my mouth.
There was one more thing I wanted to do while here tonight. I squatted before her shelves, pulling books from their places. I couldn’t read the titles. English was my second language, and I never learned to understand the written word of my native tongue. I knew a few words by sight, but that was it. Every time I tried to learn to read, I failed miserably. Letters mixed and jumbled, especially in the centers of longer words. My eyes jumped over the page, struggling to track the script in order. And the rules of sounds, which combination made which noise in certain scenarios but not others—that was the stuff that drove students to the brink of despair.
But audiobooks I could consume like wildfire.
Isabella loved books too. These, however, were vastly different from the business tomes, biographies, and historical accounts I devoured.
I can read about these too. Wait…is that a black dragon? A dragon book for a rusalka. Fitting. Well, Isabella had several fancy copies with the same black beast; this story must be important to her. I would start with that one.
On her tablet device, there were more titles, but I recognized some as the same words on the books.
I frowned at the paper white screen. “So…you collect pretty books of the eBooks you already read?”
Odd behavior, but I could learn to adapt. If it was what she liked, it was important to me.
Using my camera on my phone, I took pictures of every title on her shelf, and many of the ones on her eReader. Since there were hundreds and hundreds, nearly two hours passed before I contented myself with the list.
There—a night well spent.
Rising and stretching, tension cracked in my neck and upper back. A smile played on my lips as I glanced at the flower on the side table next to her reading chair. The big, garish brown flower with only a bit of yellow to temper the stagnant hues stood straight and tall in a vase on the same table. Fitting that she put it here to match the others that decorated this space, although those were drawings or stickers.
That means she likes it.
The rusalka liked my offering, simple though it was.
It was hard, daring to hope she was warming to my attention, but the evidence suggested it was true.
I brushed the tips of my fingers over the petals before forcing myself to turn and leave. Retreating the same way I came, I slipped out the window and descended the wall. There were too many mobsters downstairs tonight for my liking. Without a balcony or trellis, scaling a wall was some ninja monkey shit, and my brothers-in-arms would laugh at me if they saw. But they would never know. It was a weakness to admit some woman, one who was a decade younger than me, had driven me half mad.
As I walked through the clear, crisp fall night, I could finally draw a proper breath. The mix of green apple and lavender spritz faded as rotting leaves and frosty lawn cleared my nostrils. It wasn’t until I slipped over the property wall that I pulled my phone from my pocket. There was an unanswered text from Dimi, so I dialed.
When the line clicked through, I breathed, “Yes, boss?”
“Ilya, you answered.” Surprise laced the pakhan’s greeting. “I know you said you needed time, but it’s been weeks, and I haven’t heard a word from you.”
I didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything to say. He didn’t know where I was, only that I wasn’t in Chicago.
“Can I help, brother?” he added softly.
My chest constricted. Dimitri was the best friend I had, and his family was mine. But even so, I couldn’t admit what I’d done. He could never know I was stalking the princess of an Italian mob. It could mean war, even though this criminal organization was solely based in a prominent, albeit smaller East Coast town outside the hub that was New York City. But dying would have been an easier alternative than letting her go. This huntress sought me out in my own domain and then disappeared into the night. I spent too long trying to remove her mark from my soul. The siren was mine.
“I’ll let you know, but not right now,” I finally answered.
“I need to ask: What the fuck are you doing?” Dimi’s heavy breathing filled the earpiece.
How could I tell him what I felt when I didn’t understand it myself? It was a torrid emotion, pulsing through my veins and driving me to do things no sane man would do. If it was required of me, I would happily rip out my own beating heart to give to her, while at the same time, my fingers itched to sink two bullets in her fiancé’s chest and one between his eyes just for daring to think he could claim her.
“Ilya?” Dimitri pressed, breaking the lingering silence.
“Stalking a rusalka.” I hung up, stifling his outburst of confusion.
***
Pulling up outside a store, I checked the name of the stilled frame of the video with the letters scrawled across the front of the building. This was the place. I pocketed my phone and emerged from the beater. While I waited impatiently to create another scenario where Isabella Rinaldi could perish tragically so the siren could slip away with me, I wanted to make her another present. The strategy of gifting her personalized, thoughtful items was more fun than I could have anticipated. It required research and exercised both the rational and creative sides of my mind. I didn’t want Isabella to be frightened that she was being stalked. Which meant I put a great deal of care into selecting things she would like.
So far, I was doing well.
But it was obvious a man like me didn’t belong in a place like this. I passed the purses and handbags, only giving a cursory glance at the discounted jewelry. Big red signs with white letters offered enticing prices. Numbers were easier to decipher than letters, but that didn’t make my limitation any easier.
No, this place was supposed to have home décor such as candles and throw blankets, as well as snacks and treats. Scanning the store layout, I located the necessary aisles. But they didn’t have the correct items. I frowned at my phone and glared at the shelves. I couldn’t read most of the labels. The fancy fonts blurred, and individual letters didn’t stand out.
I fisted my hand at my side.
Think! You have to figure this out.
Isabella liked fall things. Apples and pumpkins. Since the first night I visited her, she’d strung bright leaves dipped in wax to preserve their shape and color on twine across her walls. That was why the fall cozy basket was the perfect gift. After my one and only failure, when I thought the nightly offering was something she would love, I was in no hurry to repeat that disaster.
So I needed to make this “Cozy Boo Basket for Readers” exactly like the influencer suggested.
But the items weren’t the same as the video! The shape on the bag of popcorn was caramel and cheese mix. It wasn’t the caramel apple like the video, but shouldn’t it work? I flexed and clenched my jaw. Pressure built in my spine, so I rolled my neck to loosen the muscles.
I didn’t know how to be the right kind of guy for a woman like her.
Fighting and killing were second nature to me. With the right apps and tools, I could even manage a club, which on some level was structured with military-like discipline. Thankfully, Dimitri and his wife ran the logistical side of the business, which left most reports and documents on their desks, not mine. But I was good at inputting products into order sheets because that was just matching words and numbers. Which was exactly what I was failing at doing in this store.
“Do you need some help, hun?” a soft voice piped up behind me.
Lost in my own thoughts, I hadn’t heard the smiling employee come down the aisle. “You don’t have the items from the video,” I said, forcing my voice to sound less gruff.
The robust woman clicked her tongue. “We’re an off-price retailer. Most of the adventure is hunting various locations to find the goodies we have in stock, just like Home Goods.”
“So this is TJ Maxx, but you don’t have these?” I held up the phone once more, this time the video playing through the Bookstagrammer assembling a fall care package.
“Nope! But it’s not hard to find replacements to create the same effect.” She nodded to the caramel and cheddar popcorn in my hand. “Looks like you’ve already got a start.”
Without me having to ask, she began pointing at other treats on the shelf. I plucked them all. We went around the corner and the shopkeeper grabbed pens, pads of paper, and sticky notes. They were an autumn color scheme, coming together in the best aesthetic. The candles were in the next aisle over.
“Pick something she’ll like. Fall scents are there with the main display, but our regular scents are here,” she beamed. “And if you need any more help, my name is Tana, and I would love to come assist you.”
Restored by the friendliness of the woman, I began to scrutinize the items on the shelf. I knew the moment I found the perfect candle. That scent had the power to send a bolt of heat straight to my groin. The wax was bright green, and the jar was textured glass. I grabbed the three I found on the shelf.
Retracing my steps, I was more successful at finding the other suggested items. A cozy blanket for her to wrap herself in. Goop for the face. Goop for the body. A clip for the hair—it had fake pearls, and I couldn’t stop brushing the pad of my finger over them.
Isabella would like this.
I could do this, find the perfect gifts to make her like me, to see that being my girl was a good thing. The waver of uncertainty ebbed. She would choose me.
“That’s the cutey I was telling you about,” Tana whispered to the woman behind the checkout counter.
I stopped, pawing through the mugs and other items set out to trap customers as they left the store. If our bratva ever opened a mercantile store, setting items like this at the end was genius. I added six more smaller trinkets to the cart.
“Oh, how adorable! A big thug like him trying to make something nice for his girl,” the other woman responded. “All I got from my man was a bunch of bills and lingerie on Valentine’s.”
“Mhhmm, I hear that,” Tana agreed. “It sure would be nice if more of our men folk took the time to curate the perfect fall basket as a gift. Look at everything he put in there!”
“Someone’s getting spoiled,” the clerk agreed.
A grin twitched on my lips. Their approval went a long way to settle the unease in the back of my mind. These gifts had to be perfect, exactly the kind of thing that would show Isabella that I wasn’t scary.
I set the basket on the counter, and Tana grinned at me as her coworker helped ring me up. “Did you find everything alright, hun?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” And then, I did something completely out of character. I smiled.
When I pushed the cart to the exit and lifted my bags, I heard the final verdict on my shopping adventure.
“Whoever she is, she sure lucked out.”
Tana sighed dreamily. “It’s nice when guys have a soft side. Isn’t that why we love The Beauty and The Beast? He makes an effort for her?”
“Well, speaking of beasts, I bet he’s got a monster hiding in his pants.” The other woman peered after me.
That was my cue to leave. While she seemed perfectly nice, there was only one woman for me.