Chapter 17
Ilya
“Between the seven clubs in L.A. nearly four hundred thousand is unaccounted for over the last year. Laurent has reported everything lines up.” Misha’s brow lifts, and he leans forward in his chair. “He doesn’t know I have everything gone over a second, and then third time.”
Misha rolls his head on his shoulders. “Can’t trust anyone, these days.”
“Money drives people to make stupid decisions.” I gesture to the screen. “This one will cost him his life.”
“Laurent has worked for the Volkov’s since Alexei ran things.” Misha sighs tiredly as he leans back in his chair, legs spread wide, face grim. “Do we know if he was approached by Popov?”
The mention of Ivan Popov has the already cool blood running through my veins, cooling. “I can find no connection.”
“But you’ve looked?”
“Of course.”
Misha nods, thumb and finger working the hard line of his jaw. Then he sighs again. “When are we leaving for L.A.?”
I can’t allow this to continue. That’s four hundred thousand I won’t get back.
I also can’t allow this to go unpunished. Men are turning, loyalty is fading, and something toxic and fast spreading is brewing.
An example needs to be made. “Tomorrow.”
“And the girl?”
My eyes lift from the screen to my friend. “Irelynn?”
He nods. “Are we bringing her?”
“No.”
His brows shoot up fast. “You’re leaving her? Here? Alone?”
“She will have Luka and Boris.” I don’t like it, but bringing her into the United States so soon after her capture feels like a dangerous idea. If she slipped away…
Misha’s grin begins to stretch. “Should I take that to mean we won’t be staying long?”
I peer down my nose at him. “You can take it to mean you won’t have time to swindle some blonde with tanned legs into your bed. Unless you wish to fly commercial.”
“Swindle.” Misha barks in mock offense. “I fight them off like rabid dogs.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “If you say so.” He follows me to the door of my office, and as I exit, I turn and say, “I want eyes on Popov. Someone we trust. Everything he does. Every shit he takes, I want to know about it.”
All joking aside, Misha nods. “On it.”
We part ways, him to get to work on getting eyes on Popov, and me to find the little woman I left sleeping in my bed.
I’m at the base of the stairs when I hear Polina’s distinct shriek of winning joy, followed by a wind-chime laugh that perks my ears. With one foot on the first step, I pause, listening. When I hear it again, I pivot and head for the kitchen.
I move quietly into the doorway, leaning against the frame as I take in the sight before me. My woman and staff sitting around the table, playing a game with dice, shouting like fools. Although Polina can speak English well, as all my staff and men are required to, when she gets excitable, her English becomes more broken. She’s blabbering between English and Russian now, and Irelynn is watching her with bright eyes and a half smile on her lips. She’s entranced, and her pale cheeks are flushed with enjoyment and—is she drinking?
Next to an untouched cup of tea is the same highball glass that Polina and Daniil have sitting in front of them. I’m well aware the strength of Daniil’s drinks, and if my Little Blue has had more than one, she’s going to be well on her way to thoroughly imbibed.
I frown, recalling the way she’d told me she doesn’t drink.
That’s the moment Luka spots me. I’ll have to have a talk with him about his spatial awareness while he’s been charged with her safety. I’d hate to have to end his life because she got so much as a paper-cut.
When he tenses like he’s going to make my presence known, I lift my finger to my lips and shake my head once. He settles back in his chair, looking significantly more tense than before.
He’s going to give me away.
About two minutes later, frowning at Luka, Daniil’s eyes do a sweep of the space to land on me. Surprise fills his eyes before a knowing grin smooths it out.
Then something almost cunning takes its place. I raise a brow, settling in for the show as Daniil asks, “Another drink, malyshka?” Little girl.
Her head swivels as she presses her palms to her cheeks. “I’m already on fire and I feel like I could float away on a cloud.” She’s only slurring a little. How many has she had?
Polina gasps, eyes wide. “You only had the one.”
“I don’t drink.” She lifts her shoulders and I feel myself frown, because whatever she’s wearing is huge. She points an accusing finger at the empty glass. “That was strong.”
Fuck, but she’s cute. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started hiccupping bubbles.
“It will help you sleep,” Daniil says.
“I’ve already slept so much. It’s all I’ve done.”
“What did you like to do at home?” Polina asks.
“Honestly?” We’re all clinging to the silence, waiting for her reply. “I didn’t do much other than work. I liked—I like to read.”
“Reading is good.” Polina nods agreeably. “What kind of books?”
“Oh—um—” Irelynn blushes.
A flash of the mafia book she’d had on her nightstand in her despicable apartment flashes in my mind. My grin widens. Yes, Little Blue, tell us of the books you like to read.
She blunders over her words for a minute before she settles on, “I like fantasy and—um—romance.”
“Oh, a good romance.” Polina covers her heart with her hands. “I love romance.”
Irelynn smiles, because like I know, she suspects the romance she reads is nothing like the romance Polina reads.
I need to get her books. Something to fill her time, until she wishes to fill that time with me.
Daniil gets another flash of mischief in his eyes. “You are a romantic, then?”
She shrugs. “I guess.”
“You must tell me—” Polina takes a long sip of her drink. “The perfect man? Is he tall and handsome and—” she snaps her fingers. “Dark?”
A ghost of a smile pulls at her mouth before she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Her blue eyes drift to the window and something honest and yearning grabs the room in a chokehold she is entirely unaware of as she thinks. Then she says, “He doesn’t have to be tall or handsome or dark. He doesn’t need extreme wealth.” My chest feels tight, because she’s describing me as all that she doesn’t want. Still, I’m ensnared. “My perfect man will have arms that hold me close every night, even when I’m angry. He won’t let me pull away, and he won’t walk away from me.” My breath is lodged in my lungs. “He’ll have lips that kiss away my pain and tears. He’ll have ears that don’t simply hear my words but absorb them. He’ll consider me. But most of all, I’ll feel safe when he’s close. When I’m in his arms, I’ll never be alone. I’ll feel like the world can’t touch me. Can’t hurt me. Can’t push me down and can’t—” her words get quiet, “break me.”
Her sleepy confession from earlier today spears into me with the force of a bullet to the chest. “Smells like safety,” and the plea that followed. “Don’t go.”
The significance hadn’t touched me as I lay her in my bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and then her temple. I’d tasted the salt from her tears on my lips and had wanted nothing more than to do as her sleepy plea begged of me, but I’d forced myself to walk away, believing that she would repel at my nearness when she woke.
Now, after such a confession, no matter that it has found freedom on the courageous wings of a drink, the space I’ve been doing my best to offer her is null and void.
Now, I will invade. I will push until she can’t fight anymore, until she collapses against me in exhaustion. Until her conscious mind comes to accept what her unconscious heart has already come to realize: that I’m her safe place. That I will always be her safe place.
Not wishing her to know I heard her confession; I slip into the hall. As I make my way to my room, I text Luka.
Me:Bring her to my room in fifteen minutes.
His reply is instantaneous.
Luka:Yes, boss.