Chapter Fourteen
In which Ava has a nightmare and Dmitri is a sick bastard.
Dmitri…
“I think you should bring Ava to Adam’s wedding as your date.”
“Roman, you’ve well and truly lost it,” I say, pacing the length of my office. “Showcase Ava in front of half the crime world in North America?”
While my best friend Adam’s accounting firm appears squeaky clean and above board, he and his father, Efrem, handle a huge flow of the Morozov Bratva’s legitimate financial interests, along with a few other allied crime families here in New York.
“Nothing says ‘back the fuck off’ better than showing up with the girl who survived the trafficking ring,” he points out. He’s slouching in the armchair by the bar. “They may want to kill her, but finding out she’s under Morozov protection is a hell of a deterrent.”
“I can't take proper care of her,” I say. “I’m the best man.” With all the tedious duties that cling to the title like a barnacle.
“I’ll be there,” he says, “along with Alexsey and Mother. I think Father might even be back. Having Ava hang out with the family makes it look even better.”
“No one will believe it,” I say. “Our parents have never approved of anyone I’ve dated.”
“Since you’ve never dated anyone past the… what? The thirty day mark? I’m not sure you can use that as proof. Nothing sells a story like the approval of the parents.”
"This feels more like dangling in her like fresh meat in front of the wolves," I say.
"Didn't she say you could use her as bait?" Roman points out. "If it gets us closer to finding the motherfuckers who set this trafficking scheme up?"
"So sensitive and caring of you Roman,” I say acidly. “She's been through enough. I'm not using her as bait."
He shrugs. "I'm just saying, it's a good strategy. We’ll keep her safe, no one will touch her."
I rub the back of my neck, walking over to stare out the window. “Putting Ava in an evening gown and exposing her to an avid crowd of vultures isn't going to help her recovery. Though there might be someone there that she recognizes as part of this.”
There are dozens of criminal organizations who run in the Red Trade, but we've knocked those fuckers out of New York with punishments brutal enough that most crime families aren't willing to attempt it here.
“This new trafficking scheme is close enough to us that they’re rubbing our noses in it.” Roman says. “Someone's making a power move.”
"All right," I say reluctantly. "I'll ask her if she wants to go. If she's not feeling it, I'm not going to force her."
"That seems fair," Roman says, drinking my most expensive vodka. “Where is she, anyway? I want to meet the woman who took out a thug who had to be triple her body weight.”
“Let's go find her.” I’m not fully invested in this wedding guest plan. I'd planned on going solo, given my best man duties. Though with Roman and my parents surrounding her, Ava couldn't be safer.
We find her reading out on the terrace, sitting by the ornamental stream that runs around two sides of the penthouse. The sunlight turns her silver-blonde hair into a simmering corona of light.
Iisus Khristos, she’s beautiful.
“Mind if we bother you?” Roman says in his most charming way. In a charming way that makes me suddenly want to punch him in the throat as Ava smiles back uncertainly.
“Sure?”
“We haven’t met. I’m Dmitri’s brother Roman. The more charming, attractive one.”
She’s laughing, shaking his hand. “Oh, that’s obvious.”
“I know, right?” Roman widens his eyes innocently. “I try to give Dmitri tips about how to-”
“We wanted to check in with you about an event tomorrow,” I interrupt.
I’m irritated, itchy, and I notice Roman’s still gripping her hand.
“Oh?” With some effort, Ava extricates her hand from my asshole brother’s grasp. “What event?” Her smile fades. “Is it something about the trafficking ring? Do you have more information?”
I hate seeing that smile drop from her face.
“No, something less dire,” I say, taking the armchair facing hers before Roman can, so he perches one hip awkwardly on the table between us. “The night I found you at The McManus, I was picking up a guest for my friend Adam’s bachelor party, I’m the best man.”
“Oh,” Ava says, a little confused. “That’s nice.”
“His wedding is tomorrow,” I continue. “Roman and I are thinking that having you attend as my guest is a wise idea.”
“Out in public?” she frowns. “I thought I was being cooped up here because it was too dangerous to even let me step foot on the sidewalk.”
“Roman is of the opinion - and I'm inclined to agree - that making it clear you're under the protection of the Morozov Bratva is a good idea,” I explain.
“Most crime organizations never touch women and children associated with the family.
I'm pretty sure this marketing ring would have no compunction in going after you.
But making it clear that you are under our protection makes attempting to hurt you much less desirable. "
"As in,” Roman says, “not worth the risk. Even for sick bastards like these. It’s also useful to remind the other families that working with the traffickers is a very bad idea.”
She eyes us both thoughtfully and then Roman snaps his fingers and points at her.
“I just realized how I remember you,” he says.
“You looked so familiar in the apartment footage…” Ava looks a little ill at the mention of the footage and he moves past it quickly. “I met you at one of our nightclubs.”
“Oh, Heaven and Hell,” she nods. “That's right! No wonder you look so familiar.”
“Was that the night Sinclair attempted to lure you into that private room?” I ask, anger sweeping over me again.
“That would be the night,” she sighs.
“You looked pretty upset when I saw you in the hallway,” Roman says somberly. “We have excellent security there, but we tend to leave the private suites alone aside from noise complaints.”
“It's not your fault,” she assures him. “Kevin is just a scumbag.”
“Well, you won't be lured into another private room anytime soon,” Roman says cheerfully. “Because we are all going to be on top of you, day and night.”
I don't like the way he says that, sounding just a bit too enthusiastic about the “on top” portion of his comment.
“Roman means,” I interrupt, “that we will keep you safe and you don't have to be concerned.”
He blinks at me, smiling innocently, and the desire to punch him in the throat is rising again.
“I'll pay you back for this,” Ava blurts. “For all these fancy clothes.” Her voice falters a little because I can tell she has no idea just how expensive they were. “I could probably get a dress online and alter it myself by tomorrow.”
“No need,” I say. “Since it was our idea to have you come as my guest at the wedding, my personal shopper is bringing over several dresses tonight, you can choose which one you like.”
“This is getting a whole Pretty Woman vibe,” she mumbles and I pretend not to hear her.
Ava plays dress-up with Colette, my personal shopper, as late afternoon slides into evening.
There are bursts of smothered laughter and the two empty champagne bottles sent out with Collette’s assistant who is in search of more makes me vaguely pleased.
I suspect Ava hasn’t had many lazy, giggly sorts of evenings lately.
Much later, Colette bustles out with the rack of discarded dresses and bags of accessories. “Your girlfriend looks sleepy,” she says.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Anyway, that champagne is catching up with her, she’s already crawling into bed.
” Colette is a mischievous-looking redhead who has never attempted to hit on me, which is a key reason I keep her on retainer.
Having my inseam measured is irritating enough without wandering hands.
“Ava is a sweetheart, and the dress she picked? Chef’s kiss! ”
“I’m disappointed,” I say, walking her to the elevator, “I was looking forward to a fashion show tonight.”
“No, no!” Colette shakes her head disapprovingly. “You can’t see your wedding date all dressed up before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
“I think that’s reserved for the bride.”
“It applies to anything wedding-based,” she says haughtily, raising an imperious brow before the elevator door closes.
I’m up late, going through yet another round of construction budgets. Despite working more hours than should be humanly possible, Yevgeny still can’t find the discrepancies that are costing us millions. I’m taking this shit personally.
Rising to get another glass of vodka, I hear a whimper.
Low, pained, more like an injured animal than human until the shrieking begins and I drop my glass, racing down the hall to Ava’s room.
She’s left a lamp on, enough to see every muscle is locked tight, the tendons in her neck nearly bursting from her skin.
No words, just anguished moaning, her head thrashes back and forth as her hands flail, trying to ward off an invisible attacker.
“Ava! Malen'kaya soroka, wake up.” I catch her flailing hands in mine, kissing them. “I’m here, you’re safe. I have you.”
Her eyes open abruptly, instantly wide awake. “D- Dmitri?”
“Yes, love. You’re here in my home, safe.” Cupping her cheek in my hand, I smile as she leans into it, letting out a shaky sigh.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Her voice is a weak thread.
“No, I was doing some paperwork.”
She finds a smile for me. “You have the same tone I’d expect from a man going in for a colonoscopy.”
“A colonoscopy would be more exciting,” I chuckle. “Would you like some tea? My mother is adamant that it cures everything.”
“What do you think?” she slumps a little, her shoulder brushing mine.
“I’m still a firm believer in vodka.”
Ava gives a watery little chuckle. “After all that champagne tonight, I should go with your mother’s plan.”
“Maybe something to eat as well,” I say, standing and offering my hand. She’s wearing a little silk slip and I groan silently. Her breasts are perfect, nipples pressing against the thin fabric.
I’m a sick bastard.