8. Tayana
8
TAYANA
I ’ve been up since dawn, but the coffee in my cup has gone cold, forgotten in the rush of responsibilities as I go through more paperwork. When I started this organization, I didn’t give much thought to anything past the help I’d be generating for those that needed it most. But the sheer magnitude of the record keeping that goes into managing a rapidly growing non-profit organization is not something I had anticipated. I’ll have to start looking for an assistant, preferably one who’s willing to give of their time freely, if I’m to stay on top of things.
I realize I’m not on my A-game today as my mind wanders. Instead of concentrating on the tasks before me, my mind is back at Obsidian, replaying the encounters with Rafi Gatti. For some reason, my mind keeps wandering to the image of him in the club. I saw the way women flocked to him, like bees drawn to honey. He had that kind of presence—dangerous, magnetic. And yet, when his eyes had locked onto mine, it was as if the rest of the room disappeared, leaving only he and I in its orbit. I had felt a strange pull, a whisper of something unnameable, and it infuriated me.
I’d shut him down, of course. After our brief exchange, I’d slipped away into the crowd, using the club’s chaos to my advantage. When Cassie had begged for an introduction, I had dismissed her, irritated even more by my friend’s infatuation with him. I’d left the club without looking back, careful to ensure my human wall in the form of my bodyguards was up, determined to put the entire encounter out of my mind as I slipped away into the night.
Now, here I was, days later, still thinking about him. I shake my head, irritated at myself. Rafi Gatti is trouble—I don’t need to know him to be sure of that. Men like him don’t walk into clubs like Obsidian without an agenda. And men like him, from the same criminal world as my father, always have blood on their hands.
The thought of my father brings a familiar bitterness to my chest. Anton Aslanov has always been clear about what he expects of me: loyalty, obedience, submission to the Bratva’s will. I spent my childhood suffocating under his control, my every move monitored, my every decision second-guessed. When he’d finally tired of me and tossed me away like a ragdoll, it felt like coming up for air after drowning for years.
Now, I’ve built something of my own—the shelter, the underground network for trafficking victims, a quiet rebellion against the world my father and uncle have created. But it’s a fragile operation, held together by trust and secrecy, and the last thing I need is for someone like Rafi Gatti to come sniffing around, creating problems where there are none. Many have come before him; many have tried to infiltrate and corrupt my system, but I’ve fought tooth and nail to hold onto the foundation I’ve created. And I’ll continue to do so.
My phone buzzes, snapping me out of my thoughts. I reach for it, my stomach tightening as I read the message on the screen. It’s from one of my contacts, a terse warning wrapped in cryptic phrasing:
Head down. Someone is digging into Bratva activity.
Who?
Gatti. That’s all I have.
My breath catches, and I reread the message, my mind racing.
A Gatti. It doesn’t take much to connect the dots. I only know one Gatti.
I set the phone down carefully, my hands trembling. This isn’t just a coincidence. He wasn’t at Obsidian by chance, and he wasn’t some guy just looking for a good time. He’s after something. And if he’s digging into Bratva activity, it’s only a matter of time before my operation is exposed. He could bring so much trouble to my door, it would be only a matter of time before my father stepped in. It would be only a matter of time before I was buried under the same earth as Sasha. My father might demand I return home. No. He’d drag me home. Tell me I’ve been disobedient and insist I come home and act like the good little bratva daughter I was always meant to be. I push my chair back and stand, pacing the small office. My mind runs through worst-case scenarios. If Rafi’s snooping leads him to my shelter, it could jeopardize everything. The people I’ve helped, the fragile network I’ve built—it could all come crashing down around me.
I stop pacing, taking a deep breath to steady myself. No. I won’t let that happen. Rafi might be a problem, but he’s not an insurmountable one. I’ve faced worse threats before and come out the other side. I just need to be careful. Measured.
My gaze drifts to the window, where the weak winter sun struggles to break through the clouds. The shelter’s parking lot is nearly empty, save for a few volunteers’ cars. It feels like a world away from the glamor of Obsidian, but I know better than to believe in the illusion of safety. The shadows of my father’s empire are long, and they’ve always had a way of creeping into my life when I least expect it.
Returning to my desk, I pick up my phone and type out a reply to my contact:
What exactly is he looking for?
I hesitate for only a moment before hitting send, a nagging voice in the back of my mind asking me if I really want to know the answer to that question. But I don’t have the luxury of ignoring potential threats. Not when so much is at stake.
A knock at the door startles me, and I look up to see one of the volunteers poking their head in. “Hey, Tayana. We’ve got a new arrival. A young woman. She’s in pretty bad shape.”
I nod, setting my phone down. “I’ll be right out.”
As the door closes, I take a moment to compose herself. Whatever’s going on with Rafi Gatti and the Bratva will have to wait. Right now, there’s someone who needs my help, and I can’t let her wait.
I step out of the office, my expression calm and focused, though my thoughts remain tangled. The shelter is my sanctuary, my rebellion, and I’ll protect it with everything I have. But as I walk toward the main room, a part of me can’t shake the feeling that the threat is already in my path.
My red dress clings to my body like a scandal, hugging every curve and leaving very little to the imagination. My bodyguards practically choke when they see me step out of the house, but I promise them I’ll behave—for the most part.
I spot him almost immediately. Rafi Gatti. Sitting at the bar, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, the other cradling a glass of something amber. He’s leaning back, all confidence and control, like the club itself bows to his presence. His dark eyes scan the room lazily, but I know better. Rafi doesn’t miss anything.
Cassie wasn’t lying—he does look a little lost. Or maybe just impatient. Either way, tonight, he won’t have to wait long.
I approach with deliberate slowness, my heels clicking softly against the polished floor, my hips swaying just enough to draw his attention. When his gaze finally lands on me, it’s like a physical pull. His posture shifts, subtle but unmistakable—alert, interested.
“Rafi,” I say, sliding onto the stool beside him without waiting for an invitation. My voice is low, teasing, carrying just enough bite to keep him guessing.
“Tayana,” he replies, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that’s all charm and no sincerity. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
The fact that he now knows my name confirms what I’ve known all along; this man sought me out. I shrug, leaning one elbow on the bar. The movement causes the neckline of my dress to dip slightly, and his eyes flicker down for a fraction of a second before returning to my face. “Avoidance is underrated,” I say. “Sometimes problems just solve themselves if you leave them alone.”
“You consider me a problem?” he asks, tilting his head, his tone light but probing.
“That depends,” I reply, letting my fingers trail idly along the edge of the bar, “On what you want.”
He chuckles, low and rough, and it sends a shiver down my spine despite myself. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a smirk. “Try again. Flattery doesn’t become you.”
He leans closer, his cologne a subtle mix of leather and danger. “Let’s go somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about what I want.”
The suggestion makes my eyelashes curl in on themselves as his voice, a low throaty heat induced timbre, reaches out and wraps itself around me.
“Why, Mr Gatti, are you propositioning me?” I say, meeting his gaze head-on.
He regards me for a moment, his expression unreadable, then sets his glass down with a deliberate slowness. “You know I am,” he says. And I think it’s the first honest thing he’s said to me.
I don’t flinch, don’t look away. Instead, I lean in just enough to invade his space, my voice dropping to a deliberate whisper. “They talk about you like you’re some kind of legend.”
His smile widens, but there’s a glint of something sharp in his eyes. “ They? Am I living up to the hype?”
“Not yet,” I say, letting my fingers brush against his forearm as I reach for his drink. I take a small sip without asking, the burn of whiskey sharp and immediate, then slide the glass back toward him.
He watches me, his gaze heavy, his silence louder than the music pulsing around us. He picks up the glass, turns it to where my lipstick has left its stain, and lifts the glass to his lips, never taking his eyes off me. My breath hitches; such a simple act, yet loaded with intensity as he lets my taste slide down his throat.
Finally, he leans back, his hand grazing my bare knee under the guise of shifting his position. It’s brief, could be considered accidental, but deliberate enough to send a current through me.
“Careful, Tayana,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet over steel. “Or you might get more than you bargained for.”
“I’m counting on it,” I say, crossing my legs slowly, letting my hem ride up just an inch higher. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I’m disappointed.”
The tension between us crackles like a live wire as we each wait for the other to blink first. He’s fishing, and so am I, but neither of us wants to show our hand too soon.
“Tell me,” he says finally, breaking the stalemate. “Why the sudden interest? You’ve been ignoring me all week.”
I tilt my head, my smile as sharp as a blade. “Maybe I got tired of playing hard to get. Or maybe,” I add, leaning in close enough that my lips almost brush his ear, “I wanted to see if you’re as legendary as they say you are.”
His laugh is low and dangerous, and he pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Care to find out?”
The challenge hangs between us, thick and electric. I know what he’s doing—planting bait, testing my limits. And I let him think he’s winning, just for now.
Because if Rafi Gatti wants to play games, I’m more than ready to beat him at his own.