Chapter 12 – Ivan
Boris: Anyone else impressed that this chick can hotwire a car?
Kiril: She what?!
Kiril: Damn! I miss out on everything.
Boris: You taking care of Katerina is more important.
Kiril: Yeah, yeah, it is.
Kiril: So…do we know how the Italian girl knows how to hotwire?
Boris: No, but I don’t think she’s in the mood to tell.
Kiril: How pissed is boss?
Me: Pissed.
I gnashed my teeth. Every step on the short march back to my house sent shockwaves of anger blistering over my skin. Poppy made a grave mistake tonight. She thought…. She’d tried….
Fuck, I couldn’t wrap my head around the betrayal.
To make matters worse, the scent of succulent fruit taunted me. But it wasn’t coming from her.
Oh, no, not this time!
The sticky acid singed my fingertips, even though it had been a good thirty minutes since my fingers had turned the bright fruits into mush. The scent was driving me crazy!
And here I’d been, trying to be a good man. One of the bartenders at the club swore that a lemon cut in half, warmed, and soaked with bourbon and honey was the quickest way to heal a sore throat.
Now the bottle of bourbon was rolling around somewhere in my car—a miracle if it wasn’t broken. The lemons were pulp. And the honey? Fuck the honey. It didn’t matter right now.
The child in my arms yawned, the burst of sleepiness temporarily silencing his chit-chat.
As we crept into my backyard, Rayko crawling behind us in the truck, my boy’s head bobbed once. Then twice. And after a handful of seconds, he snoozed on my shoulder.
How quickly sleep came to the innocent.
I hugged my son tight to my chest. To think I’d almost lost him. Again.
I was going to ring the woman’s neck!
As if sensing the threat, Poppy turned, shooting a careful look at the boy.
He’s my son. Mine! I wanted to shout at her. But any soul that disturbed this boy right now was going to pay. He needed to sleep. I’d been researching, and I didn’t want him catching whatever bug his mother had.
She’s not his mother.
No, his mother was some party girl who died of a postpartum hemorrhage. This mafia princess was a selfish thief, and she’d nearly succeeded.
Poppy held open the storm door, watching me carry the boy through.
It didn’t quell my anger, not in the slightest. That look of resignation on her face told me that she was aware of her transgression from this evening.
“Wait here,” I hissed at her as she stepped behind me into the hall.
Poppy flinched.
I steeled my heart, refusing to feel bad for her.
Gently, I laid the sleeping boy on the twin mattress. He rolled over and clutched for something. I frowned. When I realized it was for the serpent lingering in the doorway, I ground my molars. Grabbing the second pillow, I pushed it into his arms.
He sighed around it and fell into a deeper slumber.
“His shoes,” Poppy whispered.
But I was already out of the room, pushing her down the hall, through the kitchen and living room. Opposite the front door was the slab of wood that swung open to the basement.
Poppy blanched. “No! Ivan, no, I—”
Whatever she was going to say was cut off in a fit of coughing.
“Either go down those steps, or I’ll carry you over my shoulder,” I warned in a voice that challenged her to argue.
Covering her mouth, and wrapping the other arm protectively over her frame, the little mountain flower bowed her head.
And took a step into the basement.
I smacked my hand on the light. Each step shouted in a creak of greeting.
I’d told Brady not to play down here. Not because I ever brought work home, but because there were tools of the trade that weren’t safe for children.
I might not know everything about car seats yet, and my formal education was shit, so teaching him books was out of the question, but I knew that much. I was determined to be a good father.
She almost made that impossible.
Fuck me, if she’d succeeded in running off with him—
I growled.
Poppy’s spine hunched over.
But she didn’t whimper or protest. She seemed to understand her fate and made no attempt to fight my anger.
The whirr of the dehumidifier welcomed us into the space.
The left was where I kept my workout equipment when the garage was too cold.
The right was an arsenal. And in front of us was a little office area, blocked by a toilet and shower that didn’t have a proper stall.
It was an unfinished basement, but it served me well.
Poppy sneezed. “It’s damp down here.”
I grunted.
“I knew there was mildew,” she muttered, taking in the space with a wrinkled nose, not even trying to hide her discomfort.
“Yeah, well, princess, we can’t all live in castles,” I snapped, guided her to the office, and pulled out the chair from my worktable.
Poppy looked at the chair, then at me.
“Sit,” I barked.
“I’d rather stand—”
“Sit the fuck down,” I repeated.
She scooted forward and slid into the seat. I walked to the bar cart and uncorked the vodka. Tipping it to my lips, I opened my throat and let the liquid hellfire quench my need for violence.
“I don’t suppose I can have a bit of that,” she muttered.
I paused and narrowed my eyes at her.
“What?” She shrugged. “It will numb whatever unpleasantries you have in store for me.”
A rueful laugh clawed from my throat. “Unpleasantries?”
Ebasi, the vocabulary on this woman. Such a smart mouth too.
I gazed at her lips. They would look amazing wrapped around my cock.
“Torture? Death?” She was trying oh, so hard to be brave.
My gaze snapped to hers.
There was fear leaching from her soft, fawn-colored eyes. The only reason she was sitting on her hands was to hide the fact that they shook like leaves in a gale.
“I should punish you, yes,” I growled.
“Then what’s stopping you?” she challenged.
My nostrils flared, but I bit my tongue.
What was stopping me?
The last time, I slaughtered anyone I thought might have had the smallest connection to my son’s disappearance. Without mercy, without guilt. They’d robbed me. And worse yet, they couldn’t tell me if my son had lived—or been murdered.
Yet this anger tonight was just a fraction of what it had been. The scar had been torn open, and the fear and pain bled into my soul at the thought of almost losing Hristo again.
But I couldn’t bring myself to pull out my gun and end the life before me.
It had to be because it would hurt the boy.
That was what I told myself as I handed her the bottle. Those pretty pink lips slid over the end. Her throat worked as she sucked down the liquid fire.
I yanked it away. “That’s enough.”
“Well, what’s it to be?” Poppy demanded, running the back of her hand over her mouth before returning it under her legs.
“Such bravado,” I chided, my tongue rolling over one of the bigger words in my English vocabulary. “You know, I underestimated you. I don’t make mistakes like that often.” I hate that I did with you.
But I wouldn’t tell her that out loud.
“Give me some more of the vodka or get on with it. Either way, enough is enough.” Poppy threw up her hands. “I crossed you.”
“You did.”
“And now you won’t stop looking at me without that— without that—”
I arched a brow. “How am I looking at you, Poppy?”
She paled, shrinking back in her chair. “I don’t know. Like you’re going to eat me whole.”
Another rough laugh barked from me. “Oh, you have no idea.”
As I said it, an idea actually did form.
I prowled forward.
Poppy leaned back in her chair, as though she could escape me.
I gripped the thing, spun it so it was pressed back against the work bench and she was facing me. I caged her with my arms. “I could spank your pretty ass until it’s as bright red as the flower your Italian parents named you for.”
Her eyes popped wide enough to nearly fall from her skull.
“Or—” I licked my lips “—you could open that treacherous mouth and work out your punishment with your lips fastened around my cock.”
This time her cheeks blazed brightly. She gasped…which only turned into a coughing fit.
I masked my sigh by straightening and folding my arms over my chest. The bottle hung from my fingers. She was in no condition for punishment. She needed to go to bed. Sleep and healing.
“I’ll make it quick and easy,” I decided. “Since the idea of you on your knees strikes my fancy, why don’t you fall on your knees and pray for your life?”
Poppy rubbed her chest, sucking in short, tight breaths. “Excuse me?”
“Pray, little Poppy. Pray as though your life depends on it.” I took a step back and nodded to the floor.
“What kind of trickery is this?” she protested.
I shook my head. Oddly enough, the roiling swell of anger was fast ebbing away. There was no forgetting what she’d tried to do tonight, but it was my fault for underestimating her.
It would never, ever happen again.
So, what was the harm in letting her live, I reasoned.
“I said, on your knees.”
She jumped at the brusque tone. Sliding off the chair, she bent on the ground. Her jeans hit the cement, and she leaned back on her heels. Clasping her hands before her, she lowered her eyes.
“Look at me,” I demanded.
That nose twitched in the most adorable way. “Why would I do that?”
I lowered my voice. It sounded treacherously close to a caress used only in the sanctuary of the bedroom. “Don’t you look at your deity when you make a supplication for its mercy?”
Her body went deliciously still.
I swore I could feel the jump of her pulse, even though I was nowhere near her veins. The warmth of her blood beckoned me, begging me to take a lick.
That’s it, beautiful, recognize the monster you provoked tonight.
Time seemed to fall still as she lifted her eyes. First the thick, dark lashes rose. Veils pulled up to reveal the show behind. Then the whites rolled back, microscopic red lines slashing across them as the blood pumped into her field of vision.
And then those stunning irises. Rings of soft brown sealing in the pinpricks of black.
No jeweler could replicate their beauty.
The flecks of amber and starbursts of mahogany clashed in those rings.
They spoke of her character, telling me she was gentle and soft.
But on a deeper examination, I saw the fire blazing behind the illusion, ready to strike. To burn. As it had tonight.
“Beg? You?” Poppy cleared her throat. “For what? Mercy?”
“If that is what you think you deserve,” I said, liking this idea more with each passing second.
The sight had my dick fucking hard. It strained against my pants. One flicker of a glance down, and she’d notice it too. But she was focused on my eyes, not daring to drop my gaze.
And damn me, I liked that. Liked it so very, very much.
“I’m waiting, and I’m not a patient—”
“Forgive me, Ivan, for I have sinned,” she began.
I stifled a groan. “Tell me your mortal sin, little flower.”
Poppy wet her lips. My gaze singled on the motion. They were cracked, but it didn’t stop the rush of heat shooting down my spine.
“I stole from you,” she whispered.
I shifted. Hearing it brought pain into this moment. The reminder was a stab. However, it did nothing to quell the lust raging in my veins.
“For that, and the near separation from your son, I beg your forgiveness.” She tipped her chin up ever so slightly.
She might be on her knees, but now it was her looking down on me.
I felt the change of balance, and I didn’t like it.
Especially when she added, “But I will never apologize for trying to protect Brady.”
“He’s safe here,” I groused, suddenly feeling like a bucket of cold water fell and ruined the moment.
“How!” Poppy flung her hands wide. “You live in a rough neighborhood—and that’s putting sugar on it. Plus, you no doubt have enemies. I’ve never heard of a mobster who doesn’t.”
I surged forward and snatched her chin in a vise-like grasp. “We’re not sorting through my sins tonight, little one. I want your sincerest apology and your promise that you will never pull a fucking stunt like that again.”
Her jaw worked hard around my hold to force out the two little words. “Or what?”
Or…what?
I didn’t have an answer prepared for that question.
“Fuck with me, and you’ll find out.” We both would find out.
How far would I go? If it came down to my boy or her, there was only one choice. But to say it didn’t pain me at the thought of losing this little flower that had bloomed unexpectantly into my life was a bold lie.
I tightened my grip, and Poppy whimpered.
“I’m sorry for trying to run.”
I arched a brow in question. “And?”
“And what?”
“Tell me it won’t happen again.”
“I won’t try to steal the car and drive away with him again,” she responded.
They were the words I wanted to hear. But…a prickle at the back of my neck told me that something was wrong with them.
Fuck English. It sounded good enough to me.
“Alright then. Go to bed.”
Poppy blinked. “That’s it?”
A smirk tugged at my lips. “Unless you want to do something about this—” I gestured to my pants.
With a squeak, Poppy launched to her feet and bolted.
I stood there until the patter of footsteps upstairs disappeared into the bedroom.
Then I sank into the chair, pulled the bottle to my lips, and remembered it had her sweet mouth on it.
The little flower was messing with my head, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to mind.