Chapter 13
CLARA
Natasha and I stare at each other. I have no idea what to say, as that perfect face—the one dubbed “one of the most beautiful in the tri-state area” by the New York Post—gazes at me.
She just kissed Dmitri on the lips. She called him something else in Russian that sounds far more intimate. Never mind that Dmitri gently pushed her away. That could be due to a dislike of public displays of affection, or because I’m standing right here.
I don’t know whether to feel angry, hurt, or relieved.
Angry and hurt, because, after the attention Dmitri has shown me, I was starting to believe there might be something between us.
I told him there were boundaries; I was his employee and nothing else.
I even tried to quit before he seduced me again.
But as I look back over all our moments together, I find nothing that remotely suggests he wanted a relationship, nor did I give him a reason to think I thought that way.
Someone like Natasha—tall, willowy, gorgeous, loaded, and blonde, with the most perfect skin I've ever seen—is exactly who he would want at his side.
Not a woman like me.
Then again, if I know he’s involved with someone else, it will be that much easier to give him up. I refuse to be the other woman. Even if I decide to have this baby, there’s no reason for him to think it’s his. He has no idea whom I slept with before we met; the baby could be anyone’s.
And if he is with someone else, I can let all this go. I won’t have to worry about being entangled with a Russian mob boss.
I should be relieved, but instead, my throat feels thick and my cheeks flush.
I have to make my escape.
“I’m done speaking about the arrest,” I manage, attempting a professional tone. “I can see you have company, and I have work to do.”
From the faint look of suspicion on Natasha’s face, I can tell she doesn't believe a word I'm saying.
She must have seen something when she walked in, or maybe she read the vibe in the room.
She must know Dmitri far better than I do, know his proclivities and his vices.
I just hope I don't end up splashed on the cover of some rag with an article that reads: “THE HUSSY FROM NOWHERE WHO brOKE UP THE POWER COUPLE SET TO RULE NEW YORK.”
I edge toward the door, desperate to leave. But before I even get my hand on the doorknob, Dmitri crosses the space between us, slips his arm around my waist, and turns me. It’s an intimate gesture, even before he pulls me snugly against his side.
There isn’t any time to ask what is going on before I hear him saying, “Natasha, I’d like you to meet Clara, my girlfriend.”
I’m pretty sure the look of shock on Natasha’s face mirrors the shock on mine.
“The what now?” she asks.
Oddly enough, that was the same question I had.
“My girlfriend,” Dmitri enunciates each word as if he genuinely believes Natasha did not hear or understand him.
Dmitri’s arm around my waist is possessive, his smile disarming and a little bit mischievous, like he’s enjoying this. I’ve noticed he seems to relish moments that make others uncomfortable.
I take a breath to respond but then realize I have nothing to say. I decide to keep quiet and follow his lead because I’m too confused to know what else to do.
That’s when Natasha does something I don’t expect. She laughs, a bitter and amused sound. “This, Dimochka? Really?” Her dismissive wave indicates she’s not amused. “I thought you preferred someone richer, smaller.”
Dmitri’s arm tightens around my waist as I watch his expression turn into something dangerous. “I would watch your words, Natasha. I won’t allow any of that mean-girl shit around Clara.”
Natasha’s smirk disappears, replaced by a look of dismay, which is quickly covered up by indifference.
“Oh, I see. Well,” she says, her lips pursed, and the gleam in her eye turning icy as she regards me, “that’s a shame, especially because I was coming to you with an offer.”
The temperature in the room has gone down several degrees, and from the position and rigidity of Dmitri’s arm, it feels like he’s shielding me, instead of simply embracing me. His simple response of, “Oh?” is frosty.
“I know the cops are after you, after this empire you’ve built.
” Another dismissive wave of her hand, like a billion-dollar, multinational corporation isn’t impressive enough.
“You stand to lose it all, Dimochka, and so do we. This new DA has it out for organized crime syndicates, and he wants to make examples of as many of us as possible.”
“Is that news?” Dmitri sounds bored.
It’s certainly news to me.
“I know you know what you’re up against,” Natasha says, staring Dmitri down. “And I also know you’re aware of how much an alliance would mean to both of our interests.”
“Natasha—” Dmitri warns.
“A tactical alliance, Dimochka. A tactical marriage to unite our syndicates—the Smirnovs and the Mikhailovs. You and me.”
Natasha speaks like it’s an irresistible offer, and I glance up at him, wondering if it is. I don’t know much about Russian mob practices, but I do know the more money and power, the better—both can get you out of almost anything.
“But if this is how you want to play it,” she finishes with an unamused expression and a shrug.
I’m not witnessing a business deal. Whatever is going on between the two of them concerns the Russian mafia and two of its powerful syndicates. I shouldn’t be here for this, and I don’t want any part of it.
I start to inch away, but Dmitri pulls me back to his side, his grip like iron. His body language is an unspoken sentence telling me to stay.
For a moment, I fear Dmitri is considering Natasha’s offer. But then he shakes his head, his expression cold.
“Let me guess, Andrey thinks this is a wonderful idea, doesn’t he? You marry me, then shove me out of the picture, and suddenly he has both Bratva under his power. Tell your brother, Tasha, that I would rather die than ever join hands with the Mikhailov.”
Natasha’s eyes widen before narrowing into a glare. She storms from the room without another word, slamming the door after her.
“What does Dimochka mean?” I ask in the resounding silence after her exit.
“It’s another way to say Dmitri in Russian.” His arm slips from around my waist, and he adjusts his shirt sleeves, as he often does when he’s uncomfortable. “I hate it when she uses that name. If anything, I prefer Dima.”
I stare at him for a moment. “There are actually people out there who dare call you by a nickname?”
His smirk is answer enough before he moves to the blinds covering his office windows and glances out. “Good. She’s gone.”
“What the hell was that?” I demand as soon as he turns back around.
Dmitri looks taken aback for a moment. “I’m not sure I understand your meaning.” His voice is surprisingly gentle as he leans back against his desk, hands in the pockets of his slacks, like nothing is amiss.
“Don’t play dumb with me. What the fuck was that?”
“Language, Ms. Benson.” A smirk plays on Dmitri’s mouth.
A wave of incensed frustration washes over me. Dmitri has quickly learned exactly where every single one of my buttons is, be it pleasure, frustration, or anger.
“You know exactly what I mean. I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not in a romantic relationship with you. I told you—”
“Yes, tell me again how you’re simply my employee.
How you’re just here to do a job,” he interrupts, his voice smooth as silk.
He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows in an expression I want to smack away.
“Tell me that when you can’t take your eyes off me, when all those dirty thoughts are going through your head, when you can’t deny me from taking you to bed. ”
“That’s not the same as a relationship, and this has to stop—now. It has gone way too far.” I inwardly cringe because he has no idea how far it’s truly gone.
“Get used to the idea, Clara. Even if you don’t want to admit it, you know you want me. I certainly want you. And I always get who and what I want. You can’t get away from me that easily.”
“You think so?” My fists clench at my sides. He moves so close to me that I have to crane my neck to see his face, a move I know he did on purpose.
“Prove it to me.” Dmitri’s voice is a honeyed rumble, his smile voracious.
“Show me you can just walk away like nothing ever happened between us. That you don’t burn for me or know that I burn for you.
Ignore me. Keep me out of your life and your bed,” he pauses, “and your panties. Show me you can do that.”
It’s a challenge we both know I won’t win. My breath comes faster, the need for him buzzing beneath my skin. I let out a soft sigh when he brushes his lips against mine, then a small huff of disappointment when he pulls away.
I spin on my heel and march out of his office, turning my back to him when I know I probably shouldn’t. But I'm too angry to care. Angry at how thrilled I feel whenever I’m around him. Angry at the flutter I felt when Dmitri told that beautiful woman I was his girlfriend.
Angry that I got myself so deeply entangled in this mess.
My phone rings just as I step outside of Dmitri’s office. It’s my legal team boss, John. I answer, but I stop listening when a tall, wiry man steps into Dmitri’s office.
He doesn’t close the door completely, and I can hear them speaking in Russian. I tell John I’ll call him right back, hang up, and quickly swipe to the translation app. I am now very aware of what’s being said inside the office.
I know the cops are partnering with the Feds in an operation to go after Dmitri and his company. The app translates Dmitri telling the man they need to close ranks. The man then asks Dmitri what he wants done with a word that doesn’t translate. The answer is a cold, emotionless, “Kill him.”
I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I’m now tangled up with this man, a mob boss who won’t let me go. I have to know what I’m getting into, so I can protect myself and this child, who has suddenly become far more important than I could have imagined.