Chapter 2
ANDREJ
“What was that all about?”
The door has barely closed behind the two women when my brother pounces. He might be all gaga over his baby girls, but his tone is still cold metal with me.
“What was what all about?”
I lean against the wall with my arms crossed and wait for him to elaborate. Leonid has always been easily rattled, coiled up like a rusty spring, and he wonders why we’ve always fought so much. It’s too tempting to resist, and life is too short to be boring.
“Cartier.” He keeps his voice low so as not to disturb the twins.
This is his life now. The Pakhan has finally been stabbed through the heart by Cupid’s arrow.
I never thought it would happen to Leonid, but he changed the instant Gianna entered his world.
Sure, she was promised to an Irish mob boss when she first arrived.
Leverage against the Irish and the Sicilians.
An acquisition to barter, to end the longstanding feud between the Ivanovs and the Amory family.
And now here we are. My brother funded the women’s refuge that Gianna and her friends will run, and I have two nieces.
Life evolves. It’s the kind of feel-good shit that our sister Victoria would spurt.
It’ll happen to you too one day, Andrej. I can hear her voice inside my head. Then you might look back and wish you’d done things differently.
I doubt it. I’ve spent my life doing whatever the hell I wanted. Can either of my siblings say the same?
“I offered to be her tour guide. It’s no biggie.”
Is that a euphemism for wanting him to fuck me on every available surface while he gazes into my eyes and says I’m not done with you yet?
The text message is printed behind my eyelids with indelible ink. I haven’t even gotten started with Cartier Black yet, and I feel an insatiable itch somewhere inside my skull that’s already wanting more. So fucking much more.
“She’s Gianna’s friend.”
I meet my brother’s gaze. “Is that the best you can come up with?”
“I don’t want you to…” He clearly didn’t think this through before warning me to back off.
“Show her a good time?” I suggest.
Gianna’s eyes flash my way. “Cartier is quiet. She would rather stay at home with a good book than go out and get drunk.”
She’s intelligent. I gathered that much when she used the word euphemism to describe what she wanted me to do to her. “Maybe she never met the right people before.”
Gianna turns her face away from me and kisses the tip of her daughter’s nose. I’m not so clueless that I don’t realize it’s a distraction.
Our relationship didn’t get off to a great start.
When Leonid arranged her abduction and subsequent imprisonment in his home, I didn’t expect him to fall for the printzessa.
So, I might have flirted with her a little.
I might’ve even told her stuff about my brother that he didn’t want her to know.
But I’m the younger son of the previous pakhan.
The under boss. I have to get my kicks wherever I can.
“The right people being you.” Leonid sighs heavily.
“Sure. Why not? All work and no play makes Cartier a very dull girl, and if I can put a smile on her face…”
My cock twitches inside my pants at the mental image of Cartier with a smile on her face.
In my head she’s naked. Her skin is flushed from where I fucked her all over my apartment, and there’s a gleam in her green-hazel eyes that says she wants more as I lean closer and fist her caramel-blonde hair.
The woman is fucking stunning. I’d have gotten more involved in setting up the refuge if I’d known that Gianna’s friend was a walking sex bomb, but she kept that valuable piece of information to herself.
Cartier Black should not be trapped inside a dingy apartment with her nose inside a book.
She deserves to be seen. Her shine should not be dimmed by work and boredom. And I can’t believe I’m even thinking this when I only just met her, but I want to be the one to light up her face when I enter a room.
The way she looked at me was the biggest buzz. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me that way before, and I’m not about to let her walk straight back out of my life, whatever my brother and Gianna have to say about it.
“Andrej,” Gianna says softly. “Please don’t hurt her.”
Because that’s everyone’s default concern when I’m involved. They should learn to separate work from pleasure like I do. I’m tempted to remind my sister-in-law that when I hurt people it’s generally on my brother’s orders and because they deserve it.
Generally.
When people cross the Ivanovs, they must be taught a lesson. That’s how it works in our world. Kill or be killed. And I’m not planning on losing my life to the enemy any time soon.
Besides, Cartier isn’t the enemy. She’s a drop-dead gorgeous woman, and I want to learn everything there is to learn about her. I want to explore that fabulous body inside and out. I want to fuck her till she can’t walk and do things to her that I’ve never done to anyone else. But hurt her? No.
“Hurting her is the last thing I want.”
“You forget that I’ve heard that before,” Leonid says.
“This is different.”
I don’t need to justify myself to my brother, and in any other circumstances, I’d have walked out of this room already, caught up with Cartier, and offered her a ride to the refuge that she couldn’t refuse.
I can’t explain it, but I want to do things the right way this time.
I don’t want to fuck it up by giving her the regular Andrej Ivanov treatment.
I want her to want me too.
“Why should we believe you?”
I shrug. “Because it’s the truth.”
Gianna has been so absorbed by the baby in her arms that I forgot she was even following the conversation. Now she peers at her husband and says, “I believe him.”
The warm flush of pride this gives me is unexpected. It has been years since I cared if anyone believes a word I say, and I wasn’t actively trying to change anything. But it makes me feel lighter somehow.
“Let me take your place at the launch today, Leo.”
Cartier will be there. She’ll be a captive audience. All I want is the chance to show her around town, and I know that I’ll be able to win her over.
Leonid shakes his head. “One of us should be there.”
“Gianna needs you here.”
I mean, my sister-in-law looks fucking amazing. Leonid looks wearier than she does with his day-old stubble and the puffy circles under his eyes. But still… Two babies equal double the amount of feeding and diaper changing, right?
“You won’t get this special time back again,” I add for good measure.
Gianna smiles. “He’s right, Leo.”
They lock eyes, and any fool can see how devoted they are to each other.
I feel a twinge of something sharp and twisted inside my gut.
Jealousy? Envy? It has always been this way between me and my brother, only now I don’t feel the overwhelming urge to steal what he has and smash it into a million tiny, lethal shards.
“You want me to stay?” Leonid’s voice is thick with emotion, and my pulse gives a little skip.
Gianna nods as both babies start squalling at the same time. Feeble sounds that would cut straight through to another person’s heart.
It’s my cue to go. “I’ll say hi to Mayor George for you both.”
Then I turn around and leave before they can change their mind.
The door to the shelter is open when I arrive.
A valet has been arranged to park the cars of the important guests, and people are already heading inside.
Men in smart black suits. Women wearing Chanel, Dior, and Versace.
It’s the kind of event where wealthy philanthropists come to charm the press and boost their online profiles with stories of their charity work, while the mayor and the police commissioner congratulate themselves on their squeaky-clean records.
Journalists are outside, camera lights flashing as they snap pictures of VIPs worthy of whatever magazines print their stories.
I try to avoid these events where possible. Victoria is the face of the Ivanov family, but she is currently involved in a messy legal hearing between her husband’s brother Boris and a Japanese Yakuza boss.
I toss my car keys to the valet and climb the steps to the women’s refuge ignoring the cameras.
The building smells of fresh paint and lemon-scented polish.
I came here at the beginning, when Leonid first purchased the building, and he and Victoria were still discussing the obvious ways in which it would improve our status in the city.
Our sister saw the refuge as a PR opportunity.
But it was obvious even then that Leonid had zero fucks to give about his reputation.
It was a gift to Gianna. My brother was simply there to sign on the dotted line and hand over the cash required to complete the necessary renovations.
Had he been more involved, I doubt that I would be standing in the foyer now, studying the quote above the arched entrance painted in bold, aesthetically pleasing cursive: Storms make trees take deeper roots. Deep. I wonder where Gianna got that from.
“It’s a Dolly Parton quote.”
The voice comes from nowhere, and I turn around to find Mika, Gianna’s other friend from the hospital, smiling at me like she knows exactly why I’m here and she’s down for being my wing woman.
She has dark, almost black hair, olive skin, and is wearing a pink-suede knee-length waistcoat over a white shirt and pants that make her look as if she just defected from a hippy commune.
“Are you here to represent the owners, or is it a personal visit?” Glossy red lips stretch into a wide easy smile.
She’s a beautiful woman. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t hesitate to wow her with the Ivanov charm. But I’ve already met Cartier, and it’s like being blinded from staring directly at the sun: everyone else has become a silhouette.
“Both.”
It’s a lie, I’m here purely for selfish reasons, but I might as well step up and prove to my brother that I can be responsible when the situation requires. I wouldn’t want them to report back that I came purely to flirt and drink champagne.
Mika links her arm with mine as if my answer either way would’ve made no difference. “I might need to hide you for a while, although I’m not sure how that’s going to work.”
She guides me through the foyer and into what will be some kind of community room once the refuge starts welcoming their first residents.
It’s bright and spacious, the bay windows at either end of the room allowing the sunshine to puddle on the floor and bathe today’s guests in a golden glow.
The walls are painted pale green. The sofas are plump and inviting.
A large TV screen is mounted on one wall, and there’s a floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed full of books at one end of the room.
Today’s event is geared up for introductions and speeches, but the building already feels like home.
And that has nothing to do with fresh paint and new furniture.
That’s down to the three women who have put their heart and soul into making this a safe place for women who’ve forgotten what security and stability feels like.
Guests are already starting to filter into individual cliques, glasses of champagne in one hand, eyes casually roaming the competition while their smiles remain firmly fixed in place.
I instantly recognize several faces and return their shocked expression with a well-practiced smile and curt nod while I help myself to a drink from the passing server.
This is the reason why I avoid events that require me to make polite conversation. I can overlook history. Other people don’t find it quite so easy to let go and move on.
I don’t see Cartier.
Mika must notice me scanning the room for a glimpse of honey-blonde hair.
“She’s in the back yard practicing her speech.
” Before I can offer to share my expertise, she adds, “Don’t even think about it.
Let her have her moment of glory before you reduce her to a gooey mess of suppressed hormones or she’ll never forgive me. ”
“Think of me as a distraction.”
“Ha!” The sound escapes before she can stop it. “Losing your cell phone is a distraction. Police sirens wailing past when you’re mid-conversation is a distraction. You, friend, are on a whole different level.”
I smile, and she gives me the side-eye.
“Can you not do that? Please? At least until Cartier has finished shaking the mayor’s hand and saying ‘cheese’ for the cameras.”
“You don’t want me to smile?” I feign hurt. In my experience, it’s a game-changer when it comes to women. Not that I’m trying to impress Mika. “What happened to representing your boss and her husband?”
She scrunches up her face and sighs. “I’m going to have to get her drunk, aren’t I?”
“No.” I’m firm on this one. “That’s my job for later.”
Mika chuckles. “Good luck with that one.”
The mayor’s unmistakable voice enters the room before him, demanding attention, and shutting down the pleasant hum of existing conversations. The guy is an attention-seeker who’d have made a great TV show host if he hadn’t chosen the path of politics.
His smile is wide, his handshake strong. He has a greeting for everyone, a few words to make them feel special. His knowledge of the other guests is sufficient to make each one personal. Mayor George wants to be liked. He wants to be remembered as the mayor of the people.
Which is why his smile drops when he notices me.
He recovers quickly, but now his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and the patter is forced. He makes a beeline straight for me and Mika, tossing pleasantries at other guests out of the side of his mouth as he advances.
“Mayor George.” I get in first.
I step away from Mika, who is watching the scene play out open-mouthed, and gesture for the mayor to follow me towards a server with a full tray of champagne flutes. I hand him a glass, and he accepts, his eyes darting around the room as if seeking help.
“My brother sends his apologies, but his wife gave birth to twin girls early this morning.”
“So, he sent you in his place?” The mayor’s lips twitch like a ventriloquist.
A light flashes in our faces, and I lean closer. “Smile for the camera.”