Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Kholod
"Boss, Sofia Bellucci's here. Says she wants to see the missus."
I raised an eyebrow. That cold-hearted bitch who'd pawn off her own daughter without blinking, all for the family hustle. Showing up now? Right on cue. I was itching to watch what kind of bullshit performance this so-called "loving" mom had lined up.
"Let her in," I said into the intercom, eyes glued to the monitor. "Take her to Noelle."
On the screen, Noelle was curled up on the couch by the fireplace, knees hugged tight to her chest. Hadn't moved an inch in three damn days. Not since I'd shut down that pathetic little blog of hers myself.
Her eyes were blank. Face like stone. Didn't give a shit about the fancy spreads on the table, the marble floors, or the maids tiptoeing around with their polite bullshit. Nothing.
This zombie act? It pissed me off way more than her yelling or fighting back. I'd take her screaming in my face, those pretty brown eyes blazing at me. At least that meant she felt something. At least it meant I could still get under her skin.
Through the hidden cams and mics, I watched clear as day as Sofia got led in. Fake-ass smile plastered on her face, all cautious and sweet.
"Oh, my sweet Noelle..." She hustled over to the couch, arms out for a hug like she gave a damn.
Noelle's body went rigid—just a twitch, but I caught it. She turned her head away, dodging the embrace. Her voice came out flat, scraped raw. "Mom."
Sofia's smile slipped for a split second, that awkward flash, but she slapped it back on like nothing. Sat down, grabbed Noelle's hand, and launched into the same tired crap. "Mr. Morozov's a big shot, be a good girl, keep the husband happy."
I snorted, took a pull from my vodka. Lame as hell. Trying to school her daughter on sucking up to men, like that'd buy her a comfy spot in this high-society cage? What a joke.
Noelle's worth wasn't in playing nice with anybody. It was in her—just her. That goddamn light she carried.
I was about to kill the feed when Sofia made this little move that froze me solid.
She was yapping away, but one hand "accidentally" patted Noelle's wool skirt pocket. And in that split-second lift-off? She slipped something black and flat right in there. Quick as a snake.
My glass hung in midair.
The balls on her. How the fuck did she know Noelle was cut off from the world? Who gave her that burner phone to smuggle in?
One answer hit me like a brick: Noelle.
Had to be her. She'd pulled off this three-day corpse routine to drop my guard, reached out somehow, and roped Mom in to play delivery girl.
Well played. Really clever.
I set the glass down. The cold burn slid down my throat, but it lit a fire in my chest that scorched everything else away. Thought I'd clipped her wings, and she'd stay put. Bullshit. She was still scheming to bolt—right under my nose, with this amateur-hour con.
Dmitri ghosted into the study doorway without a sound. "Boss?"
"Get the car ready." I stood, straightened my cuffs, kept my voice even. "Taking Noelle out shopping. Something she'll like."
Dmitri's eyes flickered—surprise, but he didn't push. Just nodded. "Yes, sir."
By the time I hit the bedroom, Sofia was long gone. But her cheap-ass perfume lingered like a bad memory.
I stepped up to Noelle, my shadow swallowing her whole.
"Bored in here?" My tone was calm. Too calm.
She lifted her head slowly, eyes still dead, just staring through me like I was a ghost.
"Get yourself together. You're allowed to go out." I watched her face close—every twitch, every micro-shift.
There it was: a quick spark deep in those eyes. Shock. Maybe a hint of panic. Gone in a blink, buried under the blank mask again.
"Don't wanna?" I prodded.
She hung there for a beat, then mumbled, "Whatever you say."
Downtown was a zoo—horns blaring, crowds shoving. Noelle stepped out of the car all stiff and jumpy, yanking her coat tight around her. Eyes darting everywhere, like she was hunting or hiding from something.
Dmitri and I hung back in a plain black sedan, one-way glass giving us the full show. She paused at a stall hawking handmade pottery, fingers tracing the rim of some iris-flower mug. Lost in it, almost.
"Want me closer, boss?" Dmitri murmured.
"Nah." I lit a cigar, the smoke hazing up the window. "Let her finish the act."
Didn't take long. This tall guy in a brown leather jacket strolled up—built like a linebacker. Made a beeline for Noelle.
Lorenzo Conti. Son of some washed-up Bellucci crew guy. Noelle's old playground buddy. Small-time hack running a hole-in-the-wall gallery, calling himself an "artist."
He snagged her arm, face all lit up like a kid on Christmas, yapping something heated. Yanked her toward a quiet alley off the main drag.
Too far for audio. All I could see was Noelle twisting away, shaking her head, face twisted in worry and pleading.
But the prick wouldn't let go—clamped on like a vice, even tried reeling her in closer.
Looked for all the world like a pair of star-crossed lovers fighting the man.
That unnatural flush on her cheeks, the fire in her eyes?
It was like pouring gas on the rage boiling in my gut.
"Boss, you need me to—" Dmitri's hand twitched toward his piece, eyes narrowing to slits.
"No." I shut him down, voice flat as ice. But my knuckles were white around the cigar, squeezing till it nearly snapped. "Snap every photo. Every angle. Every goddamn touch. Dig up everything on this Lorenzo prick."
I dragged deep on the smoke, let the bitter bite fill my lungs, choke down the urge to storm out there and rip the bastard apart.
"I'll make sure he learns," I ground out, eyes locked on those two tangled shadows in the alley. "What happens when you eye my woman."
That night, I rolled into the villa without flipping a light. The bedroom glowed just from the fireplace—flames dancing shadows across the velvet duvet.
Noelle was fresh from the shower, in this silk slip that hugged her just right. She hopped up when I walked in, fingers twisting the hem like it was a lifeline.
"How was your afternoon?"
She met my gaze, that wariness flashing quickly. "Fine. Just wandered the market."
"Wandered?" I echoed, stepping closer. "Pick up anything good?"
She froze—didn't see that curveball coming. "Uh, just browsed some crafts."
"Oh yeah?" I closed the gap, towering over her. "Where's your haul? I don't see any."
Her face drained white. "I didn't buy anything. Just looked."
"Looked." I nodded slowly. "For two hours? What the hell were you doing out there?"
"I... just killing time. Taking in the sights..."
"Sights?" My voice cracked up, and I slammed my palm on the nightstand—boom echoing like a gunshot. She jumped a foot, whole body locking up. "Noelle, I'm giving you one shot. Tell me straight—who'd you meet today?"
"I... I didn't meet anybody..."
"Still lying to my face!" I snatched up the stack of photos, flung 'em across the bed like confetti from hell. "Then what's this crap?!"
They fanned out right in her line of sight. Her skin went ghost-pale.
"Now," I advanced, slow and steady, "one more time. Who'd you see?"
"It... it was Lorenzo..." The words clawed out of her throat. "But I didn't set it up! He just... showed up..."
"Just showed up?" I barked a laugh, bitter as bile. "You expect me to swallow that? How'd he know you'd be there? Know your schedule?"
"I don't know!" Her voice cracked, tears bubbling up. "I swear, I don't!"
"And the phone?" I cut in, eyes narrowing to knives. "That burner your mom shoved in your pocket—you think I missed that shit?"
She turned to stone. Color bled out of her face till she looked like death.
"You called him. Didn't you?" I pressed, relentless. "Set up the time, the spot. Right under my nose, pulling off some reunion bullshit. Noelle, you really think I'm that stupid?"
"No!" She jerked her head up, tears spilling hot and fast. "I didn't! I never even touched the damn phone! It was Mom... she must've told him..."
"Sofia?" I latched onto the slip. "How the fuck would your mom know your plans? Unless you spilled."
"I didn't!" She was frantic now, words tumbling. "I just mentioned wanting to get out, stretch my legs. I never thought..."
"Noelle, make it believable. A mom just 'happens' to tip off her daughter's ex about her day?"
"He's not my ex!" It came out a shout. "We never... there was nothing! Ever!"
I scooped up a photo—his meaty hand clamped on her arm, bodies damn near glued.
"Then explain this."
She stared at it, eyes swimming. "He wanted to get me out... said he'd save me, take me away. But I said no! I fought him off the whole time, Kholod—I told him to back off! You gotta believe me..."
"Believing you means buying that 'no' required getting that close? Letting him manhandle you like that? Looking all fired up and flushed?"
"I was pissed! Telling him not to be an idiot!" She was rambling, reaching for me, desperate. "Kholod, please, just listen..."
I swatted her hand away, the fury in my chest roaring to life. "Shut it. I'm done with your lies."
I unbuckled my belt, the heavy croc leather whispering through the loops. The buckle clinked, dull and final.
Her eyes locked on it—pure terror flooding in. She scrambled back till her legs hit the bedframe, voice breaking. "Kholod... what are you doing? Don't... don't hit me..."
Hit her? Like some street thug with a temper? Nah. That was too cheap for what she deserved.
I snagged her wrists, looped the belt tight around 'em, and lashed her to the brass bedpost. Cold metal bit into her skin.
She thrashed, pointless—like a moth in a web, just tangling deeper.
"Kholod... please... let me explain..." Desperation choked her words.
I leaned in close, noses brushing, breaths clashing—hers shaky, mine a frozen storm. "You need to remember who owns you."
Tears streaked her cheeks, soaking the pillow.
But in my head? One thought hammered away.
I'd erase every trace of anyone else on her.