Chapter 13Claire
13
Claire
I stare at the end-of-month statement, tracing my fingers over the neatly typed rows of numbers. Each massage session meticulously logged, with the hours credited as five hundred dollars per session against Jay’s debt. In the three weeks I’ve been here, I’ve made a dent, but it feels like I still have a long way to go. I’ve worked off ten thousand dollars, but that leaves seventy thousand to go.
The billing statement is so... clinical. Professional. I shouldn’t feel hurt by this, but a twinge of disappointment hits me.
What did I expect? A personal note? A thank you? I shake my head, chiding myself for such foolish thoughts. Valerian Rostova is a businessman, and a crime lord. Our arrangement is nothing more than a transaction.
Yet I can’t reconcile this cold, impersonal document with the man who comforted me about Jay, and who shared his own painful family history of his cousin’s addiction and death. The Valerian who kissed me with such passion it left me breathless seems so different than this statement of accounting suggests.
A knock at my door startles me from my musings. “Come in,” I call, hastily folding the statement and tucking it into a drawer.
Valerian enters, looking as impeccable as always in a charcoal suit that accentuates his broad shoulders. “I have a proposition for you.” His voice sends an involuntary flush of heat through me.
I raise an eyebrow warily. “Oh?”
He takes a seat across from me, leaning forward slightly. “There’s a community picnic tomorrow for foster children. I’d like you to accompany me.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, this wasn’t even on the list. “A picnic? For foster kids?”
Valerian nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Honestly? Yes.” I study him, searching for some hidden motive. “Why do you want me there?” I narrow my eyes. “I’m not some cover so you can assassinate someone, am I?”
He blinks as if he’s trying to decide how to react to that. Outrage briefly flashes across his face followed by amusement. “No,” is all he says to that before shrugging. “I thought you might enjoy it, and...” He pauses, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I’d appreciate your company. No assassination planned.”
I’m torn. Part of me wants to refuse, to maintain the professional distance I’ve been struggling to keep. Another growing part is curious. What would Valerian be like outside of this mansion, away from his role as a feared crime boss? “Alright. I’ll go. Thanks.”
A genuine smile breaks across Valerian’s face, transforming his features. “Excellent. We’ll leave at ten a.m.”
As he exits, I’m left wondering what exactly I’ve gotten myself into. I have a hard time picturing him in such a relaxed, normal setting.
The next morning dawns bright and clear, a perfect day for a late spring picnic. I dress casually in jeans and a soft sweater, unsure what to expect. Valerian meets me in the foyer, and I’m struck by how different he looks in dark jeans and a navy pullover. More approachable and human.
We ride in comfortable silence, the city giving way to a sprawling park on the outskirts of town. As we pull up, I see colorful balloons and banners and hear the excited shrieks of children carrying on the breeze.
Valerian leads me toward a group of adults setting up tables laden with food and games. A plump woman with graying hair spots us and hurries over. “Valerian, so glad you could make it.” She turns to me with a warm smile. “And who’s this?”
“Claire,” I say, extending my hand. “I’m Valerian’s... friend.” The word feels strange on my tongue, but it’s the simplest explanation.
“Wonderful to meet you, dear. I’m Margaret, one of the event organizers. Valerian’s been a godsend for our program.”
I glance at Valerian with surprise. He looks almost embarrassed.
“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.
Margaret laughs. “Nothing? This man has single-handedly funded three new group homes and a scholarship program for our kids aging out of the system. He’s in the process of helping us set up another program to help aged-out kids have a place to live by building an apartment complex and has his hand in an endeavor to get local merchants to donate furnishings for the apartments. He’s changing lives.”
Before I can process this information, a small whirlwind collides with Valerian’s legs. “Mr. Valerian, you came.”
His expression softens when he crouches down to the little girl’s level. “Of course, I did, Lily. I promised, didn’t I?”
Lily nods solemnly, bobbing her pigtails. “Will you push me on the swings again?”
“In a little bit. First, I want you to meet my friend, Claire.”
She turns her big brown eyes to me. “Hi, Claire. Do you like swings too?”
I smile. “I love swings. Maybe we can all go together?”
Lily’s face lights up. “Yes! Come on.” She grabs both our hands, tugging us toward the playground.
For the next hour, I watch in amazement as Valerian transforms. Gone is the intimidating crime boss, replaced by a man who laughs freely as he pushes giggling children on swings, who patiently helps a young boy learn to ride a bike, and who lets a little girl braid dandelions into his hair.
As I help a group of kids decorate cupcakes, I can’t take my gaze off him. He’s in his element here, radiating a joy I’ve never seen before. It’s...beautiful. It makes me a little melancholy for a minute, because I bet he’d be a great father, and I’m not sure I can ever be a mother…
I quickly squash that thought. A bratva boss would be the last man I’d choose for fathering my children.
Still, there’s something so warm and paternal about him…
“He’s pretty great with them, huh?”
I turn to see Margaret beside me, a knowing smile on her face.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “He really is.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Valerian’s been coming to these events for years. Started anonymously at first by just sending donations. Then one day, he showed up in person. Said he wanted to see where the money was going.” She chuckles. “The kids adored him instantly. Now, he never misses a picnic or holiday party.”
I watch as Valerian lets a little boy climb onto his shoulders, parading him around like a conquering hero. “I had no idea,” I murmur.
“There’s a lot of good in that man,” she says. “More than he gives himself credit for, I think.” She sighs. “He’s very discreet about his life and business, but I get the feeling he’s not exactly an accountant. It’s a pity, because he’d be a prime candidate for adopting some of these kids otherwise.” She slants me a glance. “What do you think?”
I freeze and clear my throat, still staring at him. “Not my business.”
“Of course,” she says with a smile. “Just sending out feelers, you know.” Patting my arm, she moves on.
As if sensing my gaze lingering on him, Valerian looks up and catches my eye. The smile he gives me is soft, unguarded. My heart does a little flip.
I’ve spent weeks trying to reconcile the different sides of Valerian—the ruthless crime lord, the passionate man who kissed me senseless, and the broken soul, who shared his pain. Now I’m seeing yet another facet. He’s a man who genuinely cares, who uses his wealth and power to make a difference in children’s lives.
It’s becoming harder and harder to keep my walls up, to remember why I should keep my distance. As I watch Valerian laugh, his head thrown back in genuine mirth, I realize I’m fighting a losing battle against my growing feelings for this complex, infuriating, wonderful man.
A couple of hours later, the SUV glides through the city streets, leaving behind the laughter and joy of the community picnic. Ivan navigates traffic with practiced ease while Sergei fiddles with the radio, settling on a classical station. Soft strains of Tchaikovsky fill the car.
I turn to Valerian, who sits beside me in the backseat. “I had no idea you were so involved with foster kids.”
Valerian’s lips quirk into a small smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Clearly.” I hesitate, then ask, “How long have you been supporting these programs?”
He shifts, and his arm brushes against mine. “About five years now. It started with anonymous donations, but eventually, I wanted to see the impact firsthand.”
“That’s really admirable.” I struggle to reconcile this version of Valerian with the ruthless crime lord I first met. “Do you support other causes too?”
He nods. “Several. There’s a women’s shelter downtown, a veteran’s rehabilitation center, and a scholarship fund for underprivileged youth.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That must cost a fortune.”
“It’s a significant portion of my income, yes.” Valerian’s gaze is steady. “Money has never been my primary motivation. Power and control, certainly, but not wealth for its own sake.”
I process this information. “Is that why you run ‘The Velvet Cage?’ To fund these programs?” It strikes me that the profits might benefit some while hurting others, like my brother, who is a gambling addict that frequented his casino before someone finally cut off his line of credit. Too bad it wasn’t before Jay lost eighty thousand dollars I have to repay.
Valerian’s expression tightens. “Partially. ‘The Velvet Cage’ is a necessary evil. It provides legitimate income and helps maintain my territory, but it’s not about luring in addicts or ruining lives.”
“What about Jay?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Valerian sighs. “Your brother was a complicated case. We try to keep problem gamblers out, but some slip through the cracks. Jay was particularly persistent.”
I cross my arms, a familiar defensiveness rising. “He’s not a bad person. He just made mistakes.”
“I never said he was bad, Claire.” Valerian’s voice is gentle. “Addiction is a disease, not a moral failing. That’s why I’ve been working to get him into a rehabilitation program as part of his plea deal.”
This revelation stuns me into silence. I’ve been so focused on protecting my family, on shouldering everything myself, that I never considered Valerian might actually be trying to help.
“You don’t have to do everything alone, you know,” he says softly, as if reading my thoughts.
I stiffen. “I’m fine. I can handle my family’s problems.”
Valerian’s eyes narrow slightly. “No one’s questioning your capability, Claire, but even the strongest people need support sometimes.”
“I don’t need—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You’re allowed to lean on others. It’s not a weakness.”
His words hit a nerve, and I turn to look out the window, blinking back unexpected tears. The city blurs past, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows.
He covers my hand, his touch warm and surprisingly comforting. “You don’t have to carry that burden anymore.”
I really look at him. The hardness in his eyes has softened, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like concern. Maybe even affection. “I don’t know how to let go. I’ve been doing this for so long, but I’m trying,” I whisper.
He nods. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence. As we pull up to his penthouse, apparently staying in the city tonight instead of in the mansion, I’m reluctant to let go of his hand.
“Thank you,” I say as he opens the car door. “For today.”
His smile is genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that makes my pulse skip. “You’re welcome, Claire. I hope we can do more days like this.”
As I climb out of the SUV, I’m mildly alarmed. The walls I’ve built so carefully are starting to crumble, brick by brick. For the first time in a long time, the thought of letting someone in doesn’t terrify me. That it should be Valerian is terrifying but somehow also reassuring.
A few days later, we’re in the dining room. I smooth my napkin across my lap, inhaling the rich aroma of steak and chimichurri. Across from me, Valerian cuts into his ribeye with practiced precision, his movements graceful and controlled.
“I have news about Jay,” he says, setting down his knife.
I pause my fork halfway to my mouth. “What kind of news?”
He looks solemn. “Sheila confirmed he signed the paperwork. He’ll be transferred to ‘Curran-Fromhold’ within the next two weeks.”
The bite of steak and vibrant chimichurri turns to ash in my mouth. I set down my fork, struggling to swallow. “That’s...good, right? It’s what we wanted.”
“It’s a step in the right direction.” His voice is gentle. “He’ll be closer to you and your parents. The rehabilitation program there is one of the best in the state.”
I nod, blinking rapidly. “Right. Of course.” My vision blurs, and I press my lips together, fighting the sudden ache in my throat.
His chair scrapes against the hardwood floor as he stands. He moves around the table, coming to crouch beside me. “It’s okay to be upset.”
The dam breaks. Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and relentless. “I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I don’t know why I’m crying. This is what we wanted. What I wanted.”
“You’re allowed to have mixed feelings.” His hand hovers near my arm, not quite touching. “It’s a complicated situation.”
I laugh, the sound watery and bitter. “Everything about this is complicated.” I gesture between us, encompassing the opulent dining room, the mansion, and our entire arrangement.
Valerian’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “True enough.” He hesitates, then asks, “May I hug you?”
The question catches me off guard. I nod, not trusting my voice.
His arms wrap around me, strong and warm. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne. My tears soak into his expensive shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
I pull back slightly, looking up at him. His eyes are soft and filled with an emotion I can’t quite name. “Thank you for getting him a local prison.”
Valerian’s gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, I think he might kiss me. My heart races with anticipation and fear before he blinks, and the moment passes.
“You don’t have to thank me,” he says, his voice low. “I’m just glad I could help.”
I nod, suddenly aware of how close we are, and how intimate this position feels. I clear my throat and sit up straighter. “I should probably go clean up,” I say, gesturing to my tear-stained face.
He stands, offering me his hand. I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. “Of course,” he says. “Take all the time you need.”
I nod, then slip out of the dining room. As I make my way upstairs to my room, I can’t ignore the lingering warmth of Valerian’s embrace, or the way my skin tingled when he almost kissed me.
I close my bedroom door behind me, leaning against it with a sigh for a moment. Crossing to the en-suite bathroom, I splash cool water on my face, watching my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red-rimmed, and my cheeks flushed. I look vulnerable. Raw.
A knock at the door startles me. “Claire?” Valerian’s voice is muffled through the wood. “Are you alright?”
I inhale and exhale to steady myself before answering. “I’m fine,” I call back. “Just freshening up.”
There’s a pause, then: “May I come in?”
My pulse skitters, and I smooth my hair, then open the door.
Valerian stands in the hallway, his expression concerned. “I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says.
“I’m better,” I say, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”
Valerian nods, his gaze searching my face. “Good. I...” He trails off, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “I meant what I said earlier. You can lean on me if you need me.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tighten. “I appreciate that,” I say softly.
We stand there for a moment, the air between us charged with unspoken words. He takes a step closer, and I hold my breath.
“Claire,” he murmurs, cupping my cheek.
I lean into his touch, my eyelids fluttering closed. It would be so easy to give in, to let myself fall into his arms again. To seek comfort in his kiss, but I can’t. Not yet, when everything is still so uncertain.
I take a step back, breaking the connection. “I should get some rest,” I say after clearing my throat.
He lets his hand fall to his side as he nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before his usual mask of control slips back into place. He doesn’t remind me I walked off in the middle of dinner, or it’s barely seven p.m. “Of course. Sleep well, Claire.”
“Good night, Valerian,” I say, closing the door softly. I lean against it, listening to his retreating footsteps. Only when I hear the distant sound of his feet on the stairs do I allow myself to breathe.
Moving to the window, I gaze out at the twinkling lights of Philadelphia. Somewhere out there, Jay is preparing for his transfer. Mom and Dad are probably worrying about both of us, and here I am, caught between gratitude and guilt, fear and... something dangerously close to desire.