Chapter 15 Ransome #2
“Anton and Dmitry.” The two names come out in a breathless whisper. I toss a dish towel at her in case she’s going to be sick.
Still, it’s impressive how quickly she’s catching on; I’ll give her that. I almost smile. The little stalker is not stupid by any means. “Yes. And in order to avoid more death, Anton and Dmitri want a truce. Of sorts. By means of arranged marriage.”
“Arranged marriage? Is that even a thing anymore?” she asks.
“In our world, yes. At least for now.”
“So, what—is there some Bratva princess out there that you were, like, betrothed to at birth?”
“Not in so many words. More like… I am the second in line for the Rozanovs and I have to marry someone of equal status in the Chadovich family.”
Amara’s eyes flutter and flicker around in a series of blinks as she struggles to catch all the moving pieces. Then her face sours. “Not… Jenica?”
“Yes. Jenica.”
Amara gets up and starts pacing the room. She wrings her hands, her face a storm of emotions. I give her a minute to process.
Finally, she looks at me. “And you don’t want to?” she asks, pausing for a moment.
“Of course not. Truces like that are a medieval way of handling years’ worth of conflict. But the Bratva is all about tradition.”
“So you don’t love her?” she asks sharply.
“No.”
“Are you attracted to her?” More sharpness.
“You’re missing the point. I have six months before I become the next pakhan. If I can avoid a marriage to Jenica for that long, I can veto the arrangement all together and deal with the Chadovichs on my own terms.”
“So you’d be free to marry anyone you want,” she states. Really, though, it’s a question. What she’s actually asking is, Could you marry… me?
“Marriage isn’t on the table. And it’s not the center of gravity here.”
Amara sucks the inside of her cheek with a nod and I can tell by the way her lips are pursed that she is mentally overstepping.
She’s hanging onto threads of what she thought was real, of what she perhaps wishes was real.
But unfortunately for her little dream world, that’s just not the one we live in.
Better to crush that dream now. Waiting would only make things worse.
“So if they want you to get married… and you don’t want to… and you need to buy six months before you can put your foot down…” She looks up at me as if confirming that she’s understood all the details correctly. “Then what’s your plan?”
“I need to convince our families I am with someone else.”
She winces. “Another woman. Let me guess: You want me to help you find a suitable bride. Listen, I have done a lot of things for you. Things most women, most assistants, wouldn’t do. But this? This is crossing the line. This is—”
“You were stalking me. You think that’s not a crossed line?”
“You just told me you’re a part of the Russian mafia !” she actually screams.
I stand up. These walls are thick, but if she doesn’t keep it the fuck down, I’m going to have to shut her up myself.
Before I can speak, though, Amara is sneering in my face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was that too much? Tell me, Mr. Rozanov, how did you expect me to react?”
“A little more quietly, for one. More rationally, for another.”
Amara’s jaw unhinges. “You’re insane. I am not playing matchmaker for you!
That is one step too far for me. Actually, all of this is one step too far for me.
I can’t believe you think I’d just— that you’d— I don’t even know!
So what is it you do as the big, bad wolf of the New York underworld, huh?
Do you kill people for fun? Deal drugs? Embezzle money?
Because I don’t want any part of it, especially not the part where I find some sleazy girl to–”
“I want you.”
“You want me to what?!” Then her rage balloon deflates a little. “Wait. Hold on. Pause. You mean…?”
The surge of mixed emotions in her eyes says she already knows the answer to that question.
But I tell her anyway, a little bit of mercy in the midst of an overwhelming situation for the poor girl.
“It’s convenient. You’re already in over your head.
You don’t want me to have to punish you for your betrayal.
And of course, there’s all the information you’re slowly absorbing right now. So yes, you. I want you.”
Amara waves her hand, letting out a nervous laugh. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend or wife or whatever even though you just found out that I’ve been going behind your back for months? Stalking you for months?”
“You know everything about me and you’re already doing my laundry. I’d say it’s a natural fit.”
It’s a joke, but neither of us are smiling.
“I also trashed your apartment.”
“And you’ll clean it up. Like a good girlfriend. But this is a contract, is that clear? There will be rules. Expectations. And an NDA.”
“A contract. With a gag order. To be your girlfriend.” Amara snorts and plops back down on her chair. I can literally see her head spinning. After another pause, she looks at me again.. “And if I say no?”
“I think we both know what happens if you say no.”
“I don’t think you would actually kill me,” Amara says.
“I don’t think you fully understand who I am or what I would or wouldn’t do.
” I lean in toward her so my face is all she can see.
“You know me—but only half of me. And you are about to learn the other half. The side that doesn’t see the light of day.
Which means you are going to see a lot of things.
Things you never imagined and don’t want to.
You will agree to this contract, Amara. Because if you don’t, you have no job.
You have no money. The people you love and support have no money. You’d be shit out of luck.”
“That’s extortion.”
“You just admitted to stalking me. It’s a two-way street, sweetheart. A street that would land you in jail. And you’re much too pretty for that.”
“You’re right about one thing,” she says after an endless pause. “You’re definitely not who I thought you were.”
It’s a threat. It’s meant to hurt. But my mouth just pulls into a slight smirk.
She has no idea.