Chapter 26
AMARA
Breathe.
Easier said than done as you walk through a room full of mobsters. That’s what they’re called, right?
As I walk through the room towards the bar—towards Ransome—faces fall into place. I recognize Maverick and Baron, Ransome’s parents Anton and Amira, the Chadovichs. Dmitry, Katya, Tristan…
Jenica.
I can physically feel her gaze on me and do my best to let it ricochet.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. And that this dress makes me look great, which it does. I wasn’t so sure how I’d feel about a dress bought by a man, but as it would turn out, it fits perfectly. The ex-stalker in me is impressed.
Despite the fact that Ransome is standing straight ahead of me, I was told by Ivan to walk straight to the bar. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t stop, and definitely don’t approach Ransome. Let him come to you, I was told.
So that’s what I do. I keep my eyes forward, not smiling, but no RBF either. After all, we can’t all be Jenica.
I walk right past all my onlookers to the bar. The music continues to play. I order a gin and tonic—another rule—and wait.
What I am waiting for, I’m not sure. Though I know what I hope it is.
Or should I say “who”…
And sure enough, when Ransome is behind me, I know it. I can feel him.
“Quite the entrance, dorogoya,” he says, leaning back against the bar as I face forward next to him.
I see what game this is. A good, old-fashioned game of talk to each other but don’t look at each other.
Well, I can play too. “I just did what I was told.”
“Good girl,” he says under his breath. I’m pretty sure even my mask doesn’t hide my blush.
“Aren’t you worried people will see you talking to me?” I pick up the drink set in front of me. I’m still not a fan of gin and tonics, but any alcohol is better than no alcohol right now.
“I don’t really give a fuck what most of the people in the room think of me.”
“You sure? They look important.”
“My priorities are elsewhere.” The way he says it makes my heart race. “You want to dance?”
“I want to leave,” I say flatly.
“You should drink your drink.”
“I’m working on it,” I mutter. Then I take a sip and immediately wince. “Also, people are still staring. Don’t they have better things to do?”
“Better than to watch a future pakhan and the only woman who’s caught his attention since the party started? Doubt it.”
With that, Ransome takes my hand and pulls me to the dance floor. Before I can protest, I am in his arms. He spins around with more ease than I expected, though I’m not sure why he’s being so courteous.
Or why he’s pulling me right against him.
“Okay, now they are really staring.”
“That’s because they are important, as you said. To your left—don’t look—is Katya Chadovich.”
“The one drinking water from a wine glass?” I ask.
“That’s not water.”
“Of course not.”
“And at nine o’clock is—”
“Maverick and Baron,” I say, and I swear he almost smiles.
“You’ve done homework.” His voice is warm in my ear, his hand warmer on my lower back.
“I’ve written and rewritten your daily schedule enough times to recognize those two,” I saw with a smile.
“Alright, let’s spin the game around, shall we?” As he says that, he spins me, too. “Who’s at five o clock?”
“Tight smile, but not amused, and never puts his old fashioned down? Your father, Anton Rozanov.”
“Not bad. And over my left shoulder?”
“With the slimy smile and fuckboy body language and receding hairline? Tristan.”
“Very good.” He actually smirks. “And the woman in silver by the champagne fountain?”
“Your lovely mother, Arina.”
“And the red-faced man standing next to Tristan?” he asks.
“The one who looks like a constipated pufferfish? Dmitry Chadovich.”
That almost earns me a laugh. Almost. And I take pride in it.
We turn again. I see Jenica pretending not to stare at us. “You really don’t find her attractive?” I ask, not so sure I believe that. With long blonde hair and a gorgeous pink dress, I can’t imagine anyone not being into her.
“It’s not about attraction,” he says dryly.
“So you want to marry for love?” I almost laugh because, come on.
No way. Ransome Rozanov, a romantic? Hell would freeze over all the way to the devil’s ass hairs.
Sure, I might have held hope back in my stalker days, but that was a fantasy.
As Ransome himself showed me, there is no place for fantasy in his world.
There’s a beat of silence. I wonder if my cheeky question has earned the silent treatment for the rest of the night.
But then—
“I don’t want to get married at all.”
His gaze darts around. I start to say something, but before I can, his mouth covers mine.
Right in front of everyone.
The kiss lasts long enough to send a rippling gasp through the room, sending my heart from the moon to the floor as I realize it is most likely for show.
When his mouth pulls away from mine, the song ends, and the rest of his body pulls away as well.
He heads back to the bar and I look around, realizing everyone is still staring at me.
I book it to the bathroom.
I don’t breathe until the door closes behind me. With my hands gripping the edge of the counter, I gasp for all the air I didn’t breathe in the last sixty seconds as my chest rises and falls jaggedly.
I look in the mirror, meeting my own eyes and asking myself, What I am doing here and how on fucking earth is this my life?
I take in another deep breath and let it out slowly. I need to get my shit together. I straighten my mask, reach in my small bag, and pull out the red lipstick for reapplication.
Just as I smack my lips together, the door opens.
And because my life is my life, Jenica walks in.
I meet her eyes in the mirror and even offer a tiny smile. It is tossed back at me in the form of a cold stare. Not that I’m surprised.
“I don’t know who you are, but you would be wise to stay away from him,” she says while fixing a fake eyelash in the mirror.
I apply another layer of lipstick, smack my lips, and move on to fixing my already perfect hair. “Are you interested in Ransome?” I ask.
“Don’t be dense. That’s not how any of this works. If you were one of us, you’d know that.”
“I might not be one of you, but I’m no stranger to this story.”
“So you know that Cinderella doesn’t get the prince in this version?” Her expression in the mirror turns sharp. “She goes back to the dank little house where she belongs so she doesn’t get hurt.”
I narrow my eyes and tilt my head. “I thought Cinderella lived in a big fancy house?”
“You’re missing the point,” Jenica snaps.
“And what was the point again?” I ask.
This time, Jenica turns to actually face me. “Stay away from Ransome Rozanov. Unless you want to end up on a Cold Case episode on poor people TV.”
I match her glare just long enough, then grab my things and walk out. But I don’t go back to the bar and I don’t go find Ransome. Instead, I go out the door I came through.
The night breeze hits and I gasp, gulping for fresh air. It took a lot to keep face in there, going up against a Bratva woman, and I question whether it was even convincing. Either way, I’m not sure if I am cut out for this.
I could run. I could just leave. Grab my siblings and skip town. Back out of the contract and do what he threatened on my own. Become a nobody, find a normal job. Then my brother and sisters and I can just figure it out on our own. New town, tiny house, no Bratva. No Ransome.
No Ransome.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. As tempting as it sounds, it also makes my heart sink. Though I’m not sure why.
“You lost?”
The voice comes from behind me. A male voice. I don’t immediately recognize it, so I make sure my mask is in place before turning around, only to see—
“Tristan.”
He’s standing only a few feet in front of me, a toothpick rolling in his mouth and a snakelike smile on his face.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
“I needed air.” I take a small step back. He doesn’t move closer, but it still doesn’t feel like a safe distance.
“A little hot in there for you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Really? Because you look flushed. I would be too, if I danced with the most important person in the room.”
“You think Ransome is important? I’ll let him know.”
Tristan flips the toothpick again. “You really are ruffling a lot of feathers, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I make an attempt to walk around him, but Tristan steps in front of me, blocking my path.
I go on high alert.
“It wasn’t one,” he says. Then he pulls the toothpick from his mouth and flicks it across the pavement, his attention centered on me. “I don’t think you know how many people you’ve upset. And just how dangerous that is.”
“I’m not here to upset anyone,” I say.
“And yet you have. My lovely cousin included.”
“I don’t have anything against your cousin.” I can feel my heart racing in my chest, a dull thump-thump-thump against my ribcage.
“And yet we have a problem with you.”
He doesn’t sound particularly bothered by that, as if he already has a solution in mind. Possibly more than one. And call me crazy, but I’m not sure I’d like any of them.
“I’m going to tell you something, sweetheart, and I want you to listen closely, because it’s not a suggestion.” He takes a single step forward. “You are fucking with the wrong family.”
I swallow around a dry mouth. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re cute.” His face splits into a wolfish grin. “And you’ve left a mark in there. I can respect that. I, too, am fond of leaving marks.” His eyes travel hungrily down my figure, no doubt picturing all the places he’d like to “leave a mark”. It makes me shudder from head to toe.
Not in a good way.
He takes my silence as an invitation. One more step, and he’s right in my face.
He starts lifting a hand to my cheek, and I turn the other way, desperate to find an escape route that isn’t blocked by his body—
Suddenly, the door bursts open.
Tristan jumps back just before a drunken Maverick notices anything.
Jesus, is no one just enjoying the party?!
“The air is thick tonight,” he calls out with a grin. Then he spits what looks like saliva but smells like bourbon.
It lands near Tristan’s feet.
“You better watch it, half-blood,” Tristan grits out.
“Let’s be real, I am no blood at all. And yet, I’m still more liked in the Bratva than you are, my friend.”
“Not your friend.” Tristan shakes his head once as a warning.
Maverick stumbles right in front of him, wasted as fuck but still sober enough to keep up with a Chadovich threat.
“Pity. I so prefer friends to enemies.”
I consider running back inside. This is not somewhere I should be. Not that I want to be in there, either, but it at least seems safer. Less likely to end in immediate bloodshed.
But before I can go through the doors, two more Chadovichs come out: Yury and Daniil, Tristan’s younger brothers.
Shit.
“What do we have going on here?” one of them asks. He’s still a kid, maybe around Gianni’s age, but is strutting like he’s a grown man.
“Just having a conversation with your brother here about friendship,” Maverick answers with a lazy smirk.
“Again, we aren’t friends.” This time, Tristan punctuates his words with shoves.
Maverick falls on his ass.
Tristan’s brothers burst out in mocking laughter, but it’s short-lived.
It takes all of two seconds for Maverick to get up and lunge at Tristan, taking him to the ground. They roll once before Yury and Daniil grab Maverick and peel him off their brother, holding him while Tristan stands up.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I have to do something. They’ll kill him if I don’t. But my legs are rooted to the spot in terror. Whatever else I’ve faced in my life, however many horrible nights dealing with dad’s drunk outbursts or fending off handsy customers, I have never faced something like this.
Death, coming in hot.
“Bad move, my man,” Tristan grins. “Let’s see just how far we can make you spew that stomach full of beer.”
“It’s bourbon, khuy.”
I don’t have to look up Maverick’s slang to know he just called Tristan a dick. I also don’t want to watch what is about to happen.
Luckily, as it turns out, I don’t have to.
The door slams open again. Ransome marches out in a powerful blur, grabbing Tristan right before his fist can make contact with Maverick’s gut.
Ransome spins him around so fast it disorients him and hits him square in the jaw, hard enough to take Tristan to the ground. In the meantime, Maverick manages to break free. He’s ready to go after Daniil, who’s already in fighting stance, but Ransome shouts at both of them.
“Enough!” His voice echoes in the alley. “This is not the place!”
Before they can react, Ransome turns to me.
Next thing I know, Ivan is pulling up and Ransome is ripping the back door open and lifting me inside.
He slams the door and rounds to the other side, getting in. Then he buckles his seatbelt and taps on Ivan’s chair.
We drive back to the pent house in silence. He’s too angry to speak, and I’m too scared.
Because, for the first time, I’ve realized just how out of my depth I am.