Chapter 44 Ransome
RANSOME
“What is this?” I ask as I look down at the schedule on my desk.
“Lunch,” Amara answers. She knows exactly which part of the schedule I am talking about. For one, because the last I checked, I was set to have lunch in my office today. Alone. Turns out I could never be that lucky. It tracks since I don’t believe in luck.
“Let me guess. My father called it.”
Her head tips in a discrete yes.
My fist tightens. I’m tempted to slam it down on my desk. But I don’t. Something like that would show weakness. Uncontrolled anger. I’ve let myself slip enough recently.
“Who all is going to be there?” I ask, facing the window so I don’t have to be so guarded.
“From my understanding, your parents, your cousin… and the Chadovichs.”
Goddammit.
“Which ones?” I grit out.
“Dmitry. Katya. Jenica.”
“Might as well throw Tristan in there too while you’re at it,” I snap, knowing full well it’s not her doing.
“No Tristan this time,” she states.
Good. Odd. But good. And yet, that probably means they want to talk about something without anyone unhinged in the room.
Yebat.
I have no interest in the cocktail sitting in front of me.
The scent of the caviar on the table is making me nauseous. Watching Dmitry Chadovich eat it by the chip full is enough to make me vomit right here, right now.
“Ransome,” Katya Chadovich says with her signature staged smile. “We are so glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to make it.”
“I was unaware there was an alternative,” I state flatly.
My dad takes in a labored breath and lets it out uncomfortably.
To be honest, I don’t give a fuck.
“Son,” he starts in. “We are here with the Chadovichs to discuss our agreement.”
“I’m unaware of any active agreements,” I say, taking a sip of water.
My dad’s scowl deepens. My mother reaches for her cocktail. Baron bites his lips, shooting me a warning look that I ignore. Katya’s smile is so impeccable I’m starting to wonder if she’s actually a mannequin. And Jenica is in full-blown RBF. It would be understandable if I gave a fuck.
“Ransome,” my dad starts in, but Katya holds up a hand, a silent asking of permission to speak.
“Ransome, darling. Is there a reason you are fighting the arrangement between you and Jenica so much?”
I glance at Jenica, who is clearly over it, then reach for my drink for the first time. “It’s nothing against your daughter.”
Across the table, Dmitry’s eyes are in slits as he tips his chin up at me. “Then why the rebellion?”
I take a casual second sip, not in the mood for whiskey but not hating the effect. “I am with someone.”
“Someone who isn’t Bratva. Someone who doesn’t benefit us.” My dad is trying to cover it up. To pretend it’s not legit. “Son. Jenica is a truce.”
“Our daughter is a gem,” Dmitry adds. “You marry Jenica and we call a ceasefire.”
That stops me. “Ceasefire?”
My dad goes on. “As you know, peace between our families would be very profitable, especially right now.”
I can’t believe what anyone is saying. In all my years in the Bratva, peace has never been an option. Temporary truces, maybe, but never actual peace.
“You have something to say?” my dad asks, most likely because my expression is doing a lot of talking right now.
“An arranged marriage doesn’t change the bad blood that runs between us,” I say. “And it sure as hell doesn’t negate what happened to Nik.” My eyes slide over to my father. “Or have you forgotten?”
“Niklaus’s death was less about rivalry and more about recklessness,” my dad states.
“We will always mourn your loss,” Katya offers.
Bullshit.
I bite back a bitter smirk and set my glass down. The strongest whiskey in the world couldn’t numb the battery acid surging through my nerves right now. “Nik’s death was not an accident.”
“He was racing and lost control of the car,” my dad argues.
“He was the best driver I knew. Something was wrong with the car,” I snap back.
“All of this is beside the point. None of it can be changed.”
“No it cannot.” I stand up. “And marrying Jenica wouldn’t change anything either.”
I’m done. But as I head out of the room, my dad calls out to me. “Ransome. You’re making a mistake.”
I don’t look back. I don’t even stop. I just leave the room with my last words.
“No. I’m avoiding one.”
Part of me just wants to go home after that meeting.
But the wiser part of me knows that’s a bad idea.
I’d pace the floor, possibly throw something, and more or less polish off the whiskey bottle in the cabinet.
Then I’d feel even worse than I do now. I’d still be angry as fuck, but hung over a toilet.
So I go back to work. From the second I walk into the building, people clear. My body language must be pretty fucking loud, because everyone is reading the message loud and clear.
Stay the fuck away.
But it’s not that I want to be completely left alone. So when I go into my office and find Amara there, hanging up fresh dry cleaning she was scheduled to pick up, I close the door before she can walk out.
“I take it that didn’t go well?” she asks.
I don’t answer. I just rake a hand through my hair and try to gain control of the storm inside me.
“There was another change to your schedule,” she says. “But you’ll be happy to know this was a good one. Your four o’clock canceled, so you have nothing pressing for the rest of the day.”
Fuck me. She would have to go and use a word like pressing.
Before I can think about what I am doing, I grab her, pulling her against me hard. My mouth crashes into her, stifling the gasp that just escaped her surprised lips, swallowing it whole.
I push the kiss deeper until I find her tongue, until I can taste her in every cell of my body, until I can ease the nerves and silence the thoughts in my head.
Amara goes limp in my arms and I hold her up, needing it to last a little bit longer. Just enough to fully remove what just happened from my frontal lobe.
I pull back in a jerk and Amara nearly stumbles. She reaches out and grabs one of the bookshelves to steady herself.
“What was that for?” she asks, her voice an octave or so higher than normal.
“To prove a point.”
She swallows hard, still swaying on her feet a little.
“And what point is that?” she asks.
“That I am not going to marry Jenica Chadovich.”