Chapter 54 Amara
AMARA
I don’t know what has me more wound up: the fact that I just got shot at or the fact that Ransome just sent me away without so much as batting an eye.
As if this kind of shit happens all the time. As if he doesn’t care.
As if I mean nothing to him.
Ivan wordlessly drives me back to the penthouse. The whole time, my heart is racing. I’m afraid, but I’m also seething.
“I suppose this is a normal day for you,” I sulk, looking at his sunglasses and emotionless face in the rearview. “Going to expensive lunches. Getting shot at.”
He waits long enough to respond that I assume he’s not going to. Then, “Not the fancy lunch part. I’m usually not invited to those.”
Because of his shades, I don’t know if he looked back at me at all or kept his eyes on the road.
“I had a hoagie from the deli for lunch,” he adds.
He’s trying to make jokes. I was nearly killed by the Russian fucking mob today, and Ivan the Driver is making jokes about sandwiches.
“The getting shot at part, though? Pretty average day for me.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaking my head and looking out the window.
“Is it though?” His head turns just enough that I think he is looking at me. “You know what you’ve signed up for, don’t you?”
“Not all of this was my choice,” I snap.
He lets out an indifferent hmm and we drive the rest of the way in silence.
“I’ll see myself to the door,” I say once he puts the car in park.
“Are you sure, Miss Parker? Ransome usually prefers that I—”
“I said I will see myself in.”
With that, I slam the door and head up to the penthouse. I punch the number in and shove the door open. It slams behind me, locking automatically as it does.
He would have a new code set to lock as soon as I’m in. Even though Ivan is gone, I’m still stuck. Of course.
“If this is your way of showing affection, you need to work on it!” I snap into the darkness. The only light on is the microwave light, but I don’t care.
I rip my shoes off and stomp into the kitchen for a glass of water. I woke up with a raging hangover and there’s still a residual throbbing behind my eyes.
Then movement down the hall catches my attention.
I gasp.
Standing near the entrance is a tall, strong silhouette.
I let my breath back out and roll my eyes. “If you were going to make it back before me, I don’t understand why Ivan had to bring me home.”
“Sorry. If I had known driving you myself was an option, I certainly would have obliged.”
My blood runs cold in my veins.
Slowly, I lower the glass to the counter.
As I turn my head to the hallway, Tristan steps out into the light, a smirk on his face.
I reach for my phone on the counter, but he takes another step forward. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What do you want?” I ask carefully.
“The same thing I wanted before. Information. Surely it’s not that hard for a saucy little minx like you to talk now, is it?”
My heart is in my throat. But pounding even harder than that is my rage, right at my temples, because what the fuck is this?
I just got shot at. I almost died, got shoved into the back of a car, got yelled at by the man who’s supposed to be protecting me, and now the guy he should protect me from is in our goddamn apartment?
No. Fucking. Way.
“I told you,” I snap. “I don’t know anything.”
“You got shot at today.”
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”
He circles me. I turn in place, not wanting to take my eyes off him. “And yet, you don’t know what’s going on.”
I make an effort to shrug. “Ransome is rich. Well-known. Men in power always have enemies.”
Tristan laughs at that. “Men in power. I suppose the Rozanovs have a certain amount of power. But you know what?” He steps close enough that I can feel his hot, tangy breath on my skin. “I have more.”
He lets the words sink in. Just long enough that my breathing goes jagged with fear at the unspoken part.
I can do whatever I want with you.
Ransome isn’t here.
Who’ll protect you now?
Then he steps back.
“This whole family feud we have going between us and them…” He clicks his tongue. “It’s outdated. As are family-run enterprises.”
“I feel like those work just fine when people know their place,” I say.
Tristan’s smirk stretches wider. He reminds me of the Joker. Or a snake. Either way, I don’t trust him.
As he talks, he continues to pace. Towards me, then towards the living room, stopping at the window and then back. Classic psycho behavior.
And yet, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my mind right now.
Burn Tristan can’t know that. If I let him know that, it’s over.
“I assume you’re talking about me.” His smirk shows teeth. “You’ve got more balls than half my men, I’ll give you that.”
It hits me just how dangerous this game is. Ransome doesn’t know I am here alone with Tristan. And I don’t know if he is coming to the penthouse tonight or going to his estate.
Because he left me. He had better things to do, so he left me alone.
After I got shot at because of him.
No. I can’t rely on Ransome. He showed me that today. If I want to get out of this little surprise encounter alive, I’ll have to handle Tristan myself. With the only weapon I’ve got.
Charm.
“I mean… I don’t really know you,” I say, changing my body language a little. Softening.
“True.” He nods. “Most people don’t. And I find that…” He clenches his fists, letting them tremble a little before unclenching them again. “Irritating.”
“I can understand that.” I’m full-on fawning now, but Tristan seems too pleased to care. Men like him have two weak spots: their dick and their ego. “I’ve spent a lot of my life fighting to be on top and never truly feeling like I could get there.”
“You don’t think I can get there?” He’s standing in front of me now, a note of irritation in his voice.
Shit. “I just know it’s hard,” I pivot. “Especially when other people are always in your way.” I make my voice lower. Velvety. The kind that makes men like Tristan feel flattered.
I pray to God that it works. He has a gun, and I don’t. All I have are my words and a body he’s already let me know he wants.
But he won’t take it now. I can read it on his face: he’s enjoying this. The thrill of the chase, the hunt. He wants me to leave Ransome’s side of my own initiative.
He wants me to want him.
All I have to do is convince him he can make it happen. Even though there’s no way in hell I’ll bend over for the likes of Tristan Chadovich.
As he studies my face, his eyes darting over me in a way that makes me feel like I’m going to need to take a shower afterwards, his smirk broadens again. He’s close enough to touch me. Close enough that he could kiss me, if he felt like it.
My stomach sours at the thought.
Then, to my relief, he turns and saunters back towards the window.
It’s an opportunity. One I didn’t think I’d get. I look around quickly for something I can use as a weapon, and my eyes land on a knife lying abandoned on the counter.
I grab it and hold it at my side. My heart is pounding wildly in my ears, but I stay calm.
“That is true,” he says. “Sexy and smart. I assume you can guess who is in my way? Who is keeping me from being on top, as you put it?”
“I’m sure Ransome doesn’t make your life easy.”
As he makes his way back to me, I step closer to the counter to keep the knife hidden.
“Ransome. Anton. Dmitry.”
I frown. “Your uncle?”
“Family has a different meaning in the Bratva than it does in normal life. It’s less about blood and more about who stands with you and who betrays you. Dmitry has a tendency of fucking me over.”
Interesting. So Ransome’s house isn’t the only one in disarray. I file it away for later. “Do you really think you can take him out?”
“My uncle?”
“Ransome. His father. The entire Rozanov family.”
Tristan stops in front of me on the opposite side of the counter. “I mean… I already got the brother.”
Ice crawls up my spine.
Is he saying what I think I’m saying?
“Honestly, I thought they were going to make Nik their pakhan for sure,” he goes on, oblivious to my horror.
“He was ballsier than Ransome and had more interest in it. Once he died, well, Ransome had to step up. Now he’s a major pain in my ass.
He’s going to be a bigger pain once he becomes pakhan. ”
“You were there when Nik died?” I ask, trying to connect all the dots even though I can’t see all of them.
Tristan just smiles. “Let’s just say I remember poor Nikky’s death in vivid detail.”
I don’t mean to say it, but it slips out of me anyway. “You’re a monster.”
So much for using my charm.
Tristan doesn’t seem shaken by my words. “No. I’m Bratva. And I am going to rule over them.”
“And how are you going to do that?” My question comes out in a spiteful whisper.
“You.”
“Me?” I can’t help it—I laugh. “You actually think I’m going to help you?”
“Considering your current circumstances, I don’t think you have much of a choice.”
“I think you underestimate me.” My hand goes tight around the hidden handle.
“And I think you’ve underestimated my attention to detail.” Tristan reaches under his shirt and presents a pistol. He places it on the counter, but his finger is still on the trigger. “First rule of fighting, sweetheart? Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.”
I decide to make a run for it.
I dash towards the door. But when I try to unlock it, the access is denied.
Shit. The new access code.
Tristan’s slow footsteps clap on the floor behind me. I spin around defensively, the knife still in hand.
“Let’s try this one more time, shall we?”
“Stay back.”
“We are going to have a little conversation. And you are going to participate this time.”
“He won’t let you get away with this.”
“Oh, I’m sure Ransome will protect you.” His smirk widens, sharp and cruel. “But he can’t protect everyone you care about.”
I think back to Gianni. My brave, reckless little brother whose death could easily be made to look like an accident. I think about Eliza—smart, responsible Eliza—and everything she’s had to endure to keep the family afloat from within.
I think about Bella, who’s not even eighteen yet.
And I think about the way Ransome left me on my own today, when I needed his protection the most.
“So,” Tristan drawls. “What’s it going to be, sweetheart?”