6. Kirill – Six Years Ago #2
“Are you still in high school?” I asked, cringing and praying the answer was no.
“I graduated last year,” she said, laughing. “I was in the honors program.”
“Impressive.”
“I’m an artist,” she added, her expression dimming just slightly. “Or I want to be.”
“Want to be?”
“I applied for an apprenticeship,” she said, her fingers tightening around the glass. “With Amon Fritz. The renowned painter. He turned me down.”
I stilled. Even I knew that name.
“He turned you down?” I repeated, incredulous. “I can fix that.”
“What?” Her eyes widened.
“You heard me.” I put down my glass and took out my phone. “I will change his mind about you.”
“No.” She grabbed the phone from me, our fingers tangled with the device. “I don’t want anything handed to me.”
God, this girl. This woman. She’s fucking eighteen. Legal. And prefers vodka over water.
“Not everything is about ability. Trust me, I know corruption and favors. This is a construction company for Christ’s sake. Sometimes people have to be coerced to do the right thing. Everyone has a price.”
“Please don’t.” She waved me off, fear lacing her tone. “Just forget I said anything.”
I hated that she turned frightened all of a sudden. “Why? Talk to me.”
“You haven’t even seen my work,” she argued.
“Then show me.” I folded my arms. “Convince me. And I’ll get you an apprenticeship with someone who would consider Fritz gum on the bottom of his shoe.”
“Now?” she asked, a breath of laughter escaping her.
“Tomorrow night,” I corrected, shrinking the space between us, leaving no question about what I really wanted from her. “Have dinner with me. Bring your portfolio.”
The weight of the invitation ignited a war behind her eyes. Those lies told about me and her father’s warning didn’t match up with the nice guy I was being in that private room with her.
“Your reputation covered a lot of things,” she said, stepping back. “Liking art wasn’t one of them.”
“I’m not without culture despite dealing in concrete and iron,” I said. “I enjoy aesthetically pleasing things. And what art reveals.”
“Reveals?” She perked up, and her gaze softened. “My mom said my art revealed who I was to the world.”
“Your mother is a very smart lady.”
“Was,” she whispered. “She died a couple of years ago. Cancer.”
An echo of pain pinched my heart as I was ready to admit something I didn’t often acknowledge. “Mine died, too.”
Not from cancer. Suicide. But we don’t talk about that.
My mother, a Chicago industry heiress, was forced to marry my father when he got here from Russia, and he made her life miserable.
“I have a sister,” Sandrine added after a moment of silence. “She’s older.”
“So do I,” I said, thinking briefly of Ksenia.
That earned me a smile, bright and unguarded, as the vodka warmed her cheeks. Jaw trembling, she stared at me, her edges softened and tightly coiled at the same time.
She leaned in, her gaze centered on my mouth.
“What are you doing?” My groin roared to life in my pants.
“I just need to know,” she whispered, rising on her toes.
For a split second, I considered if I would let her go with just a kiss. But the door to the lounge crashed open before her lips got anywhere near me.
“Sandrine!” Her father’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot, his eyes blazing with anger.
He crossed the distance in seconds, shoving me back with a force that would have amused me under different circumstances.
Drago entered seconds later. A good enforcer knew where to find trouble. His hand closed around the accountant’s throat, lifting him slightly off the carpet.
“Careful,” Drago murmured. “That is the future pakhan.”
“Stop!” Sandrine’s panicked voice flooded the room as she stepped between us. “Please, stop! Don’t hurt him. Dad, tell Kirill you’re sorry.”
Her father struggled to breathe, his face turning red.
“Drago,” I snapped. “Let him go. He’s just protecting his daughter.”
I had to admire that.
But as soon as he got away from my enforcer, De la Vega’s grip on Sandrine’s arm was immediate, and rougher than it needed to be.
Dark fury coiled in my chest at the sight of it.
“I will only say this once, Mr. Volkov. Stay away from my daughter,” De la Vega hissed, his voice low. “Sandrine is off limits. I make those payments to the women you discard.”
Payments? He’s thinking of my father.
Before I can refute the charge, De la Vega leans in, his eyes beady. “And I know of the arrangement with Chernov.”
Thoughts of Sandrine had my blood running hot moments ago. The mention of Adrian Chernov and his daughter turned every inch of me ice cold. That was an arrangement I had no intention of fulfilling. Despite fucking her a couple of months ago.
De la Vega pulled Sandrine toward the door, ignoring the way she stumbled on her heels. She tossed me a look dangerously close to regret over her shoulder, and it crushed my chest.
I moved to follow, instinct overriding my senses. Drago’s hand landed on my shoulder with enough pressure to stop me.
“Don’t,” he said firmly.
I watched De la Vega and Sandrine walk straight out the hotel’s front entrance. Her father roughly put on her coat outside where it was fucking freezing.
Then they were gone. The finality of it grated against me with raw intensity. My jaw tightened, the taste of vodka turning bitter on my tongue.
“She’s not off limits,” I said, my voice confident. “She’s mine. I don’t care what her father said. Get rid of him.”
Drago huffed out a breath. “Your father hired De la Vega for a reason. He knows how to move money. Hide it. We need him.”
Said the man who’d just tried to choke Sandrine’s father.
But Drago knew how, when, and where to unleash his impulse control problem. That’s what made him a good enforcer. They all needed to be a little touched.
“I don’t care,” I fought back anyway.
My gaze stayed fixed on the glass doors to the snowy street. It was as if I could track the path she was being taken away from me.
“Be careful, Kirill,” Drago warned.
“She’s an adult.”
“And if her father becomes a problem because you have to bed this one?”
I smiled up at the big bastard. “Then we’ll remove him,” I said simply. “I don’t care if he’s good with money. I’ll find someone else. I’m not keeping a man who doesn’t respect me on the payroll. Even if he is the father of my future wife.”
“Excuse me?” Drago asked with his jaw dropped.
“You heard me.”
I was already invested in Sandrine De la Vega. And I had no intention of letting her go. Ever.