Chapter 19
TATI
Every six months or so, my father gets it in his head to have a dinner with all his brigadiers and other high-ranking members of the Bratva.
When I was young, I enjoyed it, but only because of Nicki.
Being a little girl among all these men that I perceived as impenetrable mountain ranges was intimidating.
I often felt like I was walking around in a world of stone giants when they gathered in the living room.
Nicki was always by my side, though, making faces at me at the dinner table when father wasn’t watching.
He had a flair for taking my mind off things.
By the time I was a teenager, things changed significantly, and there was nothing that Nicki could do to comfort me.
Suddenly, I had hips and tits in a roomful of men loyal to my father, but slaves to their own libidos.
By the time I was fourteen, that enjoyment I used to get from having dinner with my father and brother was long gone.
I couldn’t walk from one end of the room to the other without eyes on my ass or tits.
One year shy of my fifteenth birthday, my father bought me a dress with a longer hemline and a higher neckline in the hopes of curbing the stares.
It did very little to stop that. The dress fit me snugly, hugging my hips and hiking up bit by bit when I walked.
I made it a point to stay by Nicki’s side all night.
And so, here I am again. My first “family” dinner since I left home and my first dinner since Nikolai died. If I didn’t have a mission tonight, I’d find a way out of it. Hell, my father might allow me to not come if I wore the right dress tonight.
I’m standing on the landing, just out of sight of the activities downstairs.
So far, all of my father’s brigadiers have arrived.
I can see and hear them gathering in the living room, having drinks.
The help has been buzzing about all evening and the smell of food has been floating through the air all the way upstairs to my room.
The dress I have on is conservative, but not offensively so. It’s a dark blue wraparound with a hem that goes at least an inch past my knees, loose and flowy around the hips and a square-cut neckline. Much better than the body glove my father chose for me that one year.
I took the extra step of putting my pink curls up in a bun in the hopes that it would make me look more severe and less approachable. Men seemed to like me better with my hair down, or at least that’s been my experience.
The door opens and Viktor walks in. He’s wearing a black suit with shiny rose patterns embossed on the sleeves.
God, he looks good. The way suits fall on him perfectly is something that ought to be studied.
He still looks muscular, but he doesn’t look squeezed into a suit like some men do.
Just watching him move through the foyer as he acknowledges his colleagues is turning me on.
Focus, dammit. I can’t afford to lose sight of the goal.
Yanov hasn’t arrived yet. The last time we talked, I mentioned that Yanov might actually have the journal on him tonight.
Viktor kept batting that idea away, suggesting that he wouldn’t be that careless.
I disagreed, though. If there’s one thing I know about Yanov, it’s that he doesn’t tend to trust it when something valuable or important is out of his reach.
He’s going to have it on him or near him tonight.
Viktor turns his head upward and catches sight of me. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes say hello subtly and I go a little gooey inside.
He turns away and is led into the living room. Just about everybody’s here. Where the hell is Yanov?
The door opens the moment I think that, and Yanov walks in. He’s wearing a black suit with a matching turtleneck and a gold chain as an accent. I’ve got my eye on that suit jacket. It’s showtime.
I walk down the stairs as he moves across the foyer. He stops and sees me, his face like a bored statue. “Good evening, Tatiana.”
“Good evening,” I say. “You clean up pretty good, Yanov.”
He frowns slightly. “Thank you.”
“You want me to take your jacket? I’m in charge of putting them all away tonight.”
He seems hesitant but then nods. “All right.” He shrugs out of the jacket and hands it to me, his eyes darting down to my dress. “That’s a nice dress, Tatiana. Very respectable.”
“Thank you,” I say with a big smile. “It’s Dolce and Gabbana. Classy, right?”
“Hmm.” He looks at my hair, silently judging me. “Indeed. You’re a picture of grace, my dear.”
“Everyone’s in the living room,” I say, nodding toward the living room entrance. He nods back and thanks me, then walks away. I turn on my heel and walk toward the parlor, coat slung over my arm.
As soon as I’m behind the door, I’m looking through the pockets. Nothing. Nothing in the inside pockets. Nothing in the hidden pocket near the back. His outside pockets are pretty empty too. Well, except for his car keys.
I sigh and put them back. Dammit. I thought for sure he’d be carrying it around with him. I guess Viktor was right about something.
Still, I know Yanov. He just isn’t the kind of man who leaves anything to chance.
Like leaving items in a safe in his house where someone could break in and get it while he isn’t home.
I once heard him suggest to my father that he should always have incriminating evidence in sight or at least steps away from him.
I hang his coat up on the coatrack and leave the parlor.
As soon as I reach the living room, my father’s help announces that dinner’s on the table.
My father is sitting in his chair, surrounded by his top men.
Viktor is among them, quietly sipping his drink.
He looks up at me with a question on his face, his brow furrowed. Then he walks over to me casually.
“What did you do?” he asks me softly.
“Nothing,” I tell him. That’s not a lie, really. Not finding that journal qualifies as not having done anything, in my book.
“I asked you to keep your nose clean,” he says to me. “Are you being a good girl tonight?”
That melty feeling he gives me returns, and I have to look away from him to regain my footing. “I’m the very model of innocence.”
I can feel his eyes on me even though I’m not looking directly at him. I don’t think he believes me. After a few seconds, he says, “I’m not going to be able to stay for dinner. Teddy and I are meeting up to discuss everything we’ve found so far.”
That makes me look at him. “You’re bringing Teddy in on this?”
“Of course. He’s trustworthy.”
“Does my father know?”
“Tatiana,” I hear my father from across the room.
We both turn to look just as he’s walking over.
He leans into me, touching the small of my back as he kisses my cheek gently.
“You look lovely.” He then steps back and looks at my outfit.
“Fashionably late, I see. Come on. Dinner’s starting.
Viktor? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes, sir,” he says. Then politely, he nods to me and says, “Nice to see you again, Tatiana.”
I watch him leave. There goes my safety net.
My father leads me out of the living room and into the dining room where everyone’s already getting seated around our enormous dinner table.
I take my spot on my father’s left side.
As I sit, I notice Yanov has pulled my father aside and just under the din of conversation around us, I hear him say, “...matter to discuss after dinner.” Then even lower, he says something else, but his lips form my name. Tatiana.
I look away as they both turn back to the table. Shit… Yanov is such a frickin’ tattletale.
But wait… then that means I’m probably right. He wouldn’t go to my father about my snooping if he wasn’t ready to provide proof. So, he does have the journal on or around him somehow. I just need to find it before he talks to my father.
All through dinner, I’ve been scheming, trying to figure some way to get to that journal before Yanov has a chance to tell my father I’d been snooping.
At the same time, I’m doing my best to keep up with the conversations around me. I’m not required to speak or weigh in on any of these discussions, and in fact, it’s usually better if I don’t unless directly addressed.
I’m skilled at this kind of social thing. A lifetime of being my father’s ornament has taught me that for all intents and purposes, I’m invisible unless someone means to use a conversation with me to appease or interest my father in some way.
He’s Pakhan, after all. I’m just his daughter.
“Dinner was delightful,” I hear someone say in Russian. “Is there dessert?”
“You’re too fat for dessert,” someone else responds, and the table erupts into laughter. I smile politely and glance down at my nearly empty plate.
“Tatiana,” my father says, “would you mind checking on Louisa? Let her know we’d like the desert course.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. I get up and immediately, I feel eyes on me. They’re trying not to look, trying to ignore me as I brush past them. I can feel them failing miserably.
Louisa stands at the counter lined with plates and plates of cake slices. “Almost done,” she says. “Just another minute or so.”
I just sigh and thank her, but I don’t leave. I really need a break from being in that room.
I go to the sliding door and out to the patio. The night air smells sweet as a cool breeze rushes past me. Scents from my father’s garden. Or rather, my mother’s garden. As Nikita once told me, she’s the one who planted all those flowers in the first place.
Yanov talking to my father is a problem. Best-case scenario, I’ll be shoved back into my gilded cage. Only this time, I don’t think he’ll allow me out again until he’s decided where to ship me off for my own good. I could end up in a convent somewhere in Siberia before dawn comes.
I’ve got to find that journal. And now that I know Yanov’s plan, it’s more than likely somewhere close by…
Like his car. Oh, my God. Of course! He’s got a glove compartment with a lock on it in his car. It’s the perfect place to keep something close by and secure at the same time.
I walk back into the room as Louisa starts to walk to the dining room door with a tray of cakes. “Louisa?” She pauses, looking up at me expectantly. “Could you let my father know I went to the bathroom and I’ll be right back?”
She nods and leans, tray of cakes balanced on her arm. I’m only going to have a few minutes before my father starts to wonder where I’ve gone to. I need to act fast.
I rush off to the parlor, my heels clacking against the marble floors. When I get there, his coat is still hanging among the others. I search the pocket that has his car keys in it.
As I rush back through the halls toward the foyer, my heart is thumping hard in my chest. If a single person sees me, walks through the living room… sticks their head out… I’m so fucked.
I reach the door and with sweaty palms. I open it and rush out to the front steps. There are a dozen cars lined up in the circle drive, all pretty close to the same models, all black luxury cars. God, do they all shop at the same dealership?
I press the unlock button on the key fob, and the car at the end of the drive beeps, the blinkers and headlights signaling me through the dimness around me. I rush down the steps and practically run to the car.
The moment I open the passenger’s side door, I’m hit with the smell of Yanov’s cologne mixed with the leather scent of his seats. I slide in and close the door, hunkering down to keep myself hidden just in case.
The lock gleams at me in the darkness as I press the key button on the key fob. The car key flips out unceremoniously. Okay. Here goes nothing.
I slip the key into the lock easily, and I nearly laugh with relief as the door flips down. Inside are a gun, several papers, a stack of cash…
And a little leatherbound book. I grab it and close the compartment. Now, there’s nothing left but to hide it—
The door swings open. Standing on the walk is Yanov, glaring down at me, his ice blue eyes cutting through the darkness and digging into me.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. He grabs my arm and drags me out of the car. I stumble, but I get my balance together and take two more steps back from him. I’m gripping the book in my hands, holding it to my chest.
He glares at me, then the book. “Give that to me.”
I shake my head.
He lunges for me and I dodge him, but he manages to grab part of my dress, nearly yanking me off my feet. “Give me the fucking book, Tatiana.”
I squirm out of his reach and he grabs me again, slapping me across the face.
He raises his hand to slap me again, and I twist away, reaching back and throwing my elbow back wildly, clipping him in the chin.
He lets me go just long enough for me to run around the back of his car.
He slams the passenger’s side door shut in anger and pursues me.
As he gets inches away, I reach the driver’s side and dive in, slamming the door shut and locking it.
He pounds his fist on the window. “Tatiana!” His shouts are muffled through the glass. “Get out of the car!” The inside of the car is filled with the sound of him rattling the handle, trying to get the door open.
I glance around and see the car keys lying on the floor on the passenger’s side. I leap for them as Yanov slams his fist into the glass over and over. Hurry, hurry…
I grab the keys and get them in the ignition as the driver’s side window starts to crack. The car roars to life as Yanov’s shouts attack me through the glass.
“Don’t you dare!” he shouts. “Don’t you—”
I put the car in drive, turn the wheel, and pull out. Yanov has to jump back to keep me from running him over.
Driving at breakneck speed, I’m gone. Off my father’s property, away from Yanov’s rage, with my brother’s journal in the passenger’s seat next to me.
Shit. The minute my father hears… The very second he knows what’s happened…
Maybe Viktor was right to worry for me. I reach the first light leading out to the main road and I think frantically.
There’s only one safe place I can run to.