Chapter 4 Natasha
NATASHA
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Trouble on a stick. Tall. Sculpted muscles defined every inch of him. Topped with a face worthy of a magazine cover. I hadn’t seen Lorenzo Ferri in over a year, and there weren’t enough prayers in the world to ease me into another encounter with him.
Oddly, I met him and Lach on the same day. The Marine Raider, a military buddy of Jamie’s, had come to his and Jordyn’s Christmas-themed wedding. When Lachlan and the rest of their brothers had a chat with their father, Enzo introduced himself, and my instincts exploded like a flare gun. Warning!
I’d given him my number because he made me laugh. Then I ghosted him for half a year. Calls. Texts. Crickets. That was all I offered.
All I could offer … Until one evening in July.
Lach and I had been talking on the phone, texting, having great conversations since we met.
We’d crossed each other’s paths a handful of times before I scored premiere tickets at the Chinese Theater—a rom-com.
Lach’s manager had slammed him with Dodger events, and he’d promised me he’d get away.
But he hadn’t. Something came up. A Coca-Cola endorsement commercial, maybe.
It was always something, so I went with Plan B.
Literally. I hadn’t expected Lorenzo to come with me, much less have this amazing laugh.
“Hey …” Okay, that sounded like a palm-to-forehead moment. “What are you doing here?” Despite his laughter and joy, his dark eyes always revealed hunger.
Ravenous hunger.
And I didn’t want him to gobble me up.
Lorenzo gestured to the unicorn in his hand, and his Italian accent brushed every sensitive spot in me, echoing the effect of his captivating smile. “My cousin. Her foster family and I pray … for remission.”
“Oh?”
The muscle in his jaw clenched. “She’s too young to be a permanent resident of a cancer ward.”
My heart melted for her. Been there. Survived that. “Are you on your way to visit her?”
Exhaustion washed over Enzo’s face. He nodded. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Because you’ve been on tour?” He’d mentioned deploying around September when I had offered excuses because Lachlan had more time. But I had been up-front since that rom-com and kept it strictly simple text chats this entire time.
And, although the love was written on my face, I had told Enzo point-blank that my heart belonged to someone else.
“Yep. Got deployed.” He forced a cough as if our discussion veered toward a top-secret area.
“Do you want comp—” The elevator door swooshed open.
I shook my head, arms folded, staring at my tail. Apparently, my dad had lost his ever-loving mind and thought he was in some old Cold War exercise. I wasn’t the KGB’s most wanted! He’d assigned surveillance instead of simply sticking an Apple AirTag in my purse like any normal paranoid parent.
The white-blond Russian jammed a finger against the button, and the elevator doors closed again with him still inside.
“You know him?” Enzo asked.
“Yes, if giving him a black eye the day after Christmas implies we’re acquaintances.”
He chuckled. “For real?”
“Yessir.” I winked. Ugh. Why did I just wink? Time to move on.
“What did your bodyguard do?”
“Why, you plan on trying me too?” Okay. Where did this girl come from?
Another chuckle slid from his beautiful lips. He shook his head.
“Good.” I gestured to the other elevator. “I’ll walk you to …”
Enzo pushed the button. “Rain.”
“Beautiful name. Now, the sparkly unicorn makes sense.” I nudged my chin to the magical animal in his clutch. “Had a friend named Sunny. My old roomy here. She loved unicorns. She was …” I brushed a tear from my cheek. Sore subject.
As I entered the smaller space, I focused on what was important now. “So, you remember my undying vow of affection for Lach.”
“Sí.” He leaned a large shoulder against the elevator wall, staring at me. “He hasn’t let you down yet?”
Meh. “No.”
“Pft. I guess so. You promised to call me—”
“No, I did not. You thought you were being funny, referring to the movie we’d just watched.”
He laughed. “Nah. That’s not how I remember it. You said you’d call me the second you came to your senses.” Enzo caressed wavy hair from my vision.
“I didn’t agree to that.” I chomped my teeth.
He let out that attractive laughter, then dropped his hand.
“My father hired that guy you just saw after the holidays. He might’ve taken my punch without a flinch. Won’t be the case for you, Lorenzo. So, you might wanna cool it, Happy Hands.”
“Oh, yeah.” He stroked his jaw. “Saw it on E!News, TMZ, TikTok. Lachlan tried to save you from a purse snatcher.”
“What do you mean try—”
The doors sprang open.
Whatever. I started out. Enzo grabbed my hand and pulled me to him.
“You should be a good girl.” His other hand, clutching the stuffed unicorn, tapped the tip of my nose.
“Do that again. I’ll bite your finger off.”
Enzo grabbed my wrists in his large hand, pulling me flush against him. “Make your dad happy. Get rid of Lach.”
In that moment, I recalled the heat—not the July weather—that erupted when we kissed. Lachlan and I weren’t official, but guilt made me come clean about the after-rom-com kiss.
Lorenzo didn’t let go.
Someone placed a hand between the elevator doors, stopping it from closing.
My unwanted bodyguard.
Enzo released me. He backed out, offering a wicked wink.
“Maybe next time I’ll get to say hello to your cousin.” Yeah, right. I don’t need that type of trouble.
“I just don’t understand her anymore—”
“Vassili, stop,” Momma said. “So your daughter is in love with—”
“If you say the L word, I volunteer as tribute to sleep on the couch.”
In the hallway, I laughed a little. Then I mouthed the words coming out of Pop’s mouth.
“When you went into labor, do you remember what the doctor said?” He proceeded in a terrible Caucasian voice, without waiting for Momma’s response, in contrast to his Russian accent.
“You must be the reason she won’t open her legs and push. ”
My momma snorted. “Last time you exaggerated this story, it was the nurse.”
“Doctor, nurse. Doesn’t matter. I had a police detail from a winning title match to get to you, Zariah. To you and my new baby.”
At this point, I heaved a sigh and strolled into the open living room and kitchen area.
Because the house was so large, they didn’t notice my arrival.
Sunlight streamed in from the massive accordion sliders.
Too cold. Sixty-four degrees in winter in California, but cold enough for me to approach the door and press a button.
The retractable glass wall slid into place.
Arms folded, I matched my father’s glare.
“Who’s the Italian?”
“What?” My head dropped, and I pinched my nose. “Oh, my Shadow told you—”
“Not only are you entertaining that base—”
“Your favorite Dodger.” I chuckled.
“Ex-favorite Doyer,” he retorted, so angry he almost sounded Hispanic. “Now, you have elevator hookups. What about Edik?”
“Edik?” I gasped the name.
Momma cut me off. “My daughter’s not marrying a virtual stranger!”
“Did I say that, Zar? We are acquainted with Edik and his father, Lev Mikhailov. We are friends.” Vassili growled the lie.
Yes, I mentally called him by his first name.
My pop would pop me for that if he had the guts to hit a girl.
“At the rate you’re going, Natasha, bags snatched because you’re hiding from your Shadow—”
“C’mon,” Momma said. “What’s her bodyguard’s name? We’re not those people who just randomly give folks’ names. Nor do we lie about our association—so not a friendship—with the Mikhailov Bratva!” When Vassili didn’t respond, Momma stared at me.
“The bodyguard’s name? How should I know?” I blinked. I smirked at the same look Vassili offered. Our answers were identical, just like twins.
“I’ll ask Yuri.” He mentioned his cousin and old UFC manager.
“Alright, here’s the truth.” Vassili picked up a green drink Momma placed in front of him.
“Natasha’s Shadow had little going for him until he brought the Italian to my attention.
” He tapped a message on his cellphone. Probably a text.
“Yuri will discover the Italian’s name by the end of day. ”
Which meant they’d hack into the UCLA Medical Center. Great. Actually … Yuri? Meh. A dozen donuts would persuade him not to tell my dad Lorenzo’s name. Why did I need to protect the guy from my—Vassili? I was sure my Shadow would talk to Enzo. Force him not to breathe in my direction.
“You’re better than this, Natasha.” Vassili placed down his empty glass a tad too hard.
“I’m not doing anything with Lor—the Italian guy. We’ve been cool for a while. We’re just friends, alright?”
“You were friends with that Adrian Chelomey!” A vein pulsed in his forehead. Momma strolled behind his chair to massage his shoulders.
Turning away, I sent Yuri a message, beginning with Uncle. He was so not my uncle. But the big teddy bear was pretty easy to persuade.
ME: Uncle! Don’t respond to Pop.
He replied instantly.
YURI: What do I get?
ME: All the Krispy Kreme donuts you can eat.
YURI: I can afford to buy more donuts than you Cutie Pie.
Only he could call me Cutie Pie without an argument.
ME: PAHLEZZZ. I’ll explain later.
YURI: Ok. But you never explain. You always say that. You just never do. One day my ‘k?zn is gonna kill me because of you.
ME: He’ll have to go through me first.
I’d strolled halfway out of the room when Vassili took another dig at me. “You let the zhopa take you to the prom. Adrian. Tried. To. Rape. You. Natasha. Don’t you turn your back on me!”
“Vassili, lower your voice.” Momma’s next squeeze of his powerful shoulder did nothing. Not even a flinch at her warning.
Anger and sorrow flashed in his eyes. “We sheltered you too long. All those years with cancer … we did our best. Leave Lachlan! Allow Edik Mikhailov to pursue you. That mud”—he strangled a Russian cussword—“filthy pickpocket wouldn’t dare harm you in his presence.”
“Okay.” Trembling mad, I stuttered, “If-if Edik says something disrespectful, or God forbid he’s a nasty Russian like the Chelomeys—”
The words dropped like stones in the kitchen. My own words. Words that shouldn’t have departed my mouth.
A tense beat of silence passed before my father uttered, “Nasty Russian?”
What was wrong with me? I’d insulted half my bloodline. Heat burned the back of my throat, shame piling onto an untamable rage.
I was half Russian. My blood carried both histories—Momma’s power; Pop’s pride. But that night’s tragedy was executed by the hands of another … Russian. A night that should’ve been joy and champagne and cancer survival had warped me. Left me fragmented. Broken.
And tonight, it bubbled into a hatred targeting the blood in my veins. My lineage.
Eyes averted to the floor, I forced a swallow. Cement crowded my throat. Pop must hate me now.
I’d almost broached that night with my therapist. Almost. Yet the words wouldn’t come, as they tasted of acid. The night of my Whispers of Hope fundraiser went from dazzling to desecrated. I’d survived cancer with family around me. I’d survived attempted rape by Adrian Chelomey.
And I’d survived the horrors of that night alone.
I whispered into the air that had grown fragile with silence, “I’m sorry, Pop.”
“It’s tough for Russians right now, Tasha.” Momma crooned, smoothing a hand over my forearm like she was trying to wipe the poison off me.
Vassili slammed the side of his fist on the marble surface hard enough to make his green shake rattle. “You’re Russian, girl!”
Momma’s eyes found mine, sharp. Not cruel. Just reminding. Holding me accountable the way he just had.
I nodded, tamping down bile. A stranger had ripped away my dignity in the shadows after my birthday.
“Shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I …
sometimes nightmares just—” My voice cracked.
“It’s been a while, but you said Adrian, so …
I’m sorry.” Yeah, right, Tash, Adrian isn’t the problem. Some stranger is …
Limbs stiff, I started toward my room before the cement in my throat split me in two.
Adrian Chelomey hadn’t succeeded. Several years ago, Jordyn had been at her last trafficked home, owned by his father. She’d saved me while I was unconscious, as Adrian dragged me from his car to his pool house after prom.
But while Adrian failed, another man succeeded—a Russian.
I’d blown out the candles for my twenty-first birthday. Candles glowing with hope, while dressed like beauty and survival itself.
Who rapes someone when they were tryna stick it to cancer?
After that, therapy didn’t soothe me. Nobody would ever know what some faceless rapist had done.
My only reprieve?
Lachlan MacKenzie. When my world tilted, his arms became the only place I didn’t feel contaminated. That was why I adored him too much.