Chapter 19 - Valentin
Gela looks pale, like ash, and her eyes remain fixated on Viktor as he walks away. She’s breathing all wrong, like terror has her gripped by its claws.
“Gela?” I ask again, moving to stand in front of her. Her eyes are unfocused, but they snap into place the minute I put Viktor out of sight. “You okay?”
She shakes her head, unable to form a single word. Even now, the fear in her eyes is spreading like wildfire.
What the hell did that bastard even say to her? I have half a mind to walk over there and rip his throat out, but years of Bratva politics have taught me when to strike and when to retreat. Right now, I need to get her somewhere safe, and the rest can wait.
If I go after him, guns will be drawn. Blood will be shed.
Gela doesn’t need that right now.
“Let’s just go home, okay?” I gently take her hand and jerk it forward, getting her to move. She simply nods and follows me like a rag doll. She doesn’t speak a word, and seeing her in this state, I think it’s best to usher her out without wasting time on goodbyes.
Once outside, I immediately help her into my car and drive toward the house.
“We’ll be back soon,” I offer softly, throwing her a glance.
She’s staring at nothing and doesn’t seem to hear me, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s seeking comfort.
I want to ask her what Viktor said, but the hollow look in her eyes stops me in my tracks.
I give her the silence I think she needs.
My convoy isn’t following. I didn’t have time to tell them we’re leaving, and besides, with the Zakharovs there, I’d rather my family have extra hands on deck, in case there’s any trouble.
As I take the turn off the highway toward the suburbs, I check the rearview mirror, and that’s when I notice a sedan pulling out behind us. I don’t think much of it, but just to be safe, slow down.
The car slows down too, keeping pace.
That’s when I know we’re in trouble.
“Valentin,” Gela speaks at last, her voice shaking as she finally looks at me. “I think we’re being followed.”
“I see them.” I begin to drive faster. “Don’t worry. They won’t follow us for long.”
The sedan speeds up, closing the distance between us. Gela gasps and grips her seatbelt in fear, her knuckles white when I notice.
“Hey.” I reach over and squeeze her knee. “Look at me.”
She tears her fearful eyes from the side mirror to meet mine.
“We’ve got this. I promise.”
I take a sharp turn onto a side street, then another, weaving through the grid of Boston’s downtown. The sedan stays with us, speeding as we do.
As we hit a stretch of empty road, the sedan swerves out, trying to pull alongside us. Gela screams and shrinks into her seat, and a fiery rage comes over me.
No one’s fucking laying hands on her. No one’s hurting her tonight.
“Hold on,” I warn Gela, then cut the wheel hard, skidding into a narrow alley. The sedan tries to follow, but the driver miscalculates and smashes into the wall.
I put my foot on the pedal, leaving the wrecked car behind.
I move through the back streets, following the map for the way out on my GPS, but constantly check the mirrors until I’m certain we’ve lost them.
Only when we’re on the road heading toward home do I finally slow down to keep to the speed limit.
“Are you okay?” I ask Gela.
She nods, but her breathing remains shallow, and she’s shaking like a leaf. I reach across the console and take her hand in mine. It’s ice cold.
When we finally pull through the gates of the estate, I feel relief like no other. I roll down my window on the way in and update the guards on the gate, telling them to stay on high alert tonight.
Finally, we reach the mansion doors. I stop right in front, knowing one of my men will park the car later. I turn off the car and undo my seatbelt, but Gela just stays quiet and pale, staring right ahead.
“Gela,” I say softly as I lean over her and remove her seatbelt. She blinks up at me, as if just realizing where we are.
I get out of the car and head to her door. When I open it, it’s like once again, she isn’t there anymore.
“Gela,” I say softly. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
I give her my hand, and she takes a few seconds to take it, like her brain and body aren’t one. We walk in together, hand in hand, but I don’t yet feel comfortable letting her go off to her room.
Whatever Viktor said has shaken her up so badly that I know she needs to be soothed before we call it a night.
I take her straight to the living room and lead her to the couch. She immediately sits down and just stares at her hands on her lap.
I kneel in front of her and take both her hands in mine.
“You’re safe now, okay?” I tell her firmly. “We’re home. Nothing can touch you here. My men are patrolling the grounds, and we’ve got an army protecting us. A whole army, you hear me?”
She looks at me then, and the fear in her eyes begins to recede.
“What did he say to you?” I ask finally.
She draws a shaky breath. “He said... he said I made the wrong choice and that I should have been working for them, instead of cozying up with you.”
Her voice begins to choke. “He threatened me, Valentin. He said people who betray the Zakharovs have accidents. That... that skin burns easily, and bones break easily.”
“That bastard,” I hiss, clenching my fists. I want to grab my gun and keys, hunt down the fucker, and bury him where he stands. I want to burn his entire fucking life down. But for now, I just take a few deep breaths and keep a clear head.
But right now, Gela needs my attention. Not him.
“Listen to me,” I say calmly, despite the fury boiling inside me. “Viktor Zakharov is all talk. He was trying to scare you.”
“Well, it worked.” Her face drops.
“I won’t let them touch you,” I promise. “Not now, not ever.”
She looks to meet my gaze, her brown eyes now shining with mild curiosity. “Why do the Zakharovs hate you so much anyway?”
I sigh and move to sit beside her on the couch.
“It’s complicated and goes back generations to a time when our grandfather outwitted theirs.
We got powerful, and the Zakharovs got jealous.
But it got worse recently. Last year, they tried to form an alliance with Yulia's family when they didn’t know she was married to Trifon. ”
“Yulia? As in your sister-in-law?” she gasps.
“Her family has connections all over Eastern Europe. The Zakharovs thought an alliance through marriage would expand their reach. They had their eye on Yulia for Anton Zakharov.”
“But she chose Trifon instead?”
“She did. And the Zakharovs took it personally.” I laugh at the memory. “They always take everything personally, to be honest. After that, the old grudges just got worse.”
“My god.” She buries her head in her hands. “And they obviously hate me. They’re not going to stop coming after me, are they?”
I reach out and place a gentle hand on her back, and she looks up. I lower my head until I’m certain she’s looking me right in the eye, until I’m certain she registers every darned word I say.
“They can come for you all they like, but you’re one of us, Gela Jones. They lay a finger on you, and the entire Yuri clan will make sure they can never use the name Zakharov in this city again. You hear me? You’re mine.”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes flickering between mine. I see the tears well in her eyes, but before I know it, she’s smiling.
“Thank you,” she whispers, sitting up straight and taking my hands in her own, all the while the tears roll down her face. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Valentin. I know you didn’t have to…”
“Shh…” I murmur, reaching over to wipe away the tears. But on the first touch, her breath hitches. My hands cup her cheeks, and in that moment, time stands still.
It’s just Gela and me, her eyes fixed on mine, her lips now parted, my hands caressing her cheeks. And the next thing I know, she’s slowly moving toward me.
My heart crosses any damn roadblocks, any damn logic, and I meet her halfway, closing my eyes just as her lips brush up against mine.
Her soft, sweet, juicy lips.
My entire body turns to flames. I sprinkle kisses on her lips, over and over again, gripping her cheeks as she might just fly away. She clutches at my shirt, pulling closer, like any distance between us is a sin.
I pull her closer and tangle one hand in her hair, the other at the small of her back where the dress leaves her skin bare.
She moans into my mouth, and god, I’ve missed that sound. I begin to kiss her like I want to lap her up, and when she parts her lips, I slide right in like my tongue’s been missing home.
My body thrums like it’s drunk off her.
Our hands are everywhere. Hers are in my hair, sliding down to my neck, tugging at my tie. Mine are reaching down, trailing a line down her collarbone in that low-cut, gorgeous as hell gown, the other tilting her neck for more.
More. I need more.
I shrug off my coat, never once breaking off the kiss, and she drags down my tie. Her hands work on my buttons next, loosening them one by one. When she’s all done, I shrug off the shirt, and she traces down the edges of my torso.
I reach for the tie at the back of her neck, the one holding up that sinful green dress, and loosen the knot, letting the silk fall forward. The dress pools at her waist, revealing her bare breasts, perfect and flushed pink.
“You're not wearing a bra,” I say stupidly, stunned by the perfection of her.
She laughs. “Not with that dress, silly.”
Fuck. She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that dress. My cock begins to throb.
“God, you're beautiful,” I murmur, bending to take one nipple in my mouth. She arches into me, her fingers tangling in my hair.
I trail kisses down her body, over the soft plane of her stomach, to the edge of the dress still bunched at her waist. Sliding to my knees on the ground in front of her, I push the dress up her thighs, revealing lacy black panties that make my mouth water.
I look up at her, and she lifts her hips to help me slide the panties down her legs.