Chapter 15 #3
“No. But I can’t break the engagement, even if I wanted to.”
He frowns, and I see him slip into that cold Pakhan mode, the one trying to extract the truth.
“Why?”
“Because I made a commitment.”
He narrows his eyes for a few seconds, trying to understand my words.
“What kind of commitment?”
“To see the wedding through.”
“And if you break it?”
I hesitate for a moment, but his gaze does not let me back down.
“I lose everything.”
“More precisely?”
“The gallery and almost everything my father built.”
After a second in which he seems to wait to see whether I am serious or making some terrible joke, he lets out a restrained but arrogant laugh, one that cannot help irritating me.
I really don’t think this is the time to mock me.
“That piece of shit really thinks he’ll get all that?”
I blink, confused.
Actually, is he laughing at Oliver?
“Yes,” I answer in a tone as serious as the subject itself. “I mean, his family’s lawyers...”
“Him,” he cuts in sharply, and every trace of a smile disappears from his face. “He asked this of you.”
“Actually, his family set the conditions...”
“Stop making excuses for him, Ekaterina. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
The coldness in his voice sends shivers down my back, along with the wave of doubts his words stir inside me.
“And when you say that, are you referring to yourself or to him?”
“Both.”
He takes a step toward me until he is close enough to caress my cheek with the tips of his fingers.
“He is not like you,” I tell him quietly.
“No. He truly isn’t,” he says with arrogant conviction, even though he seems deeply distracted by the feel of my skin.
“No,” I tell him again, this time trying to correct myself. “He has nothing to do with the mafia, in any way. He is a man who has the law on his side, especially with this contract. He has no secrets, except political ones I don’t want to know.”
“Everyone has secrets, dusha moya.”
“Maybe. But nothing that would lead to canceling the contract I signed.”
“What were you thinking when you agreed to that?” he scolds me softly.
I shrug.
“I thought I was doing the right thing. That I was on the right path.”
“And now?”
I sigh and look into his mysterious eyes.
“Now you are standing in my way.”
“And I am not moving.”
His honesty warms my soul.
“Until when?”
“Until you kill me.”
I almost laugh.
“Me?”
“You are the only one with that power.”
“I highly doubt that,” I say sarcastically. “You are a Pakhan, and I am just a pianist.”
His eyes gleam, and a wicked smile appears in the corner of his mouth.
“You have your recital in a few days.”
I nod.
“I see you keep up with the news.”
“More than you think,” he says quickly.
“Meaning?”
He shakes his head.
“It doesn’t matter. I want to come.”
I freeze slightly, and he lets his hand drop to his side, a crease forming between his brows.
“You don’t want me to come?”
“I do,” I answer, to remove that worry. “It’s just...”
This time, I have a hard time finding my words. He still waits.
I inhale deeply and let the air out loudly.
“Every time I invited someone close to me to a recital, something terrible happened to that person. The only one who seems immune is Oksana. The first time, my mother died. Then, years later, my father was attacked. That was when I almost gave up the piano.”
“But you like playing,” he says, confused.
“I adore playing. Losing myself in music and making the people around me feel that magical energy the sounds transmit. But I have been afraid all this time. And now...”
I run a hand through my hair.
“This is the first recital of this level that I am performing after so long.”
It takes him less than a second to understand.
“And you’re afraid that if I come, something bad might happen to me.”
“Yes.”
He smiles with a warmth rarely seen in a man like him, but one I seem to receive more and more often.
“This recital means a lot to you.”
I nod slowly.
“Then I will be there, for you, and nothing will happen to me.”
He kisses my forehead and whispers, “I promise.”
I don’t know why, but a wave of tears floods my eyes, and I surrender to his delicate touch. Especially when he cups my face in his large hands and kisses my lips.
It’s not just a kiss, but one that leaves its mark through the desire I feel in the way his tongue dominates mine and his lips move perfectly over me.
In the end, after he leaves me without a single lucid thought in my mind, my legs on the verge of giving out, he kisses my lips briefly and whispers. “Now I want you to play the piano. Only for me.”
His request surprises me.
“Seriously?”
“You have no idea how deeply you enchanted me with your music from the first day you came here. You signed my sentence in that very moment.”
His metaphor it’s not comforting, making me press my lips into a thin line.
“Very encouraging, especially after what I just told you.”
“Everything will be fine, dusha moya.”
“I hope so.”
He holds out his hand, and I place mine in his, following him toward the relaxation room with a wide smile on my face.
Happiness.
10пиздец (ru.) - We’re screwed
Hanna Lee