Chapter 9 - Kristopher
I drop the phone onto my desk. Agitation rumbles through me like thunder rolling through dark gray clouds, angry and ominous.
That was a call I knew I was coming but wasn’t looking forward to.
Any dealings with Ali Koskos put me on edge. I’m hyper-aware of everything I say, and of every response. No matter how minute the remark is, I feel like it might be relevant. A clue, a hint, a taunting message from my father delivered via Koskos.
There is an underlying current in every conversation.
Koskos isn’t giving anything away. No matter how I approach the topic of his connection to my father, he denies it.
But I’m one hundred percent sure they worked together to kidnap Georgie.
I’m one hundred percent certain they’re still working together.
And until I can figure it out, I don’t feel like she is as safe as she should be.
On top of everything else, I want them both to pay for what they did.
They can’t just get away with it. What they put her through wasn’t fair.
I want revenge. I want them to suffer like she did.
Like I did when they took her. The worry, the agony of not knowing where she was and what they were doing to her. I want them to feel the same.
I have to do this properly, though.
Because considering how powerful Ali is, I can’t justify revenge without evidence. My allies will question my judgment; I’ll have to answer for my attack on him. And he will have every right to fight back. It could easily turn into a bloodbath with no backup on my side.
I need unquestionable proof.
I reach out and tap my laptop. The screen brightens as it turns on, and my e-mails sit in a neat list in front of me. I’d rather be drinking a glass of wine with her, but the last two days she’s been edgy and snappy. She needs space, and I need to work.
Just as I’m about to open a file and get to work, Georgie bursts through my office doors, a fierce look on her face. My body responds to her presence immediately. Relief to have her so close again. And that intense yearning for her to be even closer.
“You traded me for land?” she blurts out.
“I, uh…” What? How could she know that?
“You gave away a huge piece of land and properties that you needed. Valuable territories,” she insists, and I realize she must have overheard the conversation I just had.
I lean back in my chair and fold my arms over my chest, studying her with curiosity.
“What if I did?” I ask. I’m impressed that she had the balls to eavesdrop, and even more impressed that she had the confidence to confront me about it.
“It would be a really stupid move if you did. Isn’t that land keeping you safe from your father? That territory was yours, right? Not your father's. Not your family's. Yours.”
I cock my head to the side. She’s very observant.
“Yes, they were my territories. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the right to bargain with them,” I say, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my desk.
“Okay, but weren’t they keeping you safe from your father?” she asks again. “Isn’t this all like one big game of chess, but in real life, with real land?”
Jess must have told her some things about my family and our rather fucked up dynamic. Why else would she be pinpointing issues about my father and the power struggle between us?
I tap my fingers against the desk, lost in thought for a moment. Georgie might know a few things about my father, but how does she know to ask the right questions now? It has to be Jess.
When I look up at her, she’s got her hands on her hips and her brows raised as she waits for my answer. I love her fierce side. I love the challenge of dealing with her when she’s unwilling to back down.
Dammit, she’s so fucking sexy.
“My father is my problem, Georgie,” I say confidently. “It’s not something you need to worry about.”
She shakes her head.
“Of course, I should worry about it. If you put yourself and my best friend in danger to save me, then I am most definitely worried about it,” she sighs softly.
“We aren’t in danger. And it’s just land. Territories come and go.” I want to pull her into my arms and comfort her. I want to explain that she is my entire universe, and no one will ever come between us.
“No, they really don’t. You’re supposed to grow territory, not get rid of it. Land is power. I might not know a lot about your world, but that much is obvious.”
I stand up and walk around my desk towards her. She doesn’t move away when I place my hands on her shoulders and slowly rub them down her arms.
“Fine, you’re right, land is power. However, I still have plenty of other territory. But I meant it when I said this was my problem to deal with and not something you need to worry about. You should focus on your studies and leave the politics to me.”
She bites her lower lip as she lets her honey-gold eyes roam over my face.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
“Just tell me if you’re in danger because of…because of me,” she says in a half-whisper.
“I’m not. And neither is Jess. This is just how the Bratva life goes. There’s always something to deal with somewhere, Georgie. And I’m good at what I do. How do you think I got into this powerful position in the first place?”
She sighs, dropping her eyes.
“Okay,” she says quietly. She looks vulnerable, and it makes me want to protect her even more.
I pull her close to me, hugging her. The moment I do this, I regret it, because I’ve already been fighting the wildest urges all week. Urges to hold her, to take her, to taste her. Urges to show her what it means to be my wife, to belong to me.
I want her more than ever, and she’s within my reach, living in my mansion with her scent drifting around me constantly. Yet still, I don’t have her. Not like that. Not how I want her.
I step back, struggling for control over my body and my thoughts.
“Let’s get some dinner. I’m starving. Do you know what Jeremey made this evening?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t. But it smelled like lamb stew when we got home.”
She shrugs, pulling her mouth to the side. I wrap one arm around her and lead her towards the door.
“I promise you, everything is okay. I’ve got it under control,” I reassure her again.
She lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m going to hop in the shower before dinner,” she says. “I’ll come right down afterwards.”
“Me too. I want to get out of this suit and into something more comfortable.”
***
At dinner, which is a very rich and delicious lamb stew, I am quiet and lost in thought. I meant every word I said to Georgie, that I would keep her safe, that I had everything under control. I don’t want her to worry about things that are not her burden to carry.
But deep down inside, I know that trouble is looming.
And yes, when it arrives, I will do what I’ve always done and take care of it. I’ll fix this like I’ve fixed everything my father did to try to destroy my life. But I hate not knowing what’s going on. I hate being blindsided. I hate being played by my own father.
I eat in silence, lost in thought, thinking about the future, and the fact that I finally have the one thing I’ve been longing for—she’s sitting right across the table from me, also quiet, occasionally glancing at me—and I can’t let anything take her away from me.
Not my father, and not his psycho business partners.
I refuse to let them treat her like a pawn or an object to use against me.
She is everything.
She’s worried about the territories I traded for her, but she has no idea how much more I would have given to keep her safe.
I can’t lose her. I will tear this world down to keep her close to me.
***
For two days, I leave messages for him, but my father is avoiding my calls. He doesn’t respond to e-mails, either, and when I leave messages with his housekeeper, I get nothing in return. This morning I’ve decided that the best option I have is to go to his home in person.
How can I resolve anything if he won’t even speak to me? I’ll never figure out what his plan is.
In the morning, standing out on the patio with a knot in my stomach while I drink my coffee, lost in thought, I sense her coming up behind me before I hear her.
Maybe it’s the way the air shifts, or the warmth surrounding her.
Maybe it’s the scent of her skin, teasing me.
I turn around and see her, looking sleepy and a little messy.
Her hair is in a high bun on top of her head, catching the morning light and glowing gold.
Her cheeks are rosy, as though she’s just splashed cold water on her face.
She’s wearing an oversized hoodie that hangs as low as her tiny sleeping shorts, showing off her gorgeously long legs. My eyes trace slowly up her body, over each perfect curve, and my mind wanders.
“Good morning,” I smile, thinking to myself that I want to wake up every morning and have her beautiful smile be the first thing I see. Ideally, I want to wake up with her in my arms, but we haven’t gotten that far yet.
“Good morning,” she grins, her perfect lips curling upwards and her eyes crinkling at the corners. I could stare at her all day.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I did. You’re up early,” she remarks, climbing onto the patio sofa, curling her long legs beneath her. It’s difficult not to stare.
“I have a few things I want to do this morning. You don’t have any classes today. What are you up to?” I ask.
“Studying. Even when there aren’t classes, there are still things looming over my head.” She gestures through the air with an elegant wave of her hand. “I’m going to make a cup of tea, shower, then dive in.”
I press my lips together. There are so many things I want to say to her. How and when do I tell her what she means to me?
Now isn’t the right time. This issue with my father must be sorted out first.
“Well, I hope your day is successful. I’ll see you at dinner?” I say, my voice touched with hope. We didn’t eat together last night; she was too busy studying.
“Yes, definitely,” she replies, and my heart pulses a little faster.
Georgie pushes off the sofa and scans the garden with her hand held above her head to block the bright morning sun. She squints over the green lawn and lush plants. “This place is really beautiful. Maybe I’ll bring my books out to the patio and study in the sun for a little while.”
It can be your home forever, little one. Here with me.
“It’s peaceful, too.” I smile tightly, fighting the urge to reach out to her.
“Alright, I'd better get going,” I sigh, setting my empty coffee mug down on the table.
Driving towards my father’s mansion on the other side of town, my head is overflowing with the things I want to say to him.
My father was never the best listener. He never made me feel heard or understood.
His coldness and his ego only allowed space for his opinion, as though no other man in existence could have better ideas than him.
Even when I knew my ideas were better than whatever he had planned, I had to bite my tongue.
That’s how I eventually started running the business. One day, I had an idea. My father didn’t want to hear it—I knew before I even tried to talk to him—so while he was away, I went ahead and implemented the new routine and packing system in our largest warehouse.
It worked brilliantly. The results were astounding. The new process increased the workflow drastically.
The floor manager was so happy about it that he tried to tell my father how brilliant I was. I remember feeling proud in that moment, to have an older man recognize something I had done.
My father couldn’t have cared less.
He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t interested. He was devoid of any reaction.
This both angered me and encouraged me.
I’d gotten away with it.
I’d done what I wanted to do, and there hadn’t been consequences. It was the start of everything. I began to implement other changes, and over time, the entire company came under my control. Not on paper, but I was the one managing everything.
And still, my father said nothing. He didn’t interfere. He didn’t care.
I turn onto the high street, then left, then left again, and find myself idling outside the tall security gates of my father’s mansion.
The guard greets me, and I gesture for him to open the gates.
“Sir, are you here to see your father?” He walks closer to my window and leans down to speak to me.
“Yes,” I reply.
“He left about thirty minutes ago. I don’t think he’s going to be back until late.”
“Do you know where he went?” I ask, annoyed that even coming this early, I missed him.
“Uh,” the guard stammers, glancing at the other man standing near the security gate.
“It’s alright. I understand that you can’t tell me that,” I sigh, deeply frustrated.
“I’m sorry, sir, I know…it’s just…I really need this job. We are under strict instructions not to tell anyone anything.”
“It’s okay. Really. I get it. Will you please tell my father I stopped by?”
“Yes, sir.” He stands, visibly relieved. I expect he’s used to my father’s outbursts and tantrums, not a reasonable response.
I shove the car into reverse and pull back out into the road. Where would he go?
He has an office in town, but he’s never there. I know of a few places where he hangs out to meet business partners. I guess the best option is to stop at all of them. Maybe, in person, someone will slip up and say something they shouldn’t. I can only hope.
***
It’s late when I get home.
Today was a colossal failure and I’m exhausted. I spoke to so many people, asked so many questions, but I didn’t find my father, and I’m no closer to understanding what he’s up to than I was yesterday.
I feel defeated and drained as I push the front door open and step inside my mansion.
I want to crawl into bed and forget everything and sleep like the dead.
But when I step into the house, loud music vibrates through the hallway, flowing from the living room. It’s some vibey pop song I’ve heard while having a drink at a bar, or maybe on the radio.
I walk towards the living room, and a smile spreads wide across my face.
Before I round the corner to see her, I can already hear Georgie singing along, full volume and slightly off-key.
She sounds incredible. Not the best singer, but there is so much happiness in her voice that I instantly forget how horrible my day has been.
And when I step into the living room, it gets a hundred times better.
She’s dancing.
Wild and provocative. She’s letting go and moving her body in the most beautiful ways. Utterly alone, or so she believes, and free to do as she pleases.
I lean my shoulder against the doorframe, my arms folded across my chest, and I watch her.
I watch everything. I watch the way the hem of her dress bounces up, revealing the curve of her ass when she jumps or wiggles. I watch how she lifts her arms above her head and sways with her head tilted up and her hair spilling loose down her back.
I watch, and my body burns with feverish desire.