Dmitri
Chapter Twenty-Two
T he man whom Carlos had held prisoner had turned out to be a treasure trove of information.
Though he hadn’t communicated directly with the mysterious gentleman who requested the diversion of our stolen shipment to Cuba, he had spoken with one of his associates.
The prisoner’s lack of loyalty was evident, as he had no qualms about providing us with a name—Edgar Romanoff.
There was no doubt that Edgar Romanoff was Russian.
My next task was to uncover the identity of his employer.
When I returned to the hotel, a simmering anger coursed through me, and it only intensified when I witnessed that insufferable man kissing Lara’s hand.
A wave of fury washed over me, and to make matters worse, she had defied my explicit instructions by purchasing that flimsy excuse for a swimsuit.
The moment Yuri texted me a picture of it, I knew every man in the hotel would be flocking around her like moths to a flame.
The sight of the welts on her skin was a stark reminder that I had let my anger drive me too far. My intention had been to mark her, to assert my claim over her, but in my rage, I had crossed a line. I could have caused her real harm, and that realization gnawed at me.
I walked over to the minibar, the soft clink of glass against glass soothing my frayed nerves as I poured myself a generous serving of Cuban whiskey.
Originally, I had planned to take Lara out for a lavish dinner, but her defiance led me to decide we would dine on the balcony instead.
It wasn’t the harshest punishment I could mete out, but I still wanted her to savor her time here.
Tomorrow, we’d be returning to the States, and I could refocus on uncovering who was pilfering my shipments. I was beginning to doubt it was the Balestrinis behind it all, but I wasn’t ready to trust Angelo’s words just yet.
I walked quietly to the bedroom, my steps barely making a sound on the carpeted floor, and slowly pushed the door open.
The soft creak of the hinges revealed Lara, curled up on the bed, her face serene in sleep but stained with black streaks from her tears.
Her beauty was undeniable, even in this vulnerable state, and my emotions surged unexpectedly strong for her.
The thought of anyone laying a hand on her filled me with a fierce protectiveness; I could have easily killed the man who dared to harm her.
She possessed a beauty so striking that any man would have to be blind not to be captivated by her.
Stepan and Yuri lingered silently in the hallway, their presence a solid reassurance.
They were steadfast allies, and yet, in my anger, I had lashed out at them too.
I moved toward the suite’s door, pulling it open with a determined motion.
Stepping aside, I allowed them entry without needing to utter a single word; the weight of my feelings was understood as they crossed the threshold.
I had kept my meeting with Angelo Balestrini a secret until now, but the time had come to reveal it.
"I have some information to share with you two," I began, ensuring I had their undivided attention. "Before we left for Cuba, I had a meeting with Angelo Balestrini. He’s proposed an exchange."
Stepan’s brow furrowed with curiosity. "What kind of exchange?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
"He claims to have a way to get to Andrei Zhukov. In return, he wants Lara. He promises access to Andrei if we hand her over." I paused, taking a deliberate sip from my glass of whiskey, the liquid burning a familiar path down my throat.
Stepan’s reaction was immediate, stepping forward with fists clenched, his eyes mirroring the same deep-seated hatred I harbored for the Balestrinis. "You aren’t seriously going to trust him?" he demanded.
“No,” I replied, my voice a low growl. “Lara is mine. I’m not giving her up for that piece of filth. I intend to eliminate Andrei before Angelo even has a chance to touch her.”
Stepan’s concern was palpable. “What if he’s setting you up?” he suggested, his words hanging heavy in the air.
I nodded, acknowledging the possibility. “Then not only will Andrei die, but Angelo will meet the same fate.”
Despite the gnawing reluctance to believe that Angelo could betray me, I had to brace myself for the possibility.
The thought of taking down Andrei was daunting enough, but the prospect of eliminating Angelo, should he double-cross me, was even more challenging.
The certainty I clung to was that the assistance of the Red Knights would be crucial.
The secrecy surrounding our alliance had to remain intact.
No one could know that I was a Red Knight or that we existed.
During dinner, Lara’s silence was palpable, a heavy reminder of the afternoon’s events. Her discomfort was evident in the way she shifted restlessly in her chair, seeking relief from the stinging welts I had left on her.
“How does your bottom feel?” I asked, hoping to coax a response from her.
“It’s fine. Not that you should care,” she shot back defiantly, exactly as I anticipated, her voice edged with resistance that matched the storm in her eyes.
“I care deeply about everything that happens to you.” I replied, lifting my wineglass to take a measured sip. “That’s precisely why I punish you. You must grasp the significance of listening and adhering to my instructions, kukolka .” My words were firm yet tinged with an underlying tenderness.
“I’m not a puppet, Dmitri. I’m a person,” she declared, standing abruptly and heading inside the suite. Her steps were purposeful, but before she could retreat too far, I gently caught her arm.
When she turned to face me, her eyes held a blend of defiance and vulnerability that stirred something deep within me. I stood abruptly, pulling her closer with an intensity that matched the rapid beating of my heart.
“Everything I do is for your protection. You are my wife. I will never let anyone hurt you,” I murmured, my voice a soft promise against the evening air. Lowering my head, I captured her lips with mine.
Initially, she resisted, her body tense, but then she softened, her lips parting to welcome me.
Her soft moans resonated through me as our tongues danced in a rhythm as old as time.
Her lips were tender, intoxicating, and I wished to savor them forever.
The kiss was a heady escape, but it ended too soon as my phone buzzed insistently against the table.
“I should get that,” I said softly, my hand gently cradling her cheek.
As Lara retreated inside, her figure disappearing beyond the glass door, I answered the call. The number was unknown, but the identity of the caller was unmistakable.
“Everything is arranged. I will have two invitations delivered to your home tomorrow,” Angelo announced, his tone steady and unwavering as he spoke.
“When?” I asked, urgency threading my voice, aware of how little time I had to devise a plan to bring down Andrei.
“Three days,” he responded sharply, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “Make sure Lara wears the red mask I’m sending with the invitation.”
Three days wasn’t a generous amount of time to orchestrate a plan, but it would have to suffice. I’d need something far stronger than wine to brace myself. Striding over to the minibar, I poured myself a generous glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light like liquid gold.
Stepping back outside, I surveyed the table where our dinner lay barely touched, the plates a silent testament to our shared turmoil.
Raking my hand through my hair in frustration, I wondered aloud when exactly my life had spiraled into such chaos.
It felt as if I was grasping at the frayed ends of control, my existence for the past three years reduced to running on fumes, each day blending into the next in a haze of exhaustion.
When would I finally catch a fucking break?
Overwhelmed by a surge of emotion, I hurled my glass against the sliding door, the shattering sound echoing into the night as the whiskey cascaded down the glass like a waterfall of frustration. I needed to escape this suffocating place, to find a way to reclaim the shattered pieces of my life.
~***~
Lara was more than happy to leave Cuba when I instructed her to pack her things. The evening would be well underway by the time we landed, but that was of little concern to me. My urgency to leave this place was overwhelming; I yearned to return to the comforts of familiar surroundings.
Once we were airborne in my private jet, I felt a small measure of relief from the intense hours spent in Cuba.
Our dinner plans had gone awry, leaving Lara’s plate mostly untouched, a telling sign of the evening’s failure.
Glancing back at her petite form curled up on one of the plush seats in the rear, I pondered just how much animosity she harbored toward me.
It seemed trivial, yet it mattered more than I cared to admit.
Summoning a rare flicker of empathy, I rose from my seat, collected a bag of chips, a candy bar, and a bottle of water, and walked over to her.
“You didn’t eat much for dinner. I thought you might be hungry.” I held out the snacks and waited for her to accept them.
“Thank you,” she murmured, accepting the food with a delicate hand.
I offered her a gentle smile before settling into the seat beside her. As I watched her consume the modest meal, my thoughts drifted to the softness of her lips and the desire to feel them against mine. This time, however, I craved for her to initiate the connection.
“Kiss me, kukolka ,” I murmured, capturing her gaze as her eyes fell to my mouth.
With a firm grip on my shirt, she pulled me toward her.
Our lips met in a tender, rhythmic exchange, and though the urge to devour her was strong, I maintained restraint.
A powerful surge of emotion shattered my self-control, placing her entirely at my mercy.
I took command, urging her to submit to the moment.
Her intoxicating scent enveloped me, awakening a primal desire within.
I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, drawing her effortlessly onto my lap.
She melded into me as our kiss deepened, becoming more fervent with each passing second.
My longing to explore every inch of her was all-consuming, but this was neither the time nor place.
Harnessing every ounce of willpower, I reluctantly pulled away, leaving the moment lingering between us.
“What are you doing to me, kukolka ?” I asked, my voice laced with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.
“You’re the one who wanted me to kiss you,” she replied, her smile playful and knowing. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she slid gracefully off my lap, returning to her seat with an elegance that only heightened the effect she had on me.
Once we landed and settled into the plush interior of the SUV, I turned to Lara, eager to share my plans for the following day. “Tomorrow, I will be taking you shopping for an evening dress,” I announced, watching her closely.
“An evening dress?” she echoed, surprise flickering across her features. “What for?”
“There is a masquerade gala fundraiser that we will be attending in a couple of days. I would like you to go with me,” I explained, carefully observing her reaction. “Don’t think about escaping. My guards will have eyes on you at all times.”
Her expression was neutral, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was contemplating escape once more. During dinner with Clay and Lisa, she had been composed, but after the events in Cuba, I knew another escape might tempt her.
I had to be cautious with the information I divulged. Lara couldn’t know that Andrei Zhukov would be there. Keeping her away from him would be challenging, yet necessary.
Fortunately, she had never met her brother Angelo, so his presence wouldn’t pose an issue.
If Angelo double crossed me, my plan was to eliminate him, along with Andrei, before the night was over.
The one unpredictable element was Giovanni.
I had to be prepared that Giovanni might be Angelo’s reassurance, as well as somehow involved in his plan.
I had a feeling Giovanni wouldn’t miss the chance to see his daughter, proving the rumors of his death were merely whispers without substance.