4. Artem
Artem
NINE YEARS AGO
The wind is harsh on the roof of the country club, and the moon is the only light I have as I try to fish a cigarette out of my suit pocket.
I struggle to light it, but inhale deeply and exhale a sigh of relief once it finally courses through me.
This roof has always been my refuge at these events, the perfect place to escape the glitzy and loud ballroom below.
These last few months after losing Sara has felt like a blur.
I feel like I’ve been stuck on autopilot, lost in memories of her and of her final breath.
The creak of the door opening somewhere behind me pulls me back into the moment, and I turn, expecting to see Roman come up here to drag me back downstairs again, all worried about how fucked up I am.
But the figure I see is not Roman, it’s a girl. I tilt my head, and then realize who she is. That’s definitely Caesar’s little sister. But what is she doing up here? I stand there quietly, and I can hear her faint sobs as I watch her walk close to the ledge, wiping her nose with her arm.
“Lost?” I speak up finally, feeling guilty for watching her cry without her even realizing I was up here.
She quickly wipes her tears, “What—no, I just . . . I didn’t know anyone was up here.”
“Well, here I am.” I take another drag and step closer.
“I’ll leave,” she says defeatedly, but for some reason I can’t explain, my mouth moves.
“You don’t have to.”
She turns to face me again, her eyes soft and still wet as she nods.
“What’s got you so upset, princess?” I can see her internal battle, wondering if she can trust me at all, and she fucks up by deciding she can.
“I finally got the courage to tell my dad I wanted to be considered to take over one day instead of Caesar. I just graduated and . . . I can’t imagine any other career for myself at all.
I think I would be better for it than him, and he doesn’t even care about it at all,” she says looking at me, thinking I’d sympathize.
“I’m sure he explained to you that it isn’t a woman’s place, right?”
She nods, sighing.
What a fucking idiot. Crying because she can’t be the head, when she can so easily just live an easy fucking life and keep her hands clean? Is she out of her mind?
“Good, because your idea was stupid.”
She turns back to me quickly, her brows furrowed.
This is an expression I’ve never seen from her before.
I only see her in passing anyway—complacently following behind her brother.
She looks different right now, and it irritates me how she’s now forcing me to notice her—how, for the first time, I can’t just look away and keep walking past her like she’s unimportant.
“What the hell do you mean by that?” She spits, and it elicits a smirk from me. I’ve never had a woman who knows who I am speak to me like that.
“I mean, you should do as you’re told and listen to your father,” I say casually, taking another drag of my cigarette. I can see it in her eyes—that fire, that determination.
I must have misjudged her before today, never giving her the second glance she deserved.
No, I shouldn’t think like that, it’s better I didn’t anyway.
“Do you think this is some kind of game, princess?” I say stalking towards her, and as she steps backward, she inevitably hits her back against the cement wall.
I stare into her wide, hazel eyes. They’re the kind of beautiful that piss me off—the kind that feel like a trap that I couldn’t help but get lured into.
“You think you can just waltz in and play boss because you think you’re better than your brother? This world will eat you alive and spit your bones out like you were nothing. This isn’t some fantasy, princess, this is life or death.”
I expect her to crack, but instead I see the resolve burning in her eyes. I hate that fucking look, that look as if she’s willing to endure anything to get what she wants. Just like Sara.
“I can handle it. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t, you sexist jerk.”
I let out a dark chuckle, as I lean closer to her face, putting an arm on the cement next to her head.
“No, you can’t. You’ll just get in the way.
You’re collateral damage, and you’ll just end up dying and inconveniencing your family.
You don’t belong there, Giselle. Now, be a good girl, forget the idea, and let the men handle it. ”
She gears up to slap me, and I grab her wrist to stop her before she can.
“That hurts,” she says desperately as I harshly grasp her wrist.
“Good.”
“Fuck you,” she says, just as she spits on my cheek. I go to wipe it with the back of my hand, my tongue pushing on the inside of my cheek.
This fucking little . . .
I move my hand and grasp her throat tightly, restricting her breathing just enough to shut her up as she slams against the wall again. I can feel her pulse quicken under my hand.
“You want to know what they’ll do to a pretty girl like you?”
I take my free hand and run it up her thigh, and her skin feels like fucking silk. I hold back the groan trying to escape my mouth as I rub her smooth thigh. The heat between her legs radiates onto my hand, and I swipe across her lace panties with a finger as she tries to move but fails.
“You’re powerless right now, I could rip these off of you and fuck you against this wall, and you couldn’t stop me.” Her lips part and I can see just a spark of fear in them, and I can feel satisfaction growing inside of me.
There, that should do the trick.
But quickly, her expression changes from fear to rage.
“Do it, then,” she spits out raggedly, still struggling for air.
Her words strike me hard, and I didn’t expect them. She wasn’t cowering in fear, wasn’t begging for me to show mercy.
She was fucking daring me.
“You think you’re tough because you can run your mouth and keep your chin held high, but I could do worse than fuck you, Giselle.
I could fucking ruin you and your perfect little body right now.
I could take what I want with no regard for you and then, once I’m finally satisfied and you’re nice and broken, I’d finally let my hands do what they’re itching to do right now; which is squeeze the life out of your tempting fucking eyes.
Those are the kind of men you’re begging to deal with by wanting in on this world. ”
My fingers rub against her panties again, and I’m shocked when I feel how wet she is.
Her panties are fucking soaked. I feel my cock hardening in my pants and I realize I need to get the fuck away from her before I do something I regret.
I release her throat, throwing her back into the wall again as I do, and she grabs it with her hand to soothe the pain.
“When you wake up tomorrow and see the bruises I’ve left on your neck, think of them as a reminder of this lesson you learned today.”
We look at each other for a moment, neither acknowledging the fact she got so turned on by being threatened and manhandled by me. I can tell she’s embarrassed, and it only furthers her rage.
“You don’t scare me.”
“I should.”
I turn toward the door, leaving her wanting and bruised on the roof.
“I’ll fucking show you, you’re going to regret underestimating me, I promise,” she declares loudly.
I keep walking and open the door to the roof, smiling to myself. I’m not sure what I just got myself into, and neither is she.
Present
“I’ll handle it, Andrei, let me make some phone calls. We’ll be at the warehouse by sundown.” I sigh to myself as I end the call, looking around the office.
My father left yesterday, and now everything has suddenly landed on me. He won’t be back until the wedding, which unfortunately is happening in only a week.
Tomorrow night I will have to announce it to all the Families at the event, and somehow make it fucking believable that there’s more to it than just an alliance.
If certain groups thought this was just a business arrangement, they may be threatened by both of our families, thinking we’re trying to grow and take more power for ourselves.
That, and how everyone loves the fucking Santoro family so much that they will question our intentions and think we are taking advantage of them.
It will be easier if they believe that she and I have been secretly rendezvousing like Romeo and Juliet, which isn’t far from the truth at all, considering we have been for the last nine years. It just hasn’t been full of love and desire, instead it’s been full of hatred and violence.
“Hey, let’s go,” I yell out into the hallway as I step out of the office, walking to go find my jacket by the door. Roman and Max eventually come walking down, tucking in their handguns to their waistband.
“Are we still meeting at the warehouse, or is the shipment back at the port still?” Roman asks, and I just toss a nod in response.
I hate that this has always been where we go, the fucking memories tied to that warehouse just distract me while I’m there. Maybe now that I’m pakhan I can try to find somewhere else where we can keep all of our inventory.
The air is thick with tension as we enter the warehouse. The warehouse smells like cold metal and gun oil, and it transports me back again. My eyes flicker as we walk up to the group standing around the makeshift tables, trying to push my memories down.
“Pakhan,” Viktor says with a smile as we approach. “Finally, huh?”
I throw back a smile as he pulls our playful handshake in with a quick congratulatory hug, patting my back. Most of the men have been waiting for me to take over, besides that I had great relationships with them, my father was not the easiest man to be around.
“Let’s save the celebration for later,” I say with a smirk as I look around the group, “for now, tell me what’s happening with those shipments.”
The sharp clinks of the crowbars prying open the crate bounces off the cement walls, and I pick up a paper with the inventory for this case, taking it with me as I walk closer to check it. Roman glances at the paper and then back to the crates that are taking up half of the warehouse.