Chapter 7
NIKA
Iget an hour in a local mall to buy new clothes. That might be fun under normal circumstances, except today I have what feels like a dozen men trailing after me, and my husband frowning and commenting on all of my purchases.
“You need how many pairs of socks again?”
“As many as I decide.” I pluck the credit card from his hands as he continues to scowl. “Remember, it’s your fault my apartment got vaporized along with all my possessions.”
“Not my fault. That was a Turkish warlord.”
“Sure, whatever, make all the excuses you want, but I need a new wardrobe. My husband can provide for me, right?”
“You know I can.”
“That’s the spirit!” I pat him on the cheek, doing my best to pretend a false cheer, while inwardly I feel like I’m barely holding on to myself.
I buy pants, shirts, a couple dresses, toiletries, some simple jewelry, a few pairs of shoes, and still it feels like I don’t have enough. I’m cut adrift without any of my old life, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive like this.
But Gabe’s a wolf. The second I show him weakness, he’s going to tear me to pieces. I have to keep moving forward, one step at a time, even if that goes against all my instincts.
When I was young, I learned how to make myself small.
That was the best way to make the visitors go away.
Now I realize they were men from my father’s organization, but back then they were terrifying beasts.
They asked me questions about friends, about boyfriends.
One time, when I was twelve, a big, burly visitor gave me a lecture on keeping myself pure.
Aunt Yelena cursed at him in Russian when she heard about it. But she never said he was wrong.
I learned softness. I learned to be gentle.
The visitors wanted to see a pretty little Russian doll and nothing more.
They probably had to make reports back to my father, and so long as it seemed like I was blossoming into a proper Bratva princess, that was good enough.
I figured out how to make them happy by acting like a river, flowing wherever I was pushed.
Which is why it’s so hard to stand up to Gabe.
He’s like a brick wall. Everything he does is confident and powerful.
The guy can’t even walk into an underwear store without looking like he’s going to own the place in the next ten minutes.
He radiates charm and power, while I’m fluttering around like a moth.
At least I have clean clothes. I choose jeans, sneakers, and a light sweater, even though it’s warm outside.
L.A. in the spring can be beautiful and brutal.
I love this city with all my heart, its inequalities and absurdity, the vapid, stupid Hollywood culture, the art and the intellectuals, the wild diversity, and I hate it all too.
This place is an ugly, nasty sprawl. Traffic grinds like broken trains.
The rich perch on literal hills staring down at the rest of us.
And I still can’t imagine a better city in the world.
I’ve been painting L.A. scenes since I was little, sometimes the city on fire, sometimes the city drenched in blood.
It was how I dealt with my complicated feelings. It was how I felt less isolated.
“Where are we going now?” Gabe’s driver is heading toward downtown. I don’t ever bother going here unless I have to. It’s filled with high rises and business complexes.
“We have to meet with a lawyer.”
“Oh yeah? Do I have to sign a pre-nup now?”
“Something like that.”
He studies me curiously and I can’t read his look at all.
Gabe makes me nervous. He’s handsome, and that’s part of it, but there’s more going on underneath his ruthless smile.
The man can walk into a room and bend everyone to his shape, but what does he really want?
Power, money, violence? What motivates him to become a Dragon?
It’s a total mystery, but I want to unravel it.
Then there’s this morning.
I keep trying to forget it. That whole thing feels like a dream. And it partially was. When I woke up, I still felt the images lingering: my body aching, sweating, naked underneath Gabe’s touch, his thrust, the pain and pleasure and joy—
Only to find his hand on my body.
He was going to touch me. He was touching himself.
I knew it was wrong, but that also excited me.
I’ve never crossed a line like that before.
I’ve never had a man like him want me, even if I was asleep.
I don’t know what he was thinking, but in that liminal space, that half-conscious dreamland, I didn’t care about anything else but feeling his fingers on my skin.
I wanted it. That’s the fucked-up thing. And he wanted it too. His dick was so hard. His groans and growls of pleasure killed me. I shattered so hard I almost blacked out. I’ve had maybe a dozen orgasms in my entire life, and that was by far the best.
But what the hell were we thinking?
That’s not the relationship we’re going to have.
I can’t let myself get tangled up with him. I’m not strong enough to keep myself under control. He’ll take me, use me up, and toss me aside if I let him, and I’m terrified that’s exactly what’ll happen.
We park in the basement of an office tower.
Gabe takes me to the fifteenth floor where we meet with an old, balding, Russian man called Sorokin.
He sits us down in his office, offers tea, makes a big fuss of seeing Gabe again and acts like he knows who I am, although I’ve never seen the man in my life.
“Your name’s been coming across my desk since you were a little girl.” He beams at me happily. I like his smile. It’s strangely endearing. Usually lawyers seem a little sleazy, but he comes across as kind and outgoing.
“Really? I’m sorry, I have no idea why.”
He hesitates and glances at Gabe. His expression falters. “How much does she know?”
“I don’t think she knows anything.” Gabe watches me. He’s carefully composed, and I get the feeling there’s something big dangling in the air of this office. Except it’s hanging just out of my reach.
“What’s going on?” I ask Sorokin. “Why are you two acting like you’re about to put my dog down?”
Sorokin chuckles and runs a hand over his thinning hair. “Ah, no, it’s nothing like that. You see, I’ve been getting paperwork, and all this time, well…” He trails off and clears his throat. “Veronika, how much do you know about your father’s business?”
“Nothing,” I admit, on alert now. Nothing good happens when an authority starts using my full name.
“Your father was, ah, very paranoid. I think that is probably putting it lightly, to be frank.” Sorokin shuffles more papers.
“He didn’t keep much officially under his own title.
You see, the more layers between him and his assets, the safer they would be.
And so he kept the majority of his sizable fortune… somewhere safe.”
My eyebrows raise. My heart patters rapidly. “Sizable fortune?”
“Your father was frugal. His business was very profitable. He also made some extremely smart investments. His estate… or it would be his estate, if it weren’t… well, there is a lot of money.”
I turn to Gabe. “How much are we talking here? He’s been giving me an allowance my whole life, so I figured we had some money, but it sounds like it’s more than I realized.”
Gabe’s smile is tight. “Nika, you’re filthy fucking rich.”
I laugh sharply. What a stupid idea. Me and Aunt Yelena never struggled, but it wasn’t like we lived in luxury. “Come on, be serious.”
“Ah, well, he is being serious.” Sorokin pushes a paper to me. “This is a list of your accounts and their current balance. At least, the biggest ten. There are several more, actually…”
The numbers swim in front of me. I have to blink a few times. The zeroes all run together and it makes no sense. “There are… millions here. Hundreds of millions.” I look up, heart racing. I feel sick. I’m sweaty and it’s sweltering in this room. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke, Veronika. Congratulations. Although, if someone had told you sooner the truth about your relationship to your father’s wealth, we wouldn’t have needed to go through with this big reveal.”
“What truth?!” I shake my head and struggle against the urge to run screaming. Instead, I do what I always do, and shut down. I get tiny and crawl into myself.
“These accounts are all in your name. Your father’s entire fortune is in your name, actually, aside from a small fraction he kept for his living expenses.
Those are in his estate and will pass to you as well.
Didn’t you know? All those forms you’ve signed over the years?
The transactions you approved?” He looks desperately at Gabe and back to me. “You never once wondered?”
“Oh god.” It hits me. The visitors almost always brought paperwork with them.
They never once explained why I had to sign, but they always made it clear there were no other options.
I never complained. I signed my name dutifully, because that’s what I did.
Give them what they want until they go away.
But all that time, I’ve been rich.
And not just rich, but filthy, stinking, wildly rich. The sort of rich that means I’ll never have to think about money again. I could erect a statue of a giant middle finger in the middle of New York City, modeled perfectly on my own hand, and still have enough for fifty yachts.
Actually, my biggest problem is going to be finding ways to spend this enormous pile of wealth.
This is the definition of fuck you money.
This is more like fuck the world kind of cash.
I burst out into laughter. It’s inappropriate, but I can’t help it. Sorokin looks panicked, but Gabe stays calm. “I really am Smaug!” I howl, and Gabe’s grinning too. He gets the joke.
I’m a big lizard perched on a fat pile of gold.
Did my mother know about this? I can’t help but wonder what she’s been doing all this time while I’ve been drowning in more money than I could ever possibly use. What if I could have helped her sooner if I had known?
A part of me wants to storm out of here right now, hire my own private detectives, and hunt her down.
But I wouldn’t even know where to start. That’s the real problem. My eyes flick to Gabe, guts churning with fear and elation, and I know deep down that all the money in the world won’t help me right now.
That’s how deep this goes.
Gabe can do more with his limited resources than I can do with my vast riches.
Eventually I calm down and Sorokin gets to work. There are papers to sign, sums to go over, accounts to finalize. It’s a few months’ worth of upkeep on top of my father’s official estate. He left me everything in his will—everything that wasn’t already mine.
“This one is routine,” Sorokin says, casually pushing a page over. “Go ahead, right at the bottom—“
“What is it?” I frown at a dense web of legalese, squinting at the fine print. I notice Gabe’s full name in several places, Gabriel Russo. I turn to him. “Why are you on this one?”
“It’s giving your husband access to your accounts. All very routine, I assure you. Go ahead and sign—“
I nearly do it. That’s how trained I am. A person in power tells me to do something, and I almost go ahead and obey.
Except I stop, pen hovering over the paper. Gabe’s watching expectantly, and I realize with a sharp, physical jolt.
This is my leverage.
My pen skitters across the page. I smile sheepishly as the men watch me. I pull back and pointedly place the pen back down.
“Actually, Mr. Sorokin, I think I’ll keep my husband away from my money for now.”
“Ah, are you sure?” He looks to Gabe, appearing bereft. “This is highly unusual."
“Very sure.” I get to my feet. This man is lying to me, or at least spinning a truth Gabe wants me to hear. “And I think this meeting is done.” Anger simmers in my chest. I’m not quick to rage. It typically comes on slow. But when it does, it reliably fucks me up and anyone nearby.
Go ahead and ask my former boss about what happens when I’m pissed off.