Chapter 12
ALEXEI
Ican’t fucking sleep on this mattress.
The pullout in my study has always been too thin. I can feel every bit of the steel structure underneath it, including the bar across the middle. It sits against my lower back like I’m sleeping on a jungle gym.
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. I should be in my own bed. Instead, I had the misfortune of being married to a willful little escape artist.
It’s been a week or so since I pinned her to the bed with the threat of fucking her into submission.
I’m not proud that I came so close to losing complete control of…
well, not just my temper. She pushes all my buttons so effectively, but at the end of the day, she’s a willful little brat who thinks her actions don’t affect the rest of us.
She’s also a brat who cut off all her hair. An interesting choice of rebellion, that was. Her hair wasn’t nearly long enough for my tastes and now it’s shorter than ever. I don’t know what Anya was thinking by letting her do that to herself. I’ll have to discuss that with her later.
I look over at the clock on my desk. It’s three in the morning. I’ve probably gotten only a couple of hours of sleep so far, I think. I’d have better luck if I’d just opted to sleep on my couch.
Down the hall, just past the open door of my study, I can see my bedroom door. I’ve resorted to keeping the door locked only at night since that day, but I still feel the need to check on her. She hasn’t made a peep since this afternoon. But then again, she’s barely speaking to me otherwise.
It’s not lost on me how very archaic this whole thing has become.
This week, I’ve resorted to having Anya come by every afternoon to look after her.
I’m always sure to get home before she has to leave now that I know what Isabella is capable of.
It’s like we’re coparenting a child. It’s ridiculous.
Clearly, Isabella doesn’t have the same sense of loyalty to her father as I do to mine.
Or maybe she just doesn’t give a fuck about any of this.
Either way, we can’t go on like this and I’m lost as to how to keep her with me. If she were more of a willing participant, maybe we could strike a deal. I could make sure all her needs were met in exchange for her staying put and available for me.
Available. Hmm. That’s an interesting choice of words.
I get up and leave my study, going into the guest bathroom. Later today, we’ll sit down and talk like rational people. Maybe if I can find out what she needs, I can give that to her.
I turn on the light. My reflection shows a version of me that looks worn out and ragged. My hair is mussed and sticking up in places, red lines tinge the white in my eyes, and already my beard is starting to look a little too full for my tastes.
A thought occurs to me in this moment. Maybe sex is the answer.
I have not been intending on a repeat performance of that first night, but when I think about that day that I pinned her to the bed…
It was as natural as anything. My body reacted to her almost immediately and fantasies ran wild in my mind as she twisted under me, her thigh pressed against my torso. I could barely control myself.
And she wanted me just as much. I could feel her wet pussy through those little shorts, the damp fabric pressing against my slacks. If I had done as I’d said I would and ripped off her clothes, I don’t know that I would be able to stop myself from fucking her for the rest of the afternoon.
Something within me wants to have her in a feral way. Raw and unhinged. Hard thrusts into her soft and wet pussy, nails in my back, her teeth biting my shoulder… I take in a deep breath. These thoughts are driving me mad.
Hmm. Is this what being celibate for four years does to a man?
I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face. This could be a perfect arrangement, if only she wanted to be here with me. If only I wanted it too.
We’re trapped. Both of us. Everything that we’re trying to achieve falls apart if she doesn’t stay with me.
I walk into the hallway, looking at the bedroom door again. I should at least check on her.
As I unlock the door and step into the room, I see the shape of her hips under the blankets in the dim light from the open window. It’s a full moon night tonight and the moonlight has cast a bluish tint over everything in the room.
She’s sleeping with her back to me. The weariness in my back, arms, and legs wants to slip into bed beside her.
That first night, when I fell asleep beside her, the warmth of her body felt reminiscent of a time that I thought I would never get back again.
The safety of her soft, warm body nestled in my arms was a thing I used to cherish when the body was Kira’s.
I walk around the bed until I reach the chair in the corner of the room next to the window. Her face is serene in misty blue light. Soft breaths rise from her partially open lips.
I want to let her go, let her have her way. Leave me, Isabella. Find your own peace in this world because there will be none here. Not as long as my father runs it.
In silence, I sit watching her sleep and gathering my thoughts.
There is, of course, no way out of this for either of us.
Our breakup would ruin my father’s plans.
He would punish me, but he would hunt her down to the ends of the earth and drag her back by her hair.
What he would do to her is so much worse than anything I might ever dream up.
I get up and leave her, leaving the door unlocked. Tomorrow morning, we’ll talk about this. Calmly. Rationally. Without the high emotions between us. I only get a couple of steps out of the room when I hear my phone buzzing on the end table next to the couch in my study.
I reach the study on the third ring and see it’s Pavel. What could he want at this hour?
“Yes?” I answer. “What is it?”
“Sorry to wake you,” he said, “but something’s happened and I’m going to need you to run interference for me.”
“Run interference?” I ask him. “What’s going on?”
He sighs. “You know how Pop asked me to talk to Tony Pecora about of his restaurants? Well, I made him an offer earlier today. He just got back to me that he’s willing to meet up to sign over the deed.”
I blink, looking back at the clock to double-check the time. “At this hour?”
“That’s what I said. He insisted.”
Of course. We all keep these ridiculous hours, sometimes to do the most mundane shit. “Okay,” I tell him. “Where does he want to meet?”
“The Black Olive, downtown. It’s closer to you, I think. Can you meet me there?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just let me shower and get dressed. I’ll see you in about an hour.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I hang up and just shake my head. As I have always understood it, Tony Pecora loves his restaurants. It’s even been said over the years that he loved those buildings more than he did his daughters. Given recent events, I’m inclined to believe that.
It’s a little weird that he’s agreeing to sign over one of them to us. Maybe before or after his conversation with Pavel, he talked to my father. Maxim Mechnikov could be just as persuasive as he is intimidating.
I still wish he’d decided to wait until a reasonable hour, though.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to shower and dress.
A simple pair of dark slacks and a black dress shirt.
My hair is combed neatly into place and I’m reasonably ready to head out.
As I leave the guest bathroom, my bedroom door catches my eye.
I left it slightly ajar, and the sound of her breaths echoes delicately out to the hall.
In that moment, I decide to leave her a note. I want to talk to her face to face, but she might wake up still hellbent on leaving. I need to convince her to at least wait for me to return.
I go back into the study, grab a notepad and paper, and start writing.
Isabella,
This isn’t an ideal situation for either of us.
I know you find it hard to believe this, but I am more of your comrade than I am your enemy right now.
This marriage is about more than just you or me.
This is about my family and yours. I need you to realize that if you do leave, you will be putting everyone’s life at risk, even your own.
I don’t expect you to read this and change your mind, but I implore you to consider that before you pack your bags. And if you do still decide you have to go, then I ask that you stay just long enough until I return.
—Alexei
I look over my words, hoping they strike the right tone with her. Then I take the notepad and bring it out to the coffee table where she’s sure to see it. I hope she listens.
I get to the restaurant a little before four in the morning. The moment I pull up, I get the feeling that something is off.
The restaurant is closed, as expected at this hour.
The little outdoor patio in front has all the chairs turned upside down and placed on the tables.
The door has a little cardboard sign that’s been turned around to say CLOSED in big, white letters.
The large glass windows are dark except for a distant warm light somewhere way in the back.
I’ve never been to this restaurant before, but it looks like it would be a nice place to have lunch on some sunny day.
There’s a striped awning that goes from one side of the restaurant, over the door, and finally, over the patio.
Printed on the curved edges is the restaurant’s name in bold lettering — The Black Olive.
I’ve never been much for Italian food. I wonder what Father wants to do with this place once he has ownership of it. He’s never been much into Italian food either. But if he wants it, then it must be making a lot of money and that would be worth it to him.
I get out of the car and make my way across the street to the front door. Maybe it’s the cool early morning air or the way the streetlights are flickering around me. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t even see Pavel’s car yet. Whatever it is, something still just doesn’t feel right about this.
I don’t bother to try the door. I peer through the glass to spot any movement. I don’t see any. I see the shadows of tables with chairs on top and the outline of the bar on the far side of the room, but no people. No sign of life.
I’m early. That’s all. Pavel will probably be here any minute. I step away from the door and pull out my phone. I’d better get an ETA—
Sparks light around me and my nostrils are suddenly filled with the scent of gunpowder. A hard punch to my shoulder nearly sends me off my feet. I catch myself, leaning against the railing around the patio.
Another shot sounds from somewhere in the darkness, sending sparks flying over my head and hitting the concrete behind me. I scramble back to the doorway, pulling my gun out of my belt.
Shit. My instincts were trying to tell me something was up. I should have waited for Pavel in my car. I look out into the night. There’s a building across the street from me. Somebody must be taking a shot at me from there.
Fuck. I’ve got to get back to my car and get the hell out of here. I scan the area for any movement at all, ready to take my shot. When there is none, I try to stand.
My shoulder is on fire. I glance down to see the bullet hole through my shirt, surrounded by a slowly increasing pool of wetness soaking through. I’ve been hit. And judging by how dizzy I’m getting, if I don’t get help soon…
I go to move from the safety of the doorway, only for the gunpowder laden sparks to spray all around me again. I duck back into the darkness and as I slide down the wall, I feel the world start to turn. Shit… I’m about to pass out.
I try to pull out my phone to call Pavel… but it’s too late… everything is going dark.