He might not have matured since our time in boarding school, but if I banished all the baggage, the hurt feelings and residual anger, I had to admit he’d become an attractive thug. His face had an imperial cast, like an ancient statue of a Caesar, just as smug, too. The suit he wore emphasized his powerful frame. It wouldn’t be completely horrible to find myself in bed with a specimen like him.
“You should count yourself lucky, you know.” He filled the silence when it continued too long. “If you were the daughter of a Bratva leader, you’d have never had any part in the business, or illusions otherwise. Might have been easier for you to accept.”
“Oh, is that what you want?” I mocked, sneering at the bastard with all I could. Forgetting who he was, even for a moment, seemed impossible if he continued talking. “A good submissive wife who you can lock away in the kitchen and bedroom? You’re in for a hell of a wakeup call if you think that’ll be me.”
“I’m not…” he began before his shoulders dropped and he shook his head.
A sigh escaped his lips but before he could continue, the door behind him opened. The nurse froze when both the thug and I glared her way.
“Ms. Castello,” she stammered, “there’s not much time. You should say your goodbyes now. I don’t think you will have another chance.”
“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Petrovich,” I hissed toward the Russian before brushing past him and the nurse.
I silently closed the door behind me and let out a breath, dropping my head against it. The problems outside the room faded some, only to be replaced with thoughts of my father’s impending death punctuated with the sounds of the machines staving it off.
“Livy,” my father croaked from across the room.
He fell into a racking cough, sputtering. Angry as I was at him, I rushed to the side of his bed. He’d hunched over as he coughed. My hand patted his back, fingers bumping against the bones just under the skin. He’d always been so powerful in my mind, so strong.
It had been the two of us, just the two of us, ever since my mother had passed. He’d wrapped me in those strong arms that night as I wept, telling me it would be okay. Nobody would do that when he passed, certainly not the Russian thug. But I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I didn’t need comforting, at least that’s what I repeated to myself as my father’s coughing subsided.
“I’m sorry,” he said before taking a rasping breath, “I know you hate me now, curse my name, but everything I ever did was to protect you.”
“I don’t hate you, Papa,” I whispered, still patting his back, “I’m not very happy with you right now, but I could never hate you.”
Understatement of the year, there. Had my father not been clawing at the molding of death’s door for another moment of life, I would have unloaded both barrels of my substantial anger on him. No, I’d save that for the thug.
“I want you to promise me, Livy.” A sputtering cough interrupted him. After a gasping breath, he continued, “Promise me you’ll give Dimitri a chance. I won’t be here to protect you, to keep you safe. He will. He’s a good man. He’ll make a good husband for you, the best available under the circumstances.”
I kept silent, rubbing soothing circles on the dying man’s back. Every response to his words would have been biting. Like that thug would protect me or make a good husband. How he’d tricked my father into thinking he was a good man, I couldn’t even guess.
“Promise me, Livy, please,” my father continued.
His head shook when he lifted it to look me in the eyes. The too pale skin drooped in at his cheeks, giving his features a skeletal overtone. The cancer had robbed his body of its strength, but nothing could sap his will, the determination in his gaze.
“I promise I’ll give him a chance,” I said with a sigh.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” he whispered, smiling.
A single breath escaped his lips. His whole body sagged back against the bed, head rolling to face me. The smile never left his face as his eyes closed. His chest never rose again.
Tears streamed in rivers down my cheeks. I wrapped an arm around my father and gave him one last embrace.
3
Dimitri
Even after the sun had set, warm muggy air billowed into the car when I opened the door. I stretched my shoulders and neck before pushing it closed behind me. The driver pulled away from the curb soon after.
A line of at least a dozen men stood next to the building in front of its bright red door. I stepped from the curb directly toward it. The bouncer standing in front moved to the side and pushed it open, nodding as I approached.
“Come on, man,” whined the first guy in line, “I thought you said it was all full. That isn’t fair!”
With a single glance from the bouncer, the complainer clammed up. He shuffled back, bumping into the next man in line. A grin cracked through my intentionally impassive facade. Predators in the wild often played games with their prey. Killer whales chomped on seals only to let them go right after just to chase after them again. I more than understood the fun in that and the idiot didn’t need to know it was my friendship with the owner that had got me inside without the wait.
The pounding music bled through the inner door, the bass rattling it when I pushed it open. The low light had me blinking rapidly but I savored the cool, conditioned air. Men packed the tables around the T-shaped stage that dominated the room.
A blonde wearing only pasties hiding her nipples and a g-string that barely covered anything else spun around the pole at the end of the T. Her legs kicked up mid twirl and she hung upside down as she slowed to a stop. The audience applauded raucously and a shower of bills fluttered around her.
