Rurik coughs violently into a handkerchief and Anatoly pauses. Oh, he’senjoyingthis. “Are you all right?”
“Of course,” my uncle chokes out, “please continue.”
“Because of the seriousness of violating the agreements of the Bratva Six Families and for attacking a fellow member of group, the Dubrovin Bratva will offer the following. Control of your organization will shift to the Turgenev Bratva after Rurik Dubrovin’s passing. Inessa Andreyevna Dubrovina is to be married to my eldest son, Dmitri Anatolyevich Turgenev.”
The camera pans slightly and I see Dmitri sitting next to his father. If I’d been in that room, I knew it would be reeking with an overwhelming stench of Smug. He’s a prick and I’d learned early as a child to keep out of his way. Looking anxiously at Inessa, I see that she doesn’t seem that upset about the plan.I guess there are worse alternatives. I’m so busy checking her response that I miss part of Anatoly’s next statement.
“-will be married to my second oldest, Alexi Anatolyevich Turgenev. They will stay in Boston and manage our Bratva’s business stateside. Dmitri will be married first, next month. Inessa,” he nods graciously to her, like this is the greatest honor that could be bestowed upon her, “you will return to St. Petersburg and your mother will handle the wedding details.”
She nods rapidly, nervously.“Da,Pakhan Turgenev.Spasibo.”
“This concludes our business,” he says, ending the call as my uncle looks seconds from keeling over on his desk.
“Wait, I didn’t- what was that middle part?” I turn in my chair, to the man behind me. My neck is already hurting from looking up at him.
“Which part?”
“About Alexi and- did he sayme?I’m to marry Alexi?”
He folds his arms over his colossal chest. “Yes. That was the agreement he made with your uncle to avoid burning the Dubrovin Bratva down to ash and bone.”
Married to Alexi? He hates me. Or did. Then treated me like a needy one-night stand and just disappeared. Pushing back the chair, I walk away from the table, trying to slow my heart to under a gallop.
“D- does he know?”
The man reaches up, pulling off his balaclava. “He does.”
I have never been so fucking enraged in my entire life.
Darting forward, I slap him across the face as hard as I can, putting all my weight behind it.
His head barely moves, but his mouth tightens and his blue eyes cool to a frost as he stares down at me. His blonde hair is tousled from the balaclava.
Fucking Alexi Turgenev has been the man terrorizing me for two fucking days.
“Youbastard!”
Chapter Thirteen
In which life as Alexi’s captive isn’t nearly as much fun as life as his guest.
Lucya…
Oh,Svyataya Bogoroditsa, holy mother of god, I slapped him.
I slapped the Angel of Death. I’m going to die.
Alexi’s face doesn’t change expression. I’m seeing the ice-cold mask, the last thing his victims must see before he kills them. His hand comes up to cup my throat. Not squeezing, nothing like that night in the alley. Just holding me there, his chilly fingers running along my carotid artery. My pulse is fluttering madly.
“Like a hummingbird’s,” he muses.
He drops his hand and leaves the room without another look at me. I shriek with frustration when I hear the lock click shut.
The next day drags by. Alexi brings me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I go into the bathroom and shut the door until he leaves.
He doesn’t kill me. That’s something.
The next morning, I’m desperate enough to try to get him to talk.
