"You can. And you will." He says in that tone that dares me to argue further.. "This stays on so everyone knows you're mine."
The possessive statement sends a thrill down my spine that I try desperately to ignore.
"Ready?" he asks, offering his arm.
I take it, trying to ignore how natural the gesture feels. "Ready."
The restaurant is exactly what I expected—upscale, exclusive, the kind of place where you need reservations months in advance and a dress code that would make half of Boston feel underdressed. But the host greets Rafail by name, leading us to a corner table that offers both privacy and a view of the entire dining room.
His table. His territory.
"You come here often?" I ask as we settle into our seats.
"Often enough that they know not to disappoint me." He orders wine without consulting the menu, the ease of money and power.
The first course arrives—something I can't pronounce but that tastes like butter and heaven. We eat and talk. “Why business,” he asks me between bites.
“Why not?” I shrug. Rafail stares at me for a moment, then puts his fork down and asks again. I wipe my mouth with the cool blue linen napkin, toy with my water glass, and answer. “I hated being poor. For a while I believed that my parents left me because they didn’t want to struggle with the financial burden of having a child they couldn’t afford.”
“How long before you realized?”
That snaps my attention back to him. “Realized?”
“That they were just selfish assholes.”
“Hmph,” I smile. Then lift my glass to him, and he clinks his with mine. “Too long. And by the time I did, it didn’t matter anymore. I had my grandmother and she has always been more than enough.”
He nods. “Still, if you really wanted to be super wealthy, you could have chosen acting, modeling, singing–”
“If you heard my singing, you would not have added it to the list.” He gives me a smile that almost makes me forget he’s the big bad wolf. “I guess, I could have tried a lot of other options. But the truth was my grandmother took me to work with her and I fell in love with business. She managed a small trucking company. She was the only woman on the job, surrounded by all these big tough guys but she held the power. Nothing moved without her say so. I was hooked.”
"Control," he says simply. "I grew up with none. My father was a married man from the Ismailov family. In Russia to be Ismailov was to be royalty. And my mother thought she could replace his princess. Having me was part of her plan. It didn’t work. I was a vnebrachnyy rebenok, which was a nice way of saying I was a Kopile, a bastard. He gave me nothing but the name. Everything else I earned."
“I get that. Growing up with nothing makes you either terrified of losing what you have or desperate to get more."
"And which are you?"
"Both." I take a sip of wine. "Terrified of losing Grandma. Desperate to build a life that's stable enough that I never have to make choices like the one I made at that auction."
His expression darkens slightly at the reminder, but he doesn't comment. Just reaches across the table to take my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles.
We're halfway through the main course when I excuse myself to the restroom. The ladies' room is as elegant as the rest ofthe restaurant—marble counters, actual hand towels instead of paper, lighting that makes even post-dinner faces look flawless.
I'm washing my hands when the door opens behind me, but I don't pay attention until a male voice speaks.
"You're even more beautiful up close."
I freeze, meeting a stranger's eyes in the mirror. He's older—forties maybe, wearing an expensive suit, and a cloud of alcohol that makes my eyes water. "Excuse me?" I keep my voice cold, professional. "This is the ladies' room."
"I know. I followed you." He moves closer, his hand reaching for me. "Come have a drink with me. Your date won't mind—"
His fingers close around my wrist, and I yank it back. But he holds on, his grip tight enough to hurt.
"Let go." My voice is steady despite my racing heart. "Now."
"Don't be like that. I just want to—"
He's pulling me toward him, using his weight to crush me against the wall. When I open my mouth to scream, his other hand clamps over it hard enough that my teeth cut into my lip. He fumbles with his belt with one hand while keeping me pinned, and I understand with crystal clarity why this man followed me into this bathroom.
