God, he did it again. His order was much better than mine.
“Papa…” Grigori spoke softly.
I swallowed hard as another waft of his salty crab came my way.
Daniil didn’t seem to hear him, talking right over him. “Here. We’ll switch again…since you’ve already eaten half of it, anyway.” He switched the plates.
I sighed in relief, staring down at simple spaghetti and meatballs. “Thank you.” Jesus, I sounded pathetic even to my own ears. I slapped a hand over my mouth, my gaze darting to Grigori’s plate, bile rising further. Fucking disgusting is what was on his plate. And the damn air conditioning was blowing its stench my way.
“You know…” Grigori stated slowly, obviously seeing my distress, “I’m not really that hungry.” I didn’t look at him because I was a little embarrassed, but I heard him call the waitress over. His plate blessedly disappeared. I was betting Daniil must have given him some sort of scowl because Grigori didn’t seem the kind type to me.
I tried not to pay attention to the quietness of the conversation around me, everyone probably staring. I was here to right what was going to become a wrong very shortly. I didn’t know what time hubby was supposed to show, but I just had to make it until then. After that, I could go and quickly write my article and pass out. Tomorrow I had better be able to walk right. Otherwise, I was going to the fucking doctor. The bathroom I spent most of my day in hadn’t looked particularly sanitary.
I ate the spaghetti while Daniil rubbed on my back, his movements never faltering even as he ate my soup one handed. Feeling a little guilty, I tried to give him the rest of the delicious bread, but he wouldn’t have it. He literally tore a piece off and placed it in my mouth when I started to argue. The waitress filled his coffee cup, and I sniffed the air experimentally.
Daniil stiffened next to me. Glancing my way, he paused with the cup in the air, halfway to his mouth. “Does the coffee bother you? I can have her take it back if it does.”
It was like the whole table shut up. I glanced at the tables occupants as they all stared at Daniil. I seriously never met another group quite like this one. “No. It actually smells pretty good.” I pointed down the table weakly at Torrez’s plate—lobster. “It’s overriding the seafood smell from his plate.”
Daniil’s eyes unfocused. He asked, “You can smell his plate from down there?”
I nodded slowly, glancing around as everyone still stared at us. My eyebrows snapped together in irritation. “Yes. I was on a boat all day with that shit. It’s disgusting.” I raised my hands, completely fed up, and asked the entire table, “Seriously! Is our fucking conversation any of your damn business?”
I glared at anyone who didn’t look away immediately.
Stash stated not so quietly, “Somebodies PMSing.”
“No…” I stopped and considered that. Yeah, I probably was. “It’s just rude to stare at someone while they’re having a private convo. If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least do it with some damn skill.” I slammed my mouth shut, sitting back on my seat quickly, realizing I was being a major bitch. I bit my lip and moved my attention back to my plate. It was probably best to keep quiet.
That way they wouldn’t do their ‘thing.’ And I wouldn’t yell at them when they did.
Ember held up her glass of gross non-alcoholic wine, actually being kind. “You know, when I have an upset stomach,” she twirled the red liquid around in her glass, “this helps settle it. Do you want some?” She stared at me hard. Odd.
Even before I could say no thank you, Daniil told her quickly, “Ember, if she wanted that in the first place, she would have ordered it. Just let her eat in peace.”
Placing my hand on Daniil’s leg, I gazed back at Ember, where she stared at Daniil over my head with that horrible dead coolness in her eyes. “Thank you. But he’s right. I don’t want that right now.”
Her gaze flew to me, nodding even as her eyes went all freaky as she…looked me up and down from head to toe. “You’re welcome. It doesn’t work for everyone, anyway.”
I ate again. I was determined not to yell at anyone anymore tonight…
And that went beautifully until the bitch went and elbowed me.
Right in the fucking boob.
“Ow!” I yelped, putting my left arm over it protectively. “What the hell, Ember?”
No one was paying attention to us, except for Daniil and Grigori, who both stared at what I was protecting from her. Ember glared for a second, not saying anything but her eyes darted to the door, where almost the entire table was already staring, which I might have noticed if I wasn’t so focused on trying to ignore them in the first place. There was a man, a nice looking man, right outside the glass door in jeans and a button down shirt, staring inside and arguing with the bodyguard. Ah. Showtime.
When Grigori looked away, I hissed, “Watch what you’re fucking doing next time.”
Ember shrugged but kicked me under the table, pushing my duffle with her foot against my leg. She wanted this more than I did, it seemed. I sucked in a breath and scooted my chair back as Zoya started freaking out. I needed my damn camera and recorder. Digging through my bag, I placed the recorder on the table next to my plate, turning it on, barely even noticing as the guy barged through the door, and Zoya jumped from her chair. Grabbing my camera, I immediately started snapping shots as hubby stormed up to the table—making sure I didn’t get any with the guns being drawn, and then he and Zoya started speaking quickly. In Russian.
“This isn’t going to fucking work. I can’t understand them,” I muttered.
How the hell was I supposed to get this if I couldn’t use Ember’s name? She wanted to be anonymous so it had to come from the damn source. And the source needed to speak my language. Shit!
Daniil was looking back and forth between the arguing couple and me with his eyebrows raised—his gun was drawn—and he halted. He focused completely on Zoya, asking quickly in clear English, “Zoya, what is this about?”
It wasn’t her who reciprocated in kind. It was hubby. He pointed at Grigori, shouting, “Your fucking son has been trying to steal my wife!”
Zoya’s pretty face strained even further.
Grigori stilled, asking slowly, “Your wife?”
“Yes, you ass. Zoya is my wife!” He tried to charge Grigori. Stupid, stupid move.
Grigori stopped him easily, slamming his face down on the table where his plate had previously been. I sat there across from them, putting a hand on the tape recorder so it didn’t go flying, but that was all the quick movement I could do. Unless I wanted to add to the scene with my spew.
Grigori hissed, clearly, “I had no clue she was married. She never told me.” He paused, sighing as he stared down at the struggling man while Zoya sobbed behind him. “Nothing happened other than a kiss. All right?”
“I saw the damn photo!” hubby shouted.
“Everyone saw the photo,” Grigori explained, clearly thinking he had seen the paper online from my article.
Well, that was all I needed. I got the initial shot of Zoya and her husband’s confrontation. And I had the story on my recorder. Picking said recorder off the table, I stopped it and tossed it in my duffle even as Grigori continued calming the man down, alternating between looking at the guy with irritated sympathy, and glancing over his shoulder with an expression of stunned fury at Zoya. He absolutely had not known. That much was evident as I carefully put my camera away, making sure to tuck Daniil’s gift in my bag where the red velvet wouldn’t get ruined, and zipped it up.
Daniil was staring at me. He knew now why I had come to this dinner when I didn’t feel so good. He knew I had known this was going to happen. He looked a little pissed and surprised all at once. “Going somewhere, my sweet?” Ah. That was a new tone. A sarcastic, yet ticked off one. Good to know he didn’t just use the endearment in bed.
“Yeah. To write an article so your son doesn’t look like a homewrecker tomorrow, since that picture of him and Zoya was in t
he paper this morning. Then I’m going to sleep,” I stated bluntly, not telling him how I knew this was going to happen. I would probably tell him later, but not now around everyone else.
He blinked at me for a moment, and then stood when I did, grabbing my arm, and helping me up. “I need to stay here a bit longer.” He chuckled, shaking his head because that was obvious. “Then, I’ll come to you.” He pressed his mouth against my ear, both of us ignoring the racket just across the table. “You will explain.”
I nodded wearily. “If I’m not asleep.” I patted his chest after putting my duffle and purse over my shoulder. “I probably won’t be good company tonight. If you want, we can wait until tomorrow to talk.”
He kissed my lips softly, right in front of his kids, if they were paying attention. Which Roman was. He spoke against them, “I’m sleeping with you tonight.”
“Okay.” Dumb-dumb-dumb-dumb—that was me when I was sick. Brilliant phrase extraordinaire. I was really going to have to concentrate while writing the damn article. “Make sure Least Ugly knows to keep my family out then. They dropped in this morning unannounced and uninvited.”
Daniil’s nose crinkled and his jaw seesawed. “Maybe my room’s the better choice for us. It would be too obvious if he tried to stop them from entering your room.”
I nodded, agreeing immediately. “Thanks. I’m not thinking straight right now. There’s too much icky going on inside.” I swallowed hard, getting another whiff of Torrez’s plate. “I’m gonna go.” I started stumbling off, but Daniil grabbed my arm. He snapped his fingers at Least Ugly, who came up immediately, taking over Daniil’s place, holding my arm.
Daniil growled something to him in Russian.
The guard’s expression cooled.
I asked, “What did you just say to him?”
Daniil was looking back where Zoya was shrieking. “He should have called me when he saw you were this ill. He won’t make the same mistake twice.”
I patted Least Ugly’s arm as he helped me walk out of the restaurant. “I’m sure he meant that in a nice way.”
Least Ugly grunted, his lips twitching. “No. He didn’t.” He glanced down at me, herding my person toward the elevator. “Do you want some more Sprite for your stomach?”
“You saw what I was drinking?”
His lips twitched again. “It was tasted before it was set on the table.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“All of the food is tested when he’s out in public. If Stepan—the tester—dies or passes out, then we know the food has been poisoned.”
I walked…until I muttered, “I think I need to have a talk with him about the threat of him being killed.”
“Your food was tested, too.”
Yep. Definite talk.
“He seriously pays an employee to test the food?” I paused, realizing the obvious. “Some idiot actually took the job?”
“Yes. Stepan is paid very well for his services. And if he does pass on while on duty, his family will be taken care of. It is a job that is coveted.”
“Maybe I should have a talk with this Stepan, too.”
Least Ugly chortled.
I asked, “What’s your name?”
“My name is Trofim, Ms. Forter.”
“Call me Elizabeth. Please.”
He shook his large head. “Thank you. But, no.”
Okay. Must be a bodyguard thing.
“Do you want that Sprite, Ms. Forter?”
“No. Just the room. I want to get my work done, and then pass out.”
He nodded. “That boat was something else today. I almost got sick it was so horrible.”
“I know, right?”
He glanced down at me. “I just said it was.”
His comprehension wasn’t as good as Daniil’s. “Yes. You did. Sorry.” I stayed silent until I got upstairs to Daniil’s room, having to stop by mine for my laptop first. When I started down Daniil’s hallway to his room, I said, “Good night, Trofim.”
“Good night, Ms. Forter,” he said softly.
That was the last of the bodyguards I saw that evening.
In fact, that was the last of anyone I saw that evening.
I wrote my article, reading through it four times before sending it, making sure it portrayed the correct person—Zoya—in the limelight as the evil-doer of the love triangle. It was tricky making Grigori and hubby still sound manly, and not like idiot boys who had been duped by a pretty woman. But, I made it work. I attached the photo, sent it on to my editor after making a quick call to him, and then stripped down and got under the covers. The bed seesawed for a few minutes, and then blessedly, I passed out.
The next two days flew by in a hurry. Other than being a little tired, I recovered from my boating experience without major mishap, like a visit to the toilet. Although the damn smell of seafood—which I had never liked to begin with—was still a major distraction at any meal. After my embarrassing bitchfest with the Lion Security group, they never ordered it again when I ate with them, and my parents were polite enough to not do so either after I told them they had scarred me for life.
The morning the Zoya article ran, I woke to Daniil, reading—on my laptop—and nodding his head in approval. But his mood had changed quickly, turning completely somber. He pulled me on top of him, holding my hair back from my face as I stared down at him. Then he proceeded to gently and specifically explain his dangerous life and what that meant for someone he was with. And let me tell you, he hadn’t skimped on any of the details—for some reason ignoring what my profession was and giving me all of the dirty, low details of what his life entailed and what people would do to usurp his…empire…for lack of a better word.
And there was…a lot. Daniil dabbled in just about everything. The only thing his ‘organization’ didn’t have a hand in was drugs. Apparently, he drew the line there. His Papa hadn’t, and when Daniil took over five years ago as the boss, he cut that part out, causing a slight conflict that only recently had been resolved between himself and his dad. After Daniil proved they weren’t hurting for profits from their other businesses, which included respectful businesses, such as construction and property management, to not so respectful businesses, such as extremely risqué nightclubs providing anything sexual a person could want and somewhat legal arms stores. There was a plethora in between too since it took him a half-hour explaining all of his assets that were, as he put it, run with a firmer hand than most genteel businesses.
I stayed mute. And it would be a lie to say I hadn’t been a little freaked that he was so easily giving up the information on the inner working of the Russian Mafia. I wasn’t a fool to believe he was spilling all of it, but he was giving more than he should have to a reporter, even one who was his exclusive lover.
He explained the attacks that were taken against him so far and what could happen to me. He said it was too vast to list all of the attempts on his life, but explained the most significant times.
He began with the attack on him and his late wife. He hadn’t shown any emotion when speaking of her, which made me wonder. She died in a fire after she was drugged at one of the clubs, at the same time Daniil was beaten almost to death. The result was he was in a coma for almost six months, his children fled—he showed emotion there—and his wife died. All at the hands of his brother who wanted to take over the family business. It hadn’t worked out so well for the brother though in the end—somehow being slaughtered and Daniil’s dad taking back over.
He then explained the seven other attempts at his life in the past five years, none as deadly as the first, but still very serious nonetheless. He hadn’t really needed to say what the hazards would be for me after all that, but he did. In explicit detail.
And it utterly and completely scared the shit out of me.
He wasn’t surprised by my reaction, almost accepting of it. So, when I fled his room, telling him I needed time to think, he let me go without a word, just watching me with a hooded gaze…but he had stolen a quick,
succulent kiss before I raced out.
Shaking and freaked, that was when Brent and Cole stopped me, managing to get me in the elevator alone…Trofim was lagging behind since Daniil had poked his head out the door, calling him back for a moment to speak to him. Right as the elevator opened, Cole and Brent stepped out of the room the maid had been cleaning and followed me into the elevator—leaving Daniil shouting down the hallway.
I knew a bad situation when I saw it. I tried to get out, but before I could even scream, Brent wrapped an arm around my waist and a hand over my mouth just as Cole pressed the close button, also hitting the button for my floor.
Cole stated quickly and quietly when I started struggling, “We only want to speak with you privately.” All three of us could hear the racing footsteps out in the hallway, coming fast at the elevator. Cole thumped the close button again. “We aren’t stupid enough to harm you publicly like this, so calm down before you do it to yourself.”
The door had closed before anyone became visible, but the three of us still heard Daniil’s furious uproar through the doors as the elevator began to travel down. It was more than unnerving that Cole said ‘harm you publicly’ so I kept up the struggle for a few beats. Pretty much until I completely wore myself out. The previous day had taken a toll on my body. I wasn’t sure what it was with the Lion Security’s group, but it was like they were all made of steel and couldn’t be hurt because, no matter how hard I fought in Brent’s arms, he didn’t even flinch or break a sweat while keeping me restrained.
Cole hit the button to stop the elevator. We came to a halt between floors. He asked, “Are you done so we can speak?”
I nodded, exhausted.
Brent released me, and I slumped against the wall. I crossed my arms and glared at these two men. No one enjoys being cornered in an elevator to ‘talk.’
“What were you trying to imply last night at dinner?” Cole questioned.
In return, I rolled my eyes, not wanting to play this game right now and be stuck in an elevator all day with them. “I wasn’t implying anything. What I meant was that if you go and pick a fight with Grigori for something that happened while you two were supposedly dead, I will write an article,” no, I won’t, “about the two of you… experimenting… complete with photos of your tongues down each other’s throats.”
Obsidian Mask Page 7
