by Cole, Jagger
“Ostanovka!”
The deep, gravelly voice booms through the room.
I feel my heart pounding in my throat as I slowly look up. The two burly men move aside, and suddenly, I’m looking at a tall, broad-shouldered, completely gorgeous tank of a man. He’s even taller and bigger than his two bodyguards, and you can almost see the power rippling off of him. His deep blue eyes look right at me, captivating my gaze.
“Who are you?”
“Mr. Komarov,” my father fumbles, almost tripping over himself as he stutters over. “This is Fiona, my daughter.”
The brooding Russian’s eyes glimmer. They narrow at me as a shadow of a smile curls at his lips.
“Thomas,” he growls. “Our debt is settled.”
2
Viktor
I smile thinly up at the gilded townhouse. Being the District Attorney for Chicago pays well, though I’m quite sure it does not pay this well. But I know all about the other business of the man who lives here. I know of his backroom handshakes, and sweetheart contracts. I know he fancies himself a Kennedy.
My smile fades. If Thomas Murray doesn’t play his cards right in about five minutes, he’ll have a lot more in common with JFK than he’d like—such as an extra hole in his head he didn’t have this morning.
I turn to Lev and scowl. “Give him one last chance.”
“Da, Viktor.” Lev pulls a cellphone out of his suit jacket and hits a button. I look back up at the front of the Murray townhouse and smile thinly once again.
Years ago, I may have envied this man with his wealth and this opulent home. It may have sparked a hunger in me—a drive to conquer and build my own empire. But I’ve done those things now. I’ve reached the top. Now, when I look at Thomas Murray’s twelve-million-dollar Chicago townhouse, I just smile. I smile because now, my house is bigger than this. My wealth is vaster than his. And my power is even greater than his wildest aspirations.
Thomas Murray can be mayor of Chicago if he wishes. He can think that brings him power if it helps him sleep at night. But the real power will be with the man who owns that mayor. And that man is me.
Next to me, Lev grunts and hangs up. He turns to me with a stoic look. “That was his butler. Mr. Murray is ‘indisposed’ with a party.”
My mood darkens even more. While I admit that sometimes I miss getting my hands dirty, I don’t relish the idea of dragging a probable mayoral candidate out of his own party to put a bullet in him. But Thomas is out of time, and I’m out of patience.
“He had his chance to be a man about it,” I growl. “Let’s go.”
Lev and two of my men fall into step behind me as I take the stairs to the townhouse’s front door. A man answers, but his smile quickly fades when he realizes who I am.
“Sir, you’re—”
“Here to see Mr. Murray. Right now.”
The butler pales. “Sir, Mr. Murray is indisposed. It’s his daughter’s graduation pa—”
“I don’t give a shit if his daughter is solving world hunger and ending a war!” I snap. I snarl and loom over the trembling butler, letting him feel my wrath and power. “I am seeing him, right now.”
“C—certainly, sir,” the man fumbles. “Of course. Allow me to show you to—”
“His office will do,” I snap.
The man swallows. “Sir, Mr. Murray’s office is private—”
“As is our business,” I growl with a warning tone. “So bring me, now.”
The man quickly caves. “Of course, Mr. Komarov. This way.”
I follow the man, with Lev and the other two following close behind me. Elsewhere in the house, I hear jazz music playing, along with the dull murmur and din of the graduation party. I’m aware that Thomas has a daughter, though I’ve never crossed paths with her. Word is, few have. He’s kept her locked away in this house, even homeschooling her, for most of her life. Given Thomas’s tendencies for backroom deals with men like me, that’s probably the smartest thing he’s ever done.
She’s recently graduated from Columbia Law School. But even that was done remotely, with some strings pulled by the aspiring mayor. I roll my eyes as the butler brings us into Thomas’s office. Imagine raising a child, giving them every advantage and the best schooling, just so they can be locked in a gilded cage.
I think of my own, radically different upbringing, and I grit my teeth. I was afforded nothing. I wasn’t given a single leg up, or golden opportunity. My childhood was a lesson in fighting for a bite of food, or piece of threadbare blanket against the chill of night.
My upbringing was learning to fight and draw blood young, so the predators would stay away from me. That was life in the orphanage and foster systems of Russia. Some would call it Hell. They’d be right, but in a way, I’m glad for it. Being raised by devils in Hell forged me into the man I am today. It hardened me and taught me self-reliance and gave me the drive to claw my way to the top.
“Mr. Murray will be in as soon as—”
“Bring him,” I say flatly, glaring at the man. I ignore the chair he’s obviously gesturing to and walk behind Thomas’s desk. I sit in his chair and put my feet up on his desk. “Bring him now.”
The butler pales and nods rapidly. “Of course, Mr. Komarov.” He turns and scurries out of the room, closing the door behind him.
I sigh and sit back in his chair. My eyes scan the room and his desk. The walls are filled with pictures of Thomas shaking various important people’s hands—former President’s, important businessmen, a few celebrities. But there’s not a single one of his family. Not one picture of his late wife, or of his daughter.
I begin to think that Thomas locking his daughter away in this tower is less about protecting her, and more about regimenting his life.
The door opens, and Thomas walks in with a white face. He glares at my feet on his desk when he sees where I’m sitting, but he quickly hides the look.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve made myself comfortable.”
He stammers. “N-no. No!” He smiles that bullshit politician smile at me. “No, not at all, Viktor. Can I get you anything?”
“How about four million dollars.”
Thomas freezes for a moment. But then he laughs, like I’ve just made a joke. My eyes narrow.
“I’m not sure what’s so amusing about that, Thomas.”
His stupid smile drops quickly. “Ah, well, Viktor, you know I’m a man of my word—”
“I don’t know that, actually,” I snap. “Actually, I’ve only found the opposite with our dealings. And you can refer to me as Mr. Komarov,” I growl with a warning tone.
Six months ago, it wasn’t Thomas Murray favored to sweep the mayoral elections next month. A man named Lewis Hall, a former State’s Attorney-turned-State Representative was a shoe-in. Alas, the unfortunate Representative Hall hung himself after pictures surfaced of him cavorting around naked and ball-gagged with an eighteen-year-old prostitute in a hotel room full of narcotics.
Bad luck for Lewis, but great luck for Thomas, who became the new favorite to win. Except, luck played no part in this. The girl was provided by me. So was the rope. So were the hands that tied it into a noose, as well as the ones that forced him kicking-and-screaming into it.
The deal for getting rid of Mr. Hall was that Thomas would use his heavy influence with the current mayor to get one of my companies a lucrative shipping contract with the city. Lucrative to the tune of four million over the next two years. Not a bad trade for murdering one stupid politician.
Except, the contract never happened. Instead, it went to an existing city contractor. Which means our deal is not complete. I did Thomas a favor—a big one, too. Now, he owes me four million dollars, or else Chicago is going to find itself with yet another suicidal mayoral candidate.
“Look, I already told you,” Thomas bleats. He’s backpedaling, like the sniveling political hack that he is. “I can get you money now, or if you want to wait until after the election, whatever contracts you want are—
”
“I am not interested in gambling on your political aspirations, Thomas.”
“Gambling?” Thomas laughs. “This is a sure thing. Mayor Pesactore endorsed me last week. It’s in the bag. And trust me, once I’m in, those contracts are going to be so sweet, you’ll get cavities—”
“I already told you,” I snarl. I slide my feet off of desk, sitting tall in his chair. “I am not interested.” I glare at him coolly. “We had an arrangement, Thomas.”
“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “And I’m trying—”
“I did you a favor.” I stand. Lev stays watching from the side, but the other two I’ve brought instinctually move behind Thomas, in case he tries to run.
“I know that! And I’m so appreciative! I just—”
“A debt is owed,” I snarl. “And today, I am here to collect on it.”
“Look, I’m trying, okay?” Thomas’s voice is getting louder. He glances behind him, seeing my men there, and his cool starts to break. “I-if you just give me a month, Vi—Mr. Komarov.”
“I am not interested in giving you a goddamn thing, Thomas,” I hiss. “Except a further three seconds to tell me how I’m going to get my money, today.” I level my eyes at him. Slowly, I reach into my jacket and pull the nine-millimeter out from its shoulder holster. Thomas’s face turns white.
“One.”
“Mr. Komarov,” he gasps. “Please! This is not how things are done—”
“Do not lecture me, Thomas. We had an arrangement. That is how things are done.” I raise the gun at him. “Two.”
“Mr. Komarov!”
I cock the gun with a click, more for dramatic effect than anything. But then suddenly, I hear it—the unmistakable sound of a gasp from the other side of Thomas’s office door. This meeting is not so private after all.
I nod curtly at the two men behind Thomas. Wordlessly, they turn, scowling as they storm over to the door. One of them throws it open, and suddenly they’re yanking a figure inside and tossing her down across the floor. They slam the door shut and march over to her, when suddenly, my voice booms out.
“Ostanovka!” I roar. “Stop!” The room falls silent. And in that silence, the only thing I can see is her.
The girl is stunning. She’s sprawled across the floor in a shimmering silver and white cocktail dress, one heel has fallen off. Her hands are splayed across the hardwood floor, and her long red hair falls across her face. But then she looks up. My eyes find hers, and I suck in my breath with a hiss.
The roar of a beast rumbles inside of my chest. My muscles clench, as does my jaw. I stare at this angel from heaven, and I feel the world shift beneath my feet. Every pain ever inflicted on me fades. Every demon hounding my shadows falls silent. Every scar stops throbbing with pain.
“Who are you.” The words come unbidden. But it’s the most important question I’ve ever asked in my life. I need to know her—every single inch and piece of her. I need to know her, and I need to make her all mine.
“Mr. Komarov…”
Thomas’s voice cuts through the silence, infuriating me as it breaks my focus on the girl. But my eyes never leave her, and she blushes as she slowly slips her shoe back on. She gets to her feet, smoothing her dress. But still, my eyes can’t look away. My heart can’t stop racing. My hunger for her won’t be abated.
“Mr. Komarov,” Thomas needles again. He smiles through his fear of me, like a good little political pawn. He shuffles over and puts a hand on the girl’s back. He’s oblivious to the rage it induces in me as he turns to beam at me.
“This is Fiona, my daughter.”
I blink. The roaring in my ears comes rushing back. The world fades to black around me, until all I see is her; a red-haired angel drawing me in like a moth to flame. My hands clench, gripping into fists at my sides. I drink her in, shaking inside as I turn to the district attorney.
“Thomas,” I growl. My lips thin into a smile. “Our debt is settled.”
3
Fiona
My mind blanks. I stare up—and it is up; the man is more than a foot taller than me—and my core tightens. I know I’m looking up into the eyes of the most dangerous, most ruthless man in Chicago; possibly one of the most ruthless in the world. But my body refuses to cooperate with that knowledge.
The problem is that Viktor Komarov might be the devil himself. But he’s stunningly handsome. He’s the kind of man you’d call gorgeous—beautiful, even. Dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a squared, chiseled jaw, and the sort of lips that make your brain short circuit. My eyes slowly slide over him, drinking in his massive height and size. He’s built like a football player, or star MMA fighter, and yet clothed in a suit tailored around his huge shoulders and arms.
But then, my body catches up with my brain. I stiffen, hearing his words in my head again.
“I’m sorry, what?”
The room is silent. My father says nothing. Viktor says nothing. My heart is racing as I look up at the big Russian mobster’s face, and then whirl to my father.
“Dad?”
“This is out of your father’s hands now,” Viktor growls, his deep voice like velvet and fire. “Isn’t that right, Thomas?”
I turn to stare at him, then back at my father again.
“Dad, what’s he—”
“Mr. Komarov,” my father croaks. “It… I mean she’s…” He swallows. “It would be political suicide.”
I stare at him with my mouth falling open. Political suicide? “What?”
“Your father and I have an unfinished business arrangement,” Viktor grunts thinly. “Don’t we, Thomas?”
“I—yes,” my father nods weakly.
“Do you suppose she needs to hear the details?”
He quickly shakes his head. “N-no. No, Mr. Komarov.”
“Dad, what the hell is going on?”
“I’ll play your gamble, Thomas,” Viktor growls. “I will wait for this ‘sure thing’ of yours. Though, the price has doubled. It’s two contracts now, both as profitable as the first. Are we understood?”
My father nods quickly. “Yes! Yes, of course, Mr. Komarov!” He smiles that phony politician’s smile I’ve seen my entire life. “That won’t be a problem at all.”
“I know.” The Russian draws a slow breath of air. When I chance looking back at him again, I blush when I find his eyes wholly on me. His jaw clenches, and I tremble at the heat in his gaze before he turns to my father.
“And since your election is such a sure thing, I’m sure you won’t mind my taking a small…” he smiles thinly. His eyes slowly slide back to me, making me tremble. “Collateral.”
I freeze, my heart dropping. I whirl to stare at my father again. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Mr. Komarov…”
“It is this or there is no deal,” Viktor grunts. “This is not a negotiation, Thomas.”
When my father slowly nods, my face falls.
“Dad?!”
“Honey,” he turns, giving me this shitty, weak political smile. “I—I mean…” He takes a breath. “It would only be until the election.”
My eyes widen in horror. “You can’t… are you fucking serious?!”
“I strongly suggest you weigh the options here, Thomas.”
I turn. My heart skips and lurches into my throat when I see Viktor pull back his suit jacket, revealing the heavy gun tucked into a holster under his arm.
“You…” I blanche. “You can’t just—”
“Actually, Ms. Murray,” he growls. “I can.” His lips curl into a thin smile. “And I am.”
“Dad, you can’t—”
“Honey,” he says quietly. “It… it might be best if—”
“What?!”
Horror chills me to the bone. I feel like I’m having some sort of out of body experience as I whirl back and forth between my father and the Bratva kingpin—two wicked men, deciding my fate without me.
“Dad!”
“This is settled,” Viktor grunts. He nod
s to his three henchmen. “We’re leaving, now.”
My father swallows. “I—when would Fiona… I mean—”
“She’s coming with me. Right now.”
My mouth falls open. “Wait, what are you saying—”
“I’m saying,” Viktor turns suddenly. I tremble, feeling my core tighten again as his sharp blue eyes pierce into me. “I’m saying you’re coming with me, now, Fiona.”
He lets my name drip from his mouth. I shudder at the way he says it, like a lover’s whisper.
“I—now?” I croak.
“Yes.”
“I—you want me to come with you… where?”
He smiles thinly. “To my house.”
My face pales. “Until when?”
“Until your father wins his ‘sure thing’ mayoral election and can repay me what he owes.”
I still feel like I’m watching from outside my body. I turn in slow motion to stare at my father. “Dad…”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting. I’ve been nothing but a political prop to my father for my entire life. Do I really think he’s suddenly going to become a real father and stand up for me, to this monster?
“It’s just a month, honey!” He says cheerily, though his face is pale and haggard.
Just a month. Just a month as the captive of the most dangerous criminal in Chicago. I turn to look at Viktor again as the horror seeps into my soul.
“Come with me, Fiona.”
I swallow as the fear begins to grip me. “I—I can’t just leave…”
“Yes, you can.”
“I need to pack…”
“That won’t be necessary,” the Russian grunts.
I blink, feeling tears welling in my eyes. “No,” I whisper. “No, this is fucking insane. I’m not just—”
