by Daiko, SC
After changing into clean shorts and a tee, I went down to the kitchen. I glanced around for Emma, but she wasn’t there. Mrs. K greeted me with a grin. “She’s having breakfast with the Boss. He wants you to join them.”
I caught a speculative look in Mrs. Konin’s eyes. Like Emma, she must have noticed Taras’ change in attitude toward me. Yesterday, at the park, his men had seen the way he’d held me. In the limo, a glass division had separated us from Oleg, but he’ll have perceived our closeness.
Whatever.
Now wasn’t the right moment to explain myself.
I simply thanked Mrs. K., pushed open the door to the formal dining room, and sat in the chair next to Emma.
She was eating pancakes while chattering non-stop to Taras and showing him my mum’s CD. “Zoe is a great singer, too, Papa, isn’t she? I’ve heard her sometimes when I’ve left my bedroom window open, duetting with you.”
I held my breath, waiting for his denial.
But it didn’t come.
He flicked her chin playfully and said, “So you’ve listened to us, have you, myshka? How long have you known I could play the cello?”
“Dur, Papa. Like, forever?” She scrunched up her pretty little face. “I listen to you before I fall asleep and in my dreams.”
I caught Taras’ eye, saw the love there for his daughter, and a warm feeling spread through me.
In my mind, I punched the air. YES!!!
“What are your plans for the day?” His smoldering green eyes were on me, and, much to my shame, I became wet for him in front of her.
Get a grip of yourself, Zoe. Focus on the task in hand.
“You said I could skip school,” she interjected. “Zoe and I are gonna give each other makeovers so we’ll look beautiful for our date with you tonight.”
“You are both more than beautiful already,” his deep baritone voice purred as he ping-ponged his stare back and forth between us. “You are goddesses.”
Jesus, he could be so freaking charming when he wanted to be.
A charming devil, no less.
Mrs. Konin arrived with my oatmeal, interrupting my thoughts, and I dove in, bending my head to conceal the sudden redness in my cheeks.
“I will give you my gift later, Emmochka,” I heard Taras say as he pushed back his chair to leave for work. “I’ll be home mid-afternoon.”
I raised my eyes to his, caught them staring deep into mine, burning with something. Something that made my heart squeeze. The same something I’d seen there for Emma.
I waved him off, my heart fluttering behind my ribcage.
All day, I tried to stop myself from thinking about Justin Ward and what Taras and his men would be doing to him while Emma and I had fun.
Don’t let it spoil things.
Ward had gotten himself into the situation by attempting to turn me against the Boss, I reminded myself.
But I wouldn’t let Taras hide the truth from me much longer about him, even if, like he’d warned me, Taras’ truth was the stuff of nightmares.
Just not today. Today was all for Emma.
* * *
Taras took us out for dinner in a swanky restaurant set within the opera house before the ballet was due to start. Emma’s eyes practically popped out of her head as attentive waiters leapt to unfurl our napkins and place them on our laps.
Demyan and Oleg sat at the table behind us, watching us like hawks while the maître d’hôtel took our orders. Taras opted for the Hamachi Crudo, but Emma and I turned our noses up at raw fish and chose appetizers of poached pear salad instead. They both decided on the braised short ribs paired with French fries for their main course while I ordered the slow cooked salmon. Taras, handsome as a Greek god in his expensive looking black tuxedo, captured my eyes with his. “A glass of champagne, Zoe?”
“Can I have some too?” Emma squeaked.
“Soda for you, young lady, but I’ll let you have a sip of mine,” he responded, taking a small gift-wrapped package from his pocket and placing it in front of her. A warm smile gleamed in his eyes.
She squeaked again, her ears pinking, and tore off the paper to reveal the latest iPhone. She clasped it to her chest, beaming with delight.
“It’s all set up for you, Emmochka,” he said in a voice that cracked with emotion.
“Awesome.” She leaned into him and planted a kiss on his stubble-y cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
Watching them brought a lump to my throat, and I swallowed it down with a sip of champagne.
Conversation was easy while we ate. Now that Taras and I had been ‘outed’ regarding our duets we talked openly about our love of music, how we related to different genres, always including Emma in our discussions so she wouldn’t feel left out. She’d been a silent admirer of her father’s cello performances for years, she said. It made my chest ache that only now could she talk to him about it. I didn’t need to ask her why she’d kept it to herself; almost certainly, she’d been scared. The old Taras would have been mad at her for listening and might even have stopped playing altogether.
“The great thing about this restaurant,” he said, patting the corners of his mouth with his napkin after finishing his ribs, “is that we can return here during the intermission for our dessert.” He snapped his fingers to call our waiter. “Last time I was here, I had the chocolate mousse cake. It was delicious.”
Emma and I scanned the menu, both deciding on the Baked Alaska. We went to use the facilities in the rest room, giggling conspiratorially together while we applied lip gloss. “You look so beautiful in that dress, Zoe,” she sighed. “Like a movie star.” A brief pause. “Does Papa like it?”
Oh, yes, he more than likes it, I wanted to tell her, thinking about his hot breath in my ear as he whispered his appreciation while bending to open the car door for me earlier. “I think so,” I deadpanned instead. “You’re looking stunning too. Your frock is gorgeous.”
Back at our table, Emma grabbed her new phone. “I want to take a picture of the two of you.”
I stood slightly behind Taras and placed my right hand on his right shoulder, smiling at Emma while she snapped a couple of shots.
“Let me take a photo of you and your dad,” I suggested.
But, out of the blue, Taras’ expression darkened.
A man and his entourage were approaching.
He was as tall as Taras, about ten years older with gray hair and a moustache. A younger blonde woman dripping diamonds hung on his arm; two men in dark suits followed.
Immediately, Demyan and Oleg placed themselves in front of us.
“It’s okay,” Taras grunted. “He’s a Vor.”
“Good to see you, Taras,” the man’s Russian accented voice boomed. He stared pointedly at Emma and me.
“My daughter, Emma, and this is Zoe, her nanny,” Taras introduced us.
“Semion Abramovich,” the older man shook my hand.
“I’m Svetlana, Semion’s wife,” the blonde woman’s fingers held mine. “We saw you from our table on the other side of the restaurant.”
“Are you going to the ballet?” Emma asked.
“We are,” Semion Abramovich checked his watch. “Maybe we should hurry? We don’t want to miss the curtain call...”
We must have seemed a strange posse as we trooped toward the foyer, our security men trailing behind us. Thankfully, we were seated in a separate balcony box to the Abramovich’s in the level two parterre.
Thankfully, because I didn’t want Taras’ attention being taken away from Emma.
“See you at the intermission,” Svetlana smiled.
“Looking forward to it,” I said somewhat insincerely.
Taras had paid for the whole box, and we sat in luxurious comfort on individual armchairs with a fabulous view of the stage. The orchestra were already turning up and my stomach fluttered with excitement.
The curtain rose, and I was transfixed as Tchaikovsky’s glorious music score, the beautiful set depicting a lake under the moonlig
ht, and the ‘swans’ moving in magical unison transported me to another dimension. The America Ballet Theater is considered one of the greatest dance companies in the world, and I could see why. The corps de ballet was amazing.
I glanced at Emma; she was possibly even more wrapped than I was. I knew this romantic fable of ill-fated love didn’t end happily and I’d prepped her beforehand. Her intense gaze as she followed the story brought tears of happiness to my eyes. I brushed them away so no one could see.
The intermission arrived before we knew it. After a quick visit to the Ladies, Emma and I joined Taras at our table. “Can’t believe I’ve got any room left for dessert,” I rubbed my belly. “But it looks so good.”
The ice cream and cake topped with browned meringue had brought saliva to my mouth; I swallowed it down quickly before I drooled. Emma had already dived into hers.
Taras smiled indulgently before digging his spoon into his chocolate mousse. The Abramovich party had yet to make their presence known, and I was glad of that. My relief was only short-lived; they came up just as we were heading back to our box.
“We’d love you to spend the weekend with us in the Hamptons soon,” Mr. Abramovich said, placing his hand on Taras’ arm. “We can introduce our kids to each other.”
I glanced at Taras. Took in his stony face. He’d said Abramovich was a Vor, which meant he was in the Russian Mafia. In the past several weeks I’d been working for Taras, never once had Emma set foot outside his estate until today. I was almost certain he’d decline Abramovich’s invitation.
“Thank you,” Taras said. “I accept with pleasure. How about next weekend?”
I almost had to pick my jaw up off the floor. I stared at him; he shot me a look that conveyed he would explain later.
We said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Abramovich and entered our box. Emma took her seat. I lingered, waiting for Taras to enlighten me.
“Remember you said Emma needed to hang out with children of her own age?” he whispered in my ear. “I thought this might be a start.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Thanks.”
Be careful what you wish for, the words suddenly echoed in my head. I told myself not to be silly. Even if Emma befriended the children of another Mafia kingpin, she would still be mixing with her peers. That could only be a good thing, right?
And yet… and yet, there was something about the impending visit that gave me bad vibes. It was too sudden. Too unexpected. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and I munched on the inside of my cheek so fiercely it hurt.
Chapter Nineteen
Taras
My men were holding Justin Ward in an empty warehouse on the edge of town. I went straight there. I hadn’t wanted to see the shitass yesterday, hadn’t wanted to contaminate myself when I was about to celebrate Emma’s birthday.
Oleg brought my SUV to a stop outside the massive steel doors to the building. Adrenaline spiked in my veins as I climbed out of the car.
Demyan was already there. “Fucker keeps insisting he’s a federal agent,” my right-hand-man laughed coldly, leading me past the disused loading docks to a room at the back. He ushered me inside.
Ward was trussed up to a wooden chair, his mouth covered in duct tape. His overly bright eyes met mine.
Be afraid, motherfucker.
Be very afraid.
Hands clenched, I stalked across the concrete floor. “You’re a fed?” I towered over the stinking bastard. “You lying punk!”
“Want me to beat the truth outta him, Boss?” Demyan’s tone was gleeful, and he licked his thin lips.
I cracked my knuckles, planted my legs wide. “This whoreson is all mine.”
With a snarl, I ripped the tape off him, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and pulled his head back.
He let out a cowardly whimpering sound.
Tough guy, my ass.
“If you murder me, you’ll get the death penalty,” he bleated.
I barked out a bitter laugh. I could have killed him with my bare hands for even touching Zoe. “I have other plans for you.”
“What are ya gonna do?” he lolled his head to one side.
I discerned the glimmer of a New York Italian accent. He was one of the Polombo, I was sure of it. Not a made man, they wouldn’t have sent a high-ranking member to recruit an informer. He’d have been a foot soldier, a miserable weasel, a nobody.
“I’ll keep you here until you die of starvation,” I said the words calmly, in a matter of fact tone. “Tell us who you’re working for and I’ll let you go.”
I was lying and he knew it.
“I told you, I’m a federal agent.”
“Liar. You approached an innocent woman,” I leaned right into his face and snarled, “who wants me so bad they would threaten her?”
Silence.
Rage boiled my blood.
I kicked the chair with vicious intent.
He looked comical as it toppled backwards, his eyes almost bursting out of his head. I’d have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious.
I aimed another kick, this time at his worthless ass.
The sudden stench of shit invaded my nostrils.
The cunting bastard had soiled himself.
With a shudder of disgust, I turned on my heel and left the room.
Demyan locked the door behind me. “I’ll arrange a twenty-four-hour guard, Boss.”
I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and called my attorney. “Hey, Felix. I need you to contact our friend in the bureau,” I said without preamble. “Tell him I’ve caught a rat claiming to be a federal agent. I’m almost certain he’s one of the Polombo. I’ll send you a photo. The feds owe me. They can deal with the motherfucker themselves.”
Unknown to everyone except Felix Nikolaev and Demyan, I had what I thought of as a good working relationship with the FBI. They watched over my home in exchange for my help with fighting drug traffickers. That sting operation when I’d dumped the Italians’ cocaine out at sea had been executed with the feds’ collusion. And I’d just set up another sting for them with the Venezuelan cartel.
I shook my head and thought about Zoe. She’d be like a dog with a bone; she wouldn’t let go until I told her what I’d done to Ward. If I finished him off like Sergei last month, she wouldn’t be happy. I opened the photo gallery on my phone, found the picture I’d snapped of Ward in the park on Sunday and sent it to Nikolaev.
I blew out a breath. Was I growing soft under Zoe’s influence?
I’d vowed I’d never change for anyone.
But she wasn’t just ‘anyone’.
My heart hammered in my chest as I remembered her saying I love you.
Words that didn’t come easily to me.
I got into the back of my car and Oleg drove me to the office. I spent the rest of the day going through my accounts while waiting for Felix Nikolaev to touch base, which he did in the late afternoon. “Our contact is away on vacation,” he informed me. “Said he’d deal with Ward on his return next week.”
To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. I wanted to shelve the whole sordid affair and get on with my life. I sighed heavily. “We’ll keep the motherfucker under lock and key. In the meantime, can you find out his real identity?”
“Will do,” Felix assured me.
I disconnected, shrugged on my dress suit jacket and buzzed Oleg to take me home. I couldn’t wait to see Emma and Zoe, and my pulse literally raced as the car came to a stop and I heard them cavorting in the pool.
After giving instructions to Mrs. Konin that I wanted them to have dinner with me, I changed into my swimming shorts and ran outside.
* * *
“Good,” Zoe said after I’d told her I was planning on handing Ward over to the FBI.
We’d duetted together for Emma after dinner. My daughter had clapped her hands when our ‘performance’ was over, plainly thrilled. “I’m twelve now,” she’d said importantly. “I can put myself to bed.”
We’d h
ugged her between the two of us, and she’d kissed us one after the other before wishing us goodnight.
Zoe had gone up to her room then, not wanting Emma to be suspicious, but once she was sure my daughter was asleep, she’d crept downstairs and we’d made love.
I’d taken her slowly, showing her how I felt. Giving more than receiving. After she’d come twice, I lay with my body spooned around her, nuzzling the nape of her neck while I gave her the lowdown on Ward.
She picked up my hand and played with my fingers. “Much as I hate the man, I didn’t want you to kill him.”
I turned her around, looked her directly in the eye. “I’m evil, rybka. I’ve killed better men than him.”
She brushed my hair back from my face. “I don’t think of you as evil.” A smile trembled on her mouth. “I see a lot of good in you. You’re an amazing father, for a start.” She caught her lip between her teeth, and I waited for her to continue. She didn’t take long. “I was wondering, though, why you suddenly agreed to take Emma to visit with Semion and Svetlana next weekend?”
I held her face between the palms of my hands. “I told you. She needs to mix with children of her own age.” I kissed the tip of her nose. “You suggested it yourself.”
“I hope you’ll have a great time,” she said wistfully, gazing downwards.
“Hey,” I lifted her chin, captured her eyes with mine. “You’re coming with us. I wouldn’t dream of separating you and Emma. She wouldn’t go without you, for a start.”
And neither would I.
Zoe’s cheeks colored. “I guess the Abramoviches have masses of servants…”
“You. Are. Not. Coming. Along. As. A. Servant,” I growled. “I’ll make sure you’re treated the same as Emma and me.”
“But I’m only your nanny. You introduced me as your nanny yesterday,” she creased her brow. “And, besides, I haven’t got the right kind of clothes to be considered anything else.”
So that’s what was bothering her. And she was right. She needed to be dressed appropriately for a weekend in the Hamptons.
