Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride

by Bella Rose

  “David!” he shouted to get the waiter’s attention. “Get me some fresh coffee. And why is this toast black? Do you really think I like my breakfast half runny and half burned? Seriously! It’s not that hard!”

  David raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He never would. And really, why was Anatoly yelling at the man anyway? Groaning, he put his head in his hands and wondered if he was really losing his mind.

  “Are you all right?”

  Trisha’s soft voice was almost his undoing. After everything that had happened between the two of them, why would she even care? Or was she just pretending to care because she needed him in order to have her little vacation and get away from her overbearing father?

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

  She drew back, her brow furrowed and her expression confused. Then he felt bad. There was nothing calculating about Trisha. She wasn’t at all like Bianka. She didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his temper even if he was uncertain about her motives. It was time to take a step back and be cautious without making her overly suspicious. Discovering people’s true motives was always so much easier that way.

  TRISHA COULD NOT figure out what was up with Anatoly. The guy had epic mood swings. One second he was charming, and the next he was a total ass. Now he was smiling, and she was almost afraid to say another word lest she tip him in the other direction.

  She sat down at the table and gingerly reached for the carafe of orange juice. The sweet scent of the juice put her in mind of home. She felt a pang of nostalgia and a hint of doubt. Was she doing the right thing? Not that she really had any choice. For all that Anatoly appeared to be relaxed, Trisha had a feeling he would be back to the domineering overlord if she even mentioned leaving.

  “So what would you like to do this morning?” he asked with an expression of indulgence.

  Trisha tried not to gape at him. Was this guy unbalanced? “I suppose telling you that I’d like to go catch my flight at the airport would be pointless?”

  “Completely pointless, especially now that you’ve shared that you don’t particularly want to go home.” He sat back in his seat. A uniformed waiter set another breakfast tray in front of him, complete with coffee. Anatoly picked it up without even acknowledging the man. “So I believe we can dispense with the lie of your wanting to go home.”

  “How about if I say that I’d like to go retrieve my stuff.” Trisha gestured to the little black dress she was still wearing. The garment was in need of attention, and she was in need of her clothing. “It would be a real pleasure to wear clean clothes.”

  “We can just shop for new things.” He gave an airy wave of his hand.

  “I don’t want new things,” she said quietly. Trisha sipped her juice and picked at a thin pastry they called blini. “I have other personal items along with my luggage. Not to mention all of my books and things from my study abroad program. I would like to have that stuff. And I’d rather wear my old clothes than buy new ones.”

  “You don’t like to shop?” He was eyeing her as though she were a creature from another planet.

  “No.” Trisha shot him a dirty look. “Why is it that men always assume a woman likes to shop? It’s really rather annoying. I hate shopping. I hate trying on clothes. I buy most of my stuff online and avoid malls like the plague.”

  “You are right.” He placed his palm over his heart. “I will cease and desist all stereotyping.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you have to quit thinking of me as some common criminal,” he said quickly.

  Trisha raised an eyebrow. “That will be difficult considering that you are one, don’t you think?”

  “I am not common.”

  ANATOLY COULD SEE the moment Trisha realized that he was teasing her. The lines between her brows smoothed, and she sat back in her seat as though he required more observation before she could make a final opinion. She was so beautiful, even wearing the same dress from the night before. He found everything about her refreshing. Then to hear that she didn’t like to shop… Had there ever been a more perfect woman?

  Anatoly reached across the table, intending to take her hand. To his surprise, she snatched it back before he could. He frowned, not even bothering to hide his irritation. “What is this? There is no need to be shy after what we shared last night.”

  “Last night was an anomaly.” She shook her head, her tangled red hair flying about her face. “I don’t know what I was thinking, but I cannot let my hormones take over. That would be foolish.”

  “So you’re going to pretend it never happened?” Anatoly’s mood plummeted. He stood up, flinging his chair back. “How can you think that is acceptable?” His English became more and more accented as he grew more agitated.

  “Oh believe me,” she said, standing up and getting right in his face. “I’m not about to pretend it didn’t happen. I need to remember! I need to remember so I can prevent another momentarily lapse in my good sense!”

  “Lapse,” he muttered. It felt odd to have her in his personal space. She was giving no quarter, and that had never happened before. Women didn’t get in his face. Not even Bianka. Hell, men didn’t get his face. “Step back. People do not argue with me. Do you not know this?”

  “What are you going to do?” She actually curled her lip at him. “Take me prisoner? Hold me against my will? Refuse to let me go get my stuff? Make fun of me? Turn my body against me and then get mad when I won’t let it happen again? The list is endless, Anatoly Zaretsky, and I’m not giving you a single inch anymore. Never again!”

  Anatoly backed off a step and then realized what he had done. He planted his feet and drew himself up to his full height. “You are still arguing,” he reminded her stiffly.

  “Like I care.” Her tone dripped sarcasm.

  Suddenly he couldn’t countenance it any more. The entire situation was simply too ludicrous to hold onto his composure. Anatoly found himself smiling, and then laughing. This caused Trisha to look blatantly confused, which only made him laugh harder.

  “Dude, you need meds or something.” Trisha sounded tired. “Seriously. I know I mentioned this yesterday a few times. But we should get you some help.”

  When he could finally speak, he reached out very slowly and touched her shoulder. “I think you are already helping me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He struggled to explain. “Because of my position, people do not argue with me. They don’t offer opposing opinions or tell me that I am wrong.”

  “That’s not good.” She pursed her lips. “If nobody ever tells you when you’re wrong or offers another viewpoint to incite discussion, how can you ever truly know that you’re right?”

  He had never considered this possibility. The thought was completely outside his normal frame of reference. “You know, the first time I saw you in my casino I knew that you would fascinate me. I suppose I never considered why that was so.”

  She snorted. “Never get into an argument with a redhead, Zaretsky. You will lose. Every. Single. Time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Trisha smiled to herself as the long black car glided down the streets of Moscow on its way to the dormitories of the Moscow Academy. She shouldn’t have been smiling. She should have been screaming her head off. Except she felt like she’d scored a point with Anatoly in that last verbal sparring match they’d had at breakfast. After all, she was in a car on the way to get her stuff. Right?

  The car pulled up to the curb and stopped. The glass between the front and the back lowered with a humming noise. “We’ve arrived, Ms. Copeland.” The driver was a man named Frederick. He was smiling at her in the rearview mirror. “I’ll wait here unless you need assistance with your things?”

  “No Frederick. Thank you very much, but I think I’ve got it.” Trisha reached for the handle. “I’ll try to be quick. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

  Frederick’s eyebrows shot up in obvious surprise. “No, ma’am. I have plenty of time for
this task.”

  “Well, I appreciate it.” She wondered if these guys ever got much in the way of appreciation. They all seemed so surprised when she said a simple thank you.

  Sheesh! Rich people.

  Trisha hopped out of the car and shut the door without slamming it. That was one of her father’s pet peeves. But she didn’t want to think about him right now. She wanted to run upstairs to her room and get her luggage. She and Minka had packed everything before going to the casino for that final afternoon of fun. There would be just a few things in her room left to get together. Unless the dorm manager had packed up Trisha’s stuff and removed it because she thought Trisha wasn’t coming back.

  Trisha trotted up the front steps to the old building. It felt a little bit like coming home, maybe even nostalgic in a way. Trisha had lived here for eight weeks. She had never been away from home for that long before until now. She opened the door and went right inside. The manager was at her desk in the little window to the left of the entrance.

  Trisha stopped at the counter. “Hello, Olga. I’m here to pick up my stuff!” She spoke in Russian since she knew Olga preferred it. “Is everything still in my room?”

  “Oh my goodness!” Olga leaped up from her chair. “Trisha? I didn’t expect to see you again. After Minka said…well, never mind what Minka said. I left your room the same. Are you going home? What happened?”

  Trisha laughed. “It’s difficult to explain. I’m staying with—a friend. Then I’ll go home in the next week or so.”

  “Your parents have been calling nonstop,” Olga said with a wide-eyed expression of irritation. “What shall I tell them?”

  She still didn’t have her phone. In fact, Trisha had forgotten all about her phone until this very minute. Anatoly’s men had confiscated their phones in the casino. She assumed the others had gotten theirs back when they’d been released. Trisha’s was still missing.

  “Just tell my folks I’ll call them when I can,” Trisha said with forced cheer. She was almost certain the Moscow police had been in touch with her parents, which wouldn’t have been a good thing. “Eventually I’ll get in touch with them.” Trisha searched for a plausible explanation. “Things are—complicated—at the moment.”

  “Of course.”

  If Olga’s expression was anything to go by, she knew more than she was telling, too. Weird. What was Anatoly? Some sort of royalty? No wonder everyone treated him like he was made of glass and catered to his every whim.

  “I’ll just run upstairs then, shall I?” Trisha gestured to the main staircase that wound its way up the middle of the building.

  “Of course. Go on up.” Olga waved her hand toward the steps, but seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact.

  How odd. Olga was usually pumping everyone for information. She had a natural curiosity that was almost KGB like. Trisha couldn’t decide if this was because Anatoly was involved, or something else. All she could do was head upstairs and get her stuff.

  The hallways were deserted on each floor. Trisha gazed around and wondered why it felt so ominous. Surely it was just in between terms. Right? Except there was a heavy sort of silence on each floor that seemed to be filled with foreboding. She remembered how the place had never been silent in the last eight weeks. With students ranging from eighteen to those like Trisha in their mid to late twenties, it was usually loud and crowded.

  Finally she reached the fourth floor. She and Minka had the third room to the right. She saw the suitcases she had packed sitting in the doorway. That seemed odd, but perhaps Minka had placed them there for her. The only thing that was missing was her overnight bag. She’d left a few items in that so she’d have clothes to change into.

  It would be a relief to get into her room and put on fresh clothes. She stepped over the suitcases and grabbed her overnight bag. Retracing her steps, she quickly went to the communal bathroom and freshened up. By the time she had washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she felt human again.

  She was back in the hallway just starting to gather up her stuff when she saw the two men come upstairs. Her attention was mostly focused on her bags. She needed to stack them in just the perfect configuration in order to get down the stairs without killing herself in the process.

  “Trisha Copeland?” the larger of the two men called out to her.

  She barely looked up from her luggage project. The overnight bag and her purse were both slung cross body style over her head. Now it was time for the two bigger pieces. She only glanced up when she answered the man. “Yes, I’m Trisha. Are you lost or something?”

  “Nope, we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.” The man smiled, the sight almost eerie. “You just stay still and don’t fight us, and this will go a lot easier.”

  A prickle of awareness slid down Trisha’s spine. She had only just straightened up when both men started walking toward her with their hands held out.

  Stay still? Not likely.

  She prepared to give them hell.

  ANATOLY COULD NOT shake the feeling that something was wrong. He snatched a pen off his desk and made a comment in the margin of the report he was supposed to be reviewing. This was all pointless. The casinos were doing very well. Yes. That was fabulous. There was apparently a chronic issue with the theft of towels at one of his resorts. Why was this crap his problem? Did he not hire managers to take care of such things?

  He had already gained his feet and prepared to leave, when Bianka Sokolov and her father Motya came sailing through. Or rather Bianka sailed, and Motya waddled. The man’s round body resembled one of the Imperial Easter Eggs so famed throughout the world, a fact not aided by his love for ridiculously adorned waistcoats.

  “Good morning, Anatoly,” Bianka purred. “My father and I have come to finalize the arrangements for our engagement.”

  Of all the things Bianka could have said to piss him off, that was at the top of the list. Anatoly felt his mood plummet. He was not in a humor to entertain this nonsense. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have other appointments to attend to this morning. If you simply speak with Yakov, he will help you make an appointment.”

  Motya Sokolov opened his mouth, but no words came out. He sputtered, obviously angry, as his face turned a sick shade of puce. Finally, he sucked in a huge breath that sounded a bit like a jet engine preparing for take off. “You will not disrespect my daughter in such a way, Anatoly Zaretsky!”

  “Excuse me?” Anatoly felt his temper rising to meet Motya’s. “I am not disrespecting you or your daughter. In fact, it could be argued that you are disrespecting me by charging into my office and demanding my time! As if I have nothing more important in my day than to entertain the marital delusions of a spoiled mafia princess!”

  As soon as the comment was out, Anatoly realized he had essentially thrown a gauntlet. Motya’s beady gaze narrowed. “The Zaretskys have enjoyed a lucrative association with the Sokolovs in the last decade, Anatoly. Do not think to profit from this partnership without paying a price.”

  “Do you not mean,” Anatoly said through gritted teeth. “That the Sokolovs have enjoyed a lucrative association with the Zaretskys?”

  “Impudent whelp!” Motya snarled.

  Anatoly put his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward. “Correct me if I am wrong, but my profits have been easily four times that of any Sokolov operation, and they are increasing at a rate which your enterprise could never hope to match.”

  Motya pointed his finger, jabbing it at the air in front of Anatoly’s face. “Only because you do not do business in the traditional way!”

  “Why would I when I can make so much more money doing things my way?” Anatoly demanded. “It makes no sense to stick to the old ways when they are bogged down by protocol that has no purpose.”

  “No purpose?” Motya was glowering now. “Your father understood and respected the traditions that kept our mafia strong throughout the years.”

  “My father?” Anatoly shook his
head, his irritation rising to dangerous levels. “You dare to use my father to defend your ridiculous argument? First of all, my father would have never entertained the notion of marrying his son to a Sokolov, especially not a useless piece of fluff like your daughter who is incapable of anything but the selfish pursuit of her own interests.”

  Bianka stomped her foot with a shriek of outrage. “How dare you? How dare you insult me like this? I have done nothing but forgive your rude behavior since the first time you took me out!”

  “Yes,” he said witheringly. “Because it suited your purpose at the time, which was to gain access to my financial holdings in order to finance your next spending spree. Tell me, Bianka, how much money did you spend on your wardrobe last year?”

  “That isn’t important!” she shouted. “I’m an important person. How I look reflects on those around me. Do you not know anything?”

  “Apparently not.” Anatoly decided to be done with this. He had a strong urge to find Trisha and engage in another verbal sparring match before trying to coax her back into bed a second time. He picked up a sheet of paper and then reached for his pen. Drawing a number on the paper, he very carefully chose what he wanted to say. “You want a marriage between the Sokolovs and the Zaretskys? Fine. This is my offer. This number will be Bianka’s yearly allowance. I will maintain a house and oversee all of the budgetary concerns for that domicile. I will have a separate dwelling. I will not give her one ruble more than this number, nor will I allow her access to my files, financial holdings, investments, business ventures, or any other part of my businesses past, present, or future. No Sokolovs will receive special treatment because of our association any more than they do now. Nor will I allow a larger discount or bonus to Sokolov enterprises because of the marriage.”

  Anatoly spun the sheet of paper and shoved it across the desk so that Motya and Bianka could see it. He rather enjoyed the sickly expression on Bianka’s face. He was fairly certain that she went through more money than that in a week. It was why she was so determined to find a wealthy husband. It wasn’t like she could earn her own way or make her own funds.