Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride

by Bella Rose

  “So shoot back,” Anatoly said with a shrug. “You do that sort of thing all the time, don’t you? I thought you were the traditional mafia thug.”

  “Not like these two.” Yakov’s tone was ominous.

  Something of Yakov’s caution began to rub off on Anatoly. He grew uneasy. The two men were walking with deliberate casualness up to the windows of Anatoly and Yakov’s car.

  “Yakov,” the taller one said respectfully. “My brother and I heard you want to make us an offer for our territory by the shipping yards.”

  “That’s right,” Yakov agreed. “My associate wants to make you a sweet deal.”

  The tall one laughed and said something in Ukrainian about Anatoly being wet behind the ears.

  Anatoly was getting more than a little annoyed with the lack of respect and the idiocy. He answered back in flawless Ukrainian. “I may not have ‘thug’ stamped on my forehead, but this isn’t my first time around the block. So if you want your boss to make a lot of money, you’ll hurry up and take me to see him before I change my mind and lose my temper.”

  There was some muttering by the two contacts. Finally, the shorter one bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. “Come this way. To this building here. Our boss is inside. We can talk it over.”

  “Fine.” Anatoly felt his heart thud wildly against his ribs and hoped he hadn’t just made a mistake.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Yakov muttered.

  Anatoly didn’t comment. Instead, he got out of the car with a slowness that suggested he was wholly unconcerned with anyone’s schedule but his own. He wore his bravado like a cloak and hoped that it would prove to be bulletproof.

  They followed the Ukrainians through a small access door beneath the main staircase of a warehouse. Their path took them down a narrow hallway that ended in a huge room filled with crates. Anatoly paid no attention to the crates other than the layout.

  Most of the contents of the room had been pushed up against the walls. It appeared that the Ukrainians used this as their base of operations because there was a Persian rug, two couches, a recliner, and even a kitchenette lumped in the center of the space.

  The two blond men walked in and flopped down on the couches. There was another man standing in the kitchen pouring vodka into a shot glass. He was shorter than the others, but still blond. He was also very broad shouldered. If looks were any indicator, the three men appeared to be related, possibly even brothers.

  “So,” the leader spoke up before he slammed a shot of vodka. “You wish to make me an offer for my territory?”

  “That’s right,” Anatoly said in a low, calm voice. “I have need of it.”

  “But it is mine.” The man shrugged. “I find I am in no hurry to sell it. Come back next year. Maybe I will have changed my mind.”

  The three men started laughing. Behind him, Anatoly heard Yakov curse.

  Blood rushed in Anatoly’s ears, and he wondered if they could see the steam coming out of his ears. He sorted through several possible strategies in his head before settling on one. They did not call him bloodthirsty for nothing. He simply had a unique way of eviscerating his opponents.

  “I’m sorry,” Anatoly said with utter insolence in his tone. “Who are you?”

  The leader stopped laughing. He frowned instead. “I am Sasha.”

  “Sasha,” Anatoly mused. “I’ve never heard of you. How sad.”

  “Anatoly,” Yakov murmured. “This is a bad idea.”

  Anatoly ignored him. “Do you know who I am?”

  “A stupid prick with money?” Sasha snorted.

  “My name is Anatoly Zaretsky.” He could see the moment that sank in. Their expressions grew wary. Anatoly continued, speaking in clipped tones and letting his anger flavor his every word. “Do you know what that means?”

  “That you’re still a prick,” Sasha growled.

  “No, idiot,” Anatoly snarled. “It means that I can afford to hire mercenaries to hang around and point sniper rifles at you from every building with a line of sight around here. It means that I can purchase every piece of property within that territory you think you own. I can build there whatever I want. And then, because I own the police force, I can mount an offensive war on drugs that will make it next to impossible for you to move one ounce of product. Do you understand what I am saying right now?”

  Sasha’s eyes were fiercely angry, but Anatoly could tell that he got the message.

  “Now.” Anatoly softened his tone and straightened his diamond cufflinks. “What I would like to do is to make an honest deal and give you money for your territory, even though you do not technically own it. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Sasha agreed sullenly. “We understand perfectly.”

  “Then let us proceed,” Anatoly urged, more than ready to be done with this nonsense.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “No, Trisha. I absolutely forbid it,” her father said with a firm swipe of his hand through the air.

  Trisha recognized the gesture. It was his never-gonna-happen motion. Her father did a lot of talking with his hands. This time, though, he wasn’t going to get his way. She was determined.

  “Trisha,” her mother used a softer tone of voice. It was Mama’s attempt at encouraging Trisha to be reasonable. “You’re our daughter. Our only child. Surely you must understand how frightening it is for us to simply stand back and watch you make such bad decisions.”

  Trisha sighed. She gazed around at the trappings of her childhood home. Her mother’s collection of porcelain dolls in the china cabinet, her father’s leather bound copies of Sherlock Holmes on the shelf. The chintz chair and lacy ruffled curtains in her mother’s sitting room, and the heavier furniture in her father’s study, all made this a cozy house for a couple entering their sixties. Her father was near retirement. Her mother had never worked. Just a cute old couple and their only child who had never really managed to grow up.

  “Mama.” She looked at her mother. “Dad.” She swung her gaze around to her father. “You guys have been telling me what to do with my life since I was born. I get it. You’re parents. You had it all planned out. I was supposed to be a boy who would follow in Dad’s footsteps. Then I was a girl, and he still wanted me to follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately, I’ve been sure that law enforcement wasn’t for me since I was old enough to ride along in your squad car.”

  “You never really gave it a chance.” Her father’s grouchy expression suggested he was still burned about that.

  Trisha fiddled with her hands, trying to figure out what she could say to convince them. “I love Anatoly. It’s that simple. He’s not the monster everyone thinks he is. There’s a good man underneath all that bravado and male posturing crap.”

  “You better not be aiming that at me, girl,” her father grunted.

  Surprisingly, she realized there were a lot of similarities. How odd. “You are a good man underneath all your bluster, Dad. But you’re a little too overprotective. You didn’t listen to me when I told you that I was fine and that I’d be home soon. You just sent more people after me. I could have gotten hurt, or Anatoly could’ve gotten hurt. Those last jerks jumped him pretty badly.”

  Jonathan Copeland gave a derisive snort. “If the man can’t even defend himself, he deserves to get pounded.”

  “Hey now, I’m pretty sure even when you were in your prime you would have had difficulty with two ex military guys that jumped out of a clump of trees and just started whaling on you without warning. If Anatoly had had his gun, there would have been casualties, and that wouldn’t have been right since those men were only doing what some overprotective ninny had ordered them to do,” she said angrily. “This is what I’m getting at, Dad. Don’t you see?”

  “See what?”

  Her mother was beginning to shift uncomfortably in her chair. “Sweetie, just calm down.”

  “No!” She stood up. “I don’t want to calm down. I’m twenty-seven-years old. It’s my turn to be not c
alm if I want to be. You keep telling me to make active choices, to stop being a spectator in my life and go get what I want. But the minute I do that, you tell me I’m making bad choices and think you have to step in and fix things. You still have this notion of what you want my life to be like, and you think I should just get on board with it!”

  Her father stood up. He loomed over her like some angry titan. “Now listen here, young lady. I love you. You are my child. I will look out for you until the day I die.”

  “And what happens if you die and I’ve never had to make a decision on my own, or live on my own, or do anything on my own? What? Am I supposed to just kill myself at your funeral and throw myself into your grave with you?”

  The open-mouthed shock on her father’s face spoke volumes. Apparently he had never thought of things from that angle before.

  Then he recovered, because he always did. “Your mother and I will provide for you.”

  “Ugh!” She threw up her hands. “That’s what I’m saying! I don’t want you to provide for me. I want to be independent and provide for myself.”

  “By marrying some idiot Russian mafia thug?” her father demanded.

  “No!” She rolled her eyes, completely at her wit’s end. “By moving into my own place and getting a freaking job so I can support myself!”

  “Oh honey, you don’t want to move out,” her mother argued. “It’s so expensive.”

  “Well, thanks to never having any bills, I have a nice savings account to help me get started,” she informed them. “So regardless of what happens with Anatoly, I’ve already called a few places and I’m going to look at some tomorrow.”

  “What?” her father roared. “If you want to move out, I’ll find you a place.”

  “No, Dad,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve got this. Really.”

  ANATOLY GAZED AT Motya Sokolov across the conference table in the main offices of Zaretsky Enterprises. Motya’s face looked as squashed up as a pug. He was frowning intensely at the proposal Anatoly had just placed on the table in front of him. Realistically, he should have been thrilled. Anatoly had had to throw his weight around and do some serious maneuvering to put all of this together in less than five days. He needed this tied up, because he had every intention of bringing Trisha home by the end of next week.

  “What is this?” Motya shoved the file across the table and glared at Anatoly.

  Anatoly sat back in his chair, refusing to let his temper get the better of him. “This is a proposal that the Zaretskys and the Sokolovs form an agreement between us, and that is the collateral I am offering you to seal the deal.”

  “You were supposed to marry my daughter. It was very simple. Mafia families have done business this way for decades.”

  “Which is why we need a change, don’t you think?” Anatoly said pleasantly. He gestured to the agreement. “That promises you full rights to the one piece of lucrative territory you haven’t been able to get your hands on. I now own it, at considerable cost and trouble to myself, I might add. So I really feel that this agreement is entirely fair.”

  “I don’t care about whether or not it is fair,” Motya grunted. “I want my daughter married.”

  A thought began to take shape in Anatoly’s mind. “Are you telling me that this whole thing is due to the fact that you want your daughter married and out of your house?”

  “Exactly!” Motya sat back in his seat, looking satisfied. “Do you know how much money that girl costs me each month?”

  “I can imagine,” Anatoly said drily. “Which is part of the reason I don’t want to marry her. She’s a money grubbing woman with a sour personality. Bianka literally does not want to be pleased. She’d rather complain.”

  “I know.” Motya gave a heavy sigh. “Her mother was too indulgent, I think.”

  Anatoly could not believe he was giving this man parenting advice. “You know, when I have a department in my business that costs too much money, I just put it on a tighter budget and tell the managers to deal with it.”

  “You think I need to do that with Bianka, do you?” Motya mused. “You try telling that woman no.”

  “Take her credit cards away, give her a cash allowance deposited directly into a bank account, set her up in an apartment, and arrange to pay the bills from your accounts. Don’t even let her look at them. Then stick her in that place and don’t take her calls. Check on her once a week and make her grow up a little. She’ll get it figured out.”

  “You really think that would work?” The man looked positively thrilled.

  Anatoly realized this was his chance. He put his elbows on the conference table and leaned forward. “I do. But you’re going to have to be strong. She’s going to bug the hell out of you for a while, trying to get money. That’s always worked for her in the past, so she’ll continue doing it. If you give in, you’ll just set yourself up for more troubles. Make her accountable. Maybe she’ll get sick of it on her own and go find a job.”

  “Ha!” Motya snorted. “You’ve met my daughter. Can you imagine her working?”

  “Not really.”

  The two men chuckled. They were actually bonding over the man’s pain in the ass daughter. It was as amusing as it was unexpected.

  Then Anatoly gestured to the proposal. “I’m still willing to back up our agreement with that proposal. Nothing has changed.”

  Motya pulled the papers back in his direction. “This is fair.”

  “That’s good, Sokolov,” Anatoly drawled. “Because there is no way I’m going to leg shackle myself to Bianka. She’s a beautiful woman, but she’s mean as hell.”

  Motya actually looked proud. “She is a real piece of work. No?”

  “And that makes you happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t see how that has anything to do with her financial crisis,” Anatoly said, trying to decide if the old man was pulling his leg.

  Motya had opened his mouth to answer when the conference room door swung open so hard it banged against the wall and left a dark black mark on the white paint. Bianka Sokolov stormed into the room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she shouted, pointing one red dagger-like nail at her father. “You told me you were sealing the deal on my marriage! Now I hear from that moron you call a lieutenant that you’re negotiating some agreement for territory?”

  Bianka’s pretty face was mottled red and her expression was downright ugly. Anatoly caught Motya’s eye and gave the man a look of encouragement. If the guy didn’t lay down the law starting right now, he was screwed.

  Motya cleared his throat and stood up. His short round body was still nowhere near his daughter’s willowy five foot eight. He cleared his throat. “Anatoly and I have made other arrangements. There will be no marriage. You’ll have to find a husband on your own, Bianka. Furthermore, I’m going to be purchasing you your own apartment. You’ll move in there and have an allowance. I’ll pay all of the bills for the house, so you needn’t worry about that, but you’ll have to manage your own budget for the interior.”

  “What?” Bianka’s shriek made Anatoly’s ears ring.

  “You heard me.” Motya got up from his chair and swiped the agreement back into its folder. He smiled at Anatoly. “I’ll take this and have it signed. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Anatoly Zaretsky.”

  “Likewise,” Anatoly said with a respectful nod.

  Bianka gave him one last glare before she left. She was still railing at her father.

  Anatoly wondered if he’d finally seen the last of her, and suspected he had not.

  Chapter Twenty

  Trisha stared out the window of the coffee shop just around the corner from her parents’ home. She was feeling more than a little depressed. After her initial drive to find a job and get an apartment, she had been left with the task of actually doing those things and putting her plan into action. Normally, it would not have been a problem, except she kept thinking about Anatoly.

  She put her hands ar
ound the warm coffee mug and looked back at the newspaper spread on the table in front of her. She had already applied to half a dozen jobs and looked at three different apartment complexes. What she couldn’t decide on was whether or not she was truly brave enough to return to Moscow on her own.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  The male voice came from just over her shoulder. She turned and found herself staring at a handsome young man, probably in his early thirties. He was clean cut and well dressed. In fact, the guy looked like he was about to go to church or something. It was Tuesday morning. What was he, a banker?

  Finally she decided she had to respond with something. “Can I help you?”

  “I couldn’t help but notice you sitting here.” The man glanced down as though he was afraid of offending her. “I’ve seen you here before. Let’s just say it took me a few days to work up the courage to come talk to you.”

  “And why would you want to do that?” What was wrong with her? Here was a handsome young man about her age who looked sane and employed. She should be all over that. Instead, she had the distinct feeling that she couldn’t really trust the situation. What was that about?

  “Can I buy you another cup of coffee?” he asked.

  Trisha pursed her lips. “It’s free refills. So I guess you can fill my cup over at the machine if you want.”

  “Oh, right.” The guy looked embarrassed.

  Her gut was still telling her that there was something not right about this guy. On a whim, she spoke in Russian. “Why are you really talking to me?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I don’t even know what language you’re speaking.”

  She gave him a suspicious onceover. Okay. So he wasn’t Russian. Thinking hard, she perused his appearance one more time. Then it hit her. “Are you a cop?”

  “What?” His gaze shifted around the room, looking everywhere but at her.

  “Oh my God!” Trisha groaned. “He totally sent you, didn’t he? You don’t have to pretend. It’s not your fault my dad is a moron.”