Russian Mobster’s Blackmailed Bride

by Bella Rose

  The guy looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. “It wasn’t like he had to convince me, Trisha. You’re a beautiful woman. I’d love to go out with you.”

  “Yeah, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t date cops,” she told him with a smile. “So, best of luck to you. Really. But I’m not interested.”

  His cheeks filled with air, and he puffed out a big sigh. “Your dad is going to kill me. You know that, right?”

  “Just don’t look him in the eye and remember that he’s all bluster. And you might actually avoid telling him that I made you, by the way. It won’t help your case. Just tell him that I told you I’m seeing someone else.”

  “Oh.” He looked relieved. “Are you?”

  “Sort of.” She glanced back down at the newspaper. Suddenly, nothing on the page looked promising. In fact, nothing in the country felt promising.

  “Well, good luck to you then, Trisha.” Her would-be date nodded his head and smiled. “Whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she contemplated the next few years dealing with her father’s underhanded attempts to steer her life on the “right course” from the shadows. How long would it take for her to become paranoid? She would stop trusting anything that happened and worry that it had somehow been orchestrated by her well meaning and somehow still clueless parents.

  Trisha put her hands over her face and started to laugh. It was just so ridiculous that she didn’t even know what to do with it.

  “Trisha?”

  “Look, I already told you I don’t date cops,” Trisha said, gearing up to really tell this guy off.

  Then she looked up and realized that the person standing in front of her was not the man her father had sent.

  “Anatoly?” she said in utter wonder. “What are you doing here?”

  He very gently cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’ve come for you, Malenkaya,” he said in Russian.

  His touch alone was enough to melt her from the inside out. Had she realized that she missed him so much? Somehow it was much more intense with him standing here beside her. The feelings all came roaring to the surface, and she was abruptly lost in the moment of anticipation.

  ANATOLY SOMETIMES WONDERED if he would ever understand women. Trisha appeared to be very happy to see him. Yet she was crying. At least, he thought she was crying. There were big tears welling up in her eyes.

  “Trisha?” Some young man in a cheap suit with a military style haircut tapped Trisha on the shoulder. “Is this man bothering you?”

  “What?” She frowned at the young man. “Seriously? Just because my father appointed you to pretend you didn’t know who I was so you could ask me out on a date does not make you my bodyguard.” Trisha waved her finger in his face. “First of all, I can take care of myself. Second of all, this happens to be my boyfriend.”

  Anatoly watched in amusement as the young man’s eyebrows shot up in obvious surprise. “This thug is your boyfriend?” He gave Anatoly a very thorough perusal. “Does your father know you’re dating this guy? I’m telling you, Trisha, he’s not on the level.”

  “Really.” She sounded annoyed. Getting up from her table, she put her index finger on the young man’s chest and shoved him back a step. “You mean sort of like you weren’t on the level when you lied to me about your intentions?”

  Intentions? Anatoly felt like he couldn’t let this slide. He spoke to Trisha in clipped Russian. “Did this man make a pass at you?”

  “Not a good one,” she replied. “My father appointed him to ask me out on a date, presumably so that I would forget about you.”

  “I’m not okay with that, Trisha,” Anatoly growled. “And if he touches you one more time, I’m going to rip his hand off.”

  “Calm down,” she soothed. “I’m not in any hurry to acquire another male ego to protect and nurture.”

  “Speak English, dammit!” the young man snapped. “It’s rude as hell to purposely exclude someone from your conversation.”

  “Fine,” Anatoly said, turning and facing the young man directly. “I was simply telling Trisha that if you lay another hand on her, I will remove it from your body and give it back to you in a box.”

  “That’s not exactly what you said,” she teased. “But it is the gist.”

  “You think you’re going to be the one to hand my ass to me?” The young man’s posturing reached incredible new heights of stupidity as he got right in Anatoly’s face. “Look at you! You look like a freaking desk jockey.”

  “What does that even mean?” Anatoly looked to Trisha in confusion.

  She chuckled. “He’s saying you look weak.”

  “Is he suicidal?” Anatoly grumbled. “And why is it that people are forever underestimating me simply because I know how to buy a well fitting suit?” Anatoly gestured to the young man’s cheap clothing. “Because I don’t wear that off the rack disaster of a suit, you think I can’t handle myself. That’s asinine.”

  Trisha was no longer chuckling. She was giggling as though she might actually faint from lack of air. Anatoly paused for a moment to appreciate the sight and sound. He had missed her so very much. The humor, the good-natured jabs she used to keep him in check, and the fact that she treated him like a real person. It was all priceless to a man like him.

  “Trisha,” the young man was apparently not done making an ass out of himself. “I think it’s time to leave. I’ll call your father.”

  She linked her arm through Anatoly’s. “I don’t know what part of ‘this is my boyfriend’ you don’t understand, but this is my boyfriend, so back off. I appreciate that you want to look out for me, even if it’s because you’re afraid my father is going to rip your balls off if you go back and tell him you failed.”

  “That’s actually a very real possibility,” he admitted. “Would you please just come with me?”

  “Go. Away.” Anatoly was done with this. “Malenkaya, let’s go.”

  He took Trisha’s hand and gently placed his free hand at the small of her back. Apparently the young man took exception to this, because the next thing Anatoly knew, the guy was grabbing his arm.

  Anatoly reacted instinctively. He spun his forearm, breaking the hold and continuing the arc until he had grabbed his assailant and wrenched his arm around behind his back. Moments later, Anatoly had twisted the young man’s arm into a pretzel and was holding him motionless. One move and the shoulder would be ripped from its socket.

  All activity in the coffee shop had stopped. Everyone was now staring at Anatoly and his captive.

  “Anatoly,” Trisha chided gently. “You need to let that boy go. He’s too stupid to realize his mistake.”

  “Then he should learn it,” Anatoly argued. “And I’m not about to let him get away with disrespecting me or you in such a way.”

  “Anatoly.” She gently touched his cheek with her fingers. “Let’s go. Please? This isn’t worth the trouble.” She switched to Russian. “You don’t own the police force here in Cleveland. You might say my father does. So let’s not poke the bear before we even see him coming. All right?”

  Anatoly heaved a giant sigh. Then he glared down at the young man whose arm he was in position to rip out of its socket. “Never underestimate an opponent. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man was gasping for air.

  “Please,” Trisha said it once again. “Just let him go. I think we have enough trouble coming to us without adding this to the bill.”

  Anatoly laughed. All things considered, she was right. It was not in him to beg or plead with her father for his approval. Asking permission wasn’t something he generally thought necessary. Of course, Trisha would most certainly take exception to his usual mode of convincing people.

  Tossing the young man aside, Anatoly took Trisha’s arm. “Let’s go, my love. Time to start planning what we will say to your parents.”

  “This should be fun,” she muttered. “Just please promise me you’re not going to try and bribe t
hem.”

  “I make no promises,” he teased. And he wouldn’t. Mostly because he would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You walked to the coffee shop?” Anatoly looked as if he was trying to decipher the behavioral habits of another species. “Why would you do that? Do you not own a car?”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Because it’s just under four blocks?”

  He made a noise that registered somewhere in the neighborhood of disgust. “Walking is for those who cannot afford cars.”

  “Since I’m unemployed, I suppose technically that includes me.”

  Anatoly snorted. “My wife does not need to be employed.”

  “I’m sorry, did you propose back there and I just missed it?” Trisha felt as if her eyebrows might actually launch off her forehead. “Because I don’t remember agreeing to marriage.”

  “You will marry me.” He looked smug. “There. That is my proposal.”

  “Sorry, buddy, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

  He stopped walking so quickly that Trisha was yanked backwards by the hand she had looped through his elbow. The expression on his face was horrible to see. It looked so very unlike the confident and sometimes arrogant Anatoly she was used to seeing, that Trisha wasn’t sure what to do.

  “Anatoly, what’s wrong?” she murmured.

  Then he sank to one knee. “I have never begged for anything, Trisha Copeland,” he said in a low voice. “But if that’s what it takes, I will beg for your hand in marriage.”

  “Anatoly, you don’t have to beg.” She tugged him up off his knees. “You just have to ask.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  She flung her arms around his neck and squeezed so hard she was pretty sure she was strangling him. “Of course I will! I’m flattered and honored and everything else, although I’m also confused. What about Bianka?”

  He turned back toward her parents’ house and started walking again as though he needed time to think. “I made another agreement with her father. We have a truce and a gentleman’s agreement in place that makes us allies of a sort.”

  “So, you don’t need to marry Bianka?” She was still trying to work all of this out in her head. It seemed too easy.

  “No. I don’t.” He chuckled, swinging her hand a little in a playful gesture she found affectionate. “As it turns out, old Motya was just trying to unload his bratty kid onto an unsuspecting husband.”

  Trisha laughed. “I suppose she must be a nightmare as a child too. Is he okay with you not agreeing to take her off his hands?”

  “We came up with another solution that involved him essentially cutting her off and forcing her to grow up and take responsibility for herself.” He sounded satisfied with that course of action.

  Trisha wasn’t convinced. “And you think she’s just going to forget about her plans to be queen of the city, or whatever it was she wanted?”

  Anatoly shrugged. “She’s a million miles away. What trouble can she cause now?”

  They approached her parents’ home, and Trisha struggled to fight down the unease that had taken up residence in her gut. She couldn’t quite buy into this notion that the Bianka issues had been neutralized with so little trouble or effort.

  For now, though, she had to focus on the next problem. Introducing her parents to Anatoly and announcing that she’d just gotten engaged.

  “Okay, let me do the talking. Please?” She turned to stare up at him, speaking in English because she was tense and that somehow seemed easier. “I know it pisses you off when people boss you around, but I’m the best one to handle my parents. They’re sort of pigheaded about this sort of thing.”

  “I’m not even going to ask for a translation,” he told her drily. “And yes. I can keep my mouth shut for a short time to let you deal with your mother and father.”

  “I wasn’t denying the fact that you have that ability. I was just encouraging you to exercise it.” Trisha grabbed his hand and pushed open the front door of her childhood home. “Mama? Dad? I’ve brought someone I want you to meet!”

  “Oh please, do come in and let’s make the party complete. Shall we?”

  Trisha blinked in shock as she registered the fact that Bianka Sokolov was in her living room pointing a gun at her parents. It was absolutely surreal to see the perfectly coiffed Bianka standing on her mother’s pristine, cream-colored living room rug.

  “You’re supposed to take your shoes off,” Trisha blurted reflexively.

  Bianka’s brow knit in confusion. “What?”

  “You’re standing on my mother’s living room rug with those slut shoes you’re wearing. She doesn’t allow anyone to wear shoes in the living room. It’s rude. And you’re liable to stab holes in the carpet with those ugly stiletto disasters you’re wearing.”

  From the corner of her eye, Trisha saw her mother’s eyes close in obvious distress as she processed what her daughter was saying. Yes. This really wasn’t the time to argue about shoes on the carpet, but Trisha was done letting Bianka run things.

  “I think I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!” Bianka said with amusement. “You do realize that a bloodstain will be much worse for your mother’s precious carpet than my shoes ever would be.”

  “You’re right,” Trisha agreed. “I cannot imagine what horrible things your blood has in it since you’re a total witch. For all I know, you bleed tar.”

  Behind her, she heard Anatoly groan softly. Yes. She was kind of provoking the crazy bitch, but really. Someone needed to put this woman in her place.

  “You are either very brave or very stupid.” Bianka’s sour expression told Trisha that her insults were hitting the mark rather nicely.

  “Bianka,” Anatoly said in a low, firm tone of voice. “This will not get you what you want.”

  “How do you know what I want?” Bianka shouted. “You convinced my father to cut me off! I am destitute! The pittance of an allowance he gives me will hardly last a week, much less a month!”

  ANATOLY REALIZED THAT he had severely underestimated the ferocity of Bianka’s materialistic greed. He began shifting, carefully edging his way in front of Trisha. He caught a glimpse of her father from the corner of his eye. The man was sitting in his recliner, his back ramrod straight, but his eyes taking in every single thing that happened. He was waiting for an opportunity. That much was clear. Her mother was the polar opposite. She was completely frozen in her little wingback chair. He wondered how Bianka had found them and gained access to their home. Unfortunately, Anatoly had a sneaking suspicion he knew how it had happened.

  He spoke to Bianka, keeping her attention focused on him. “And what is it that you want?”

  “I want money! I want power. I want it all, and you’re going to give it to me, or this bitch and her parents are going to die. Do you understand?” Bianka’s eyes had a crazed look that told him she had come completely unhinged.

  “Fine.” Anatoly gave up on being subtle and put himself directly between Bianka and Trisha. “How is it that I’m supposed to make that happen? Direct deposit? Do you want me to write you a check?”

  “Ugh!” Bianka shrieked in anger. “Stop acting like you don’t think I’m serious!” She turned the gun toward Trisha’s mother. “I will shoot this woman dead, and then you will finally know I mean business!”

  “If you shoot that woman, it will give me plenty of time to wring your little neck,” Anatoly snarled. “Do not give me that opportunity, Bianka. Keep the gun on me, or I will murder you with my bare hands and not bat an eye at the blood spilled on the carpet. I’ll just buy a new rug.”

  Anatoly had thought the intensity in the room had reached epic proportions, but Bianka wasn’t through. She began stomping her foot and waving the gun wildly in the air as she threw a massive temper tantrum. She was cursing and swearing in Russian. Her angry finger pointing was mostly at him. Then she aimed the gun and began pointing toward him with that.


  About the time he realized things were about to get worse, the gun went off. The bullet hit the ceiling, causing a small avalanche of drywall to rain down on Bianka. The sudden noise was deafening inside the close quarters of the living room. Bianka obviously wasn’t expecting it, because she threw the weapon away and covered her ears.

  Time screeched to a halt, everything going in slow motion as Anatoly watched the weapon hit the ground. He dove for Trisha, grabbing her and hitting the ground. He rolled them behind the couch just as the gun went off again. The muzzle flashed as a bullet was discharged. It pinged off a metal plaque hanging on the wall before rebounding and hitting Bianka in the leg.

  Her scream was so loud Anatoly could have sworn the windows rattled. The sound was worse than the gunfire. Rolling away from Trisha, he reached for the gun at the same time as Trisha’s father.

  “Don’t you dare, you criminal!” Jonathan Copeland palmed the weapon with the practiced ease of someone who had spent a lifetime doing so.

  “Daddy, no!” Trisha leaped to her feet and tried to get between them.

  Anatoly put an arm around Trisha’s waist and swung her behind him. “No, Malenkaya! I cannot have you hurt.”

  “He’s going to kill you and say she did it,” Trisha sobbed. “I know it!”

  “Speak English, dammit!” Copeland shouted. “If I can’t understand you, I’m just going to call it self-defense and be done!”

  Until then, Anatoly hadn’t realized they were speaking Russian. He took a deep breath and held Trisha behind him. “I was asking your daughter to please not put herself in the line of fire.”

  “Trisha, go call 911,” Copeland ordered. “I’m going to kill this bastard and get him out of our lives for good.”

  Tears streamed down Trisha’s face. “No! If you kill him, I’ll never forgive you. Never. Do you understand me? I will leave this house today, and I will never come back.”

  There was a squeak of horror from her mother. On the floor, Anatoly could see Bianka rousing herself as though she was going to make a run for it. Before Anatoly could call a warning, Bianka grabbed Copeland’s leg.