Sure enough, he jumped to his feet and yelled, “I’M GREEN!”
“RUN!” The little girl shouted and then ran behind Chase, who pulled out two knives from sheathes on his back.
The knives were actually real!
“Samurai!”
“Iron Man!” Dante, a guy close to my age and someone I’d seen at school a few times and given a wide berth, jumped onto a chair.
“Spiderman beats both Samurai and Iron Man!” Someone else came running into the room. His hair was longer, pulled into a man bun that made him look downright sexy.
“Noooo, Uncle Sergio always picks Spiderman!” Serena wailed
“Forfeit.” He winked and started making spewing noises at Junior and Serena who both fell into fits of laughter and hugged his leg, pieces of cake and all.
Yup, warped universe.
This was so opposite of what I’d grown up with that I wanted to burst into tears. It didn’t match with the stories.
Phoenix De Lange, or now Nicolasi if the rumors of him cutting the De Lange brand from his arm were true, was smiling at his child, not trapping him in a room. Not yelling at them for deciding they wanted to hulk out and play in front of the adults.
In fact, the entire scene was unreal.
Because my every dinner — my entire life, in fact — had been spent being seen not heard.
An older man walked into the room; a glass of wine held against his lips. A black fedora sat on his head, and a matching scarf was wound around his neck. He sighed heavily and then held out that same glass in the air.
Immediately, Chase was there pouring into it, and then Trace was kissing the old man’s cheek.
“Who’s this?” He was pointing at me, and then looked down at the cake. “That Andrei’s dessert?” He pointed down at the mess all over the living room and kitchen.
Andrei released me then, walked over to Phoenix, and swiped his finger across his jaw and then licked the frosting the way Trace had done previously. “You make this frosting just for me, Phoenix?”
Phoenix glared.
I hid my smile.
Because I liked that Andrei tested him.
I liked that he was an equal.
More than I should.
“Just call her Black Widow.” Andrei piped up answering his question with ease.
“Well.” The old man clasped his hands together and gave us both a funny look before grabbing a towel. “Should we clean up and eat before Chase pulls his gun out over the mess.”
“Not my house.” Chase held up his hands and eyed Nixon. “You may want to Google how to get frosting out of the hardwood.”
“Google this,” Nixon flipped him off.
Junior did the same.
Nixon shot an apologetic look to Phoenix who was already looking up at the ceiling for God or someone to deliver him.
And then an arm was getting looped in mine. “So, Black Widow, do I know you?”
“Uhhh,” I smiled at her as bright as I could, my fur coat suddenly feeling like a death trap on my shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Sorry.” She frowned and then looked at me again, really looked at me, her hair was cut to her chin, she was gorgeous in a flirty romantic way. “You just look really familiar.”
“El, stop pestering her.” Dante came up and wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders. The woman who I knew was his wife.
I hadn’t stayed at University long.
But I remembered them.
And then another fuzzy memory shot to the forefront of my mind.
Of Dante and Andrei of all people.
Of a fight in the middle of the quad.
Of long stares, whispers of a war between the Russians as they tried to overtake Eagle Elite University.
And then I sucked in a breath and found myself swaying a bit.
Andrei.
I knew he looked familiar.
We’d had Bio together.
I had sat in the back.
He was in the front, often seen taunting teachers, and frequently known to throw ridiculous parties where there were rumors of gambling, shootings, and so much sex that they became legendary.
Then there was an accident…
“So, you’re his girlfriend now?” El kept our arms looped and led me to a chair, good because I really needed to sit and try to figure out how to navigate. I wasn’t just in over my head, I was already drowning, gasping for air, and Andrei was doing nothing to help. At all.
“Uh, yes.” I needed to sound more convincing.
More memories surfaced.
They’d closed the spot where they held all the parties. Chase’s wife had died there.
Phoenix had shot her.
That much the De Lange Family knew, that much they’d told me.
After making a deal with the Russians.
I shot a look toward Andrei. Her pact with that man, our enemy, was the reason that we were getting hunted, and yet he was… breaking bread with them?
Was it not true then?
Any of it?
I numbly found my seat. El was on my right while Andrei sat on my left shooting daggers with his eyes at Phoenix, who seemed to be telepathically asking question after question about who I was and what I was doing there.
“So, girl whose name we know isn’t Black Widow, you work at the club?” Tex asked once we were all seated around the table, once the older one said grace, once they started passing around food like it was Thanksgiving.
Sheep in wolves clothing.
These people were killers.
And they were sharing a meal like it was normal.
I shivered in my seat. “What do you mean? The club?”
Tex stopped chewing and shared a look with Nixon who was staring me down like I had two heads. “You know, the club, where Andrei holds court?”
“Oh,” I forced a smile as my mind trudged up visions of being chained to a bed while I was given bathroom breaks. “Sorry, I guess I just never really thought of it that way.” I scrunched up my nose. Try prison. Dungeon. Cell. “I’m actually new.”
“New?” Chase piped up his eyes were so intense that I wanted to look away but knew I couldn’t. “So new she still looked unrecognizable beneath all that dirt and scum, good to know you discovered showers, and so soon.”
That earned him an elbow from Luc, his wife.
“What?” He mouthed then ripped off a piece of bread and kissed her on the cheek.
She blushed and rolled her eyes while I exhaled in relief. He didn’t know who I was.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t still be breathing.
And I wanted to keep breathing.
I noticed a flicker of movement to my left, Andrei was very slowly peeling off the ever-constant leather gloves, from his thumb down to his pointer finger, he tugged until they were free.
So he took them off for dinner?
I waited for him to do the same to his left hand.
He didn’t.
The hand stayed covered.
And his right hand, from what I could tell was completely flawless just like the rest of him.
Even his nails looked manicured, not covered in blood like I assumed, nor scarred, just, perfect.
He reached for his wine.
And cleared his throat loudly making me jerk away, making it so I was staring directly into Chase’s cold expression again. He didn’t even blink. Just reached for his wine, his tattooed arms flexing with the motion. I gave him a small smile as a trickle of sweat ran down my spine.
“So,” Dante began. “How’s business, Drei? Things looking good?”
“No business during dinner,” Tex interrupted gruffly, “Though I have to say I’m curious. This is the first time you’ve brought a girl. Was it the sprinkles on the cupcake that did it? Or the way I smacked your ass afterward that convinced you to listen this time?”
A few of the guys snickered like they were in middle school, while Tex kept his rapt attention on Andrei like he really cared about his dating
life.
“Well…” Andrei sounded annoyed. “You know how much I love pink frosting… and since none of you jackasses can keep a secret, I knew family dinner would most likely be a surprise party with a cake since last year I showed up and almost shot Chase when he suggested pin the tail on the donkey.” He leaned back, cool, composed. “Besides, why spend your birthday alone when you can spend it with someone like this…”
I almost choked on the piece of bread as his arm snaked around me and squeezed. Did he realize that he was gloveless on that right hand?
He rarely touched me, and if he did, it seemed like he hated every second of it.
I leaned into him and smiled, playing my part even though the bread was sitting like a rock in my stomach. Even though I could feel his fingertips almost tremble against the fur I was still stupidly wearing.
Tex flashed us a grin. “Playa, playa.”
“Please never. Ever, again, again, ever…” Chase grumbled. “You can’t say Playa. You’re too Italian, you sound like a white rapper, but like a really really shitty one.”
Tex chucked a roll in his direction.
Chase snatched it midair and grinned. “Still got it.”
“So.” Trace drew out the word louder than necessary as her eyes darted around the table and landed on me. “If you don’t work at the club what do you do?”
Nixon gave her a drop-it look.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, like I clean toilets, wonderful manicure is that new?
When Andrei said in a bored tone, “What do you think? She’s a whore.”
Everything dropped at once.
Tex, his fork.
Nixon, his knife.
Chase, multiple F-bombs.
Phoenix’s hands over his son’s ears.
And multiple wine glasses.
Tears burned the back of my throat as I watched the shocked expressions. All looking at me to nod my head, make a joke. I could kill him. I wanted to strangle him for hurting me, for embarrassing me.
For making me play a role I never wanted to play.
But he said I had to make it believable.
So through tears of hurt and humiliation, tears of anger at the man who said he’d keep me safe, I whispered. “Good thing I come at a cost, huh Andrei?”
His eyes flashed with fury.
And then I kept eating, my fork scraping against the plate, filling the uncomfortable silence with the precision of an atomic bomb.
I imagined what they were thinking about me, and about him, our relationship.
My brother had made me feel used.
Dirty.
Unwanted.
This stranger, Andrei had made me feel worse. He’d given me hope, he’d dressed me, fed me, he’d made me think I was safe.
Only to announce I was none of those things in front of the monsters I’d begged to kill me.
No. I was going to be a whore.
Not his girlfriend.
His whore.
Until I imagined he got bored and killed me.
At least the death, I imagined, would be swift. After all, hadn’t he promised I had only to ask and I would not draw my next breath?
I lifted my wine glass to my lips and drank.
I didn’t cry.
I didn’t hunch my shoulders.
I was trained for this.
I was a motherfucking De Lange woman.
I drained my glass and held it to Andrei for more, and then I turned to Chase and beamed. “Lovely pasta.”
And in that moment, I could have sworn, the Capo saw me, really saw me, and smiled a real smile of approval.
As if it had been a test, and I had passed with flying colors.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Phoenix
IT WAS NEARING midnight.
I sent Junior home with Bee and waited for the inevitable. I sat in the shadows of the living room as Dante finally approached with El by his side.
I knew what was coming.
I saw the way their eyes flickered with recognition before glancing to me and only me.
Because I knew everything, and they knew that.
There were no secrets to me, nothing hidden.
I was a Nicolasi now.
I owned secrets.
Traded in them.
And I would have the answers.
Dante was playing with one of his many knives while El was smiling a smile I knew was fake all the way down to her toes.
“Headed back?” I asked without looking up.
“In a few. Some of the guys decided to have a glass of whiskey while they plotted world domination…”
“Too bad I’ve already dominated, then, huh?” I joked while El sat on the stool in front of me, followed by Dante on my right. I sighed heavily. “You don’t need to ask.”
“Figured.” Dante shook his head. “I feel like I’m betraying someone here. I feel like you know that too, so just tell us how we’re playing this because that woman should not have walked out of here alive.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. When would it end? This, this was why I liked war. War I could predict. But peace? Peace felt a hell of a lot more chaotic in my dark soul.
“You would be correct.” I lowered my voice “Andrei’s our friend, that’s all you need to know. He swore a blood oath of fealty to us, and us to him. He has his reasons, just like we have our reasons for keeping secrets.”
El put her hand on my knee. “She’s a year younger than Andrei.”
“Yeah.” I licked my lips, tasting lingering wine there. “We see how this plays out.” I stood, “And you say nothing. We trust Andrei to do his job, all right? If he has her there, if he’s pretending she’s his whore then there’s a fucking good reason for it.”
Dante snorted in disgust. “Pretending? The guy’s probably already had her—”
“Doubtful,” I interrupted.
Dante’s eyes flickered to my face. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Because,” I whispered. “Andrei’s a virgin.”
I left both of them gaping at me and smiled to myself as I left the house and walked to my waiting Maybach.
I smiled wider when I got in and the engine roared to life.
Andrei was in for a hell of a surprise if he thought he could just announce something like that to the family and make us believe it.
I knew him in and out because I kept him in check.
And I knew that if he brought her around they’d get suspicious of why he wasn’t touching her.
Something that he clearly hadn’t thought about when he was trying to throw everyone off her scent by being his usual crass self.
It was a mistake on his part.
And Andrei Petrov did not make mistakes.
I snorted out a laugh as I imagined a world where Andrei understood that while painful, physical touch also has the power to heal, and I wondered if there was another woman in this life, like my wife, who had the patience to teach him just that.
“Good luck, crazy bastard, good fucking luck,” I whispered into the air as the gates opened and I slammed the accelerator.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Andrei
FOR THE FIRST time in my life, I panicked.
How had I not looked past the title of girlfriend and given her a job? Hell, bartender would have even been better than whore.
But with the way she looked in that dress.
With the reputation I tended to like an obsessive-compulsive freak.
They wouldn’t believe I’d taken a bartender to dinner, would they? Or a waitress. No, I was too dirty. Too far gone. I would bring a whore to a family dinner in front of their children.
I, Andrei Petrov, would do that, because I laughed at their silly Italian code, because I didn’t care about love or family or any of the things they found necessary for survival.
But her face.
Fuck, her face killed me.
And then she’d asked for more wine, and I had the most inte
nse need to either laugh or kiss her senseless for being brave when she needed to be, despite being angry and hurt, despite wanting to strangle me with the napkin on her lap.
And I didn’t make a habit of kissing women when I could avoid it.
They were always disappointed I didn’t do more.
Disappointed that I didn’t follow up the kiss with my mouth everywhere else, with our bodies moving in sync.
When I kissed a woman it was for a reason.
Not for a want.
Or a damn need.
We were driving back to the club when my phone rang, I wasn’t surprised it was Phoenix, he knew me better than most. I was, however, surprised he was calling so soon.
Six thirty-two had scooted all the way across the leather seat and was staring out the window like a shooting star would solve her problems.
How she was able to even sit there with her head held high was beyond me. How she kept that look of wonder in her eyes.
And I was the bastard that was making it worse.
“She’s not a whore.” The first thing Phoenix said when I answered the phone. He was quiet after that, reading the tension across the phone as he always did, gauging my breathing to see how I’d react. He was the mentor I’d never asked for, the man who had taken over for Luca, who watched over me and made sure I kept to my shit and didn’t lose what was left of my soul in the process.
He was also the only man alive who understood the pain of being raised in a prostitution ring. Only he had been forced to break the virgins in, while I was only forced to watch while my dad did the honors.
“No.” My voice was clipped, my answer short.
“She looks familiar.” Bastard was baiting me, I almost smiled.
“She’s a new acquisition, haven’t decided if I’ll let her go with the other girls in a few weeks or keep her for myself.”
Six thirty-two stiffened, her hands gripped the leather seat like she was trying to calm herself down or maybe keep herself from grabbing her heel and impaling me with it.
Phoenix sighed. “Right, keep her for yourself, so what? You can stare at her? We both know how you are; you can’t hide that shit from me, I was born in it, I breathe it, I’ll die in it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Tough shit,” he snapped. He rarely snapped with me. He knew that anger only made me more indifferent. “You can’t go on like this, you’re worse than a sexless robot.”
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