by Nic Saint
Dora’s face clouded. “Do you think he’ll find a way out of this mess?”
“I’m sure he can.”
If she was absolutely honest, though, she knew that even Nathan Callaway would have a hard time sorting things out.
CHAPTER 17
“I don’t think I can go on like this, Roman.” Dora sat gazing out the kitchen window at the garden that stretched out behind the house. Ariel had returned upstairs to help Joanna with the laundry, and Dimi was chatting with Vitaly in the study, waiting for Ariel’s father to arrive. Apparently the man she’d been crying over on national TV was finally going to put in an appearance.
She felt embarrassed to face Nathan. After all, she’d made a royal fool of herself trying to lure him out, only to discover later that she’d been part of a dangerous game, the real prize Nathan’s head on a silver platter, offered to the Gornakov brothers.
Roman sat on the kitchen chair she’d vacated, and his mere presence filled the kitchen. “What is problem?” he inquired solicitously.
She let out an incredulous snort. “What’s the problem? What isn’t? The fact that I’ll never act on the stage again, perhaps? That I can’t get in touch with my family or friends for fear the Mob may go after them? Or the fact that a bunch of bloodthirsty goons are now gunning for me?”
“That is problem,” he admitted. “I’m sure everything will be fine, honey.”
Honey? Had he really called her honey? Now that was a first. Not that it meant anything, per se. He probably called everyone and their mother honey. She trailed her finger along the handle of the sliding glass doors, then pulled and opened them. She stepped onto the terrace, the sun disappearing beyond the tulip magnolias lining the edge of Joanna’s garden.
It was getting chilly out, and she shivered.
“Here. You don’t want to catch cold,” spoke Roman softly behind her as he draped a coat across her shoulders. Her body tingled where he had touched her, and she remembered the day they’d spent discovering New York, the time they’d spent at the Empire State Building more in particular.
Impossible things had seemed possible, that day. Like an affair between a Russian mobster and an American stage actress.
“Do you think we’ll ever be safe again, Roman?” she asked quietly as they stepped from the paved terrace onto a dirt path that led into the garden.
“Yes. Nathan Callaway has proposed deal.”
”What kind of deal?”
“I give him information. He gives me protection.”
And what about her? She decided not to voice the question, hoping the deal would extend to her. But what kind of information could she have to offer that would guarantee her safety? She was just an actress, for Christ’s sakes. If he wanted tips on posture and acting technique, she was his gal. But something told her the FBI guy wasn’t interested in stagecraft.
“What will happen to me?” she finally said, incapable of silencing her fear.
He’d placed a hand around her waist as they ambled down the path. It felt good to have him so close to her. “You will be fine,” he stated curtly.
The answer depressed her for some reason. Fine. What did that even mean? Roman would probably be whisked away to some safe place, she to another, and she would never lay eyes on him again. She’d seen it in the movies, and Hollywood never lied.
They’d strolled to the end of the garden, where Joanna had planted several forsythia bushes. Soon, they would blossom into explosions of yellow. Behind the fence was yet another garden, this one belonging to a friend of Vitaly’s. An ex-mobster like him, Joanna had told her. Bogdan had helped them escape the clutches of Vitaly’s former boss, had taken over the man’s business, then turned it legit. And beyond his domain there stretched an even larger one, belonging to two young women, also friends of Joanna and Vitaly.
They were well protected here, Joanna had assured her. No one in their right mind would dare come near.
She took a seat on a stone bench that had been placed there and watched the sunlight scatter its diminishing light across the perennials. Joanna had made quite a home for herself and her ex-mobster hubby, and Dora couldn’t suppress a twinge of jealousy.
She knew she and Roman would never have this—this love that Joanna shared with her husband.
Then her mind drifted to Dimitri and Ariel. The young couple appeared genuinely in love, incapable of staying away from each other, and she sank into an atypical somberness. She was usually a boisterous person, but now, in the descending gloom of the twilight hour, she felt her mood plummet at the thought of what everyone else had, which served so clearly to accentuate what she hadn’t.
“Don’t you have any regrets, Roman?” she asked when they’d been quiet for a long time.
“No regrets,” he told her in his low, rumbling voice. Then he placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in to lean against him. “You?”
She shook her head, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe them away, knowing that in the semi-darkness he wouldn’t be able to see them anyway.
She felt a finger dab her cheek, and his voice mutter, “Hey, why tears?”
Damn. The man had the eyes of a cat. “Nothing. Just the tension of the past few days I guess.” She wiped at the tears, then reveled in the warmth of his embrace when he closed his arms around her.
“I’m sorry, Dora,” he murmured, pressing a kiss on the top of her head.
“It’s fine,” she replied. “You didn’t know this would happen.”
He rocked her in his arms, and her eyelids slowly drifted closed. Moments later, she felt suspended, the weightlessness stirring her from her slumber, and then she knew he was carrying her back to the house. Embarrassed, she stirred in his arms. “It’s fine, Roman,” she murmured, her arms around his neck and her face close to his. “I can walk, you know.”
“I know. I like to carry you.”
Well, what could she say to that? So she allowed herself to be carried, and closed her eyes when he easily climbed the stairs, then placed her on the bed, removed her shoes, and drew the covers over her. Pressing a kiss to her brow, he whispered, “Get some rest. I call you for meeting.”
Oh, the meeting, she thought sleepily. She’d forgotten all about that. And then, as she slipped off into a deep sleep, she forgot all about it again, her only thought the one persistent notion that both brightened and ruined her life: Roman Loginovsky, and the fact that very soon now, she would never see him again.
Tears stung, and as she fell asleep, they rolled down her cheeks. The last thought was that for a girl who’d shed so many crocodile tears in her career, she was shedding her first real ones in years for a cold-hearted mobster. How out of character.
CHAPTER 18
Evening fell and with it the first signs of trouble. Dora still lay in bed when she heard the gunshots. Instantly awake, she rolled from the bed and onto the floor in a reflex action, thinking the man with the ratty face had returned to finish the job. Then she became aware of muffled voices, then footsteps thudding down the stairs.
Voices were screaming somewhere outside, and she lay there, curled up into a ball, hoping it would all simply go away. She’d decided that the moment trouble came her way, she’d dive under the bed and stay there, holding her breath and trying to remain calm.
Then she thought of the others, and she was strong again. If there was danger out there—if they were under attack—they would face this together.
Trembling all over, she rose to her feet and moved to the door. Inching it open, she stared into the corridor, finding it deserted. Just then, another gunshot sounded somewhere outside, and she let out an involuntary yelp of horror and clutched at the doorframe for support.
Regaining her composure, she searched around for some weapon, though she knew she was helpless when faced with a gunman.
Then she saw the bowling ball lying on top of a cabinet.
Briefly wondering if Vitaly was a bowling man, she reached for it and t
eased it from its hiding place. The weight surprised her, and when she dropped it, it fell to the floor with a dull thud. She picked it up and admired its heft. If faced now with the rat-faced man, she would simply sling this ball at him, and watch him tumble over like a bowling pin!
At least, that was the image she used to garner her resolve and step out into the corridor, cradling the ball in her arms like a baby.
Slowly inching her way down along the balustrade, her eyes wide open and her breathing fast and shallow, she suddenly thought she saw a shadow pass through the hallway, and momentarily halted in her tracks, careful not to make a sound.
When nothing stirred, she resumed her descent, now holding the bowling ball in front of her like a shield, reasoning that bullets would ricochet off its smooth surface if fired directly at her.
When she’d finally reached the downstairs, she searched around, trying to figure out where everybody was. It was then that she heard the final, third shot. It had rung out with such a devastating bang that she yelped again and dropped the ball a second time; this time she was sure it had cracked a white tile.
Bending over to retrieve her weapon of choice, she suddenly became aware of a figure skulking down the corridor. Keeping low, she didn’t know if the figure had spotted her or not. It was large and hulking and was careful to stay in the shadows. She thought she detected a gun in the intruder’s hand and gritted her teeth, fearful of the impending confrontation.
So this was the stranger shooting his infernal gun, huh? This was the brute who tried to murder the members of this house in their sleep? Well, she’d show him what Broadway girls were made off! With an agility fueled by desperation, she picked up the bowling ball from the floor, and with a grunt heaved it at the unknown assailant. The ball connected with the man’s midriff, for he let out a surprised ‘oomph’, and went down, the gun clattering to the floor.
In an instant, she was upon him, pounding her fists at the man’s face, then, when he grabbed her wrists, she used her knees to pummel his body, then her feet to kick at his writhing form.
“That’s what you get for messing with me, you rat-faced bastard!” she cried.
“Stop. Stop!” the man yelled, and then suddenly the hall lights were switched on, and she found to her surprise that it wasn’t the rat-faced man at all. Instead, it was a handsome man in his middle forties, giving her a rather nasty look of indignation blended with irritation.
A woman cried, “Dad!” and Dora frowned in confusion. Watching Ariel fling herself around the stranger’s neck, the truth slowly came home to her.
Standing, she stared down at the stranger, her mind working. Dad? Could this be… Then, turning, she perceived Roman and Dimitri standing behind her, surprised looks on their faces. Dimi stepped forward and extended a hand to the fallen man. He took it gratefully and rose to his feet with a grimace of pain, his hand clutching his ribs where Dora’s ‘weapon’ had connected.
“Are you all right, Nate?” inquired Dimi solicitously.
“I’ve been better,” croaked the stricken man.
Dora waved a helpless hand. “I’m, um, I’m sorry, buddy. I thought you were a Russian crook.”
Nathan nodded, his brows knitted as he studied her carefully. “So you must be Dora Liverpool, huh?”
“Sure, that’s me,” she returned, eyes wide and hands flying to her hair to push it back into shape.
He grimaced. “You’re the one crying all over the evening news every night, begging me to return to my family?”
“Yep, all me,” nodded Dora, her cheeks now so flushed she thought she’d spontaneously self-combust.
Nathan shook his head. “You’re quite the actress, Miss Liverpool. There were times I almost believed you were my daughter myself.”
“Thanks, I guess,” she said dubiously.
Then she noticed both Dimitri and Roman were smiling, and so were Ariel and Joanna. “So you finally got your man, huh, Dora?” said Dimi.
“Looks that way,” she returned, stung. Why were all these people laughing at her? “Hey, look here, I heard gunshots. What was I supposed to think?”
The group turned serious. “You were right, Dora,” said Nathan. “Someone broke the perimeter and fired a couple of shots.”
There was a commotion in the kitchen, and they all made their way over there. The scene they came upon made Dora wish she’d brought her bowling ball. Vitaly, clearly pissed off, was half carrying, half dragging a big brute of a guy into the kitchen. From the state of his face, it looked like he’d already sustained more than one punch to the jaw from an irate Vitaly.
That’s what you get for pissing off a homeowner who’s also a former Mafia enforcer, Dora thought with satisfaction as her hands itched to give the man a piece of her mind.
“One of Gornakov’s men,” Nathan knew, and Dora felt Roman’s hand enclosing hers, his fingers warm and comforting.
“Hello, Vyacheslav,” Roman barked.
The man gave him a sheepish look. “Hello, Roman. Sorry about this.” He shrugged, then licked his bloody lip. “Well, you know how it is.”
“I know,” said Roman, giving the man a dark frown. “Who sent you? Yuri?”
The man looked surprised. “Didn’t you know? Yuri’s out. Vladimir’s in charge now. He’s cleaning house. That includes you, my friend. Sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry, Dora thought, eyes narrowing. She knew what she was talking about. She’d seen too many bad actors regurgitating their lines. This guy was a real nasty piece of work.
Nathan stepped forward with a pair of handcuffs, then outfitted the man with them before leading him away. She noticed he was still slightly doubled over, and as he passed her by, she said, “I’m sorry, Mister Callaway.”
“Don’t mention it,” he grunted, wincing slightly.
Roman leaned in. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
She threw him a look of censure. “That’s right. And you would do well to remember it, buddy.”
“I will,” he returned. Then his eyes grew dark, and when he pulled her to him, he claimed her lips with an urgency that had her reeling. The heat from the kiss had the room whirl around her like a merry-go-round, and only when he’d released her, did she land back on earth. Christ. If she was going to have liftoff every time he did that, she would need to grow a pair of wings.
Then she blinked, and leaned in for a second helping.
With a grin, he complied with her unspoken request, and before long, the night’s danger had subsided, and a warm flush was spreading through her chest, then capturing the rest of her, her legs trembling and her spine turning to water. When his thumb stroked the side of her breast, she suddenly remembered there were other people present, and she jerked back, a silly smile on her lips.
The first eyes she met were Roman’s, and they were smoky and dark. She placed a hand on his chest and gulped, “Why, honey, I was starting to think you didn’t even like me.”
This elicited guffaws from the other members of the company, and when she looked around, valiantly trying to regain her composure, she saw she’d played for an audience of four: Dimi, Ariel, Vitaly and Joanna watching her performance with glee.
She took a little bow, then fanned her face with her hand. “Gee whiz,” she muttered. “Danger seems to agree with me.”
As the men joined Nathan outside, to question this Vyacheslav fellow, Joanna took her by the arm and steered her out of the kitchen and into the hallway.
When she saw the crack in the tile, she winced. “I’m sorry about that, Joanna. I’ll pay for the damages, of course.”
“Nonsense,” said Joanna, and slipped her arm through hers and led her to the living room. Pushing her down onto a couch, she then picked up an album of pictures and pressed it into Dora’s hands.
“Our wedding album,” she stated, and Dora, confused, opened it to the first page. She was surprised to find a woman looking exactly like her staring back at her.
Frowning, she pointed to the album. “Tha
t—that’s me! Well, a younger version, anyway.”
Joanna smiled. “It’s Yana Abraskamov, the girl whose life I saved when I met Vitaly. She does resemble you, doesn’t she?”
Dora looked up into Joanna’s smiling eyes. “But how is that possible?”
Joanna shrugged, then took the picture album from Dora, and replaced it on the bookshelf. “I just wanted you to see this because it’s so remarkable.”
“It is,” agreed Dora, still reeling. This Yana whoever-she-was was like her spitting image or something.
Joanna pressed her hand. “It just goes to show that there are no coincidences in life. You came to my house for a reason, Dora, and I’d like to see you find the same happiness I have.”
With a sinking feeling, Dora stared at the woman. Even though Roman had kissed her just now and swept her off her feet, it didn’t mean he actually loved her or anything. So she merely smiled. “Thanks, Joanna. And thanks for welcoming me into your home.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Joanna, then sighed. “Now let’s have this meeting and hope no one else shows up trying to kill us, right?”
“You’re amazingly cool about all this,” remarked Dora, who still felt her legs shaking from the recent ordeal.
“When you live with a mobster, you kinda have to.” Then, when Dora’s eyes grew weary, she stroked her cheek and added, “Just kidding, honey. This was actually the first time something like this happened to us since we got married. We’re well protected in this neighborhood. Between the FBI, Yana and Tatyana, and Bogdan next door, this is probably the safest place for miles around.”
Dora’s lips quirked up into a quick smile. She hoped the other woman was right. A few more incidents like this and she was ready to kill someone herself. And this time she wouldn’t use a bowling ball to do it.
CHAPTER 19
There’s something to be said for being friends with an FBI agent, Roman thought. He’d never really liked law enforcement types before, finding them mostly a hindrance to running a smooth business, what with their unnatural tendency of trying to arrest the likes of him and his associates.
