He feels bad for me.
I feel the tiny shreds of what’s left of my dignity swelling, puffing up indignantly. I am Anastasia Nestorevna Koroleva. I am the daughter of a very rich and powerful man. There is esteem and pride in my family name. Nobody should be able to look down on me, to regard me with pity. If there’s one thing my father did give me, it’s a healthy sense of pride. I don’t want sympathy. I want the truth.
“Ana, listen to me,” says Nikolai, but his voice sounds like it’s far away. There’s a loud rushing noise in my ears. I think it might be my own heartbeat, growing faster and louder as my mind drifts away to a safer place. I go rigid, standing there unable to move or think clearly. Distantly, I can feel my wet hair dripping down the back of my dress, giving me literal shivers down my spine. My thoughts scatter unhelpfully and a wave of vibrant memories come parading through the forefront of my brain.
Daddy, sitting on a brown leather couch in the living room of our house in Sands Point with a glass of vodka in one hand, smiling wryly as I sit on the floor, opening Christmas presents. I’m eight years old. He’s got a cigar in his other hand, and he’s watching me closely, gauging my reaction to the lavish gifts under the tree. I can still smell the pungent, nostalgic scent of the evergreen pine in my nose, accompanied by the sweeter smells of hot cocoa, peppermint candy canes, and a roast turkey in the oven. Faintly, there’s the sound of our home chef humming “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” as she putters around in the kitchen. He promises me that we can go sledding later, but instead he has the nanny take me sledding while he jets off to some warm, tropical “business” meeting near the Equator.
Daddy, dropping me off in London for boarding school when I was ten, assuring me that I would be fine without him. He’s telling me how many friends I’m going to make, how happy and independent I will feel on my own. “Don’t you want to be treated like an adult? This is your opportunity to be independent, to take care of yourself. But don’t worry, I will come to visit you as often as I can manage,” he promises me. It’s a lie. He only comes to visit a few times a year, and he spends most of that time on the phone or passing me off to one of his assistants while he works. The first month at boarding school, I cry myself to sleep every night, I’m so lonely and scared. The academy’s student counselor urges me to send him letters to assuage my loneliness and feelings of abandonment. He never writes me back. Not even once.
Daddy, lounging on the top deck of a yacht, surrounded by hot young women in bikinis, sipping a cocktail and flirting openly. Meanwhile, I’m on the lower deck, twelve years old, awkward and nervous and out of place in this crowd of tipsy adults drinking and doing drugs. I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit and a floppy hat, and Daddy forgot to tell me to wear sunscreen. My skin is burning, turning bright pink. I watch in mingled horror and fascination as one of the grown-ups on the lower deck does a line of coke off the balcony banister. I wanted to come along so I wouldn’t be left out, but I’m in way over my head. This is scary for me, but Daddy is too busy hitting on models half his age to look after me.
“Ana. Anastasia. Come on, speak to me. Say something. Anything,” comes Nikolai’s voice, slicing through the fog. His huge hands are on my shoulders, and he’s gently shaking me, trying to bring me back to reality. I blink several times, tears trickling down my cheeks. I stare at him, those blue eyes brighter and deeper than the ocean.
I realize that I have somehow moved to sit down on the edge of the cheap couch, with Nikolai crouching in front of me, looking concerned. Nikolai is worried about me in a way my father never was. We have only just met, but he already cares about me more than Daddy does.
He wants what’s best for me.
Even if that means…
“You can’t,” I murmur weakly. “You just can’t do that.”
His face falls, but he doesn’t give up.
“Ana, your father is a dangerous man. An evil man. He has committed crimes that would make Liev Ovechkin blush,” he tells me gently.
Suddenly, fury overpowers my sadness. I shove him away bitterly. “No! You can’t kill my father. He’s all I have, Nikolai. He—he raised me. He’s not the man you say he is,” I protest.
His eyes flash with a warning. “You really think I would come to this conclusion if I didn’t have a damn good reason?”
“I don’t know!” I shout back, shrugging. “I don’t know what you would do. I mean, I just watched you kill a guy for attacking me. Maybe you’re just a violent man.”
“Would you rather me have allowed that man to kidnap you?” he growls.
I glare at him. “Of course not. I don’t know. None of this makes sense to me.”
“I know. That’s what I’m trying to explain. If you understood what kind of a man your father is, you would know why it has to be this way,” Nikolai counters.
“What do you mean? What has he done that’s bad enough to warrant killing him?” I cry out. “Isn’t this America? Isn’t it supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?”
He sighs. “You and I both know that powerful men like your father and Ovechkin aren’t held to the same rules as the rest of society. They live outside of the rules. The courts can’t stop them from continuing to hurt people. But a bullet to the heart can.”
I gasp, feeling sick to my stomach again. “Oh my god, do you hear yourself? Do you even comprehend what you’re suggesting to me right now? What is this: vigilante justice?”
He nods slowly. “Yes. That is precisely what it is. Justice.”
“And that makes you, what? His judge, jury, and executioner?” I accuse angrily. “That’s not how it works! He’s my father, Nikolai, and I-I won’t let you kill him.”
“Ana, I’m doing this for you. To save you,” he explains.
“From what? Sure, my dad might not be winning any Father of the Year awards anytime soon but does that really mean he has to die? No! It’s absurd!” I reply.
“Nestor Koroleva is much more than just an unsatisfactory father,” he says grimly. “It goes much, much deeper than that.”
“Oh, really? How so? Tell me, Nikolai. What has my father done to deserve what you’re suggesting he gets? Hmm? Let’s think about it,” I retort. “He’s a businessman. A really, really successful one. So he’s probably committed fraud or racketeering or some other bullshit white-collar crime, right? Who has he cheated out of their money?”
I can see that muscle in Nikolai’s jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggles to maintain his composure. He’s getting angry at me, I know it, but I can’t let it go. Not when my father’s life is at stake.
“It’s far worse than that,” he says quietly.
“How? Why? What could he have done? Look, I get it. He’s not perfect. Hell, he’s not even decent half the time, but he’s no worse than any other millionaire in the world, right? Why don’t you go after some other corporate bigwig?” I snap.
Nikolai stands up suddenly and takes a few furious strides across the room, pacing and refusing to make eye contact with me. I watch him, helpless and confused. My heart is being torn in two directions.
On the one hand, my loyalty has to lie with the man who raised me. He gave me life, he gave me a home—several homes, in fact. He has always made sure I had everything I needed, even if he’s been more than a little distant all this time
On the other hand, my eyes are starting to open to who my father really is. Who he’s always been. He didn’t even flinch when I told him of what Liev was done. Did he know? Were they... in cahoots? I don’t want to believe it, but Nikolai has saved my life twice now. He has put himself in harm’s way to help me more than once, abandoning his own plans in the process. He risked his life to save mine.
“Your father is not the typical businessman,” he explains, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s done much worse than fraud. He is responsible for the deaths of many people. Good people. Innocent people.”
I grimace, my heart sinking. “Wh-what are you talking about?” I breathe.
But I shake my head. “No. You have to tell me. If you have a good reason, then say it. Spit it out. I need to know,” I insist.
“Fine,” he groans. “I won’t beat around the bush. Your father is a high-ranking member of the Bratva.”
“What?” I murmur, dumbfounded.
“Yes. That is the kind of business he runs. A criminal organization with strong ties to Moscow and to Brighton Beach. Why did you think he wanted you to marry Liev Ovechkin? It’s not just because they are friends, Ana. It’s a political alliance, an exchange of money and power for youth and beauty. Your body, your heart—they’re just assets for your father to bargain with. All this time, he’s been grooming you into the perfect bride to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. How do you think your father met your mother?” he demands coldly.
My jaw drops. “What the hell are you implying?” I ask.
He doesn’t want to say more. The look on his face almost breaks my heart, but I keep staring at him, daring him to tell me the dark secrets my father has kept from me.
“Come on. You can figure it out, Ana,” he pleads with me, and my jaw tightens as I glower in his direction. His voice turns softer, apologetic. “Your mother was bought and sold just like you’re supposed to be. Your father purchased a young, beautiful woman to be his wife, to bear his child, and when he grew tired of her...” he trails off. Tears blur my eyes. “He collected a handsome chunk of insurance money in the process.”
I’m seeing red. My hands curl into fists as I start trembling.
“No. You’re wrong. My parents loved each other. My mom died when I was a toddler. She died in a car accident. Totally freak occurrence, nobody could’ve predicted it,” I say, parroting the same story my father has always told me.
“Ever wonder why your father wasn’t in the car with her?” Nikolai quips.
I throw up my arms angrily. “Who cares? They didn’t go everywhere together! MY dad works a lot. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It’s not just your mother, either. Ana, your father is responsible for my parents’ deaths, too,” he adds. “You know why? Because they could not pay their debts. They were penniless and struggling to make ends meet, and indebted to the Bratva. So he made them pay with their lives. With my life, too. For years, I was an agent of the mafia, and not by choice.”
“You’re crazy. This is all a bunch of lies,” I whisper, totally in shock. My dad couldn’t have killed his parents. He couldn’t have done that, just because they needed money to pay for their child’s medical expenses.
Nikolai steps closer, pure sadness in those blue eyes.
“Your father has hurt lots and lots of children, too. Young people trafficked for their bodies, their innocence sold to the highest bidder. That is the kind of business he runs. Nothing sells better than sex. That’s why he is so successful, Anastasia. Nestor Koroleva is a bad man.”
Tears rolls down my cheeks, and I feel my heart shattering into a million pieces. Nikolai isn’t lying to me. I can tell. This is as hard for him to say as it is for me to hear. But it all makes sense. All the secrecy, the little hints adding up throughout the years. Clues that indicated that my father’s business practices aren’t above board.
He’s right.
I know it.
My soul is weeping because it knows that he’s telling the truth. Because all along, I had my suspicions and just quieted them, believing my daddy would always protect me and look after me. At what cost? The cost of orphaned and abused children?
Can I face the dark and ugly truth? Can I really watch as Nikolai destroys the one man who has been a constant fixture in my life since I was born?
Can I let him take my father away from me?
Nikolai walks over to me slowly, his arms outstretched. I feel so worn out, so broken. I fold into his arms, my tears staining his shirt as he holds me close. I whimper and cry, letting the emotions overpower me. It’s all too much, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to think about something else, literally anything else.
I need to be comforted.
To be distracted.
To forget about all the hate and fear and death and pain my father has brought to this world. To me.
And this time, I know exactly how to get that.
I look up into my savior’s face, imploring with my eyes.
He knows, too. He understands what I need.
Nikolai
Our gaze lasts so long that it’s painful. There is so much emotion flaring up in those defiant eyes of hers, so many wants and needs and questions. I am not so proud a man that I think I can assure a girl that everything is okay, even though she is coming to terms with the fact that her father is not the man she thought him to be a few days ago.
But there is another kind of comfort I can provide, and I will provide it.
Because it’s a comfort that both of us cannot resist giving each other.
I lean down and press my lips to hers. Her mouth is wet and hot, and with my hands on her back, I feel her every muscle start to relax. Slowly but surely, she melts into my grasp. What I am doing is wrong. I cannot deny that, and I don’t want to lie and pretend this is something it isn’t. Ours is no fairy tale romance. I am somewhere between this woman’s captor and her savior, and I am sure she knows that. She is clever and cunning. There is more good sense in her than in her father. If all goes well, the things that mind of hers will be able to achieve can dwarf anything Nestor could ever do in New York City. But that is all in the future.
Right now, there is only me and Anastasia, basking in the warmth of each other’s bodies.
I draw her body a little closer to me, and her stomach presses into the thick bulge in my pants. She feels my hardness, and she pushes herself closer into it with a soft moan. I can feel her every twitch. Her body is like a plaything in my hands, and I know just how she likes being played with. And I will never tire of her.
My tongue dives into her mouth, and she invites me in with hers. They dance together, feeling each other up and getting to know the shape of the other like new lovers. Like us. When I finally break the kiss, it is slow and deliberate. Her long eyelashes flutter as she opens her big eyes to peer up at me. Her face is still red and flustered. Her heart is still pounding hard and quick. What is there that my words could do?
Compared to my actions, words are nothing.
I let my hands slide down to her hips, and I squeeze. There is something primal in the way it feels, my possessive hands on her curvy hips. I desire her more than anything I’ve ever desired in my life. Lust has reared its head in my body, and I know I won’t be able to lock it away again. Not after this. Not after everything we have been through.
“Let me comfort you, Ana,” I say in a low, husky tone. “Let me show you everything I want to show you.”
“You’re a killer,” she says. The words should hurt me, but they only feel like the truth.
“Yes. And I want to be a killer for you, Ana.”
She stares at me a long time as we stand there together, our bodies perfectly still. We seem to move little, but we’re weaving a careful dance together, trying to read one another’s body language in each other’s hands.
Every word I said was true.
I cannot lie to Ana. I know that now. I have the capacity to, but none of the will.
She deserves far better than that. If there is anyone who deserves the power my honed body wields, it is Anastasia.
“Do I want a killer?” she asks, as if she can read my mind. I can’t help but let a smile touch my lips. She is so small and fragile in my hands, but there is such power to her words. She has power she doesn’t know what to do with, power that is undisciplined and wild.
“You know the answer to that,” I say. Slowly, I release her, but I bring my han
ds to my own shirt. Just as slowly, I take hold of the hem and bring it up and over my shoulders before tossing it to the ground, leaving me bare-chested before her. I take her hands and put them on my pecs, and just like the first time we were naked together, she runs her hands over me, grazing them with her nails and feeling how rock-hard my body is.
“Is a good body supposed to convince me to let you kill my own father?” she asks after taking her time enjoying my chest.
“Not my body,” I say. “But my mind. You know what I can do with all this, flesh and bones,” I say, looking down at myself. “I am powerful, Ana, but I have purpose. And you are more deserving to wield it like a weapon than anyone I’ve ever met in the bratva.”
“That’s a lie,” she says, though a soft smile plays across her face.
I take her chin in my hand and turn her face up to look at me. I give her a deadly serious glare, a glare that paralyzes her and makes her heart pick up speed again.
“If I wanted to lie to you, Anastasia,” my voice rumbles, “we would never even be here to begin with.” I bare her chest to my gaze and instantly lower my head to take one of those stiff peaks into my mouth, but she puts her hands up to stop my powerful chest. I freeze, watching her steadily, and we lock eyes.
“You like testing me,” I say. “You enjoy my power.”
I push her hands away, and before she can react, I lick her nipple, blowing on it to make it harden further. She gasps, and I pick her up, walking her back to the wall, pinning her between it and me. She squirms, but I push her hand away and cover her breast with my hand. I squeeze, feeling its softness with my rough palm, toying with her nipple between my fingers. I pinch it and flick it, and she blushes, twisting left and right while I hold her still. I reach up and weave my fingers into her hair, taking a fistful of it and tilting her head back just enough to expose her neck.
My teeth go to her skin, and I ravish the flesh. I act as if I’m going to sink my teeth into her. Something primal inside me does. My left hand holds her hair while my right fondles her breast, and she soon lets her body relax while I have my way with her. I press the bulge of my crotch up against her stomach and grind against her. With each thrust, my cock pulses with an almost lazy, careless need, pure and unrestrained lust for the stunningly gorgeous woman in my grasp.
Killing for Her Page 13
