“You can dress like you always do, Nikolav.” Why was she consenting to this? “It’s just family.”
He stood as he spoke again. “Babe, if I’m going to be the first man you bring home to meet the parents, I intend to make a lasting impression they can’t resist.”
She smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Maybe.
»»•««
Anton stood next to his father’s bedside, his hand on the older man’s arm. Older, but not old enough to be so frail-looking and ravaged from disease.
The man turned his head slowly in Anton’s direction and smiled. “Did you bring the serum?”
Anton nodded. “I did. But I don’t think there’s much of a chance you can survive it.”
“Can’t survive this damn ALS or the pneumonia either, so it’s worth a shot.”
“You sure?” Anton lifted an eyebrow. Normally he could be a stoic, serious man. He had to be. But he almost choked over the condition of his father. It had only been a few months since he’d last seen Grigory Yenin, but that short time had taken its toll.
“Never been more positive. Do it.”
Anton glanced at the backpack he’d set on the winged armchair in the corner of his father’s bedroom. The room was dark. The furniture deep mahogany with maroon upholstery and carpeting. The only light on in the room was a dim lamp on the bedside table.
According to Viktor, Grigory had been sleeping more hours every day. Almost around the clock.
Grigory reached with his other hand to grab Anton’s and squeezed. “It’s okay, son. We tried.”
Over twenty years they’d been working to perfect this drug. They’d fled Russia in 1991 with a stolen sample and all the written documentation Anton had been able to gather in is arms as he fled one of the last locations the drug had been used for testing.
When the KGB fell, everyone had scrambled to get out of the building as quickly as possible. Anton had been twenty-one years old. A newbie. Just months out of school. He wasn’t even a full member of the organization yet. He’d been in training, learning the ropes.
But his father had worked for the KGB for almost as long as Anton had been alive. He knew about the drug testing. He’d been instrumental in getting his son assigned to that facility. When he’d called Anton that morning, he’d expressed an urgency in his voice Anton had never heard from the man in all his twenty-one years.
“Get to the lab, son. I don’t care how. Take what you can carry. A sample. Paperwork. Anything you can find. The government’s going to wipe that study off the face of this earth in hours. It never existed. I want that drug.”
On that morning, Anton had known very little about the drug lab or its experiments. Now. Now he knew everything. He’d taken what he could find and made his way out a side door with his arms loaded. After racing to his car, he’d stopped by his apartment, stuffed everything in a suitcase, and rushed to meet his father at the airport.
Ten hours after the official fall of the KGB, he’d been on a plane with his dad bound for the US. His mother had died the summer before, but any other friends and family he had were left behind. He’d never spoken to a soul again.
By the time he reached American soil, Grigory had filled his head with the need to reestablish. Break all ties. Start a new life.
They’d easily gotten diplomatic immunity, changed their names to keep the Russian government from finding them, and built a new life from the ground up in New York.
The vial of experimental drug had proven almost useless by the time they had the means and the drive to do something with the information they’d stolen. But they had the formula. Or at least some variation of it.
And thus began the long arduous task of recreating the drug that would make them the richest men alive someday. But it took too long.
Meanwhile, they built an empire together, gathering and training fighters in the art of MMA.
They started dealing drugs, developed a clientele, expanded to the Western side of the country. Years ago, Anton had taken over the operation of developing the serum in the back of his Vegas drug lab. His main product was meth. His side project was kept extremely secret.
The FBI was breathing down his neck these days, but they didn’t know what they were looking for. How could they? The drug never existed. Not one member of the Russian government would ever claim to have known anything about any experimental drug that would make people stronger and healthier.
Anton had no data to prove how far-reaching the effects of the drug could be. Would a person be able to avoid cancer? And what about a life-threatening injury like a gunshot wound? Grigory believed the USSR had created the formula specifically to combat chemical warfare. If soldiers could march through chemical agents, it would give them the edge they needed to expand their power.
In the greedy recesses of Anton’s mind, he hoped one day to market the drug for this purpose, but not until he’d proven its abilities to the fullest—including on himself.
As far as he knew, he and his father were the only people in the world working on this re-creation. In over twenty years, there had never been any rumblings to indicate anyone in Russia had forged ahead with the plan put in place in the late eighties. Hell, the paperwork had been stolen by Anton himself. The building had been burned to the ground when everyone fled the lab. It had happened so fast…
As Grigory looked up into Anton’s eyes now, his own drooping with fatigue, Anton fought the urge to dissuade his father from receiving the injection.
Only two people had survived so far. Number Thirteen, Haley Sullivan, and Number Seventeen, the man they’d moved into her room after her escape.
Both had experienced promising reactions to the second phase of testing. Although the only thing Anton had managed to use to test on Haley was food poisoning, she’d passed. Number Seventeen had received injections of several live viruses and also survived.
But why? What was different about them? This was the looming question. And what were the chances that difference also existed in Grigory?
Slim.
The man was sick. The injection had taken down healthy men and women in less than a week. How long would it take to kill a dying man?
But what if it worked? What if Grigory lived through the first phase and then thrived?
Was that a chance Anton was willing to take?
“Do it.” Grigory’s voice was deep and forceful. “Son, just do it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Belinda stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to control her racing heart. Her makeup was fine. Her hair was perfect. Her little black dress was wrinkle free.
And the man standing behind her sharing the mirror as if he did so every day of their lives and had for a dozen years was hotter than she’d ever seen him.
She prayed her single, twenty-something cousin Rena wasn’t there. If she was, Belinda would have to fight the woman off with a stick. She was taller, curvier, had bigger hair, and flirted mercilessly with any man who came through the door. Other people’s boyfriends and husbands were not excluded.
“You okay?” Nikolav asked as he set his brush down on the counter and cupped her shoulders with his hands.
She met his gaze in the mirror. “You think this is a good idea? I mean, are we bringing possible trouble to my family by going to this party? Maybe I should call and give a last-minute excuse.”
He shook his head. “We’re covered. We’ll have a tail on us the entire time.”
She chewed her lower lip, wondering if the person assigned to their detail tonight could be working for both sides. The idea never left her mind. She’d stopped trusting every single FBI agent except Taylor. And even that woman made her hesitate. She was the most involved. She knew more than anyone. She could as easily be the mole as anyone else.
Nikolav lowered his head and kissed her bare shoulder. “Stop worrying.” He lifted his gaze and met hers in the mirror. “Any issues getting home from work? Who brought you?”
Nikolav chuckled. “Bill or Patrick? They don’t look anything alike, babe.”
She shrugged. Did it matter? Dudes in black suits that never smiled. Who cared about their height or hair color? The only thing she noticed about either of them was one of them had a tendency to speak to her instead of riding along in silence when they drove. She thought it might be Patrick.
He was shorter with dark hair and eyes. And he obviously knew a lot about the case. Some of the agents were simply assigned to guard and nothing else. They weren’t privy to any information. Pat knew stuff. She figured he was higher up the food chain. He asked her if she’d made any headway from a journalistic standpoint.
She liked him. Everyone made her leery, but she liked him. Maybe because he’d been the first agent she’d met when the shit started hitting the fan. He’d driven her home from her evening with Haley and Mikhail last Saturday night right before her stomach revolted and she lost that meal along with several others from earlier in the day.
Nikolav kissed her cheek and stepped back. “Do I look okay? Is this what you would bring home to Mom and Dad?” He held out his arms.
She grabbed his tie and tugged him closer, lifting onto her tiptoes to kiss his lips. “You look good enough to eat. And I intend to do just that when we get home. Think of it as a reward for putting up with my boisterous family for the evening. That is, if there’s anything left of you when we leave.”
Nikolav was dressed in perfectly pressed black pants and a black, button-up shirt with a dark purple tie. He even wore black loafers. And he looked exactly like any vampire off the cover of a romance novel.
A slow grin spread across his lips. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Good. Finally. At least if she got to wrap her lips around his cock, it would be a step in the right direction. Last night he’d treated her to more of the same—he drove her insane with his talented hands and mouth and made her orgasm twice again.
She lay sated afterward while he straddled her waist and slid his cock between her breasts. She even held them together to give him more friction. It was hot. No denying that. But she would have rather had him inside her warmth.
He cupped her face and kissed her lips again. “I know that look. Stop it or we’ll never make it to the restaurant.”
“What look is that?”
“The glazed one that tells me your mind is on sex instead of whatever we’re doing.”
She lowered her hands from his tie to the bulge in his pants and cupped his erect cock. “And where is your mind?”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from him, lifting it to kiss her knuckles. “Right where it always is when you’re in the room. Now let’s go.”
The drive was uneventful. Nikolav glanced in the mirrors of his black SUV the usual two dozen times a minute. When he parked outside her family’s restaurant, he hesitated, glancing around, and then exited the car. She waited, knowing he would have a fit if she opened the door before he got there.
He was smiling when she swung her legs around. “Have I mentioned how much I love that dress?” He set a hand on her bare thigh and ran it up under the short skirt until his fingers brushed her thong briefly.
She gasped and gripped her thighs together to capture his hand. “Stop it. You’ll have me completely tongue-tied. I need my head on straight when I’m with my family.”
He frowned as she hopped down from the seat. “I was under the impression you were close to your family. Sounds like they’re wonderful people.”
“I am. But they’re going to ask a billion questions about you and us. And then my female cousins are going to swarm you.”
He grinned. “Will this make you jealous?”
“Yes.” She tucked her hand under his elbow as they walked to the front door.
He furrowed his brow. “I’m never going to understand why women do that.”
“Do what?”
“Think they aren’t good enough for whoever they’re with. Why would I be interested in your cousins? You’re an amazing woman.”
“Nikolav, you have no idea what you’re up against. I have plenty of self-confidence. Trust me. It just tends to get trampled when I’m around loud women with big tits and no scruples. That’s the main reason I’ve never brought anyone to meet my family.”
Nikolav opened the door to the front of the restaurant. “Bigger tits than yours?” he whispered in her ear as she ducked under his arm.
She giggled as she shrugged out of her black sweater and draped it over her arm. “Yep. And more prominently displayed. I can assure you. Tough competition.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her to a halt, drawing her toward him as the door shut at his back. He spun her around, set his forehead on hers, and spoke. “There won’t be any competition in this restaurant. So you can stop worrying about that right now. Concentrate on real world problems. Don’t invent them.”
She nodded a second before he lowered his face and took her lips in a kiss that erased everything and everyone from the planet.
A cough behind her had Nikolav pulling away. He winked before he turned her back around to face whoever cleared their throat.
“Dad.” Oh goody.
∙•∙
The man facing them had a sparkle in his eyes and a mile-wide smile on his face as he reached out a hand. “So it’s true. She does have a man in her life. Angelo Gallo. Nice to meet you.”
Nikolav reached around Belinda to grasp the Italian patriarch’s hand in a firm grasp. “Nikolav Andropov. Pleasure meeting you too, sir.”
His smile broadened. Now Nikolav knew where Belinda got her nose, her lips, and the rounded features of her face. Her father was not, however, where she got her petite size. He was almost six foot with broad shoulders. He undoubtedly filled a room with his body and his personality. It leaked out his eyes and his expressions. “Russian? Is that the accent I hear?”
“Yes, sir. Moved here when I was eighteen.”
“Welcome. Come on back. Most of the family is already here.” He motioned behind him and started walking.
Nikolav took Belinda’s hand and held it behind her back as she followed her father, weaving between the tables that were still mostly occupied, even though it was after nine o’clock. His intention was to make it super clear to anyone he met in the next ten minutes that he was with Belinda. With with her. Not next to her. Not a friend. Not a man she met last week—which she had—but a solid fixture in her life.
It would soothe her in a way she obviously needed and hopefully keep the cousins she was certain would maul him at bay. He didn’t want her stressed with unwarranted jealousy.
When they reached the entrance to the back room, Nikolav came to her side and slid his arm around her shoulders.
He’d chosen the dress she wore, initially surprised she owned something that sexy considering how often he’d seen her in far more demure clothing. But then he’d seen the price tag still hanging from the sleeve and almost laughed. She might have owned the dress, but she’d never worn it.
It was sexy as hell. Short with a full skirt that hung loose around her thighs. The bodice was fitted and held up by thin spaghetti straps. Her full breasts were bare beneath the silky material. He couldn’t wait for the opportunity to slide his fingers under the front and swipe over her nipples.
They’d argued about her panties until she cocked a hip and set her hands on her waist to glare at him. “You can’t possibly expect me to take you to a dinner with my family without underwear. I may be submissive, but if that’s a deal breaker, then I’m out.”
He’d laughed at the way she nearly stomped her foot and spoke only one word before
he left the room to let her decide. “Thong.”
He hoped it was black.
A petite woman who looked incredibly too young to have a thirty-year-old daughter, let alone a thirty-two-year-old son, wove her way between the many relatives in the room to greet them at the entrance. Where Belinda might have had a few of her father’s defining facial features, she matched this woman as if they were identical twins separated by thirty years.
The woman leaned in to kiss Belinda on the cheek. She lifted her gaze toward Nikolav and took his hand to squeeze it.
“Nikolav, this is my mother, Marta Gallo.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” He squeezed her hand in return, enjoying the fact that she was every bit as pleased to see Belinda with him as her husband was.
Another voice tore through the air from behind Marta. Shrill. Annoyingly high-pitched. “Belinda? Oh my God. I haven’t seen you in ages.” The woman speaking to Belinda never once glanced at her. Her gaze was pinned to Nikolav in a blatant manner that was so comical, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from outright laughing.
She wore a flashy, colorful, floral dress that was a size too small. And as Belinda had described, her enormous breasts were busting to get out. Her hot pink heels clicked on the floor as she approached.
“I saw her last month,” Belinda whispered.
Nikolav did chuckle at that as he casually set his arm around her shoulder, letting his fingers dangle against her chest, teasing the skin. When he then used the same hand to lift her chin toward his face and leaned down to kiss her lips briefly, she smiled against his mouth.
The woman finally reached them as Nikolav released Belinda’s lips, licking the seam so they would be left wet.
He finally let his gaze ease back to the other woman who wore a slightly shocked expression as her eyes darted back and forth between Belinda and Nikolav as if she’d just realized he was with her cousin—the one she’d pointedly addressed as an excuse to approach.
He should have listened to Belinda. No wonder she was worried. Not that she had any reason to be, but he could see why she would be concerned.
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