by Maura Rose
But not anymore. He wanted to impress the others when he officially sat with them as their equal.
With their bargain struck and the details dealt with, a plan in place, Ivan could now devote himself to the task of finding out who was trying to kill the O’Gill family and why.
And he knew just where to start.
“I think she’s good for you,” Pavel said as they got into the car.
Ivan stared at him. “Good for me?”
“Yeah, she keeps you on your toes. You need someone who will do that, sir, no offense.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
Ivan’s driver, Thomas, was new to the whole gig. He wasn’t Russian but had grown up in Sokolov territory. His father ran an auto repair shop. Pavel had been Father’s driver, and sometimes Ivan caught him heading for the driver’s door instinctively. But Ivan wasn’t going to do that to Pavel. He’d earned his place.
Thomas, fortunately, knew enough to know that he was to keep his mouth shut when he heard a lieutenant needling the boss about a girl.
“It means that you’re a smart man,” Pavel said. “And you’re an attractive one. C’mon, that apartment we kept the girl in? That wasn’t just for show. If it was, you’d have a fireplace and all of that. You took plenty of girls back there, you know how to sweet talk someone. Most girls will just fall all over you—you need someone who’s going to be your equal and won’t take your bullshit.”
“She wasn’t not taking my bullshit, she was attacking me for no goddamn reason.”
“If you say so,” Pavel said, in a tone that suggested he did not at all agree with Ivan and thought Ivan was protesting too much.
Ivan glared at him. “I do say so, thank you very much, and I’m the boss.”
“Didn’t you also tell me that you wanted me to have a mind of my own and express my own opinions?”
“About the damn operations, about the business, not about my love life.”
“Oh come on, sir, you can’t tell me that you didn’t find her at least a bit attractive.” Pavel grinned at him, waggling his eyebrows. “Big blue eyes like that, hasn’t that always been your weakness?”
“She’s Irish, for one thing,” Ivan pointed out.
“Last I checked the only person making you marry a Russian girl someday was your father, and he’s not around anymore. Alliances happen all the time.”
“I’m ninety percent sure there are a bunch of other princesses I could marry that would provide me with just as good of an alliance and a hell of a lot less sass.”
“But then you’d just be bored, wouldn’t you?” Pavel replied. “Admit it, you enjoyed sparring with her. Having somebody actually challenge you for once, a girl who can hold her own with you instead of just a wham bam thank you ma’am? Don’t tell me it doesn’t appeal to you. And you’ll need a strong spouse—if something happens to you while you’re childless or if your child isn’t old enough, she’ll have to take over the family and you want her to be capable of it.”
Ivan had to admit, at least to himself, that Pavel was right. If he was looking at things from a purely political standpoint, he couldn’t do much better than Kelly O’Gill—not unless he wanted to risk it and wait another few years until his family was more powerful and he could marry into one of the top five Italian families or one of the more powerful Russian families.
If he married into one of those families now, they’d only offer him the expendable daughters, the ones who were idiots—or a ruthless one who’d kill him and take over and then help the Sokolovs get absorbed into the bigger family. Either way, he’d lose.
And he couldn’t really afford to wait. Being in the mob business was one of the few places in the western world where you still had to get married young—that is, if you were anyone important. Nobody cared if a grunt died childless. But if a boss died without an heir? It was pandemonium. The resulting in-feuding could lead to a war with other families as well.
No, he needed to marry, and he needed an heir, and he needed a wife who could handle things the way Pavel said if something happened to Ivan that took him out of this world early. Kelly was smart, she seemed to know how to run the business, and she could hold her own against any of the dons at a meeting, judging by how ruthlessly she’d been cutting into Ivan all through lunch. A few old men weren’t going to intimidate the likes of her.
But personality wise… no way. He wasn’t going to marry someone he couldn’t stand.
And all right, so maybe Kelly was attractive. Maybe she had that old-fashioned kind of beauty that he’d thought didn’t exist anymore. Maybe she was the kind of woman that any man would be proud to have on his arm when he went to the opera for the regular I-look-richer-than-you-do posturing that all the mob families got into at the Met.
But that didn’t mean that he was going to marry her. Fuck’s sake, they could hardly stand to be in the same room together. They weren’t even going to make out, never mind marry.
Pavel was just stirring up trouble.
“There are other fish in the sea,” Ivan told him. “Kelly’s not the only solution out there. And I’d like it if my wife didn’t want to cut off my balls while I slept.”
“Suit yourself,” Pavel replied. “It was just a suggestion.”
Besides, Ivan reminded himself, Kelly was probably the one who’d ordered the killings.
But wait…
Kelly was a good match for marriage. He couldn’t just start interrogating her, both she and her father would object to that. Sean probably didn’t even think of Kelly as a possible suspect, just as a possible target.
If he asked Kelly out on a date, it would look perfectly natural. Why wouldn’t a new, young boss, one who needed a wife, ask out the attractive daughter of the boss next door? Why wouldn't he start testing out potential partners?
Kelly could hardly say no, that was the other thing. To refuse the date wasn’t just a matter of a woman saying no to a man, it was a political statement. It meant you didn’t want to be seen in public with the other person. Saying yes meant that you were okay with that and therefore open to a possible alliance down the line. Saying yes or no wasn’t saying yes or no to the individual—it was saying yes or no to the organization as the whole.
As a result, most men asked the father’s permission first before asking out the daughter. No one wanted to play Romeo and Juliet.
Yes, getting Kelly out on a date would be the perfect setting. Her guard would be down, they’d be somewhere public—somewhere neutral to both of their families—so that she couldn’t, say, murder him with a steak knife. And he could subtly pump her for information.
It was practically perfect. If he could just get enough admission of guilt—perhaps wear a recording device to play back for Sean later—this whole thing could be wrapped up in just one evening. He wouldn’t even have to bother slogging through all that paperwork.
There was just one tricky part.
Getting her to say yes.
Chapter Eight
Kelly stared at her father. “He—what?”
“Ivan has asked if you would be kind enough to accompany him to Porter’s this evening,” her father repeated, as if he was asking her what she wanted him to pick up for her at the store and not telling her something completely insane and out of the blue.
“Ivan Sokolov. Is asking me out on a date.”
“Yes.”
Kelly spluttered. “But—seriously? Did you not see him at lunch? He hates my guts, he can’t fucking stand it that a woman’s actually standing up to him and not falling for his ‘I’m so charming, I’m a big strong Russian’ routine.”
“You sound rather invested in this,” her father noted placidly.
Kelly pointed a finger at him. “Oh, no you don’t. You are not making this into a thing. There is no thing.”
“I’m merely noting that you two seem to have a bit of a spark.”
“A spark?” Kelly wanted to laugh hysterically. “You call him second-guessing eve
rything I say and talking to me condescendingly a spark? Are you out of your mind?”
“Now, love,” her father said, adopting a soothing tone of voice. It was the same tone he’d use on Mother when she was in the middle of one of her tirades.
Supposedly, according to her parents, Kelly’d gotten temper from both of them and thus had twice the short fuse.
“Don’t you placate me,” she snapped. “I’m not going out on a date with someone who doesn’t respect me.”
“I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t respect you. I think it’s that you challenge him and he’s unused to that. He clearly appreciates it, if he’s asking you out. And you can’t deny that he’s a good-looking sort of man.”
He was more than just ‘good looking’, but Kelly wasn’t going to admit that, and certainly not to her father of all people. “I can do better.”
She’d long ago accepted that her marriage would probably be for politics and not for love. Even though she had been passed over for heir, as the daughter of a boss she held political power. She could be used to seal alliances between families.
But if she was going to be practically selling herself for an alliance, then by god, she was going to sell herself to someone with more power and a hell of a lot more respect for her than Ivan Sokolov.
“It’s just one date,” her father reminded her. “One date does not a marriage make. This isn’t the age where we wait until the day of the wedding to introduce the bride and the groom to one another. Marriage might be political, but everyone wants it to be happy if possible. No one wants a repeat of those former years.”
By that he was probably referring to all of the divorces, mariticide, and domestic abuse that had gone on back when the political marriages were more, well, obviously political. The police couldn’t really get involved and so things had to be solved through the families, and it had just been a massive mess.
Kelly knew she’d been lucky to grow up in a household with two parents who loved each other and respected one another. Her father had married in Ireland and brought his wife over when his cousin had summoned him, so no politics had really been involved in that marriage.
When she’d been little, she’d dreamed of meeting someone, perhaps at one of those big parties that all the families threw at the end of the year, a holiday-themed competition of who had more sophistication and wealth. Or perhaps she’d run into the man at the opera, since every mob boss and their mother was stubbornly attending every week and probably the reason the Met was still able to pull off those elaborate sets every year.
Probably also the way Puccini continued to be so damn popular, for fuck’s sake.
But in any case, she had imagined it well, at the age of ten, of twelve, of fourteen. She’d run into a handsome, charming man, and they’d spend the evening flirting, and only at the end would they learn who the other one was—and she’d find to her surprise and pleasure that he was the heir to some powerful family or other. She’d get to have her cake and eat it to, and truly marry for love as well as for an alliance.
She’d grown up since then.
She knew that like-mindedness was probably the most she could hope for at the beginning, and from there possibly a genuine affection would grow. Compatibility was something that people truly cared about nowadays, as her father had pointed out, and there were people marrying for love—but you were only supposed to look for that love among certain circles.
So it wasn’t like she was looking for some fairy tale romance. She wasn’t asking for roses and chocolates. She just wanted someone who could help to elevate the family status and possibly provide protection, shelter if a storm came—and someone who she didn’t feel like strangling after ten minutes.
Ivan provided exactly none of those things.
“You don’t have to fall in love with him,” her father teased. “I’m not asking you to make any promises. But he’s a valuable asset. We need him on our good side. Just one date, that’s all. After that you can say that you’ve done your duty.”
Kelly sighed. What harm, really, could a first date possibly do? If he got to be too insufferable she’d just smile on the outside and grip her fork very tightly and imagine stabbing Ivan through the eye with it.
And, maybe, this could be a golden opportunity. If she played her cards right, she could chase Ivan away. Make him give up on this entire thing. With him out of the picture not only would her father have to relent and let her investigate but she wouldn’t have to deal with Ivan’s handsome smug face ever again.
“Fine.” She paused. “But somebody owes me big for this.”
Chapter Nine
Ivan agreed to meet Kelly at the restaurant rather than picking her up. His mother’s rules about dating that she’d drummed into him before her death still stuck with him and it rankled him that he couldn’t pick Kelly up at her home, drive her there, hold the door open for her and so on. But Kelly wasn’t just any girl and keeping this date entirely on neutral territory was a wise decision.
He got there first and made sure that the table was a nice one by the window and already available. Just because this was an excuse for an interrogation didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it in style or treat Kelly as anything less than a proper lady.
A car pulled up soon after he’d finished checking on the arrangements, a driver getting out and coming around to get the passenger door. Ivan stood to the side, just in case he was wrong, and it turned out to be some celebrity or something. Porter’s was a popular place, especially on a Friday night.
Sure enough, it was Kelly—but not Kelly as he’d previously seen her.
Before, she’d had her hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, no makeup, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He’d also thought he could make out a knife of some kind hidden in her black combat boots. Nothing overtly tomboyish, but just sensible, plain clothes. Every day clothes, the kind you wore when you were doing a casual business lunch in a pub and watching over your sick brother’s bedside.
But it appeared that when the occasion called for her to dress up, Kelly delivered in spades.
Her dark blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders, curling in thick ringlets, a small clip in place to help it frame her face. She’d gone for just a touch of makeup around her eyes but some dramatic dark lipstick that drew Ivan’s eyes right to her full mouth.
She’d gone for a vintage look in a navy and burgundy fit n’ flare dress, short enough to show off her legs and paired with pumps. Not too fancy, like she was trying to show up everyone else in the restaurant, but classy and just right for a higher end establishment.
Ivan could feel himself staring but didn’t know how to make himself stop, either. He tended to pick women up in clubs, where they wore tight short dresses designed to reveal and heavy, dramatic makeup. Kelly looked classy, and far more beautiful than any woman he’d seen in a long time. She looked memorable. Ivan couldn’t picture the faces of any of the other women he’d brought back to his apartment—not if his life depended on it. But even if he never saw Kelly again after that moment, he knew that he’d always be able to remember how she looked in that moment.
She spied him and walked up, heels clicking. “You clean up all right, I suppose,” she observed, a teasing note in her voice.
She seemed more relaxed, now that they were out of her territory and not, technically, there just to talk business. The sass was definitely still there, but the hard edge of it had apparently been put away for the time being.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Ivan replied. He offered her his arm. “Shall we? I’ve already checked in for us, hope that’s all right.”
“I don’t mind.”
He led her back to the table. “No flowers?” Kelly observed dryly.
“I can pull out all the stops next time,” Ivan replied. “I had a feeling you were an understated kind of girl.”
“Your feeling was correct. Any idiot who tries a public declaration of love will be shot.”
“Why do I have a
feeling that wasn’t hyperbole?”
Kelly just winked at him and picked up her menu. “So, tell me, what’s the real reason why you’re asking me here?”
“I don’t know how to say this without it sounding like a line, but you’re a beautiful woman.”
He should’ve known that wouldn’t fly with her. She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re kidding me, right? You think I’m going to fall for that?”
“And what do you want me to tell you?” Ivan snapped back. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot, okay? I’m just trying to get us back onto the right one because like it or not, we have to work together.”
Kelly sighed, setting her menu down. “Or, you could just go on your merry way and let us handle this issue ourselves the way we’re supposed to.”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You know that you can’t trust anyone, right? Nobody will be an impartial investigator, you need someone from the outside and you sure as hell can’t call in the cops.”
“This is an O’Gill matter and the O’Gills should settle it. How do we know that you aren’t going to take advantage of the situation? You’ve practically already gotten what you needed.”
“If you think that all I need is one meeting and I’m set, all my problems are handled, you really don’t know all that goes into a transition.”
“I know plenty,” Kelly snapped. “Not sure you’d know enough, though, playboy. How’s doing a 180 feel?”
“I don’t know, how’s getting skipped over for heir feel?” Ivan replied, feeling his temper flaring up.
Kelly narrowed her eyes, her face flushing pink. Ivan really, really wished it didn’t make her look really attractive. “You don’t know anything,” she replied, her voice low and angry.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you aren’t the heir,” Ivan said. He sat back, folding his arms. “I’d love to hear it.”
