“What?”
A slow tic appears in Dubov’s cheek. “She watched her sister drown. She tried to save her, but she wasn’t strong enough to fight the currents.”
Bullshit.
“Would this be the same daughter who vanished into thin air two decades later?” I slide my gaze to Maxim again, and watch the unblemished side of his face pale. I let him choke on the knowledge that I know about him and Karina before swinging it back to his Pakhan.
“No. Not Karina. I had a third daughter. Annika.” There’s pain skulking behind his blank expression now. It’s strange, considering he doesn’t give a damn about the daughters who did survive. “My wife has never recovered. She tries to forget it in her own way.” You mean the cocktail way. “I wasn’t there when it happened. I was in Russia on business. Because of this, my daughters blamed me.” That tic in his cheek is working overtime now.
“What’s with the sudden over-sharing, Dubov? You don’t seem the type.”
“You were forced into this marriage too, Mr. Knight. You deserve to know the truth.” He holds up his hand for me to let him finish. “Grief forged an unbreakable bond between Karina and Ielena. I am almost certain she knows where her sister is.”
“So, you tortured her for it?”
“I never tortured her. She’d die before she ever gave up that secret to me. Wherever Karina is, I only pray that she’s happy.”
My head is starting to ache. “Are you saying that you’re not looking for her?”
“Only in-so-much as to check on her welfare.”
Well, it’s pretty fucked right about now. “She disgraced you. I thought Bratva was all ‘honor amongst thieves’?”
“We bend the rules, as and when it’s required.” He motions with his glass for a top up for his whiskey.
“Did you help her escape?” I demand.
He shakes his head. “That would have meant a certain death sentence from Zaccaria. For me, and for every member of my family.”
“What do you mean you didn’t torture Issa?” says Frankie, moving closer.
“Next, you’ll be telling me she asked for it,” I snarl.
“She did.” He takes a painfully slow sip, reminding me of that age and refinement thing that Zaccaria preached about in a Trattoria in Sicily fourteen years ago. “The beatings, the branding… It was all her idea.”
Fucking.
Bastard
Surprises.
Even Maxim looks like someone just swapped his Glock 21 for a water pistol.
“So let me get this straight,” I say, leaning forward in my chair—heart pounding, fists clenching. “You’re saying that your daughter, my wife, asked for you to scar her with your insignia?” I go to take a swig of my whiskey and find that my glass is already empty. “Why would she do that? Why would you consent to it?”
“She wanted the man she married to think of her as damaged goods.”
I guessed that part right. Shame it didn't translate to my cock. So, my halfway princess wanted to marry me even less than I wanted to marry her… Does she still feel that way?
He studies his own glass for a moment, holding it up to catch the overhead light. “It wasn't a decision I took lightly. She begged and she pleaded. She said I owed it to her after what happened to Annika.” He grimaces. “I have loved my daughters from behind a glass wall for many years, Mr. Knight. It doesn’t mean I don’t share their suffering. It doesn't mean that I stayed in the room when my men carried out my orders. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t feel every blow, every agony. We both know that Luca Zaccaria would have done much worse to her than I did.”
I feel like I’m back in the game with Rick Sanders from a few nights ago, but this time I’m losing a hundred million not a half.
“Are you a weak man or just a stupid one?” I say, groping for some equilibrium in this shitshow of a conversation.
He bangs his glass down on the table. “I am a man who is trying to set my daughter free! That is the real reason why I am here tonight… Tomorrow, there will be a choice for you. I fear that you will choose poorly and destroy my daughter’s heart, as I did to my own wife’s heart when the same choice was mine.”
“Dubov,” I say patiently. “I’m turning up tomorrow to discuss terms for a Riviera deal between the Cosa Nostra and the Semion that I stand to benefit greatly from. My only choice will be between wearing a blue Tom Ford suit or a black Armani one.”
“Do I need to beg?”
What the fuck?
“You’ll be begging on behalf of a daughter who hates your guts. Jesus!” I exclaim. “Your family life is even more messed up than mine is.”
“Oh, I doubt that very much.” His dark eyes start glinting like a night of a thousand shit secrets.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “That’s a question for Zaccaria.”
There are a lot of questions for fucking Zaccaria.
“I am not in love with your daughter, Dubov,” I repeat, “but neither do I think of her as damaged goods. I fuck her out of duty. I fuck her to keep my end of the bargain.”
I don’t love liars.
I can’t.
I’m including myself in that rhetoric.
“Then her plan has failed spectacularly, and so has mine, by all accounts. Please… Just think about what I have said.” I watch his features rearrange themselves into something even colder. The introspective part of the evening is done, and now it’s time for business. “There is another reason why I came here tonight,” he says, clearing his throat. “I came to thank you for your services these past few years, and to let you know that they are no longer required. The Semion has found a suitable replacement in Marseille.”
My blinding inferno starts raging again. I don’t want his business, but he’s gone and stolen my thunder.
“A fake for a wife and a loss of fifty million a year revenue in laundered money.” My smirk is a shadow of its former itself. “This is a truly illuminating evening, Dubov. May I ask why you’ve taken this decision?”
“I believe it is for best.”
“Did you come to it yourself, or did Eloise Dubois have any input? I understand she’s not such a big fan of mine.”
He goes very still.
“Why did you visit her two hours ago?” I say idly. “Store closing is at six p.m. You’re a Bratva Pakhan, not a fire starter. There’s no need to go about rekindling old flames on my Riviera.”
“She has nothing to do with this.” He rises to his feet and slams his fists down on my desk. “She is an old friend, nothing more.”
“I believe this is the most animated you’ve been since you stepped into my office,” I drawl. “Does your wife know, or is she still hedging her bets on Marie replacing her? Speaking of which, where is shark-bait this evening? I must thank her for her piss poor contribution to Ielena’s wedding outfit.”
Ielena, not Issa.
“Your parentage is the only thing that is stopping me from razing your casino to the ground, Knight.”
“My parentage?” I let out a rough chuckle. “If I’m reliant on them, I’m screwed. They were murdered in a London council estate flat fourteen years ago. I have no lines. No origin. My family tree is as barren as the virgin fucking Mary before God decided to switch up the game plan.”
“Is that so?”
That dark glint is back, making me want to scoop out his eyeballs and crush the mysteries out of them.
Instead, I rise to my feet, my patience paper-thin and flaking. “I think it’s time for you to leave now, Dubov. But before you do, I have a parting gift.” There’s a dull thud as the butt of Frankie’s gun connects with Maxim’s temple.
By the time Dubov reaches for his own gun, mine is already kissing his forehead.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Issa
I wake to suffocating stillness, with the sheets tangled around my legs and my hair slick with sweat. Even the lapping waves at the hull sound dull and distant somehow. The
blinds are down, and the dark is a disorientating blur of shapes and angles.
Stretching my hand out, I caress air and emptiness.
Aiden.
My father.
I sit bolt upright as my iPhone starts beeping. Tracking the white glow across the room to his desk, I fish the device out of my purse. My stomach lurches when I see who’s calling.
“Maxim?” I gasp out. “Why are you calling me on an unsecured line?”
“He knows,” he slurs. “How the hell does he know, DorogAya moy? How does Aiden Knight know about me and Karina?”
“Are you drunk? Have the British been in contact about her? Was her operation successful?”
“So far so good.”
“Thank God.” I tip my head back to stopper the tears of relief.
“Did you sell us out, Issa?”
“Never!” I’m horrified he would think that. “You two are my family, Maxim. I’d do anything for you. I’m doing everything for you.” I grab a white towel from Aiden’s en suite and wrap it around my naked body. “He was asking and asking. I had to tell him something. He doesn’t know about… He promised me he wouldn't say anything to Zaccaria. Did he tell my father?”
“Not yet.”
“This time tomorrow, Maxim.” A sob swells up in my chest with an army of many. “This time tomorrow we’ll be gone, and none of this will matter anymore.”
But it will... I know this week is going to haunt me forever.
“Your ublyudok of a husband can do a lot of damage in twenty-four hours. You should see what he’s done tonight in two.” There’s a loud crash in the background and a volley of angry Russian. “There’s something else... Why didn’t you tell me—” This time there’s a bang and the line goes loud and fuzzy, as if the device if being pressed tightly against fabric.
“Maxim?” I urge. “Are you there?”
“You need to get off his yacht, Issa.” My body goes cold. “He’s on his way back right now and he’s not happy… I’ve got to go.”
“Maxim!”
I stare at my dead cell, long after the lights have faded and I’m lost in the darkness again.
What does Aiden know?
Fear kick-starts my adrenaline. I throw on my dress and grab my shoes and purse. I sprint, barefoot, all the way down to my cabin, my thoughts dashing against the rocks in a turbulent storm.
Crashing through the door, I’m heading for the closet when a heavy hand clamps across my mouth and pushes me headfirst into the bed. The mattress muffles my screams before I’m flipped over onto my back and straddled by a dead weight across my hips and thighs.
“Can’t breathe,” I wheeze as my hands are wretched above my head and held there, and I’m left blinking frantically in this new darkness.
“That’s the least of your problems, bitch,” growls a cut-glass accent that chills my skin.
“Felix? What are you doing? Let me go.”
“Nope, uh ha. Not happening. Not until you explain why Knight went all judge and jury on your father tonight.” He did? But he— “Did you know? Did you fucking know?”
“Know what?” I croak.
“It’s tit for tat in the criminal world. Shit went down tonight, and now tomorrow’s deal is looking mighty shaky.”
“No, I—”
“You gave me your word, Issa, so it’s punishment time for lying bitches.”
There’s a shadow of movement above me, and then a rocket is exploding across my left cheek—the crack of the brutal slap echoing around the cabin. It’s pain on a double beat. Another explodes across my jaw, and the taste of metal erupts into my mouth.
I’m gasping and spluttering as he shifts his weight to aim another at my rib cage. My pitiful noises turn to groans. Terrified, I try to roll over and crawl away, but he yanks me back by my foot.
“Knight’s lost his mind over you, so I’m intrigued to find out what golden pussy tastes like.” The next thing I know, my dress is being ripped from my body. “You tell anyone about this and he gets an anonymous phone call about his wife. You hear me?”
“No!” Kicking out frantically, my heel connects with his crotch.
“You fucking whore!” he hisses, letting go of me immediately.
My eyes are adjusting to the lack of light. I can see a large dark shadow bent over by the bed. Scrabbling backward on my elbows, I run out of mattress and end up as a crumpled heap on the floor. I’m half-crawling, half-stumbling toward the en suite, when I’m yanked backward by my hair and thrown onto the bed again.
“Someone help me!” I scream before his hand is smothering my mouth again and his full weight is pressing me down into the mattress.
He punches me in the side of the head, and then a blinding white light hits my streaming eyes. Cringing away, I feel his weight leave my body, followed by a dull thud as his hits the floor.
“You mixing up your fucking pay grade, Felix?” comes a familiar drawl. “Attempted rape of my wife isn’t included in your benefits package.”
Slick, savage sounds of fist on bone come next, interspersed with sickening crunches, whimpers of pain and grunts of exertion.
Wincing, I yank the remains of my dress down as Aiden pulls out his gun from his back waistband and calmly fires three bullets into the crumpled white and red heap on the floor.
After that, there are no more whimpers.
With his gun still outstretched toward the body, he lifts his gaze to meet mine, his heavy brows knitting together with a fresh fury as he takes in the state of my face.
“That motherfucker,” he growls, firing another three rounds into the dead body as Frankie bursts into the cabin.
“What the hell is going on?”
I watch him glance between the corpse and me as Maxim’s words filter into my brain, past all the hurt and the shock.
“You need to get the hell of his yacht, Issa. He knows.”
“It’s a goddamn mess, that’s what’s going on. Clean it up,” orders Aiden, sliding his gun back into his waistband and turning his attention back to me. “You okay there, halfway?” He takes a step in my direction and I flinch away. His eyes are violent seas. His anger hasn’t dissipated, and I’m next in the firing line.
“Well, look what we have here,” exclaims Frankie as he checks the body, holding up a couple of blood-stained burner cell phones and a gun. “Interpol standard issue, if I’m not mistaken. They love their archaic shit.”
Aiden’s head snaps back to him. “That limey bastard. He’s been working for me for two years…”
“He is Interpol,” I rasp.
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Whoever he is, his contract’s been officially terminated, both as a deckhand and an undercover agent.” Frankie makes to stand, clucking in annoyance. “I’ll get onto the clean-up crew right away. I’ll see if I can track down his handler, as well.”
I swing my legs off the bed. There’s a deep ache resonating in my body as I stagger toward the en suite. Ramming the bolt home, I stare at the wreck of me in the mirror above the sink. My top lip has split and my left cheek is swelling. I look like a manifestation of all the chaos going on inside me.
I’m exhausted.
Exhausted from the lies, the deceit… From pretending I don’t care about this man, this killer, when every fiber of my being is screaming to the contrary.
Fighting back the tears, I rest my forehead against the cool of the mirror. “I tried inhaling your sonnet, Karina,” I whisper, “but only dirt came back out again. Help me. Please help me… I can’t do this anymore. I’m breaking into pieces. I need to put my faith in something other than hope for once.”
“Why don’t you start with me?”
Startled, I swing back around. I didn’t lock the door apparently, because Aiden’s standing in the doorway, slouched against the frame—a tall drink of everything wicked and wanton, as usual.
Keeping ours gazes fixed, he loosens his top button, shrugs off his black suit jacket and starts to roll up his
sleeves. He switches on the faucet next to me and runs his bloody hands under the water. I watch the swirls of pink become weaker and weaker, and then he’s taking a towel from the rail and running it under the water, too. Once he’s done, he moves to stand in front of me.
“Sit up on the vanity. Let me take a look at you.”
Trembling, I do as he says, trying not to flinch again as he turns my face toward the light. His five o’ clock shadow mirrors the circles under his eyes. Beneath his tan, he’s as tired as I am.
“How did it go with my father?” I whisper.
“It was…satisfying.” He shoots me a look to gage my reaction.
“Is the Riviera deal still on?”
“Without a doubt. I just learned that Aleksandr Dubov will do anything to stop Zaccaria breathing flames up his arse.” After a while, he hums his verdict on my face. “The good news is I’ve had worst fights with Frankie’s Escalade.” When I don’t smile, he plants a shockingly tender kiss to my forehead. “Nothing’s broken, you’re just busted up a little.”
Cut me open, Aiden, and you’ll see the real damage.
“How far did he go?” He daubs the damp towel against my lip. His movements are jerky and stiff. There’s anger in his touch, which makes me instantly wary.
“Not that far.” I wince at the sting.
“Far enough.”
“I’ve never seen you kill before.”
“You better get used to it, princess. It’s a regular occurrence.” There’s a pause. “How did you know he was Interpol?”
The lie is right there on my tongue, but it won’t seem to leave my mouth. The truth is barging its way to front instead, with my lips negligent security guards.
Meanwhile there are noises in the cabin. I glance through the open doorway to see three tall men standing over the body with Frankie. One is holding a roll of plastic tarp, and the other a yellow bag of workman’s tools.
“You don’t need to see that shit.” Aiden leans over and kicks the door shut. “Let’s hang out on the same side of this en suite for once.” Smoothing the mess of dark hair away from my face, he tosses the towel into the sink and rests his hands on either side of my legs, trapping me against the vanity.
Black Skies Riviera: An Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance Page 22
