Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless)

by Victoria Vale

  I spot Oleg sitting on a couch beside the woman he wants me to marry—his daughter, Nataly. His other two daughters are seated throughout the room, laughing and swinging their hair and making themselves as attractive to the men in the room as possible. Oleg’s sons stand together near the piano, whispering to each other and watching us. More of the bratva and their women are scattered around, dressed to the nines and watching me and my men with sharp eyes. A few gazes linger on Elena, making me move my hand to the curve of her waist and squeeze, pulling her closer.

  “Diego,” Oleg says, coming to his feet to greet me. He’s staring at Elena with a frown, his eyes hard and unreadable. “Finally, a meeting of our families, and the beginning of a successful partnership … I hope.”

  “Likewise,” I reply, pretending not to notice how annoyed he seems by Elena’s presence. “Oleg, I want to introduce you to someone. This is Elena Aguilar. Baby, this is Oleg. He was a close friend of my father’s.”

  Elena flashes her smile again and takes the hand Oleg offers out of grudging respect for tradition. He won’t be overtly rude to her, but I know he’s wishing Elena a hundred miles from here.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Elena says, honey dripping of every word. “Diego talks about you all the time.”

  “All good things, I hope?” Oleg says, returning her smile. Apparently, he isn’t immune to Elena’s charm.

  “Nothing but good things,” Elena assures him. “Thank you so much for having us this evening.”

  The emphasis she puts on the word ‘us’ makes Oleg’s left eye twitch. Otherwise, he’s a fortress, not letting any of his thoughts show. All I can do is uphold this charade and hope for the best.

  “I would like to introduce you to my family,” Oleg says, patting Elena’s hand. As if by magic, Oleg’s children appear on either side of him. “You have already met my lovely wife. These are my sons, Viktor and Mikhail. This is my eldest daughter, Irina, and the second-eldest, Lada.”

  Reaching for the hand of his youngest daughter, Oleg helps her stand, presenting her as if she’s a prized pony. “And this is the youngest of my children, Nataly.”

  Elena and Nataly take each other’s measure, and it’s impossible not to compare them. Nataly is as beautiful as I remember, with her mother’s milky skin and pale blue eyes. The white-blonde shade of her hair is natural, and her features remind me of a porcelain doll. She’s wearing a baby blue dress with thin straps, the silky fabric clinging to a sinfully curvy body. The neckline is modest, her nails painted clear and neatly trimmed, her jewelry understated.

  She’s as near to perfect as any person can get, and still she doesn’t measure up to Elena. Her beauty is frigid and her perfection is off-putting. Elena’s very real and striking features are more appealing—and so is the thought of having her naked and at my mercy. Nataly would probably have a heart attack if I tried any of the things I’ve been fantasizing about doing to Elena.

  Not to mention Nataly’s as bland as a piece of dry toast, completely devoid of any personality beyond what finishing school has instilled in her.

  “Good evening,” Nataly says, shaking Elena’s hand before turning to me. She looks like a hopeful little girl, wishing for the sweets in a candy store. “Diego … it’s wonderful to see you again. I was very happy to hear you would be present tonight.”

  I can’t refuse when she takes my shoulders to kiss my cheek three times, or when she stands far closer than what’s usually appropriate.

  “You look lovely,” I tell her as an afterthought. I don’t want to be too nice and lead her on, but it’s a fine line. I can’t risk being rude and angering Oleg.

  Her cheeks flush and she flutters her eyelashes. “Thank you. Father, can I show him the new Barcelo?”

  Oleg gives her a smile filled with affection and indulgence. “Of course, moy sladkiy. Diego is a lover of fine art, just as I am.”

  I grit my teeth at the clear attempt to separate me from Elena. Oleg’s eldest son, Viktor, has roped her into conversation. Elena fidgets with her little purse, but smiles and engages him with the perfect amount of shy demureness.

  “I’d love to see it,” I say, letting Nataly grab my arm.

  She leads me to the other side of the room—which just so happens to be clear of any other guests. As she starts blabbering about the Barcelo painting, I glance over my shoulder to check on Elena. Viktor has retreated, watching with a tight frown as Elena chats with one of his sisters. She must have shut him down when he tried to flirt. Good. She’s doing well on her own, so I let myself relax and pretend interest in the painting.

  We only need to make it through the next couple of hours. Things will go back to normal once we’re out of Oleg’s sight. How hard could it be to convince him that I’m head over heels in love with a woman who hates my guts?

  14

  Diego

  The dinner party goes smoother than I expected. All my men and Oleg’s needed to find common ground was a selection of fine vodkas. The women clustered together near the piano while the men traded introductions and pleasantries. Once dinner is served, we walk into the spacious dining room with another set of windows offering a skyline view.

  The seating is assigned strategically, placing Oleg at the head of the table and Galina on the other end. Viktor sits on his right, and I have the honored position on his left, across from the firstborn son. His other children are scattered down the table, with my lieutenants and Oleg’s mixed in randomly. As expected, Nataly sits at my side. The unexpected arrival of Elena threw a temporary wrench into the seating, and despite my insistence that I’d move to the other side of the table, Galina took over and shifted one of Oleg’s men to place Elena directly beside Viktor.

  Vodka is traded for wine as the soup course is served, and the strained atmosphere of earlier seems to have eased. I observe the people around me with a critical eye, but can’t find any cause for alarm. Jovan is flirting with one of Oleg’s daughters, which seems to delight Galina. It wouldn’t surprise me to have Oleg press the issue of another marriage union in the near future. Marcella has the attention of some of the lower-ranking bratva, but threatening stares from me scare them into averting their eyes, leaving her to chat with Galina. My sister looks bored, but she knows her role in this game and plays it well.

  “Tell me, Elena,” Oleg says with an indulgent smile. “What do you do?”

  Elena’s face lights up with genuine passion as she tells Oleg about her boutique. I’ll admit I haven’t given much thought to the business she seems desperate to cling to, but I have to take notice now. Elena tells Oleg things I didn’t know about her—like how she’s been making her own clothes since she was elementary school, and that she holds degrees in business, fashion design, and fashion merchandising. Her boutique specializes in affordable ready-to-wear pieces for women, as well as high-end gowns. She takes the occasional custom design order and is planning to expand into a line of ladies’ swimwear.

  I’m entranced, impressed by her resume and accomplishments. Because of my lifestyle, I am used to encountering women who went to college for ‘life experience’, their existemce revolving around influential marriages and social climbing. I was determined for Marcella to never be like them. She might not be closely related to my business, but she has a lot more to offer than her looks and status as my sister. In another year and a half, she’ll have earned her business and marketing degree. I give her five years before she’s running her own company and knocking down every man who gets in her way to do it.

  Elena might not be from our world, but she’s still nothing like the daughters of the men who typically borrow money from me. Spoiled and vain, they are often part of the reason Daddy’s in financial trouble. Not Elena. She’s been independent for a while, and her own success happened despite Santiago and not because of him. That she just so happened to be in the house when I arrived to put her father down is Elena’s only crime.

  It’s not lost on me that this is why I’m finding it so d
ifficult to kill her. The night we met, then again both times she tried to escape … the niggle of guilt and repugnance shot through me. I want to believe I showed mercy because of Father Moya, but I’m lying to myself. When she knelt for me, I was holding my breath and praying that Elena would choose life—choose me over a bullet.

  Her acceptance doesn’t mean anything, except that she still has a lot of fight left in her. And maybe it also means there can never be any end to this. There are only two inevitable ways this can be over, and one of them is me killing Elena. The other is her remaining my slave in perpetuity—something that doesn’t make me feel as guilty as the thought of murdering her. My reasons are selfish. In exchange for giving Elena her life, I can have whatever I want from her … all the things I wouldn’t dare consider when I thought her of as only a piece of collateral.

  But she’s no longer a piece of collateral. Elena is mine.

  As Oleg peppers Elena with questions about fashion, I notice that his son has also become engrossed with her. Viktor leans close, smiling and asking questions. My fingers tightening painfully around my spoon. She’s doing well, maintaining a polite aloofness and inching away when Viktor gets too close.

  That doesn’t stop fantasies of murder from flashing through my mind. Inside, my vision is painted red, and Victor lays strewn in several pieces. His eyes keep dipping to Elena’s cleavage, so of course I’ll have to yank those out.

  “I’m very proud of Elena,” I interject, drawing both hers and Viktor’s gaze to me. “She’s done well for herself. I’m a lucky man.”

  Elena slips a hand into the one I extend across the table. I hold Viktor’s gaze while letting my fingers stroke along hers, a not-so-subtle warning emanating from my eyes. Oleg’s son is no pussy. He holds my stare with a smirk, lifting his eyebrow in a mocking challenge. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a quick, strong urge to kill someone without a bit of guilt. If it weren’t for Oleg, I’d tear Viktor’s head off right here and now.

  “You’re so sweet,” Elena replies, her voice pulling my attention away from Viktor.

  I flash her a smile, aware that we’re attracting attention. I toy with her fingers, lowering my guard enough to let her see what I’ve had the hell of a time hiding. I want her. The stroke of my touch on her hands is a substitution for what I really want to do to her with my fingers. As soft as her palms are, I imagine the insides of her thighs being even softer.

  Her chest rises and falls with each breath, and she looks as if she’s in a daze. But she never looks away, communicating back to me. I don’t think I know her well enough to decide if she’s acting, or if what I’m seeing is real. In the grand scheme of my plan, it doesn’t matter. But plan aside, it does fucking matter.

  The second course comes, forcing us to end our display of affection. As soups are replaced with salads, Nataly rests a hand on my forearm. I’d forgotten her presence entirely.

  “Diego, are you fond of sailing?”

  I blink at her, uncertain how to respond to a such a banal question. It’s like being asked my favorite color. The question as infantile as the woman asking it.

  Hiding my true feelings with a polite smile, I turn on the charm. “I do enjoy being out on the water, Miss Yezhov … but I’m not much of a sailor myself. I prefer to enjoy the ride while someone else does the piloting.”

  She looks at me as if my answer is the most fascinating thing she’s ever heard. “Please, call me Nataly. Our families are soon to be one, aren’t they?”

  I stiffen under her arm, knowing she isn’t just referring to the mafia side of things. She’s as pushy and desperate as her father. As she talks my ear off about her horses, sailing, and her favorite sport—ballroom dancing—I contemplate jamming my knife through my ear. Oleg thinking we would make a good match is laughable. She digs for compliments, offers surface-level commentary on whatever is being discussed, and tries her best to get and keep my attention.

  But my eye is always drawn back to Elena, who’s watching us with a frown. Her nostrils flare when Nataly uses her napkin to dab at an imaginary drop of custard from the corner of my mouth during dessert. She gives me an annoyed look when I meet her gaze.

  Is my little kitten jealous? Or is she annoyed over what she might see as a deviation from our plans?

  Giving Nataly half an ear, I stare at Elena while edging my foot toward her beneath the table. She flinches when the toe of my shoe touches the inside of one angle, prompting Viktor to ask her if she’s all right.

  “I’m fine,” she answers, narrowing her eyes at me while I rub my foot against hers. “I felt a little chill just now.”

  Viktor gets to his feet and sheds his suit jacket, draping it over Elena’s shoulders. “There you are.”

  A low sound of annoyance escapes my throat, but I ease my expression to neutral when Elena, Viktor, Oleg, and Nataly give me curious looks.

  “That was kind of you,” I say to Viktor before looking to Elena. “Feeling better, gatita?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she replies with a shaky smile.

  Dessert is followed by coffee, then Galina herds us back into the sitting room. Just before we enter, I pull Viktor’s jacket off Elena’s shoulders. I let it fall to the floor, then step over it as I bring Elena close to my side.

  The vodka comes out, and Oleg makes the rounds, offering cigars to the men.

  Coming to me last, he inclines his head to the far side of the room. “May I have a word?”

  “Of course,” I reply. “I’ll be right back, gatita,” I say to Elena.

  I kiss her cheek and then release her, following Oleg across the room. He takes his time getting to the point, lighting a cigar for himself and then me.

  “I know this isn’t a night for business,” he begins, a cloud of smoke floating over his head. “But I’m concerned about the reports I’ve heard of your trouble with the Armenians.”

  I wave him off. “It’s nothing to worry about. I can handle the Armenians.”

  “I have no doubt,” Oleg says with a chuckle. “But our pending merger means I have a vested interest in protecting your assets. Will you accept a crew of my men to guard your next incoming shipment?”

  I raise my eyebrows, surprised by his offer. Oleg has always made it seem as if this agreement hinges on me dancing to his tune. Now it feels like he’s courting me, trying to convince me that our arrangement will mutually beneficial. Maybe he realizes things aren’t going well between me and Nataly.

  “We have crates of weapons coming in this Friday,” I tell him. “I guess reinforcements can’t hurt.”

  Oleg slaps my shoulder and then gives it a squeeze. “Consider it done. Get me the details, and Viktor and the boys will be there.”

  At the mention of Viktor, I cut my gaze to where he stands talking to Elena. I’ve been aware of both their locations in the room the entire time, and knew the second he found his way back to her. The fucking prick.

  Oleg follows my gaze. “Elena is quite a woman. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone?”

  “I didn’t want to insult you or Nataly.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “She recently started living with me at Indian Creek.”

  Oleg looks surprised, but I can look him in the eye without flinching since that isn’t exactly a lie. “I see. And she … knows why we’ve gathered tonight?”

  “She knows I’ve been asked to consider marriage to Nataly, but Elena isn’t an insecure woman. She knows how I feel about her.”

  Oleg puffs on his cigar, looking thoughtful and slightly disappointed. “I have to admit, seeing you with another woman does not make me happy, syn. But … I can admit the two of you are a striking couple. Does she make you happy?”

  I look at Elena, which seems natural within the role I’m playing. But once I see her, I can’t look away. Partly because Viktor is standing way too close and stroking a finger down the back of her arm … but also because she’s so fucking beautiful. For most of her time under my roof, I’ve b
een able to pretend not to notice. I put her out of my sight, but each time I saw her again it was like a fist to the gut. Every fucking time.

  Does she make me happy? No. She makes me want to tear my own hair out, punch holes in the walls, burn everything to ashes. She makes me want to devour her whole.

  “Yes,” I say out loud, my voice low and raspy.

  I clear my throat and try to get myself under control. Viktor is leering down the front of Elena’s dress and he’s still too fucking close. Close enough to smell her perfume and see the different shades of brown in her irises. Close enough that my skin vibrates with fury.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, putting out my cigar in the nearest ashtray and making a beeline toward them. Instead of addressing Viktor, I take hold of Elena’s arm and pull her away.

  “What the—”

  Her protest is cut off by a sharp look from me, and she remains silent as the entire party watches us leave the room.

  Elena’s heels click on the tiles as I lead her away from the open door, light spilling into the hallway. Once we’ve gone far enough that I’m sure we won’t be overheard, I stop and push her against the wall.

  “Diego, what the hell?”

  “Shh,” I whisper, bracing one hand on the wall and leaning in. “In a few seconds, we are going to have an audience. Relax.”

  She releases a slow breath, but her body remains stiff as mine comes up against it. We’re pressed together so tight I can feel her every inhale, smell the sweet wine and rich custard on her breath.

  “Look, I wasn’t flirting or anything. Viktor was coming on strong and you kind of abandoned me in there. I didn’t know what to do.”

  I touch her shoulder and let my fingertips trail down her arm. “I know, gatita. I’m not mad at you.”

  “Then why did you … oh, I get it.”

  I lower my head and let my nose nuzzle against hers. “Smart girl. If they think I’m jealous, it just makes us look more authentic. When Oleg comes out here, he’s going to see a man reminding his woman who he belongs to.”