"I said, careful." My statement doesn’t have any effect on him. He continues moving forward, coming at me with his bare hands, and I won't take the first shot. When he swings at me, I see it coming from a mile away. His chest is too tight, giving away too much. He's not a fighter. I'm easily able to sidestep it, then drive my own right jab right into his chest.
The impact produces a satisfying gag as air belches from his lungs. His eyes bulge wide with shock and before he can recover, I land two sharp, precise punches to his liver—short hooks that fold him over like a cheap knife. When my knee drives upward into his nose, the snapping of cartilage is a satisfying sound.
He collapses onto the cobblestones, coughing and spitting blood, and I crouch beside his writhing form and grip a fistful of his wet hair. I yank his head back so he's forced to look directly into my eyes. Rain drips from my hair onto his face while the others all start posturing, guns now fully on aim.
“Listen carefully,” I snarl. “I'm not in the mood for negotiating. This is Roman Kuzin's city now, and we don't make deals with fuckers who try to short-change us." I jerk hard, making him wince. "Do you understand?"
He nods frantically, blood streaming from his shattered nose and mixing with tears of pain. “Da… da,ponimayu,” he rasps.
I release his hair and stand up straight, wiping my hands on the front of my coat as I jam the weapon back into my waistband, and suddenly, the others don't look so eager to resist.
"Now, can we get back to work?" I look to Angus, who is the first to lower his weapon. Slowly, the others put theirs away and they start moving more weapons.
The scarred buyer walks over to help the wiry one off the ground, and as I stand over them watching the rest of the deal go down peacefully, it starts to dawn on me how easily this could all be Maksim Orlov's exchange. A dark night, a dozen testosterone-fueled idiots, and no one would be the wiser.
My wheels are spinning hard. Marina is resisting me too strongly. She doesn’t see how much I want her with me, and I can't come out and tell her who I am or risk her running for her life. To her I'm the enemy, the one her father is scared of. She will never see me as a savior until she sees what it means for her family.
And she'll never even look that way until she has no other place to turn. It's become obvious to me that killing Orlov is the only way to end this alliance. Because letting Marina be hurt by any of this isn't an option. Roman may not like it. In fact, I know he’ll hate it. But it's the way it has to be.
Orlov's blood must be shed. And I must have that woman.
17
MARINA
The minute I walked into this place, I was too hot. It's stifling, a fire burning in the hearth well into early summer when it's warm outside and no heat is needed. Maksim sits across from me, eating his dinner and snipping at his maid hastily, but I haven't really touched my meal. I'm uncomfortable and I want him to know it. The candles and flowers—it's all too much. He's trying to be romantic for some reason, and he's failing.
My father insisted I come and start getting acquainted with Maksim's home staff and making myself comfortable in his home. The problem is, being here feels like being in a cage. I am a colorful singing bird who will perform the way I've been trained, but I don't like it. The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl, and even if this food looked appealing to me, I couldn’t eat it. I'm so sick to my stomach, if I take a single bite, I'll throw up.
The night is a waste. I will never feel comfortable in this place. I know my duties and I fully intend to follow through with my promises, but the preparation isn't necessary. I'm sure one day, years from now, my heart will die a cruel, painful death andI'll grow numb to the situation. But for now, all this does is perpetuate my anger and my hatred for this man, which only grows deeper by the day.
Maksim is quiet too, staring at me more than speaking. Dinners with him will be thrilling, I'm sure. He won't talk business with me, and as far as I know, we have nothing in common, not that I've tried to figure it out. He's not like Stepan, who makes conversation easy. Maksim is a brick wall—impenetrable and cold. I have no interest in finding out what makes him tick. I'm sure I'll learn soon enough.
"Thank you for joining me for dinner, Marina. Let's have a toast to us and our future and a great partnership." Those words would almost have been a kind gesture if only he'd have left off the part about partnership.
I lift my glass with a placating smile and bring it to my lips, but I don't really drink. My lips stay sealed as I tip up the glass, and when I lower it, I lick the few drops that moistened them. Maksim's eyes narrow at me, but it's annoyance, not suspicion. The wine will only make the morning sickness worse, besides not being good for the baby. I have no intention of drinking around him, either. This whole setup screams his intention. He wants me liquored up so he can pressure me into sex.
“You barely drank any,” he says smoothly, pointing his glass's rim at me. “It’s a good vintage. Try more. It'll help you relax.”
"It's good," I tell him, trying to reassure him that I've tasted it, but the minute he turns to speak to his maid again, whose name I don't remember, I turn and pour half the glass into the potted plant behind me. The dark soil swallows the liquid, and I set the nearly empty glass back on the table just as he faces me again. My heart is pounding, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"Good girl," he praises, now with a genuine grin. It makes disgust slither across my skin as he continues, chewing a bite of roast while he points his fork at me. "You know, we'll dominate all of Russia one day." When he winks, I have to swallow back some bile. "Your father's empire and mine will grow here in Perm until we can consume Moscow, then St. Petersburg and the rest. This is a love story for the ages."
Funny how he equates his power and the expansion of his business with love. Love for him is nothing but a chess move. And when he says the word love, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I bow my head and lift my fork to my plate, cutting into the meat gently as I think of the way Stepan told me he loves me. Love to him is a gentle thing that swells and consumes and captivates. It makes my heart flutter and my shoulders relax as I remember the way he touches me and talks softly.
I love him, and I shouldn't. I shouldn’t even be thinking of him at all, especially not while I sit across from my fiancé in a dinner that's supposed to resemble what our evenings may look like once the wedding takes place in a few months. But my heart aches when I think of having this life with someone I don't want around me. It feels like I'm being slowly suffocated, crushed to death by expectation and greed.
Maksim reaches across the table and takes my hand. His hand is gentle, but I shudder at his touch. “You seem distant tonight, Marina. Is something bothering you?”
I shake my head quickly. “Just tired. It's been a long week.” I pray he doesn't push me anymore. The last thing I need is to get so emotional I break down crying or end up throwing up. He'll think I'm sick and he'll call his doctor. God only knows where that would lead. I haven't quite figured out how I'm going to tell him I'm pregnant, which brings my mind back to Elira and hercomment about just sleeping with him. It causes my shoulders to pinch and my chest to tighten.
It is an obvious solution, but I don't want to sleep with him. The act of having sex is deeply intimate and in my heart, it's sacred. Giving that part of me to someone as shallow and greedy as Maksim is wrong. He doesn't deserve it, and I don't want to feel degraded, even if it gets me out of the consequences for my poor choices.
He squeezes my hand harder and I look up to meet his eyes. “Then stay here. Going out is always uncomfortable when you're tired and stressed. I can help you relax." His eyes flick between mine and I swallow hard, knowing what he's suggesting. When Stepan says it, I lean into it, wanting what he can give me. When Maksim says it, I cringe.
I pull my hand away and reach for my water, sipping slowly to lessen the sting of bile in the back of my throat before I say, "My father expects me to be home tonight. He could worry."
Maksim’s eyes narrow slightly, but he smiles again. “Your father wants us to get to know each other better. He told me so himself. There's no rush to leave.”