10. Alexander

Chapter 10

Alexander

“ Y ou know we’re closing soon, right?” Lev is sitting in the corner of the jewelry shop with his feet up on an ottoman. He’s got three Rolexes on his wrist, all of them fake, and he’s admiring them in the light. “You don’t have to stay all night again.”

“I’m good,” I tell him, barely looking up from where I’m cataloguing another watch. This one happens to be real. “Tell the girls they can head out.”

“It’s just Dasha left.” Lev gets to his feet with a groan. He rubs his lower back. “You realize you’re a brigadier now, right? You don’t need to stick around and do this shit. I mean, you didn’t before, and you really don’t know.”

“Are you ordering me to go home?”

“No, obviously not.” He takes off the watches and puts them down on the table. I reach out and add them to my inventory pile. “But like I said?—“

“Then I’m good.” I don’t look up as I start on another piece. I write down the make, the model, add a tag to the wristband, and come up with a reasonable price. Everything gets entered into a spreadsheet for inventory purposes.

Lev hangs around for a few more minutes before he finally heads out. I give it a few minutes before I head up front, pull down the gate, and lock the front. I’ll do the same for the back door after I leave.

It’s past ten on a Friday night, and I’m left alone in Fed Jeweler. I like it here this late with only the soft ticking of all the timepieces to keep me company. I can turn off my brain as I do mindless shit work, the sort of stuff Lev keeps begging me to pass off to the girls. But staying here all night until I’m so tired I can’t fucking think is better than sitting alone in my apartment and letting all my thoughts torture me to death.

Especially tonight.

The night before Natalya gets married.

I hate that I’m thinking about her like this. I hate that the moment I’m alone with nothing to keep my hands busy, suddenly I’m reliving that perfect night we spent together in Paris, and then I remember how she’s been such an annoying pain in my ass for so long, and then I hear that haunting beautiful music she makes, and then I remember she’s getting married to another man, and the painful cycle stars all over again.

If I could burn my brain out with acid, I think I’d do it, just to make this stop.

I’m aware that it isn’t fair and I did this to myself. I went into her apartment knowing she was going to marry another man, and I still slept with her anyway. I made that mistake, and now I deserve to suffer for it.

But fuck, I want it to be done with.

A part of me is eager to see her walk down the aisle, and another part of me knows I’m going to die a little bit when they exchange their vows.

There’s a noise in the back. I get to my feet, reading for the gun I have tucked in my waistband. “Who’s there?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just me.” Dasha appears, grinning sheepishly. “Forgot my wallet.”

“Oh, I could’ve brought that to you.”

She smiles at me and shakes her head as she looks around the messy back. She’s in a sleek dress, tight against her hips and bust, and her hair’s up in a gorgeous little bun. I have to admit, she’s sexy as fuck, which is exactly why Oleg hired her to work here. Great tits, amazing lips, an incredible smile, and an ass that sells more Rolexes than any good sales patch possibly could.

“I was heading out around here with my friends anyway.” She hurries up front, makes some noise up there, before coming back with a little orange clutch. “Here we go. Just needed my ID for this stupid club.”

“Have fun,” I tell her, already turning back to my watches.

But Dasha doesn’t leave right away. “You know, you should come out with us,” she says and sits down on top of my workbench. Her dress tugs up her thighs, and she doesn’t try to pull it down as she crosses her legs and leans forward slightly.

“That’s okay. I’m busy here.”

“You’re always busy back here. You should take a break.”

“I’m no fun.”

“I don’t know.” She touches my arm and leans closer. “I feel like we get along pretty well, don’t we?”

I look at her fingers on my shoulder and glance up. Her mouth is slightly parted and she licks her lower lip.

I know what’s happening here. I can already see the night spread out in front of me: Dasha dancing in the club, her lithe, pretty body grinding up against my dick, Dasha laughing as we take a cab back to my place, Dasha moaning as I fuck her senseless.

That might be the distraction I desperately need.

One stupid night of pleasure with an attractive woman.

I don’t owe Natalya anything—and she’s getting married to someone else tomorrow.

“I can’t,” I say, looking away. “You go and have fun.”

“Are you sure?” She sounds slightly hurt and I do my best to ignore it. “Are you really going to make me beg?”

“Not tonight,” I say and it comes out harsher than I intended.

Dasha pulls her hand away and gets up off the worktable. She adjusts her dress. “Yeah, alright,” she says, and I can tell the rejection hurts. “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you,” I murmur as she leaves out the back.

Fuck.

I could’ve been softer about that. We still have to work together and shit. But going through with that, dancing with her, fucking her, that would’ve been even worse.

Because I would’ve been thinking about someone else the whole time.

“And I don’t even like her,” I growl to myself and slam my fist down, making the watches jump.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I just passed up the chance to have a good time with an attractive woman that was basically throwing herself in my lap, all because of Little Nat . The annoying, spoiled brat, the Bratva princess.

Something is seriously broken inside of me.

I get back to my place around midnight and kill the engine. My condo building overlooks the Delaware river, and the lights of the city glitter off the water as I drag my ass across the parking lot. It’s an upscale, exclusive place, and the cars in the lot are all BMWs and Mercedes. Security cameras and a guard in a booth keeps watch.

I’m thinking about drinking six whiskies and passing out and nearly don’t notice the figure lurking around the front doors. They look nervous, pacing back and forth, and I’m instantly on guard. My hand moves toward the gun in my waistband, but then they turn in my direction and I go very well.

She spots me and her eyes go wide. Even backlit by the building behind her, Natalya looks perfect. Her hair’s in a messy bun and she’s in sweats, and I swear to fuck, she’s infinitely more gorgeous than Dasha.

Which is absurd. I’ve never felt that way about Nat before.

Paris destroyed me.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and she looks like she wants to run away. I step closer and take her arm before she can bolt. “It’s almost midnight, Nat.”

If Dasha exuded sex, worry rolls off Nat like in waves.

Even though this is clearly shady, it’s not a booty call.

The problem is, I don’t know what’s going on.

“I should go home,” she says quickly. “This was really stupid.”

“Hold on a second.” I tighten my grip, not sure why I’m not letting her leave. “Come inside at least.”

“I shouldn’t,” she says.

“You came here for a reason. Come upstairs, have a drink, and tell me what’s going on.”

She looks down at the ground. “I’m getting married tomorrow,” she whispers and when she looks up, there’s a twisted, sad desperation in her expression. “What do you think my husband would say if he knew I was here.”

“He doesn’t have to.” My grip on her relaxed. “Come on, we’ll talk inside.”

She gives in and lets me steer her through the doors.