Chapter FifteenAlexei

Chapter Fifteen

Alexei

"My daughter is the only reason I'm here."

Car tires whine and crunch the tiny stones on the littered driveway as the rest of the shiny black fleet parks up behind me. Car doors open, heavy footsteps sound.

More of my men hop out and surround me to protect my back. I flip a coin and, with a scoff, nod towards the men who look armed for a suicide mission.

"What is this, Mission Impossible?" I ask Matteo.

He chuckles, a dark glimmer in his eyes like he predicts his death will happen at any minute. "A meeting, sure..." he rocks on his heels and nods his head. "In the middle of fucking nowhere. You think I'm fucking stupid, Vadim?"

"Uh, yes? And this squad of yours proves it."

I know better. I should have ignored the drama and driven straight ahead to the meeting point. But... come on, pulling up with a fucking fleet for a private meeting? What the hell was that?

Matteo glances over his shoulder and the deep scowl etched on his face grows even deeper. "When it involves you, no precautionary measure is unimportant."

The hatred in the man's eyes burns with an interesting intensity, and I'm sure mine aren't any different. I hate him just as much as he loathes me. And deep down, beneath all the hatred and blood thirst to have my head, the fear is evident.

This man, despite how strong he pretends to be, and the influence he wields, is so fucking scared, I'm sure just a wave of my finger would have all the guns up behind him.

I shake my head; it's almost laughable.

But he's right; there's only one reason I'm going to be civil to him.

I flash a smile and flip the coin again. "Impressive. I guess it's nice to know how much I make you tremble in your boots." I shudder to add the effect, but it only makes him redder.

"You think this is funny?" He motions to the army behind him. "You think I'm scared of you? Guess again, bastard. This is just a sign, Vadim, to tell you that you don't know what's coming. If you dare hurt my daughter, my sweet precious Irina, I swear, I'll fucking kill you. You might not know what it means to incur a father's wrath because you have no fucking daughters. If you're finding any of this funny, I'll look forward to seeing the smile on your fucking face when you're six feet under."

The smile drops from my mouth. Is that what this is? To tell me what will happen if I hurt his daughter?

Hurt Irina?

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and a terrible sinking feeling in my chest, like some fucker punched a hole right through it and tossed a full bottle of searing acid right into the hole. Whatever it is, I'm smart enough to know it has everything to do with not hurting her, directly or indirectly. I couldn't, even if I tried.

But the old man doesn't need to know that.

"I know your secret, Volkov. I know you're lying to the whole world, even to your daughter. You have this fucking ‘righteous' facade put up. What's that popular tag now? Eh, anti-mafia?" I step forward, hands in my pockets. "The rest of the world can choose to be fucking blind, but not me. I have you all figured out. If only they knew, right? If only your daughter knew that you're such a fucking joke."

Realization settles in his eyes and his nose flares. "I don't know what you're talking about."

My lips curl. I have him right where I want him. "Shitty move, don't you think? I thought only cowards did that; pretend to not know when their game is up."

"Only cowards go around in circles and waste time hitting the fucking nail on the fucking head."

I weave the coin between my fingers and eye him. "You're working with the Phoenix."

"I'm not working—"

"The least you can do is have the decency to accept who you are. I didn't ask you if you are. I said, I know you are. And that's why I came here to warn you. You see that army behind you? I swear, if you try anything stupid, they won't be able to save you from me. Nothing will."

Another step closer. "Not you or your sweet precious Irina."

He grinds his teeth and I could have sworn the fury in his eyes would have been enough to drive him to tears. If this wasn't such a grave situation, I might have laughed a bit. The man was such a fucking tease.

Having gotten the reaction I wanted, I turn around and flip the coin in the air.

"You really don't want to mess with me, Matteo. You should tell that to your fucking boss, too. If you want to keep your daughter alive, you'll steer clear from my fucking space."

The drive back to the warehouse is short and has my head filled with unwanted thoughts about everything that went down with Irina's father. By the time I drop down on the black swivel chair in the office, more rage burns through my veins than I can understand.

Nikolai sits on the chair opposite, legs crossed, and the tip of a knife hanging balancing on his thumb. He questions with a dark brow arched,

"How did it go?"

The truth is, it went well. It might have started off as if Matteo had the upper hand, but I had left with the meeting turned in my favor. Left him standing there like a scared little kid with quivering lips. But it isn't over. The fucking chase isn't over. They still have me pinned with that fucking video.

"Fuck!" My fists slam down on the desk and the silver knife falls off Niko's thumb to the ground with a loud clatter. His laughter bounces off the walls and he bends forward, picking up the knife.

"Don't tell me it was that bad?"

My fingers sift through my hair. "Quite the fucking opposite, Niko. Matteo's scared out of his fucking mind and is willing to do anything that won't have me ripping out his daughter's throat."

"So, he's going to try not to anger you."

"Yeah."

He twirls the knife and a careless shrug rolls off his shoulders. "That should make you feel good, shouldn't it?"

"Yeah, that should make me feel good."

Nikolai drops the knife. "But?"

"But Matteo's not the boss, smarty pants." I rub my face, tilting backwards on the chair. "He's in a fix; the old man still has someone to report to, and that certain someone is blackmailing me. Don't you get it, Niko? This war isn't over until I've crushed the fucking Phoenix under my feet."

A lazy smile settles on his face. "That's a good plan."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I fucking know it's a good plan. Shit, it's the only plan. At the end of all of this, we're coming out on top."

"Sure," his nod is slow , and he rolls his ankle on his knee. "But that's not happening right now, so it'll be more productive if you take care of immediate business."

If there's one person who can laugh in the middle of a street fight, or take a lick at an ice cream cone while torturing a captive in the basement, it's Nikolai.

A crease forms on my forehead and I shake my head, concerned. "Dealing with the Phoenix is immediate business, Niko. What other business are you talking about?"

He scratches under his elbow and then his chin and rolls his eyes. "I don't know. Sasha?" He leans forward, a grave expression sketched on his features. "Alexei, she's on a rampage. She's meeting up with members of the fucking Bratva, man. The men are starting to ask questions. She has to be stopped, maybe put on a leash or something?"

I should have known Sasha would be more dedicated to causing a ruckus than doing anything useful. But I say, "That will just have to wait. I have more important things to take care of than my stepmother."

Nikolai doesn't appear convinced. He thinks she's going to cause more harm if she's given more time, but I'm positive; Sasha is the least of my problems. It wouldn't take much to tame her.

We sit in silence for a while, listening to nothing but the faint humming of the air conditioner hooked up at the corner, and the muffled sound of men working outside the office.

The chair squeaks under his weight when he spins and the silver on the blade glints when he picks his nails with it. His eyes burn holes at the side of my face and I open my eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing."

I glare. "You're looking at me like I have something on my face."

Deep laughter rumbles at the back of his throat and his Adam's apple bobs when he speaks. "I have a gut feeling you have something else eating at you, and it has nothing to do with the Phoenix or Sasha."

I should have expected nothing less. With the exception of his ability to be extremely destructive and crazy, Nikolai is also very good at reading body language, picking up hidden signals, and being able to figure out anything with the minutest detail. I hate to admit that he's right.

There are more pressing concerns than a nosy stepmother and blackmailing assholes. This particular concern has lips I could kiss for days, hair that feels just right when wrapped around my fist, and eyes that stare right into my soul.

I remember everything from the previous night; the fear swimming in those eyes when she spotted the blood on my shirt. She'd been scared; and it was a lot different from the fear that haunted her father when he looked at me.

This one was filled with disappointment and something else; something deeper I didn't want to fathom. It makes my head ache and makes me feel worse than shit. And I hate feeling like shit. I groan.

"It's the wife with the sunshine smile, isn't it?" Nikolai jeers with a twinkle in his eyes.

I bury my head in my hands. The noise from outside dies down and we're left with the humming air conditioner.

"You should mind your fucking business."

"Maybe I could help?"

I can't help it; I laugh and peer at him through my fingers. "What, because you suddenly have twenty years of experience in that department?"

"Nope." He shakes his head. "I might be a fucking amateur, but at least I'm better than you. I watch movies and I've seen that women love sappy shit; chocolates, flowers, love notes. Fine, you don't have to tell me how you messed up—because I know you messed up. It's not my fucking business, as you said. But I'm willing to bet a hundred grand, if you did that—gave her flowers and chocolates—it'll make everything okay."

I glower at him. Maybe he's really lost it this time.

"Okay, your time is up." I motion to the door. "Time to go. You've said enough."

He grins as he stands from the chair like a perfect gentleman—that he absolutely is not. "You'll see. It'll work, I promise. Chocolates and flowers."

If looks could kill, the grinning idiot would have been buried six feet under with his stupid knife. "Forget the chocolate and forget the flowers. Get out of my office, Niko. You've been of no help whatsoever."

"Suit yourself." The door closes behind him and I muse over his stupid idea. Yeah, right. Like I would ever get a woman chocolates and flowers.

"Oh my god! Are these white roses?"

She lifts the bouquet from my arms, sniffs them, and releases a dreamy sigh. "And chocolates—no! There's no way you got me these?"

Right?

I find it hard to believe myself. I walked into a flower shop, unmasked, with a business suit, and requested the best bouquet they had. It feels like a dream, a silly dream. And on the drive home, I wished it was a dream. But it isn't. I'm standing on my doorstep—I barely made it into the house—with boxes of chocolate and an idiot-like smile on my face. Because she fucking loves them. I have to give it to Niko; whatever he did and said worked.

The blush on her cheeks and the happy twinkle in her eyes are more rewarding than the multi-million-dollar deals I close on a daily basis.

"Okay, now, this is a lot," she says when she trails into the bedroom after me.

I sit on the edge of the bed and toe off my shoes, but when she walks in, she has all my attention.

I lean back on my elbow, taking in all of her; from the waviness of her soft hair to the flash of fair thighs peeking out from underneath her short flower-patterned dress.

"You're wondering why..."

"The flowers? The chocolates?" She rubs her arms. "It's a sweet move."

"And I'm not sweet."

She laughs, and nothing has ever sounded warmer. "The words came right out of your mouth."

After a long look, I peel off my shirt, climb on the bed, and pat at the empty space. "Come here."

I see the flash of a fight in her eyes. But as quickly as it comes, it fades. She nibbles on her lower lip and joins me on the bed. We settle in, I drag her closer, and pull the covers over her.

She wraps her arms around my bare torso and I cradle her head in my arms.

"What is this?" she whispers, as if scared to speak out loud and shatter the moment

I tuck her hair behind her ears and stare at the ceiling. "I don't know, Irina. I think it's called ‘cuddling.'"

"Oh." She snickers.

"You're right; I'm not sweet." I smile. "But when it comes to you, I'm willing to find out more about chocolates and flowers, Irina."

She doesn't say anything, but I bet that if I looked at her, I'd see the stain of crimson on her cheeks and a smile curving her lips. And that's more than enough for me. Holding her, talking with her; everything in this moment feels right. I don't want it to ever stop.

I don't want to ever let her go.