18. Ivan

18

IVAN

T he last thing I wanted was to leave Charlotte there on the stairs after that kiss.

What I actually wanted was to scoop her up in my arms, carry her into the nearest empty room, and slide under that dress so I could reacquaint myself with what she tastes like. Or better yet, just fuck her up against the wall.

From the way she was squirming against me, I wonder if she would have told me no.

I’m still half-hard by the time Sabrina and I get back to our table, my mind still in that stairwell. The sound of her breathy moan in my ear, the scent of her, the way she arched against me, the sweetness of her mouth—all of it is driving me crazy. I don’t want to think about anything other than her right now.

Unfortunately, I have to. Because what I also need to do is get Sabrina Petrov to safety.

I have a plan, one that I put together to the best of my ability over the last few days. It’s what I’ve been entirely focused on, outside of my other responsibilities to the Bratva—and it’s why I didn’t find the time to text Charlotte and warn her not only that I’d be at the gala, but that I’d be there with a ‘date.’

That, and the fact that I didn’t want to try to explain it over text. But I didn’t have a chance to try to have lunch with her again. I was too busy trying to figure out how I’m going to pull this off tonight and still have all my body parts attached at the end of it.

“She seems nice.” Sabrina’s voice is so bored that I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not. She seems more than a little displeased to be here tonight, and I don’t know why. I don’t think my company is that hard to tolerate, but maybe I was wrong. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“No,” I say shortly, my gaze flicking over the tables around the room. I didn’t see Charlotte earlier, and I look for her now, trying to see where she’s sitting. I finally spy her near the front of the room, sitting next to a beautiful blonde in a blue silk dress who is leaning close, murmuring something to her with a concerned look on her face. I can only assume that must be Sarah, the friend that Charlotte mentioned.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Sabrina asks, tapping her spoon against the crème br?lée in front of her, and I suck in a breath, reminding myself to be patient. I need to get her to the men who are going to guarantee her safety, and to do that, I’m going to have to let her in on the plan.

This is the hardest part. There’s no easy way to tell someone that they’re about to be a victim of human trafficking, and that if they don’t listen to you, the one springing the words human trafficking on them, that that’s exactly what is going to happen.

“I don’t,” I tell her, trying to soften my tone a bit. The music picks up, and I turn towards her. “Come dance with me,” I suggest, holding out a hand, and Sabrina gives me a suspicious look, but rises gracefully from the table and puts her hand in mine.

A good deal of her coldness is a shield, I know that. She’s a Bratva princess, raised to close off her emotions since she was a child, bred to fulfill her father’s whims and nothing more. Now, she’s about to be used as a pawn for my father’s revenge, and I refuse to allow that to happen. Not on my watch.

I just need her to believe me, and since we don’t know each other very well and our families are enemies, that’s a lot to ask.

I lead her onto the dance floor, hating the fact that if Charlotte looks in this direction, she’ll see me dancing with Sabrina. I don’t care that I have just as much right as she does to be out with someone else, I don’t want to be. And I don’t want her to think that I want to be.

I want her to know that I’m hers. That there’s no other woman in the world who makes me feel what she does from just a touch. Just a kiss. That I’m dangerously obsessed with her.

That as soon as she lets me, I plan to make her entirely mine.

I suck in a breath through my teeth, reminding myself to focus, that I can’t be this distracted right now. That I need to be paying attention to Sabrina, and how I’m going to get out of here.

As the music swells, I splay my hand over her lower back, pulling her closer. “Listen,” I murmur, leaning in so that my mouth is close to her ear. I force every thought of Charlotte out of my head, every impulse to think about how ten minutes ago, it was her ear this close to my lips, her scent filling my senses. The last thing I want right now is to get a hard-on with Sabrina close to me, especially considering what we’re about to talk about. “Why do you think we’re here together tonight?”

Sabrina pulls back slightly, her expression a little displeased. “Well,” she says slowly. “Frankly, I’m assuming that our fathers have come up with a time-honored way to put their rivalry to bed…by putting us in bed together.” Her smile is humorless. “I assume this is the prelude to some sort of marriage arrangement. I’ve put off all my father’s suggestions for too long, so I suppose this is the price.”

“Am I that bad?” I can’t help myself. I don’t have any interest in her, either, and this has nothing to do with what we need to talk about, but her comment has needled me anyway. And now I want to know.

She smirks. “No offense, Ivan, but bad boys aren’t really my thing. And you have edgy and dangerous written all over you. Honestly, I’d like a boring man. My life has been exciting enough. I’d like one who brings me flowers like clockwork every Tuesday after work, and who looks at me like I hung the moon. But I’ll never get that, not with my father pulling the strings.”

I raise an eyebrow, keeping my voice low as I speak. Between the music and the hum of conversation, as more couples come onto the dance floor, I should be able to ensure that only Sabrina hears what I have to say.

“Well, that’s not why we’re here tonight. But don’t be too relieved,” I murmur, pulling back just enough that I can look directly into her eyes. I mindlessly run my fingers up her spine as I speak and we sway together, putting on a show of dancing romantically rather than having a serious, potentially deadly conversation. “I’m here because something bad is supposed to happen to you tonight, and I’m supposed to help facilitate it. But instead, I have every intention of getting you out of here.”

Sabrina tenses in my arms. “What is it?” she asks tightly, and in that moment, I’m grateful both that she’s smart, and that she’s the daughter of a pakhan . The dangers of this world aren’t strange to her, and she’s prepared to face them. Her lack of shock and disbelief will make this all so much easier.

“You weren’t too far off the mark about our fathers and their rivalry. But mine doesn’t want peace. He wants revenge. And he plans to use you as the means of it.” I tighten my grip on her, schooling my face into an expression of desire, the way I should be looking at the gorgeous woman in my arms, even as I speak faster before the song is over. “He’s expanded his business to trade in flesh, Sabrina. And he plans to have you taken tonight, to be sold. I’m supposed to help bring you to the men who will take you to the next stop. But instead, I’m going to take you to the men who will get you to safety.”

She manages to keep her expression smooth, too—which is fucking impressive, in my opinion—but her eyes clearly show how frightened she is.

“What kind of men?” she asks, and I spin her in a circle, bringing her back into my arms as I lean my mouth very close to her ear again.

“FBI. They’ll get you away from here. Things will be—things will be different for you afterwards, Sabrina. I’m sorry about that. Your life is going to change. But it’s the only way to keep something much worse from happening to you.”

I look up, and I see three men in crisp, tailored suits making their way onto the dance floor, from three different angles. To anyone else, they just look like guests seeking out their plus-ones, but I know who they are. They’re my father’s men, and they’re closing in on Sabrina. I know what I’m supposed to do now. I’m supposed to come up with a reason for her to follow me into the rooms to the right of the main floor, where I’ll take her down a hallway where four other men are waiting. I’m supposed to drug her and hand her over to them.

But I don’t intend to do any of that.

“I need you to trust me,” I whisper to Sabrina, just as a heavy hand closes on my shoulder.

“What the fuck are you doing with my girl?” A tall, muscled man spins me around, his eyes narrowed, his cheeks a bit pink as if he’s been drinking too much. “You told me you weren’t going, you bitch?—”

Sabrina’s mouth is hanging open, the shock on her face entirely real, which is all I need from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap, playing dumb for the Bratva men closing in around us. “But you need to get the fuck out of here, friend. She’s here with me.”

“I don’t fucking think so. That’s my girl. Sabrina, just come with me.” The man’s voice turns pleading, his eyes fixed on her. “We can work this out, baby. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Don’t come near her,” I growl, my hands clenching into fists. “She’s my date, asshole. Whatever you want, you can talk about later. After she and I have enjoyed our night.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my father’s men backing down. They can’t afford to create a scene by involving themselves in this, not when it could escalate into violence and the police could be called. To them, this looks like Sabrina has been seeing someone without her father’s permission, and he’s decided to crash the party. Anywhere else, my father’s men would kill him without a thought and take her. But this is too public, which is exactly why my plan might work.

The man lunges forward, shoving me aside, hard enough that I almost actually fall on my ass. “Come with me, Sabrina,” he snaps, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards him, the picture of a jealous, angry boyfriend. “I want to know why you’ve been lying to me.”

And then, low enough that only Sabrina and I hear it, he murmurs into her ear: “Agent Brooks. FBI. I’m going to get you out of here.”

Sabrina’s face softens instantly, and my respect for her kicks up a notch as I realize she’s a better actress than I would have ever given her credit for. “I’m sorry,” she says, loudly enough that the other men can hear it. “I should have told you. It’s just, that fight—” She keeps talking as Brooks leads her off the dance floor, one arm going around her and pulling her close, his pace quick as if he can’t wait to get ‘his girl’ alone to talk things out.

I know, of course, that he’s trying to get her to his car as quickly as possible. It will be a matter of minutes before my father’s men call in outside reinforcements to go after them. Whether Brooks gets her out of here or not is in his hands, now. I’ve done all I can.

I think it will be enough. I also know which men my father sent to handle this now, at least the first few of them. That will be good information to feed to Bradley.

“Congratulations on fucking things up.”

The growl behind me is Lev’s. I know it before I even turn around. My chest tightens, because even though the plan went off without a hitch, and there’s no real way to trace the fact that the FBI got ahold of Sabrina before she could be kidnapped back to me—I still need to tread carefully. And this is still not going to be good.

Lev is angry. My father is going to be fucking furious. And nothing is going to stop either of them from taking it out on me.

“Looks like virginal little Sabrina had an angry boyfriend,” I say dryly as I turn around. Lev glowers at me like he wants to punch me. And he might—-once we’re not in public.

I wish I had an excuse to not leave with him.

Quickly, my gaze flicks back to the table where Charlotte was sitting. She must have seen all of this, too, and I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to explain it away tomorrow when I see her. I also really, really don’t want her to see me standing here with Lev. I doubt she would know who he is, or be able to easily find it out, but it’s a chance I don’t want to take.

But when I look over quickly at the table, she’s gone. Not just her, but the small clutch purse that had been sitting on the table, too. Her friend is nibbling at her dessert and looking at her phone, and her demeanor doesn’t suggest that she’s waiting for Charlotte to come back.

I think Charlotte went home. And while I should be relieved that not only is she not seeing this, she might have missed all of it, all I feel is a sharp stab of disappointment that she’s gone.

Lev snaps his fingers in my face. “Pay attention, brother,” he growls. “We’re going to go talk to otets right now. And you’re going to explain to him why, instead of coming home with the good news that Sabrina Petrov is headed to the auction block, she got dragged off by some nobody boyfriend that she shouldn’t even have. You’re going to explain why you didn’t stop that. Why you failed.”

I don’t say anything, which I know pisses him off even more. He wants me to argue, so he can hold his authority over my head, the fact that he can order me home to face our father. But instead, I save everything I want to say for the moment when I do.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he snaps, and I shrug.

“No point in repeating myself twice, is there?” I smirk at him, enjoying the cold fury that washes over his face, and then I pivot, striding towards the entrance to the museum. I’ll end up in Lev’s car on the way back. He’ll want to keep an eye on me. But there’s no reason I can’t get to it first.

—-

Less than an hour later, I’m marched into my father’s mansion and to his large, opulent office, led by Lev. The men who were supposed to help kidnap Sabrina have slunk off, unsurprisingly having no desire to face my father. I’m sure their punishment will come later, when he’s done with me.

My father’s office is dominated by a massive mahogany desk, surrounded by bookshelves filled with books written in Russian. He takes pride in the fact that most of what he reads is in the mother tongue, and derides his sons—except for Lev—for not knowing the language very well. I speak it passably, as do my other brothers, but only Lev is fluent enough that it’s hard to tell that he’s second-generation, born and raised in the States. It is, like everything else in his miserable life, his way of sucking up to our father.

Dima is standing in front of the fireplace, still wearing a crisp suit despite the hour and being at home, sipping on what looks like a glass of straight vodka. He doesn’t turn as we walk in, and I feel a cold tendril of fear lick down my spine as Lev locks the door behind him. I don’t know what comes next, but I can’t imagine it’s going to be pleasant.

“Tell me what happened, Ivan.” Dima’s voice is cold and hard, and it’s clear from his tone that he already knows. He just wants to hear it relayed from me, in my own voice.

I step forward, taking a deep breath. I can feel Lev’s heavy presence at my back, a foreboding reminder that I have no friends in this room. That my family is that only by blood, and not affection. That even in this room, I only have a part of the former. Lev is my father’s true son, his heir, and I’m a bastard. Half his, half a woman who he didn’t care about enough to ever even say her name to me growing up.

“Everything was going according to plan,” I say calmly. “I was dancing with Sabrina when I saw your men come in. She was very—receptive to me, as we were dancing.” She wasn’t, but there’s no way for him or Lev to know that. “I thought I wouldn’t have any trouble convincing her to slip away with me. Your men would have followed, as planned, and joined the ones waiting in the back room. But before I could suggest that she and I go somewhere more private, a man showed up and accosted me. A boyfriend, apparently.”

Lev makes a scoffing sound behind me, and I turn slightly, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” I say coldly. “Do you think he was someone else?”

“We haven’t gotten any intelligence that Sabrina had a boyfriend, or any male contacts outside of her father. There shouldn’t have been anyone to worry about.” Lev’s voice is flat, rote.

“Because I’m sure that if the virginal daughter of Yuri Petrov had a boyfriend, she would have let that get out in a way that someone else could find out about it,” I snap back sarcastically.

“There.” Dima turns around, his hand tight around his vodka glass. “That’s the first problem. If the Petrov girl had a boyfriend, we should have known about it.” His eyes are fixed on Lev as he says it, and for the first time since everything went down, I feel the tiniest bit of tension ease from my shoulders. At least I’m not the only one bearing the weight of Dima’s wrath tonight. It seems that he’s angry with Lev as well. “If she’s not a virgin, that severely decreases her value.”

“But not enough not to kidnap her.” Lev’s tone is cool, entirely unaffected. “Ivan, you were aware of your part in this. Did you look into her at all? Did you find any signs of a boyfriend?”

“That wasn’t my job. I have nothing to do with the trafficking.” I shrug. “You told me to show up as her date, made it clear that I had no other choice. So I did it. I wasn’t told I was supposed to do homework beforehand.”

Lev moves so quickly that I don’t see the blow coming. One instant, I’m smarting off to him, and the next, I’m doubled over, coughing as his fist to my side drives the air out of me for a second.

“Answer with respect,” he snarls, grabbing my shoulder and jerking me upright as I cough again.

“The answer is the same,” I mutter. “I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to do more than show up and play Sabrina’s date.”

“That job was Lev’s,” Dima says flatly. “If there was a boyfriend, we should have known about it. But my question now is, why the fuck did you allow her to leave with him?”

His voice is icy. I’m not surprised that he knows the details. I already assumed that someone had filled him in before we got here. “What would you have liked me to do?” I ask archly. “Cause a scene in the middle of the gala? Isn’t that why your men backed down, because that’s exactly what we needed to not do?”

Another blow from Lev, his fist driving into my ribs. This one I anticipate, but it doesn’t change the pain, or the way it drives the air from my lungs.

“Speak to your pakhan with respect!” Lev snarls, and I straighten with effort, ignoring the throbbing pain in my ribs.

“He’s also my father.” I put all my attention on Dima, because, at the end of the day, how he feels about this is what really matters. What he believes. Lev can posture and hurt me all he wants, but Dima is the one who holds the keys to my life and death. He’s the one who I really need to convince, when it comes to my involvement in all of this. “I did my job, otets ,” I tell him flatly. “I did exactly what was asked of me. I believed that we would let her go before causing a scene that could shed unwanted light on what you’re doing here, so that was how I proceeded. I’m sorry if that was the wrong call.”

I’m not sorry, of course. Not at all. But I sound like I am, enough that I think that surely my acting will pay off. That my father will believe me.

He tosses back the last of his vodka, setting the cut-crystal glass aside as he pushes up his shirtsleeves. “Be that as it may,” he says stiffly, “You were the one who took point on this, Ivan. I gave you an important responsibility. I trusted you with my revenge. With a prize that I valued a great deal. And I see now that I was wrong to do that.”

Dima walks up to me, a few inches from my face, and his smile is utterly cold, without a trace of warmth in it. “You are my son, Ivan, so I will treat your failure more kindly than I would if you were only one of my men. But it is a failure nonetheless.” He nods to Lev. “Hold him, son.”

I barely have time to register the relief that my father at least doesn’t suspect me of something worse than mere failure, before I feel the solid crunch of his fist connecting with the bones of my face.

It hurts. God , it fucking hurts. It hurts every time he hits me, again and again, as Lev’s iron grip holds my elbows, threatening to twist them in ways that will leave me far worse off if I try to fight.

I could fight. I might even win. I’m formidable with my own fists, and I’m quick. My father is old, and I’ve taken Lev in a fight plenty of times before.

But I know there’s no point. If I don’t take this punishment now, like the man that my father wants me to be, then there will be a worse one waiting for me later. So in the interest of my own skin, I let him hit me, again and again, until I can feel my face swelling and taste the blood dripping onto my lips.

Dima steps back, shaking his hand as he looks at me narrowly. “There,” he says, with a satisfaction that no father should get from hitting his son. “Let him go, Lev.”

Lev releases me with a grunt, and I stagger in place, willing myself not to stumble, not to fall. I refuse to end up on my knees in front of my father, no matter how badly he’s hurt me. I’m determined to walk out of this room under my own power, no matter how difficult that is.

“Are we done here?” I ask thickly, through my swollen mouth, and I feel Lev tense behind me. Not out of concern for me, I know, but out of hope that he might get to punish me further. That he might get to enjoy watching me be humiliated even more.

My father’s eyes darken, and for a moment, I think Lev is going to get his wish. But instead, Dima steps back, picking up the decanter of vodka and pouring two glasses. He picks them both up, holding one out to me.

“Drink,” he says, in a commanding voice that brooks no argument. And because I refuse to let my father see me flinch, I take the glass and lift it to my lips as he takes a drink of his.

The pain of the vodka touching my cut and abraded mouth is excruciating. I can feel my eyes watering as I gulp it down, forcing the pain to the back of my head. Reminding myself that this could only be the tip of the iceberg, if I falter. If I let my father see that there’s more to this story than I’m telling.

“This could have been so much worse for you, son,” my father says coldly. “Think of this, the next time you’re given a job to do. And consider the price of failing again.” He takes a deep drink of his vodka, tossing the rest of it back before setting his glass down, and looks at me evenly, an expression on his face that tells me he expects me to drink the rest of mine.

So I do. I ignore the pain, and I drink, refusing to allow so much as a single sound of pain to slip out. And when I swallow the last of it, I hold out the glass, and Dima takes it from me.

“Get out,” he says harshly, jerking his head towards the door.

I can’t obey fast enough, but I leave with a measured pace, striding to the door and opening it. When I step out into the hall, I let out a sharp breath, pressing one hand flat against the wall as I struggle against the wave of nausea and pain that washes over me. One step at a time, I head for the front door of my father’s mansion, my head swimming now that I’m out of his sight.

A black SUV is waiting outside, a uniformed driver standing next to it. It’s then that I understand, with a heavy feeling in my chest, that I won’t be going back to my house tonight. My father wants his driver to take me home—both so he can claim that he looked after me after hurting me and so that he can keep tabs on my whereabouts, undoubtedly—and that means I can’t go where I want to without clueing my father in to my secret house.

I’m not willing to do that, so instead, I end up at my penthouse, walking into the unwelcoming darkness of it as I shut the door behind me and struggle to stay on my feet.

I barely have the strength to make it to the bathroom, let alone turn on the lights as I go. I stumble with my hand on the walls towards my bedroom suite, the apartment unfamiliar enough to me that I might as well be in a hotel room. This place is a front, a cover. I barely spend any time here. And it’s not where I want to be right now.

Where I want to be is with Charlotte .

The thought is so abrupt, so startling that for a moment, it yanks me out of the fog of pain. This , what’s happening right now, is why I shouldn’t be with her. Why all my stalking and all my inappropriate desires can only lead to a brief period of time with her, not forever. Because this life, the kind of life where my night can end with my eyes swelling shut and my nose and mouth bleeding, isn’t the kind of life a woman like Charlotte belongs in.

It’s not one she would ever want, and it’s not one that I want for her.

I find the strength to flick on the light when I reach the bathroom, and I wince as I see my reflection in the mirror. My face is already purpling with bruises, a cut from my father’s signet ring down one cheek, my lips split in a few different places. My nose isn’t broken, thankfully, but it’s damaged. My face is covered in blood, and although I haven’t looked at my ribs yet, they’re either bruised or cracked. I can feel it with every painful breath.

I don’t have the energy to clean it all up. Instead, I stumble to the shower, turning on the hot water as I strip my clothes off. The room swims as I pull my shirt over my head, and I stumble, falling onto my knees on the soft bathmat as I grip the edge of the tub and try not to throw up.

I’ve been hurt before, but never like this. Never this badly. And what I want, more than anything right now, is to not be alone. Not just that, but for it to be Charlotte who is sitting here next to me. I want her soft hands on me, her voice in my ear. I want her . And that realization, when there’s not a chance in hell I could do anything sexual with her right now, makes my head swim for a different reason.

I don’t know her well enough to feel like this. To want her for reasons that have nothing to do with sex. And I can’t think straight enough to try to unravel what it is about her that makes me feel this way, when no other woman ever has.

When my clothes are a pile on the floor, I half-crawl into the shower, sitting on the cold tile floor as I push myself under the spray of water and let it rain down over me. The heat stings, burning as it washes the blood away from my wounds, but I lay my head back against the wall and let it drench me.

I’m tired of this game. Not the game I’m playing with Charlotte, but the one I’m playing with my father. And sooner or later, I’m going to have to come up with a plan to get out.

The blood swirls in the water, pooling around me, turning pink as it slides down the drain. I watch it listlessly, and as the exhaustion swims over me, I realize that I have another problem. One that I didn’t think of until right this second, as I watch my own blood swirl down my shower drain.

There’s no way I can go on a date with Charlotte tomorrow, looking like this.