Chapter 15

Mrs. Ivankova outdidherself with dinner. Even with Viktor’s steady glare on me, I enjoyed every bite. Much better than the can of soup and ham sandwich I had planned at home.

Viktor’s phone rings just as I put my fork down.

He answers the call then tells whoever it is to wait.

“The living room is through the foyer then around the corner.” He gestures for me as he gets up from the table, his phone pressed against his chest.

“I’ll clean up,” I offer, standing and grabbing the plate, but his hand on my forearm stops me.

“Go. Relax. You’ve been on your feet all day.” He gestures again with his chin.

“All right.” I maneuver around the chair, navigating my way through the foyer, and make my way toward the living room.

The living room has more windows than walls. From the rich, deep brown hardwood flooring to just below the ceiling, the walls are glass, but the last foot or so has beautiful stained glass. When the sun shines through it, there must be an array of colors that cascade over the room.

At the moment, it’s the lights twinkling below that have my eye. We are above Navy Pier, which stretches out below into Lake Michigan. The lights from the attractions, the restaurants and shops that line the pier, lead my gaze out into the darkness of the water.

This sort of view is a long way from the basement windows of my bedroom growing up. A four-foot by two-foot window that opened from the top, slanting into my room was the only window I had to look through when I was cooped up in my room.

On the days when my father wouldn’t bother to come home at all, I could hang out in the living room upstairs where the sunlight poured through the picture windows.

I blink back tears.

What am I doing here?

This is Viktor’s home. Just by being here, I’m probably giving him every wrong idea there is to give a man. No wonder he thinks I’m interested; I’m standing in his damn penthouse.

And Viktor.

He’s just something that’s going to be lost and bring pain.

I need to go.

I spin around to bolt for the elevator and run straight into Viktor’s chest.

He grabs my arms to steady me.

“Where are you going so fast, moy sladkiy voin?” He chuckles, but the smile fades when he takes in my expression. “What’s going on in this beautiful head of yours?” He taps my temple gently.

“The stuff you had sent over.” I take a shaky breath, getting ready for a fight. “I can’t accept it. Please. It’s very generous, but I can’t.”

“We’re back to that?” He moves across the expanse of the room. “Why can’t you accept a gift?”

“Because it’s not a gift. You only gave it to me because you feel sorry for me, and I won’t—” I pause, feeling the emotions getting too big again. “I can take care of this myself.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you.” The words drop hard between us. “You can obviously take care of yourself. You’ve managed to keep up with Jimmy’s demands for how long now? Weeks? Months? But what happens when you run out of things to sell? When you’ve worked yourself to the bone and still, he wants blood?”

“He wants twenty thousand more, then I’m done.” It will be hard, but I’ve gotten myself out of worse jams. Like evading Child Protective Services when they came looking for me after Dad died. And getting away from the cops on more than one occasion when I was first learning to get around a car’s alarm system.

“You think so? You think he’ll take it and call it over?” Viktor folds his arms over his chest. His forearms flex with his movements, but nothing is more distracting than how sexy he is when his face gets dark like this. When he’s on the edge of taking the reins and denying me any choice but to fall to my knees for him.

I sink into an armchair. It’s like sitting on a cloud.

“What do you want to do, Viktor? Give him your money? Then I will owe you, and I don’t want that either.”

“He’s not getting a fucking penny more from you, that’s for sure,” he states flatly. “And you wouldn’t have to owe me.”

I don’t even want to take furniture from him, and he thinks I’m going to take his cash?

“Absolutely not.” I swipe both hands out in front of me in an X pattern. If he won’t listen to my words, maybe he’ll understand the gesture.

“Fine.” He works his jaw like he’s trying to think of a way out of this mess. My mess. It’s not his to worry about.

“Unfortunately, I can’t handle this the way I want to, yet,” he says after a long pause.

“Because of Michael.” I nod. Everything gets muddy when different families are involved.

“And the Donato family.” He drops the name between us.

“You’re the great detective now?” It probably only took him a few phone calls. Men like him have connections everywhere. It was foolish to think I could hide this from him.

“I know Jimmy’s blackmailing you, and now I know for how much, and it has something to do with the Donato family’s car being stolen. What I don’t know is what he’s using to blackmail you. What does he have besides just his word?”

“A picture. Maybe more than one, I’m not sure.” There’s no point in trying to hide this from him anymore. I should probably give up on hoping he’ll let it alone.

“A picture of you and a car?”

“At first, he just threatened to give a message to my boss. He was going to tell her that I worked for Michael, and that I could still be working for him.” I’d been too scared of losing everything I’d worked for to do anything but cave.

“And now he has a picture?”

“Of Vincent Donato’s goddaughter’s car and me. When I fought back on giving him more cash, he showed it to me the other day, when I met him at that diner,” I explain.

“Maybe I can convince Vincent to let the matter drop. It was years ago. You’re not in that business anymore, and you’re under my protection. He won’t touch you.” He sounds so sure of it. That simply telling the Donatos to back away because I’m sleeping with a Petrov would work.

“Nicole Donato, Anthony Donato’s grandniece, owns Luxe Strands. I’d be out of a job and blackballed in the city.” Anthony Donato doesn’t give mercy to those he feels hurt his family. It may have been years ago, but what I did hurt one of his own. He’s not going to just turn the other cheek.

“I’ll buy you a new salon.” Viktor has an answer for everything, doesn’t he?

I laugh. “Money won’t solve this; well, I mean it will, but only mine and only with getting Jimmy off my back. I’m not going to the Donato family for anything, and I never want Nicole to know I had any involvement with Michael Agosti.”

“Does Michael know about what Jimmy is doing?” he asks, leaning his shoulder against the marble mantel.

“Only that Jimmy wants me to start working again. Michael made it clear that if I were to ever start working on my own there’d be consequences. If I’m going back into the game, it has to be for Michael. Jimmy would be my only option.”

“Because Michael’s his uncle.” Viktor nods.

“Yeah. After Jimmy got pinched and sent away, Michael let me walk away so long as I never lifted another car again for anyone. He didn’t care about any of the low-level thieves working for him, barely knew any of their names, but he took an interest in me.”

“Why?” His chest puffs with his question, and I know it’s because his possessive side is fighting to come out. He’d rather rip out Michael’s throat than let him in the same room with me.

“My dad, I think. He did jobs for the Agosti family when he was sober enough. I guess he did something important once and Michael noticed. Michael made me promise him never to work for anyone but him.” A lifetime has passed since then even if it’s only been a few years.

“How did you come to work with him?”

“When Dad died and the Child Protective Services lady came to take me into custody, I ran, though I had nowhere to go. I didn’t have friends and the only person I knew who could maybe help me was Michael. Dad was a mechanic. I worked at the same shop part-time so I’d met Michael a few times. I went to him just to find a job. I couldn’t keep working at that shop, so I figured he’d get me into another one. He offered me a place on one of his crews.”

He listens, really pays attention as I tell him, without a trace of pity in his eyes. This is the most I’ve shared about my past with anyone. Information is currency in the underworld, and I just handed him a bucket of cash.

“When’s the next time you have to meet Jimmy?” Just saying his name makes his face contort with irritation. His hands are tied on this, I’m sure. The Petrovs getting mixed up with business of the Agostis won’t end well if they just stick their noses in.

“Two weeks. He wants another two thousand. I’ll have about five hundred of it after this weekend. I got a last-minute job for a wedding. After rent and bills, I can probably get most of the rest.”

Calculating in my head, I’m coming up a few hundred short, and the magic savings box in the back of my closet is empty now.

“No more selling shit, understand?” He points a long finger at me.

“Viktor. I’m not taking money from you.”

He arches a brow. “If you think giving him the cash will get him off your back, then we’ll give him the cash. If you want to pay me back, pay me back. If you don’t want to, don’t. There’s no strings to my offer.”

“None? You’re just going to give me twenty grand and I can walk away?” A sinking feeling in my stomach hopes that’s not the case. But hasn’t that always been my downfall: having hope?

“You can walk away, but I’ll follow.” He lifts a shoulder. “That has nothing to do with the money.”

“I have no idea what to make of you,” I say, but it’s more to myself. When he says things like this, makes these sorts of gestures, it makes me think maybe belonging to him would be safe.

Maybe my heart wouldn’t be ripped out of my chest. Maybe for once, hope wouldn’t be the thing that kills me.

It’s disorienting.

“Who you see is who I am, Marlena.” His voice dips with his statement. “Take the money.”

“Let me think about it, all right?” It’s the most I can give him right now. There’s a lot at play, and I can’t be responsible for pulling the Petrov family into any sort of disputes with the Italian families. There’s also the enormity of owing Viktor that much money.

“A compromise,” I add when he doesn’t respond right away.

“Fine. But not too much time. Now enough about Jimmy and all that, we have something important to deal with now.”

“What’s that?” I’m almost afraid to ask after he made the comment about where I call home after dinner.

He straightens up to his full height, hooking his thumbs behind his belt.

“Your punishment for trying to sneak away this morning.”