Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

VIVIAN

S taring into Var's furious dark eyes, my plan, which seemed so perfectly simple five minutes ago, now seemed incredibly, insanely, stupidly dangerous.

I was so confident when I borrowed Millie's phone yesterday and Googled Varlaam Romanovich Rubashkin and learned he was a partner at the Four Monks private gambling club. Sure, clicking on the other articles about all the super terrifying mafia ties, scandals, and insinuations was not ideal, but at least I had found him.

I'd also found an article talking about a certain missing dictator and how his plane was believed to be lost somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. That would explain the lack of police presence or news about the murder of an international dignitary on US soil. No body. No murder. No outcry or press.

The idea that they could do the same to me with even less fuss was terrifying.

But I had no choice. This was my only option in finding out the probable location of the Mona Lisas.

Plus, bonus, I could get my phone back from him.

The other scary Russian dude had made it clear that whoever killed Abakar wasn't after me… he was the only one after me. Still, silver lining, it was at least one less person who potentially wanted me dead because of my association with an asshole dictator.

Var dragged me through the outer lounge area into his office.

My mouth dropped open when I saw my work on display behind his desk.

Holy shit. There they were, all five of them.

The two men from the other night were also there.

One pointed to me. "The girl from the ceiling."

Awesome.

Just the sort of nickname any girl would love.

Before I could respond or react, Var dragged me through a hidden door into an antechamber. He punched an incredibly long code into a security panel before a deadbolt on the heavy wooden door unlatched.

He pulled me over the threshold into a smaller, equally elegant office.

While the first office was typical big dick CEO energy with its mahogany executive desk and ubiquitous bookshelves filled with leather volumes, this one was different.

More sinister.

The room was dominated by an elaborately carved ebony desk, which complemented the bright forest green walls. My eye was drawn to a sitting area in front of two black leather chairs. Instead of a coffee table, between them was a strange wooden saddle covered in intricately etched gold. Above the fireplace was a display of four incredibly expensive-looking riding crops.

Holy hell. This was some kind of freaking sex den!

The walls probably turned at the flick of a button to expose dungeon equipment.

Just then, the previously cold fireplace sprang into life.

I fell back as I stared at the bright orange flames.

For just the barest of seconds, I seriously considered the possibility that Var had lit it with his demon mind. Then sanity returned when I noticed the metal pipes under the fake logs. It was propane.

As I swiveled to face him, Var's arm lowered from the fireplace switch as he pulled the door closed behind him with an ominous click.

He loosened his tie as he focused his angry gaze on me. "Explain yourself."

With my arm outstretched behind me to make sure I didn't trip over something, I backed up. These stupid nude patent leather heels were a mistake. I wanted to look professional and sleek, plus I needed to hide the fading hickeys on my neck. So I chose a formfitting, high collar, teal sweater dress with heels and a matching Brahmin purse. But now, as his gaze raked over me, I wished I was in cargo pants and Doc Martens with another oversized sweater.

"There's nothing to explain. Because of you, I'm out of a job. So you need to give me one. Do you think a two-bedroom apartment in Chicago comes cheap?"

He shrugged out of his dark gray suit jacket and reached for his shirt cuffs. "You are supposed to be sipping wine in a piazza in Italy somewhere with the ten grand I gave you. Not worrying about your rent in Chicago."

Forgetting the danger I was in, I tossed my purse onto the nearest chair as I lifted my arms and curled my fingers with air quotes. "Oh, yeah, the ten grand deposit on the ‘million' euros you were going to give me when you ‘found me' later. Do you think I was born yesterday?"

He raised his arms and mimicked my gesture, curling his fingers. "What is this? What are you doing?"

With a hand on my hip, I smirked. "I'm calling you out on your bullshit. Now, are you going to give me a job, or am I going to the police?"

It was a bold threat. Especially with what I had learned about him, but it was my only option. I was stuck between a Russian and a hard place. Technically between a Russian and another Russian with a hard cock, but there was no point in thinking about that since I had absolutely no intention of repeating my mistake from the other night.

He rolled up one sleeve, then the other, exposing more of his intricate tattoos. I couldn't quite make out the imagery, but they seemed to be filled with violent, religious idolatry. "You are trying my patience, woman. I put you on that plane for a fucking reason."

My lips twisted as I shifted to the other hip. "Oh, yeah, I remember. For my own safety. Well, I happen to know that some random Southside gang killed the dictator, and they do not know I even exist."

"For someone who supposedly doesn't know anything, you seem to be very well informed."

Crap.

Besides telling him I knew about the gang, I'd practically blurted out that I was the forger.

Damn, this man had me rattled.

"That's beside the point. The point is I'm no longer in danger, so there was no need for me to leave the country."

A muscle ticked above his right cheekbone as he advanced toward me.

Walking backwards so I could keep my eye on him, I circled around his desk.

His voice was soft and low, more a deep vibration, like the distant rumble of thunder. "Oh, no, krasivaya , you are definitely still in danger."

My ankle turned as I stumbled. Stupid shoes. I kicked them off before scurrying further around the desk, away from him. "You can't just order me to uproot my life. What about my apartment? Family? What if I have a boyfriend? What about my friends? They are probably worried?—"

I didn't even finish my sentence.

He moved so quickly, he was just a blur of white from his dress shirt.

His body slammed into mine, pushing me back against the wall. Pinning me there with the force of his chest, he leaned one forearm over my head and placed his other hand at my throat. "His name."

I blinked, stunned by the sudden extreme tension in the room. "What?"

"The boyfriend's name. Give it to me. Now," he growled.

Flashbacks to him demanding the same information two nights ago ran across my mind. He had assumed I was lying, which I was. Obviously, he'd changed his mind.

"I don't cheat. If I really had a boyfriend, we wouldn't have slept together."

His gaze focused on my mouth as he slowly shook his head. "Nothing would have stopped me from fucking you then… just like now."

I rose on my toes as I clasped my hand around his wrist, trying to dislodge his grip. "You're out of your mind. The other night was a huge mistake. We're not having sex again."

He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you'll change your mind after your punishment."

I inhaled a gasp so quickly, I choked.

He released my throat and I immediately ducked under his arm and stumbled across the room. Placing one of the lounge chairs between us, I repeated, "Punishment?"

Var strolled after me, reaching over the fireplace to pull down one of the riding crops. He slapped the leather end against his palm. "You didn't think you'd get away with disobeying me without a punishment, did you?"

My gaze shifted between his face and the riding crop. "You're mad if you think I'm going to let you hit me with that thing. I'll go to the cops for real if you even try."

The corner of his mouth lifted as he slapped the crop against his hand again. "I'll drive you to the police station myself and introduce you around—after we're done."

My fingernails dug into the black leather back of the chair. "You're bluffing. I Googled you. I know all about your suspected ties to the Russian Mafia through this place."

He set the crop aside.

My relief was short-lived when his hands moved to undo the buttons of his shirt. After only a few, he pulled it from his pants waistband and over his head, exposing his chiseled and inked chest.

Tossing the shirt aside, he advanced toward me.

I screamed and lunged for the locked door. Curling my hand into a fist, I pounded on it. "Help! Help!"

Var flipped me around and pressed my back against the door frame. "You're wrong, beautiful. I don't have any suspected ties to the Russian Mafia. I am the fucking Russian Mafia."

His mouth slammed down on mine.