Prisoner (Russian Tattoos Book 2) (14 page)

I stripped off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his crisp white shirt a couple notches. He shook his head, admonishing my naughty behavior, but took my lead and let his guard down. We stayed on the dance floor and rocked it until my feet gave out and I succumbed to blissful exhaustion.

Chapter 20

Enemy Territory

I rested my head on Vladimir’s chest as Boris drove through the city on the way to Chez Ivanov. Boris appeared more agitated than usual and fired death glares at us in the rearview mirror. It was late when we arrived at the family compound, and I wondered if I would have to wait until morning to meet Babushka and Boris’s wife, Anya.

A team of armed men guarded the entrance and opened the gate to let us in. The mansion was modern looking and had a monumental fountain and abstract sculptures scattered throughout the grounds. Boris parked the car, and Vladimir excused himself to greet his crew.

I imagined they were hired hands who were paid to do their jobs, but they met Vladimir with open arms, thrilled to welcome home the
pakhan
. The guys greeted the boss with handshakes, back-slaps, and kisses on his cheeks. He returned the sentiment, and it seemed as though the men guarding his family were his lifelong friends, which comforted me knowing that some of his crew had already turned into traitors.

Boris eyed me in the rearview mirror. “Russian women don’t ask questions. Our family doesn’t know why your relationship ended in America or the circumstances of your arrival in Russia. All they will be told is that you and Vladimir have settled your differences, and you are now his lovely bride—and that’s all they are ever going to know.”

“I understand.”

“You are going to play your part as Vladimir’s blushing bride. Make no attempt to escape or contact the outside world. You will not lay a finger on a computer, phone, or any piece of technology that would lead me to believe you are trying to pull something.”

“I got it, Boris. I won’t—”

“You have Vladimir dangling from your heartstrings, Pasha too, but I’m not as trusting as my sons.”

“I would never—”

“If you do anything—intentionally or out of stupidity—that jeopardizes the safety of my family, I will hurt you in ways that will haunt you the rest of your life. Be convincing in this game of ours, but don’t dig yourself into a hole you won’t be able to crawl out of, understand?” Boris narrowed his eyes, dotting his threat with a fiendish glare.

“Completely.” Vladimir opened the car door and helped me out. My legs wobbled as the implications of Boris’s threat coursed through my veins like an electric needle gun.

“Don’t be nervous, angel.” Vladimir guided me to the side entrance of the house.

Boris opened the door first, stepped inside, and checked out the room. “Everyone is asleep. You can meet the family in the morning.”

We took off our shoes and changed into house slippers, then Vladimir led the way to the guest bedroom where I would be staying. As we walked through the living room, I gawked at all the fancy furnishings, fine art, and over-the-top opulence of his modern mansion. A Chihuly chandelier with graceful tendrils of blown glass spanned the ceiling, and the windows were covered with pearl-studded drapes made from luxurious silk fabric. The grand entrance had a marble floor with an inlaid design of an abstract golden peacock.

As I admired the museum-quality artistry of his home, Vladimir stopped in front of a closed door. “Everything you need is inside. I’ll wake you for breakfast.” He kissed my cheek. “Pleasant dreams, angel.” He turned to walk away, but I tugged on his arm.

“What’s going to happen to you when this is over? What’s your exit strategy?”

“Your safety is my only concern.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Promise me you won’t ever give up. The idea that Maksim is controlling your future makes me ill. Why can’t Boris just squash that little pecker—”

“That little pecker is plotting a billion-dollar internet scheme—a project
I
started—that Moscow has an expressed interest in. He’s untouchable. I promise he’ll pay for all the grief he has caused you, but we have to be smart about how we take him down. If my family makes a move that upsets the flow of money to the top, we’re all dead.”

“Maksim muscled in on your business?”

“He moved in while I had my guard down in America. This isn’t a turf war over Ekaterinburg. He’s been running the most powerful
Bratva
in London for years and only came back to town after his papa died. Maksim is trying to dethrone me and take over my position of power within the
technology
side of our business.”

“But why is Moscow—”

“The less you know, the better.” He kissed my cheek. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

***

In the morning, hushed voices and high-pitched giggling woke me up from a deep sleep. I opened my eyes and found two little girls at my bedside, the younger grinning mischievously and the older one looking sternly at me as if she had been sent on official business from the Kremlin. These little cuties had to be Dmitri’s sisters. The younger had curly blonde hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a bubbly personality. The older bore a striking resemblance to her big brother, serious and thoughtful. Both of the girls had wildflowers tucked in their hair.

“Good morning, Miss Carter. I am Mari.” The older one presented me with a little white flower. “Please join us for breakfast.”

“
Spasibo
, Mari.” I pushed my hair over my shoulder and tucked the flower behind my ear.

The little ball of sunshine hopped on the bed and chatted away in Russian.

“English!” her big sister chided.

“Good morning, Miss Carter. My name is Ruslana.” She crawled on my lap and ogled my engagement ring.

“
Dobroye utro
, Ruslana.”

A toothless grin spread across her face, and she pulled me out of bed and led me to the closet to pick out an outfit. Sweatpants and a tank would’ve been my choice, but since the girls were sporting dresses, I figured it was the unofficial dress code of the household.

The girls sat on the bed and watched me fix my hair, dust on some blush, and swipe on some mascara. Once I was put together, they led me to the living room where Vladimir was waiting, looking tall, blond, and handsome in a dark gray suit.

Ruslana rushed up to him with her arms outstretched and leaped into his arms. “Papa!” Vladimir picked her up, kissed her cheeks, and greeted her in Russian. Then he perched her on his hip and held his arm out for Mari. She ran to him, and he scooped her up too. His eyes glistened as the girls chatted away in unison, seemingly telling him every single thing that had happened in their lives while he was away.

It was endearing to see how much the girls missed Vladimir, and incredibly hot to see him in daddy mode, but why they considered him their papa was a mystery. Since they were so young, they probably didn’t remember their biological papa, the man Dmitri said had murdered their mama with his fists, or they’d erased that killer from their minds.

Boris had raised Vladimir when his papa died, and since the big guy was getting up there in years, maybe he had passed the papa torch on to Vladimir, and all the
Bratva
orphans were now landing on his doorstep.

Vladimir set the girls down and reeled me in for a hug. “I dreamt of you all night, angel.” He planted a sweet good morning kiss on my lips.

Something about him in that suit and his loving nature made me want to drag him back to my bedroom and fast forward our sham-wedding night. “You are a fine looking
chelovek,
boss.”

He gave me an arrogant wink and placed his arm on the small of my back as we followed the girls to the kitchen where Vladimir’s family was gathered around the kitchen table. Babushka lifted her hands as if she were praising God her grandson was still among the living. By the tone of her voice, she was half relieved, half ticked at him for being away for so long, but her expression was full of love and adoration.

Babushka slowly got up from her chair at the breakfast table and held out her hand so Vladimir could help her walk. She turned her attention to me and spoke, but I didn’t understand anything she said. I regretted not learning more Russian words when Vladimir and I were dating. Her eyes glistened with tears as she said my name. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed that I was Vladimir’s future wife, or overcome with joy.

“
Dobroye utro
, Babushka.” I smiled, admiring the brightly colored scarf that covered her hair, and her flashy designer glasses rimmed in gold.

Babushka’s expression soured and she stink-eyed me as she ambled back to her chair. Not a very warm welcome, but me showing up unannounced with a ring on my finger must’ve come as a shock. Apparently Boris had already broken the news to their family about our wedding plans. Maybe she needed some time to adjust to having another
devushka
in the house.

Anya sat next to Boris watching my every move with a get-this-rodent-out-of-my-house scowl on her face. No mixed signals from Boris’s wife. I was not welcome. Anya stood, kissed Vladimir’s cheek, and said something to him through clenched teeth. I was certain I wasn’t going to get the translation on that one.

She glared at my engagement ring with her dark, piercing eyes and didn’t smile or even pretend to hide her distaste for me. Her appearance was nothing like I imagined. Coifed platinum blonde hair, bright red painted lips, and broad, sturdy shoulders. Instead of exchanging false pleasantries, she turned her attention to filling breakfast plates for the girls.

“Eat up. We’ve got a busy day.” Boris handed me a plate and motioned to the endless trays of food that were lined up on the kitchen counter.

I loaded up my plate with potatoes, blini, and fresh berries. When I came back to the table, I sat next to Pasha where it was safe.
Jeez. What did Boris tell Anya about me that made her hate me so much?
Vladimir made a plate of meat and eggs and took a seat between Babushka and me.

Once the girls were taken care of, Anya dumped her tea in the sink and stomped out of the kitchen. I felt guilty for whatever I did—or her perception of what I did—that made her hate me so much. Maybe she thought I was a gold digger or that I wasn’t good enough for Vladimir. It was possible Boris had told her about his decision to stop drinking, for me, and she wasn’t on board with his sobriety.

On a broader reach, maybe she blamed me for “ruining” her son. According to Boris, every miserable thing that had happened stemmed from Vladimir’s love for me. Boris even blamed me for causing the
Bratva
war. Vladimir had changed as a result of his relationship with me, that was undeniable, but wasn’t getting sober and no longer wanting to lead a ruthless crime family a
good
thing? Obviously, not to this family.

As long as I was under that roof, I was in enemy territory.

“Finish up. We have work to do,” Boris said.

We finished breakfast, and then Vladimir escorted me outside for a walk in the garden. Near the back of the property, there was a greenhouse. He led me inside, and rows and rows of his beautiful red and pink roses filled the room. “A little hobby of mine.” He motioned to the flowers. I never imagined the special roses he had given me in America had come from his personal nursery in Russia.

“Your family is going to be thrilled when they find out our wedding is a sham.”

“Don’t take it personally. Anya and my mama were best friends. Seeing her ring on your finger took her by surprise.”

“Babushka wasn’t pleased to see me either.”

“She feels slighted we announced our engagement publicly without telling our family first.”

I tossed him a doubtful expression, not at all buying his bullshit excuses. They hated
me
, not the circumstances of our wedding. “Pasha is going to be crushed, and Anya is going straight for my throat when she finds out we lied in the first place.”

“Whatever keeps you safe and gets you back to America is the right thing to do. My family is tough. They’ll pull through.” He squeezed my hand. “How are you doing with all this?”

“Confused.”

“About what?”

I hesitated, not wanting to dump another load of bullshit on him with so many other things on his mind.

“Talk to me, Carter.”

“Our wedding was supposed to be for real. When you asked me to marry you, I couldn’t wait for this day to arrive. Now the happiest day of my life has turned into a rat trap to catch a killer. If everything goes according to our plan, I’ll go home and never see you again.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Vladimir asked.

Boris banged on the window and motioned for us to finish up.

I turned to go back, but Vladimir caught my hand. “Answer me.”

“I don’t know.”