1
Levan
Present Day
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKhN1t_7PEY
I was sitting at the bar of a French seafood restaurant in Midtown Manhattan, and had just taken a sip of wine, when she emerged from the restroom area.
Doubling over in shock, I nearly choked on my wine.
My unguarded reaction immediately raised the alarm of the two men with me. They shot their gazes around instantly, searching for any signs of danger.
“Is there a problem?” Sergei asked in low urgent tones, his hand going to his concealed weapon.
“No, no,” I said quickly, raising a reassuring hand. “There’s no problem.”
Both men settled down, but for me, my turbulence had just begun. My restless, shocked eyes searched for her again, but she was nowhere to be seen. She must have gone into the main room where the diners were.
The barman, a smooth bastard, appeared to ask if I wanted a refill.
I nodded and watched blankly as dark vibrant liquid flowed into the glass.
She was here.
She looked even more beautiful than she had been. I’d dreamed of this moment a thousand times and yet, it didn’t seem real. I lifted the glass and drained it down.
Sergei gave me a funny look.
Fuck him. What did he know of the sacrifice I’d made? My chest hurt with the memories.
“Will Maxim be present when Luka and Dimitri arrive?” Mikhail asked.
My attention snapped back to my men at the mention of my brother. “Maxim left for Spain this morning.”
Both men nodded in understanding. Anytime Maxim was called out of the continent by our father, everyone knew it had to be for something extremely ‘delicate’. He would only resurface when it was done to his satisfaction.
I leaned back as far as I could and tried to look into the French seafood restaurant. I had a good view, but I could see no sign of her. I knew she hadn’t left yet, so I figured she had to be in one of the private dining rooms.
I started to rise to my feet to casually pass by them, but fell back heavily onto my stool when I saw her come out of the dining area in the company of a man. His arm was possessively snaked around her waist.
As if he owned her.
As if she was fucking his!
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I stared at them in disbelief. The irony was too much to bear. I’d walked away from her to save her from the life of a Mafia wife, and here she was with the biggest, meanest psychopath in our world. Calling him an animal or a beast was being unfair to animals and beasts. They didn’t kill for fun.
This man was a heartless sadist who did his own wet work. Not because he was tight, but because he enjoyed inflicting torture. There were terrible rumors about him, the kind of stuff snuff movies were made of. I didn’t usually pay attention to gossip, but there were too many stories from too many credible sources to dismiss. No smoke without fire and there was plenty of poisonous smoke hanging around him.
At first, the shock of seeing her with him had completely floored me and I couldn’t think straight, but as I gathered my wits together, I knew something was not right. They were not opposites who are attracted to each other, they were night and day. They should never be together. I forced myself to focus on her face, and instantly, I felt it.
She hated the man who held her as if he owned her.
Her body was stiff with revulsion, her face was tight with a mixture of fear and despair. She was staring straight ahead of her as if she wished she were somewhere else, someone else.
“Tell me that’s not Bogdan Litvinenko,” I asked, without taking my eyes away from her.
“That’s him,” Sergei spat out disgustedly, but his voice held a touch of fear.
I ran my hands through my hair and felt as if the blood in my veins had turned to liquid fire. Damn. What hell on earth have you gotten yourself into, Bianca Russet?
2
Bianca
My hand curled tightly around the butter knife I’d stolen from the table. It seemed like a harebrained scheme. How could such a blunt instrument get me out of this mess? Nevertheless, the cold hard metal made me feel as if I had a chance against this monster.
As I stared straight ahead, I couldn’t decide who I hated more.
My pathetic father, who had sold me off like chattel, or this disgusting monster, who actually believed he now owned me like some sort of slave. I thought back to the moment my whole life changed.
The image of my father came back to my mind, his face battered, covered in cuts and blood as he’d fallen on his knees to inform me of the barter that had been forced upon him.
“You sold me off to save the bakery?” I asked incredulously. If he had not been so battered, I’d have thought it was all a sick joke.
“No, not the bakery. I don’t give a damn about that,” he cried.
“Then what?” I gasped.
Tears filled his eyes and poured down his bloody face.
I stared at him with a mixture of shock and amazement. It was the first time in my life I’d seen him shed tears. He didn’t even cry when Mom died.
“You know my history with Mr. Litvinenko. I’ve been handling goods for him for years.”
“Stolen goods, you mean,” I corrected automatically.
“Yes, yes, stolen goods,” he agreed shamelessly. “But recently, well—uh—I had some troubles along the way so I h-had to ask him, you know—to borrow some cash. I got a little behind in repayments, so he took the opportunity to change our agreement. He says he’ll write my debt off in exchange for you. I told him over my dead body, and he said that it was my choice how I wanted it. Whether I was dead or alive, he was going to have you. What do you want me to do?”
I shook my head in disbelief. “What do I want you to do?”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do. You decide. I’m happy to sacrifice myself for you. Just say the words and I’ll save him the trouble and kill myself.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my temples. “How much do you owe him, Dad?”
In the dead silence, I snapped my eyes open and stared at my father.
“It doesn’t matter how much. The point is he doesn’t want the money back.”
“How much, Dad?”
For the first time he looked shifty. “Half a million.”
“What?” I gasped.
“I mean that’s with interest and penalties. I only took about a hundred thousand.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I muttered, as my knees gave way and I landed in a heap on the cold hard floor of our bakery back room. “We’ll have to call the police.”
He made a strangled sound of desperation. “The police cannot help. They cannot get to him. He is too powerful. All the top officers and judges are in his back pocket. All it will do is get me arrested for moving stolen goods.”
I took a deep breath and laying my hands on the floor, I pushed myself up. I was strong. I could overcome this. I looked into my father’s eyes. God only knew why, after all the shit he had pulled on me and Mom, but I still carried a deep sense of loyalty to him. He was a bad father, but he was still my father. The only family I had left.