“Yes, until Goncharov. It wasn’t even a contest, but you insisted he try to beat you again.”
“Did he?”
“Easily.”
I grin. “I don’t like to lose.”
“You don’t, but you did three more times before he called it a draw.”
I laugh out loud. “Goncharov is a good man.”
“You then challenged people to a drinking game, insisting on the version of Russian Roulette similar to the shell game.”
I chuckle. “No wonder I don’t remember a thing. Tell me, did I drink everyone under the table?”
“You did.”
I slam my hand down on the table. “Because nobody outdrinks a Durov!”
“I know. Which is why I refused to play.”
I smile at him proudly. “That is why you are my right-hand man.”
I’m satisfied with his answers, but I glance at the elevator in concern. “I need to check on kroshka. Tell the men to get ready to leave, but not until you finish your meal.”
“What about you? You’ve hardly touched it.”
“I don’t need to eat. I’m high on life, Titov!” I laugh as I head to the elevator.
I ask the bellmen to send a breakfast up to my room for kroshka and slip him some bills. When I arrive at my room, I realize I don’t have a key.
I chuckle when the man guarding my door uses a spare key to open it for me.
“Appreciated.”
He nods, a slight smile on his face.
Kroshka’s eyes light up the instant she sees me. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”
I cup her chin in my hand. “I never leave a woman in my bed without a proper goodbye.”
When I kiss her, I am unsettled by the look she gives me. I have a bad feeling that last night may have been more than a satisfying romp.
“I am going to clean up. Your breakfast should be arriving soon.”
I jump in the shower, hoping I’m wrong. I don’t normally bed a woman after a night of heavy drinking. It’s disconcerting not to recall what happened between us.
After I towel off, I return to the room and find her breakfast has arrived. She immediately stands up and fixes her gaze to the floor.
“Please, sit down and eat,” I tell her gently as I gather my clothes. Once dressed, I join her at the table.
“How are you this morning?”
She smiles. “Wonderful!”
I chuckle uncomfortably and admit, “I don’t remember what happened last night.”
I can see a flash of hurt in her eyes, but she tells me, “I never knew how gentle you could be…”
Her voice is full of such adoration, I hesitate to ask, “Did I say anything of consequence last night?”
She blushes. “You called me vorobyshek.”
My heart aches when I hear that I called her by Tatianna’s pet name. “That was wrong of me.”
She laughs lightly. “Why? I thought it was sweet.”
I hate to speak of my past but realize I must. “That name belongs to my soulmate.” My voice catches when I add, “…she is no longer with us.”
Kroshka looks at me sadly. “I had no idea.”
I shake my head. “I prefer not to speak of it because the pain of losing her never leaves me.”
When kroshka reaches out to me, I instinctively pull away.
“I am sorry. I never meant to put you in that position last night.”
She looks at me with sympathy. “It’s okay.”
“No, it is not.” I stand up and begin pacing, my heart suddenly thrown into turmoil.
“May I speak?” she asks softly.
I stop and turn to face her, nodding because I cannot trust myself to talk.
“You are a man of great passion. I find that extremely attractive about you. I am honored that I was able to act as a comfort for you.”
I shake my head when I see the look of love in her eyes and explain, “You don’t understand. I can never love another.”
She rises from the chair and kneels on the floor, holding out her hands, palms up. “I offer myself to you freely, Rytsar. You do not need to love me.”
Her offer tears at my heart.
I take her hand and help her to her feet. “I am no good for anyone. I will only end up breaking your heart.”
“I am willing to have it broken.”
Her willingness sends a chill through me.
I brush away a lock of long black hair from her face and look deep into her eyes. “But I respect you too much to ever do such a thing.”
Her Cry
Now that I have acquired a top security team, I make my first move against the Bratva. Knowing money speaks louder than words, I give a public statement about how I am funding a special police task force dedicated to stopping human trafficking in Russia.
During the press meeting, I look directly into the camera when I declare, “Underground slavery must end once and for all. I will be funding an elite task force dedicated to catching the maggots behind this inhuman practice. We will not stop until they are behind bars and slavery is eliminated from our society. No one is safe from my team’s scrutiny.”
The warning shot has been fired…
I am grateful this action, along with the rescue of the girl, has brought the issue to the forefront of people’s minds. With concentrated effort, I hope to keep it there.
I’m prepared for pushback from the Bratva, and am ready for an attack.
However, I have no idea of the ripples of change I have just created and am caught off guard when one of my servants enters my office and announces, “Gospodin, there is a young woman who would like to speak with you.”
I frown. Countless women have hit me up since word of my inheritance started circulating. “Tell her I am not interested in speaking with anyone.”
He clears his throat. “She has a special request.”
I growl in frustration. “I have no time for interruptions. Send her away.”
When he refuses to budge, I glare at the man. “What is it?”
“I believe you will want to speak with her, gospodin.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why all this mystery?” I growl at him.
He states quietly, “I know you will not turn her away.”
Frustrated with his answers, I snarl. “Fine. Bring her in.”
“She refuses to enter.”
I am about to take the man’s head off, but take a couple of deep breaths instead, and ask through gritted teeth, “Why?”
“She says she is unclean, gospodin.”
Suddenly, my entire perspective changes. “Where is she?”
“The servants’ entrance.”
“Stay here,” I order, leaving to answer the door myself.
What I see breaks my heart.
The young woman standing on the porch is all skin and bones, with tattered clothes and unkempt hair.
I feel overwhelming compassion for her. “What’s your name?”
She scratches her head, literally shaking when she answers in a frightened voice, “Vosem’.”
The number eight…
Her answer crushes me, because I know slavers often dehumanize their victims by giving them a number to replace their name.