"Not good enough. Radmir has to be out of prison by the end of the year. Find a loophole."
Dima gritted his teeth. "And how do you think I'll accomplish that, Dom? He fucking killed a man! In this country, there is nothing that can save him from this!"
I restrained myself from hitting him right in his pretty face. As much as the information pissed me off, I couldn't help but agree.
Radmir had no chance back then, and Vasya did nothing to bring him back to Moscow so he could serve his sentence there. We had a fighting chance, but Vasya just wouldn't listen to reason.
"Dima, I don't care. Fix it."
He placed his hands on the bar top while he stared at me. "Facts. The whole truth. What the fuck happened back then? I cannot defend him if he doesn't want to cooperate with me."
"I have no information about it either."
He cursed, "That fucker is the toughest nut to crack."
Tapping with case folder on the wood, I ordered once again. "End of the year, Dima."
Sighing, he nodded, scooped up all the documents, and with a chin lift exited the apartment, leaving me to enjoy this beautiful morning alone.
I padded softly to my sunroom, grabbing a brush in the process. My hands itched to color the blank canvas. Opening the window so the breeze would dry my painting more naturally, I dipped the brush in water then yellow paint, and recreated the image of New York in the twenties. I loved the vintage era, the great fucking Gatsby.
Art was the one beautiful, exceptional thing that could calm me down in this world of chaos. The sounds of brushes or pencils touching the canvases, the smell of dry paints, and aching muscles from all the hours of hard work soothed me as nothing else could.
And finally, moments free of anything but the feeling of creating something beautiful.
But then another image in my head assaulted me. Long, silky, dusky hair spread on black satin sheets as her eyes widened when my cock entered her tight heat.
Rosa, my Rosalinda.
After four hours, my exhausted body fell onto the mattress as I closed my eyes anticipating tonight. I would have an opportunity to display my woman to an entire world and stake my claim.
Sleep during the day didn't have nightmares after all.
No vile voices of Richard or Alfred.
No feeling like a piece of trash with no rules to live.
Nothing.
Man with the dragon tattoo
So the pakhan wanted his sovietnik back in Russia, so he could inflict revenge on the people who wronged him.
A sinister smile spread across my mouth as I picked up the phone to call one of my men in the Texas prison.
Radmir Abdulabekov wouldn't survive another dawn.
And I would make sure all traces lead to Cosa Nostra.
My head rested on the pillow as my eyes scanned the room until Quinn would show up from his afternoon stroll in the woods.
I appeared to be in a wood cabin with a few chairs, some blankets, and a wooden table. The smell of chamomile and mint filled the air. A vase stood on the table with a couple red roses about to bloom. The soft petals still hadn't open up.
My back ached from being in the same position. But lying that way, I didn't feel pain in my ribs or arms. My face throbbed, despite the healing cream Quinn and Dorothy applied on my wounds daily, and I didn't miss their flinch any time their eyes landed on them.
I was yet to see it all.
A huge mirror hung on the wall near the doorway. I probably could have asked them to bring it over so I could learn the damage this awful man did to me.
But could I face it?
Deciding not to wait on someone's pity anymore, I picked up the cane next to my bed-the one I used on my trips to the bathroom, which was indoors, thank freaking God-and on my wobbly legs, despite the pain, I slowly made my way to the mirror, all the while hoping Quinn wouldn't barge in.
I needed to do it alone.
Step after step, my bare feet padded on the floor. My toes didn't really enjoy the harsh wood underneath. Finally, taking a deep breath, I faced my fear head-on. A horrified gasp escaped me as my reflection registered in my mind.
One long, red line went from my right ear to my full lips, and another line spread across my forehead to my left ear. My face was swollen with bruises marking my cheeks and nose. My eyebrows were gone. Quinn had shaved them off to have a better view of all the wounds. I saw only raw meat and nothing that reminded me of the girl I used to be.
Ugly.
So unbelievably ugly.
Without thinking, with all my strength, I raised the cane and smashed the mirror. I kept hitting and hitting it as it shattered into tiny pieces around my feet, but I didn't care. I wanted to destroy it all despite my blurry vision from the tears.
Sobbing loudly, I fell on the floor as my hands covered my bruised face, wondering who'd ever want to look at such a creature as me. Romance novels had the whole Beauty and the Beast theme, but I never came across a book where the heroine was the beast.
These evil men didn't just take me away from my home.
They destroyed any kind of hope of finding true love.
Rosa
She was dead.
So freaking dead.
Screaming in annoyance, I threw the phone on the bed since Frankie refused to pick up. I paced back and forth in the room, considering my options. Unfortunately, none came to mind in my panicked state. My closet included only a couple of dresses, because jeans and shirts were more comfortable during my stay with Luke and in North Carolina. And I didn't have time to have a proper shopping day to fill in the gaps in my closet.
The dress Frankie found for me was completely unacceptable, and I had no one but myself to blame for not looking at it all day. In my defense, last night, I came home exhausted and slept ten hours straight. Then I rushed to the university for two classes, where that redheaded guy kept begging to be my friend, so we hung out together for an hour. Then I quickly came back home, and since the clock showed five o'clock, I had only two hours to get ready.
I stood in front of the mirror. The strapless white dress wrapped tightly around my body, putting on full display my round, full breasts, which looked even bigger with my waist accentuated, and my firm ass. I decided to wear the emerald earrings he gave me, and I picked five-inch stiletto sandals and a clutch in green to match.
Since my hair tended to get in my freaking face all the time, I spent an hour on a waterfall hairstyle with my straight hair cascading down my back while the top was made into a braid on the side. It kind of gave my cat-shaped hazel eyes a vivid look. The weather was too hot for any kind of makeup, so I just applied gloss on my lips to emphasize their fullness.
Overall, I looked pretty damn hot.
Which brought me back to the fact that this dress made me seem desperate for attention. I preferred to have more subtle hints about sexuality than putting it all out there. And it ended right above my knees, so it left a lot of skin to admire.
Hearing the doorbell ring just as the huge clock in the living room chimed seven o'clock, my nerves got the better of me. He even came on time! Was there anything this guy did in half measures?
Exhaling a calming breath, I glanced at myself one more time before I left the room and slowly walked down the stairs. Considering the heels I wore, the last thing I needed was to end up face-planted on the floor.
My eyes once again admired the beauty of my father's house. My shoes clicked on the golden marble floor, which shone from the huge, Swarovski chandelier lighting up the whole hallway. The house had countless rooms, even I had no clue how many, but everything was decorated in white and gold along with crystals.
Expensive dark brown oak furniture and lots of vases filled with roses were scattered around the house. The smell of the flowers penetrated every nook and cranny. Framed photos of my mom in different stages of her life hung on the living room walls as well as the dining room's, where the wide table with place settings of expensive handmade porcelain china was surrounded by twenty-four chairs.
To sum it up, Dad freaking loved luxury, and it screamed from every corner of the house. Maybe I'd have considered it tacky had my mom not designed it. So being here, in this atmosphere, was somehow being connected to her, even if she was no longer with us.
Lucretia, our housekeeper of twenty years, winked at me, straightened her black apron over her black wool dress, and opened the door.
Holy mother of God.
Why did he have to be so handsome?
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his legs crossed while his free hand was inside a pocket. His black suit hugged his body perfectly, giving off elegance and power, but at the same time, a tightly made bun in the back of his head added wildness to the look. Several tattoos peeked out of the collar of his white shirt without a tie. The cross rested between the open ends, and my stomach fluttered as I remembered how he had put it on me while we shared our first kiss.
Our eyes locked for a moment in an embrace where the outside world didn't exist. His amber ones were lit with possessiveness as he scanned my body and clenched the rose in his hand tighter, while mine probably reflected the deep desire humming inside me.
My skin buzzed with the need to run to him, so I'd feel the protection in his arms once again, and I barely restrained myself from doing so.
Dating.
That was what we were doing. God, how did people deal with all this sexual frustration going on? When family obligations and mafia houses didn't breathe down their neck?