Without fretting over the change in plans, Sacha had moved on and settled into a minuscule apartment. She’d gravely insulted the three and a half years of university she had under her belt by taking a job at a small diner. But she never let herself dwell on the fact that she was completely alone in a strange city where her grasp of the language wasn’t the best.
Those first months were actually a lonely, frightening existence that she, thankfully, hadn’t had to suffer through for very long.
On a day just as stressful as any other—her boss had been an intolerant jerk—she’d gone to one of her assigned tables to greet two men in smart suits. They’d looked up from their tattered menus, and despite Gabriel Moretti’s dark, handsome looks, she’d barely glanced at him. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes from Alekzander Tarasov. Within minutes of meeting him, he’d turned her world upside down, and it had yet to right itself.
“Okay.” Justin dropped her phone into her purse. “You can start by telling me who Sacha is. Or should I ask who Sarah Brighton is? I knew with an accent like yours that couldn’t be your real name. Had considered it might be your married name. Are the Tarasovs the reason you use it? Come on, Sar—uh, Sacha. Talk to me. The lack of information here is making my brain hurt.”
She took a tissue out of her purse and blew her nose, trying to buy some time. How much should she say? Justin had given Alekzander his name, which meant they’d know in moments, if they didn’t already, who he was and where to find him. And that meant they would find her. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew Maksim Kirov would get the information he needed, and then that powerful group of men they’d just left would move in and do whatever they damn well pleased and no one would be able to stop them. She couldn’t leave without warning Justin about what might be coming for him. After all, she’d just given Alekzander the impression she and Justin were involved. She shouldn’t have been so immature.
“What’s your full name?” Justin pressed, his tone encouraging rather than demanding, as Alekzander’s would have been.
“Sacha Urusski.” She tapped on the dash when he got stuck behind a bus. “Can you pass him, please? You must get me home.”
He passed and went through a yellow light. “Angela knows that?”
“Yes.”
He laughed under his breath. “Why Sarah Brighton? Why use an alias?”
“You just met the reason. He…I…” She bit her lip, not about to tell him why she’d chosen Brighton as her last name. That was private. And what was it inside her that was trying to prevent her from speaking of that cheating womanizer behind his back?
“He and you, what? And, correct me if I’m wrong, but going by that caveman display I just witnessed, I’ll assume the ‘he’ you’re referring to is Alek Tarasov.”
As her heart infuriatingly wrenched in her chest and the naïve girl buried somewhere inside her sighed with longing, Sacha twisted the two rings she wore on the middle finger of her right hand. “I do not want to involve you in this, Justin. There is no point since I will be leaving New York tonight. You and Angela have been wonderful friends, and I appreciate having had you in my life even if it was only for this short time. Please, be aware that Alekzander and his family might come to you and ask about me. I would be so grateful if you did not tell them anything you know.”
“That’s a given, and you leaving isn’t on the table. At least not until you tell me why the hell you and your daughter are running from them. I’m forming a few ideas, but maybe you can pinpoint the correct one for me. Money, information, you know something they don’t want shared? I swear you can trust me with your story, Sar—Sacha. I’ll take it to the grave.” He made a face. “Unless you want me to take it to the authorities. Sorry. That killed my drama, but I am an attorney.”
She blinked as that registered. An attorney could help her if Alekzander found out what she’d done. Family law wasn’t Justin’s specialty, but he must know someone who could give her some advice she’d never be able to pay for.
The only problem was, Alekzander and his family would not go through legal channels to get what they wanted.
Unless she forced them to.
She placed a hand on her roiling stomach. If enough people knew her situation, the Tarasovs couldn’t steamroll their way in and…
She wilted in her seat. Yes, they could. She’d soon come to learn what her father had said was true; the Tarasov Bratva had a long, invasive reach. She’d seen evidence of it with her own two eyes. Contrary to what many thought, a family like Alekzander’s wasn’t made up of thugs wielding machine guns and smoking cigars. They were businessmen. Granted they weren’t afraid to use distasteful methods to get their way, but they didn’t go around randomly murdering and pillaging to earn their riches.