Pakhan's Salvation (Pakhan Duet Book 2) Page 10

  Vitya nodded and then took out a white envelope. “She sent this by fax, has some suspects on tonight’s guest list who might have been behind it. She studied all those cases, and she has a feeling we are all missing something.”

  “Woman basically discovered America,” Michael said sarcastically. He didn't much like her, but we didn't know why. He refused to elaborate.

  “She knows not to get involved, right?”

  “Yea, she is not happy about it, but she has to accept that in exchange for having all those names. Her hands are tied.”

  “Good.” Even though I asked her for help, she had no business sniffing in my dealings, and had I known the woman would be such a pain in the ass, I’d never have approached her in the first place.

  “What about the kid?” Vitya and Michael winced and shared a look. “Bad, Pakhan. I think they permanently damaged his liver, so I’m not sure he’ll be much use unless he has some other talents.” If I could smash Stefano all over again, I would. What he did to the kid was unacceptable, and now his whole life was ruined because of it. “Backstory?”

  “Foster care, then streets. Has a girlfriend. Probably a motive for him to win that fight as she is loaded.”

  Cursing, I sipped the coffee while my mind absorbed all this information. “Just what we needed, another Romeo and Juliet.” Rubbing my face with my palm, I ordered, “Recruit him anyway. We’ll find him a job. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to the kid.” Then I tore away the seal on the envelope and scanned the names.

  My gut never failed me. That was why this list brought nothing but frustration and anger, and my fists clenched.

  Whoever hurt my Rosa and had some kind of vendetta against me and Don wasn’t on this fucking list.

  Conductor

  Exhale and inhale.

  In and out. In and out.

  Pressing my palms against each other in a Namaste pose, I held my back straight as a bird cheeped above in the trees, and willed myself to calm down and heal with the fresh autumn weather.

  The inside of my thigh throbbed painfully from the lacerations I’d inflicted there with a kitchen knife, playing close to the artery, which could have ended fatally for me, but from this came the excitement and adrenalin rush. Momentary bliss blocked the reality in which Dominic and Rosa had spent the night together where he made her body sing. Although no one really knew him in bed, he probably used his best charms for his Rosa.

  Charm and skills that were supposed to be mine and mine alone, but he chose another.

  Rosa Giovanni had ruined my life, but I almost danced with happiness as the big day was near, and she’d end up in an unhappy marriage, which I’d make sure to turn into hell on earth. I wanted her to know what it was like to beg and pray for just a moment of happiness.

  As for Dominic Konstantinov, he’d have to either deal with it or go down with her.

  Simply put, there was no third option.

  Rosa

  Resting my elbows on the ship’s rail, my eyes admired the beauty of the Mediterranean Sea glistening magically under the moonlight, creating a mysterious yet welcoming atmosphere. The stars shone brightly in the deep blue sky, reflecting in the water where you could see ripples and fish swimming. The light breeze in the air nipped at my skin. My pink knee-length cocktail dress rose swiftly, but I was always conscious to tug on it.

  The last thing I needed was to show off my goodies for everyone to see.

  Laughter behind me caught my attention, and I turned around. Ciara entertained a group of people by the deck while Oliver glared at her. He rarely liked her outgoing nature, claiming if she’d spend more time on her education than flirting, she could go places. Considering she was already a world-famous skater with two gold medals, I didn't understand his statement. As if a young, vibrant woman should ever apologize for enjoying her life to the fullest. The only reason her dating life bothered me was because she kept on dumping all those men. Well who knew, maybe with me breaking it off they could give this thing a chance? After that failed kiss attempt in my studio, Oliver didn't really send out a sexual vibe. Chaste kisses here and there, and promises, but after the passion with which Dom went after me, I doubted Oliver had a great desire for me to begin with.

  Dominic. My heart instantly beat faster against my ribcage, threatening to spill out at the mere memory and beauty of our moments. How he created a world where only the two of us existed as his touch joined all the missing pieces of my identity as a woman. In his arms, I understood that passion was not a foreign concept, but rather a language few men spoke. Although I couldn't imagine another man besides him.

  But I would have to. He wasn't a part of my life, just a fantasy lover who opened my eyes to the errors of my way. A sign from God and a gift. It all depended on how one wanted to look at it, I guessed.

  Shaking my head from the haze and creeping sadness, I decided to focus on the party and not lose my mind here.

  The ship was huge as hell, one of the most expensive yachts, according to my father, and belonged to Uncle Vito, who hosted the party. The luxurious thing had three levels, each with a different theme, and it was made out of gold.

  No freaking joke, gold.

  The first level was strictly for staff, the ship captain, waitresses, security, and chefs. The wide kitchen had the latest equipment, several cabins with double beds, and even game rooms with pool tables for the staff to lounge in during breaks. Vito valued hard work like no one else, and he liked to reward his staff for the exceptional service they provided. As if anyone would dare give him anything else.

  The second level had more than twenty wide cabins with indoor bathrooms, which allowed the guests to spend the night or engage in a longer cruise when my uncle felt like traveling. The cabins were designed with themes of movies from the fifties and sixties. Each room was decorated with a specific scene with various paintings and photos scattered on the walls of actors and the famous lines they performed during the shooting. Shiny wooden floors and dusky lights created an atmosphere of the old chic, and as much as I detested Vito’s tendency to show us, even I had to admit to loving the idea of it. For a short time, guests got to transfer back in time to get the feeling of beauty and aura of the past. Not many places could claim that, I imagined.

  The hallways were so many and complicated that I once got lost and couldn't find my way out. Thank God this crazy man had cameras everywhere, and I was noticed by a guard who monitored the place.

  And finally, the third level, the one that had the party in full swing, was the main area of “fun.” It had a stage with musicians playing light blues—Vito’s favorite, a bar with expensive drinks created so fast by the talented bartender I barely had time to blink, and a marble dance floor that was polished daily, because how else could it stay so freaking shiny and surprisingly not slippery? And finally, the wooden deck had small dining tables and places to stand and admire the view. The main colors dominating were red, black, and gold. Golden statues, vases, and trays were in plain sight for everyone to see. Vito couldn't have people doubting his power or wealth, after all.

  “Little loner,” he called, holding my stare as he slowly walked toward me. The smell of his cigar instantly washed over me, and oddly enough, it tugged on a memory. Recently, I kept having more and more of those incidents with smells or sounds or simple words triggering my nerves. As if I should have remembered it, something made my head hurt.

  Or maybe it just hurt because Vito stood near me. As much as I tried, I couldn't stand the man who had so much blood on his hands. Daily in the hospital, I treated people who were subjected to violence, a word that he represented well.

  “Uncle,” I replied, and his mouth split into a smile and small wrinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes, softening his usually piercing green-as-grass eyes. He seemed almost human in that moment.

  Vito had the lumberjack-look going on, with his bearded face, Mohawk hair, and ripped arms. He was around 6’3”, his body covered in a white T-shirt and w
hite pants, which emphasized his fit physique. No wonder women went all gaga over the guy. Apparently, him being in his late forties did nothing to change their minds. “Are you having fun?”

  Sipping my glass of red wine, I nodded, making an effort to show at least some interest in this whole charade. “Of course. The food is excellent.” At least there was that. His chef, Ricardo, cooked some of the best pasta in the world with just the right amount of sauce. In the depressive state I had been in for the last couple of months, the only solace was good Italian food, which melted on my tongue. Added bonus? Nerves burned those calories real fast.

  Tilting his head back, he laughed loudly, bringing the attention of everyone to us, since the mood of the “boss” was one of the most important things. No one even breathed as they assessed whether his laughter was a good thing or if it meant he’d burst into freaking flames and shoot someone.

  Mother gulped her champagne nervously while running her fingers through her heavy pearl necklace that she didn't hesitate to display to all those ladies with rich husbands.

  Father, on the other hand, glared in our direction, but still grinned to his business associates. I vaguely remembered he and Oliver worked hard to bring their shipment deal to life, so he actively searched for more investors to speed up the process. He didn't much like his daughter near his wife’s mob family unless we had to attend a gathering under strict orders. Then we played the charade. After all, mob money was too good to pass up.

  “Funny, how I do not doubt that. You cannot lie to save your life, Angelica,” Vito murmured, raising his hand and patting my cheek, and I barely restrained myself from shifting back to avoid his touch. “Shame you ended up with some weak American. What you see in him, I’ll never know.” He focused his attention on Oliver, who argued over something with Ciara, who ducked her head guiltily as if apologizing for something. “What both of you see in him,” he added so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

  Erm… what? Surely he didn't mean what I thought he did? Before I could think about it, the words just spilled from my mouth. “She is your niece!”

  His eyes narrowed on me, and I seriously regretted my outburst. After all, maybe he just didn't want anyone from outside his family mingling with foreigners. “Interesting how you defend your sister, but don’t do the same for your fiancé,” he mused, and then took a step back. “Is she though?” With this one last tidbit of shocking information, he left to join the circle of young women who were brought here solely for the entrainment of the attached and unattached men who wanted some casual sex. Immediately, two such women hung on his arms, while he took the glass of whiskey, raised it, and was about to drink from it, when the unexpected guests arrived.

  And everything inside me froze as I struggled to breathe.

  Dominic.

  No, no, no. What the hell was he doing here? I surely never expected to see him again after my bachelorette party and what we did after.

  Dominic

  Vito jerked his chin at me as a signal before spreading a wide, fake smile on his face, and greeting me loudly, “Pakhan, welcome!” He met me halfway as we slapped each other’s backs while people around me scanned my appearance and my byki behind me. The majority of them didn't even bat an eye that another mafia boss joined the party, but some men tugged on their ties as if it was hard for them to breathe. Michael stepped onto the deck, holding a plate with Russian souvenirs such as figurines called matreshki and an instrument known as a bololaiki along with expensive vodka, and questioned, “Where should I put the gifts?” Vito clicked his fingers, and in a second, a waiter appeared in front of us as instructed. “Show the gentleman here where the kitchen and other stuff is.” The young guy, around eighteen years old, curtly nodded and smiled at Michael, pointing at the elevator a few feet away from us.

  They disappeared behind the grey doors as Vito muttered for my ears only. “Grino is my recruit. He’ll help him install the cameras and bugging devices.” Then he chuckled, as we noticed Oliver stride to us with excitement. “Like a fucking puppy,” Vito murmured, right before Oliver exclaimed, “Dominic!”

  He shook my hand, holding it with both of his. “I was just speaking with investors and your name came up.” He searched for someone and then waved for him to come closer, and in a moment, a man with grey hair and narrowed eyes, in black shorts and shirt, stood next to him, as if rarely anything in this life brought him joy. Plus, my senses never failed me, and I had a feeling money was the most important thing for him. “Ercole Rossi, this is Dominic Konstantinov,” Oliver introduced us. No matter what name you were born with, whoever joined the mob family took their surname, even men. “He is willing to invest ten million dollars in our mission.” Immediately, Ercole’s attitude changed from reserved to interested, and he even cracked a smile that looked more like a grimace, as if someone had shat all over his car.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” I didn't see any point in playing the politeness game with the guy, not when it wasn't the reason for showing up at this party. Vito invited all the elite and every member of his company board. In other words, the person behind Alfonso’s plan was here, and we needed to install the camera and bugs in each cabin and hallway so we could trace them down if possible later on. At the moment, it was our only lead besides the fact that only two hundred people could be involved in it too.

  I’d already killed the rest, which Vito found exceptionally funny. According to him, if they were dumb enough to go against him and didn't know how to cover their tracks, they deserved it.

  Oliver kept going on about his stupid project that had scam written all over it, which was probably Ercole’s doing. When my eyes clashed with hazel ones, she looked at me like a deer caught in headlights.

  My krasavica.

  She blushed under my gaze, gulped, and wrapped her hands around the cross on her neck as she bit on her lip worriedly, probably thinking how to get away from me, considering she ran away after our perfect night together.

  Or let me rephrase that. I was perfectly aware of what she was doing, sneaking out on me. Anton watched her all the way home, while Vitya just scolded me with a lecture that sex wouldn't change anything, only confuse the poor girl even more. Anton was on her 24/7, making sure to know her whereabouts and anyone following her. Rosa had enough nightmares. No one would hurt her again.

  It was easy for Vitya to say, as he screwed Michael on a regular basis, while I had to be celibate for my girl for a year. What did he know about hunger until he went without the love of his life? She needed me that night as much as I needed her. Her surprise that she wasn’t a virgin that flickered on her face for a moment while I entered her… I had to reel in all my control not to shout that I was her first and fucking last.

  Thank God Oliver never touched her, not only for my sake but also for hers. Once she regained her memory, she didn't need one more man who took advantage of her state of mind.

  Her soft pink dress emphasized her beauty in the dimmer light, and my heart and soul ached to gather her in my arms and never let go. I couldn't do it, although soon she’d be taken back to Russia.

  She still didn't move from her place, tightly holding the railing, but her sister had no problem approaching me. Ciara sauntered with her hips swaying back and forth, a predatory expression on her face. “Dominic,” she practically purred. “What a pleasant surprise.” Yeah, thankfully she hadn't seen me in the club, so she had no suspicions regarding me and her sister.

  Giving Rosa a sideways glance, I noticed her knuckles whitened, and as fucked up as it sounded, it brought me joy. Jealousy wasn't the feeling I wanted between us, but if it helped speed up the process, then why the hell not?

  At some point, men just became desperate. “Indeed.” The musicians started a new song, a slow one, and couples gathered on the dance floor. Ciara opened her mouth to speak, and I’d already thought about how to decline, when Vito spoke.

  “Ciara, dance with me.” Although it was phrased as a request,
it was an order plain and simple. With an apologetic smile, she took his hand as he swirled her around and then pressed her against his chest. She laughed loudly, enjoying the tempo while he winked. What an interesting couple they would have made. Instead, he fucked whores and she hopped between men.

  Since Oliver was dumb enough to become engaged in another conversation with some old dude, I darted after Rosa, who still stood in the same place as though her feet were glued to it.

  My precious girl. Her eyes widened, right before I whispered, “Dance with me.” She shook her head in denial, but it was too late. I grabbed her elbow, swirled her up, and then hugged her with one arm, while the other took her sweaty palm so we could waltz to the music as the cooling breeze calmed our heated skin.

  “You shouldn't have done it,” she furiously said, while keeping the pleasant smile on her face for everyone to see, especially Oliver, who waved happily. What kind of a man allowed his fiancée to dance with a man like me? He didn't even make it hard for me to feel any guilt. Part of me felt sorry for him, because the real Angelica Rossi had died in the Alfonso games. But he had no right to mine nevertheless.

  “What exactly? Dance with you now, or fucked your brains out last night?” She jerked and winced as if I slapped her with my crude words.

  “Do you have to be so rude?”

  Chuckling, I pressed her closer to me so she’d feel the hard-on she inspired. “Never claimed to be a gentleman. And you don’t want me to be either.”

  She frowned, sending daggers my way. “And you know so well what I want?”

  “Better than anyone, krasavica.”

  She stilled in my arms, raising her eyes to me while shaking her head. “What did you call me?”

  Cursing my stupidity for spilling the adoring endearment I called her, I decided to stick with it. “Krasavica.”

  “He always murmurs it,” she whispered, licking her lips.

  “Who?” I growled. How many fucking men sniffed around my woman? With each day, I sounded more like a whipped sap than a powerful pakhan.