Page 94 of The Beauty Who Loved Him

Vaslav’s knuckles slammed into the desk with a sickening crack that made Vera flinch. “So, single the young thief out. Make him look special. Shit, maybe I even give him his stars, and make him untouchable. What does that do? Because if he’s protected once, the rest of the brotherhood will never let him forget it.”

He offered Vera nothing else, and the rough brush of his body against hers as he passed her by ended the conversation altogether for them both.

She didn’t follow behind, expecting the crash of Vaslav’s emotions to echo overhead as he entered the upstairs suites. Instead, she was greeted by the stomp of his footsteps coming right back down, but far faster than he had initially gone up.

He met her in the stairwell corridor, pinning her against the wall with his expansive, muscled chest and a hand that ghosted over her jaw. The touch wasn’t forceful, but his silent demand for her to look up was clear.

Vaslav tilted his head back a bit when their eyes met. “Let me explain, it’s the only time I will, why I can’t and won’t do anything for Kiril “

Vera whispered, “Please do.”

She didn’t expect him to be frank, detailed, or even truly honest. From the moment she walked into his life, Vaslav had made his affliction to lie or hide things abundantly clear. If it served him, he didn’t even blink about it.

Why would this be different?

She forgot, in that moment, that he’d already told exactly why; he loved her.

“Feliks Abramov died by burning to death in the entrance of a bridge that later collapsed. More importantly, he was in possession of a hundred million American dollars that will be traced back to various worldwide bank accounts in the name of Vera Giana Avdonin Pashkov. In three to six months,” he said, never once dropping her wildly darting stare, “when Feliks is officially pronounced dead, because they’ll never drag him up from where he is, and his estate is handled, paperwork and legal filings will be discovered. Recent documentation that proves the sale and transaction of a certain church, or would you like me to call it your ... little school?”

Her next inhale stung. “That’s why Kiril was in Feliks’ office? You’re not saying ...”

“What exactly does a man gift to the woman who reminds him of heaven?”

Vera’s chin trembled in her attempt to hold back the warring emotions threatening to drag her under a current she would not be able to swim. Oh, she wanted to be mad; he deserved that and more. “I never asked you for that.”

Vaslav only shrugged. “You didn’t have to. Think of it like an early wedding present, no? Welcome to forever.”

His palm slid around her neck, and he dropped a bruising kiss against her lips, and helpless to the man she’d allowed to take her heart, she let him. He crushed her to him, even when she didn’t kiss him back, but her body melted into his.

As much as a part of her wanted to pull away, she didn’t.

“If Kiril doesn’t talk,” Vera breathed out.

Her lips quivered. She tried so hard to stop.

She couldn’t finish the sentence, either. Inside her mind, what she left unspoken still screamed: I never asked for that.

“The Swan House,” Vaslav replied, kissing her between each word, “is all yours.”

22.

Dubna’s “Beauty” Chapel welcomed guests, and a steady stream of tourists in the warmer months, with wide grey stone and mortar steps that stretched halfway across the front of the looming, black church. It appeared larger on the outside than it was.

Purposefully.

Vaslav stood on the bottom step, not quite warm enough for his liking as a light snowfall sprinkled from the sky, but this wasn’t a day to complain, and he still had to greet the remaining guests.

Well, almost all of the guests.

Mira had already stepped beyond the front doors of the church to say hello to the three-person staff that kept the place running and maintained throughout the year. He didn’t bother to check if she had already handed over the envelope he’d filled that morning meant to be a second payment; she would do her job, and quietly find a seat.

The extra money was a thank you, of sorts. One he was sure the establishment would appreciate. Not once had they ever refused a donation from him despite being aware of the road that led Vaslav here. And all the blood he paved with it.

Despite being able to see straight through the walls, all made of glass except for the black wooden beam bones of the building and the doors, into the lobby, Vaslav focused on the establishment date that had been stamped into the step below his feet.

The Krasota, Beauty, was only two years old.

The crunch of tires on gravel and snow drew Vaslav’s gaze upward as the first black SUV pulled beyond the gates, open for the day and wedding, at the entrance drive. Once parked, the driver exited and rounded the vehicle to open the door and extend a hand to help out his passenger.