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For better or worse, Tatyana is mine.
Chapter20
VIKTOR
Vadim pulls in front of Tatyana and me in a gunmetal gray Aurus Senat. An armored limousine is probably a good choice of vehicle given my suspicions of Boris Stepanov, but Vadim chose it more for aesthetics than anything else. Regardless of reason, it’s a good car to be inside during a gun battle.
I pull the handle on the back door and guide Tatyana inside, shutting the door a moment after she lifts her leg into the car. She looks distractingly beautiful tonight. When our private jet landed in St. Petersburg, I hired a personal assistant to get her dressed for tonight. She’s wearing a navy blue floor-length gown with sleeves that fall off the shoulders. A sash crosses the open back of her dress, teasing me to pull it off her, and I almost did the moment I saw her. The only thing that stopped me is remembering her betrayal.
Tatyana is not the innocent girl I thought she was. Since I discovered she was a spy hired to watch me, I’ve kept my distance from her. She tried to explain herself to me on the way to St. Petersburg, but I wouldn’t allow it. Hearing her voice rationalizing her actions is too much for me to bear right now.
The passenger door closes with a soft, cushioned latch of the lock when I get inside. Every grain of this car is made of the highest quality possible. It feels like being inside a luxury military tank, and in a way, it is.
Vadim shifts the car and rolls forward. These vehicles typically call for a chauffeur, but Vadim likes to drive.
Tatyana sits in the back with her legs crossed, looking out the window with a drawn expression. The black ankle straps of her high heels peek from under the hem of her dress. Her hair is gathered at the base of her head, twisting in large curls that caress the back of her neck as she moves. She still wears my mother’s necklace as I ordered her to. The dark makeup around her eyes makes her look beautiful and mysterious. It is too sexy.
I’m sure at some point my littlezaychikwill try to pull the door handle and escape. She’ll never stop trying. But she’ll find it locked. She gets no more leniency from me.
Part of me wonders why I’m keeping Tatyana alive. I don’t know what I want from her, I just know that one second I hate her and the next second I want to strip her bare and plunge my cock into her. I’m not in the right state of mind to make any permanent decisions. I want vengeance, but I also wanther. I’m still too heated over this. Tatyana has scrambled every instinct inside me into a confusing mess, I can’t make sense of what’s happening inside me.
“If I knew you were bringing a date, I would have brought one of my own,” Vadim says as he turns onto a busy thoroughfare.
“Boris Stepanov doesn’t seem like the type to forget to bring girls. You’ll have your pick of them,” I respond.
Vadim turns to me as his mouth curls into a smile. It makes me smile too, remembering when the days of women fighting to win my attention were still fun for me. Those days are gone. Those women have been replaced by someone more complicated, sitting in the back seat of an armored limousine, concocting plans on how to slip away. She’s not going to. I brought Tatyana here so she’ll be under my direct supervision at all times, and that’s the only place she’ll be.
A lime-green Marussia B-2 merges ahead of us. There’s only one asshole in this entire country dumb enough to paint their car that color. Bodhan. I’m surprised he’s pulled ahead of Vadim and is drifting from lane to lane as if he knows the exact directions to Boris Stepanov’s restaurant. The rest of the men are behind us in their own cars.
We reach a massive wall of Renaissance-revival storefronts at the historic district,Bolshaya Morskaya Ulitsa.Bodhan pulls his car to the side and parks, opens his door and throws his keys to a valet.
Vadim pulls up next. Before he gets out of the car, he pauses and looks down at the car console. I lift the top of the console and find a handgun inside.
“Take it,” I say.
I see the look in Vadim’s eyes. It might be for different reasons, but he’s as conflicted as I am. We’re both torn between what we feel we should do and our feelings for the person we need to do them to.
Vadim tenses his jaw as he thinks it over. He pulls his head to the side in an unconvincing shake and gives me an even less convincing response. “I won’t need it.” He turns to exit the car, but I hold him back and lift the lid to the console.
“If you want to step out of Boris Stepanov’s shadow you have to do it by looking powerful,” I say as I pull the gun out and turn the handle towards him. “Always.”
Vadim looks down at the gun and takes it out of my hand before exiting the car. The valet is standing a few paces from the side door with a politely alarmed look on his face and doesn’t approach until Vadim holsters his gun. He walks to Tatyana’s door and helps her out. I meet her just as the valet closes her door and slides into the driver’s seat. Her eyes fix upon Bodhan’s lime green car, and for some reason she looks scared.
“Would you rather be traveling in a car like that?” I ask.
“Never,” she shoots back. I was joking, but her answer is far more serious.
I grab Tatyana’s hand and hook it around my bicep. I won’t let her out of my sight tonight.
Vadim leads the way into Boris Stepanov’s restaurant. It’s at the main level of one of the historic buildings on the street. The interior is elegantly decorated in a mix of aged wood trim and modern dining room furniture. Crushed velvet benches line the entire length of one wall where tables are set. On the other side of the tables are hardwood chairs with puffs of cushioning. Wrought-iron stands hold marble tabletops upright. The front of the restaurant is lined with two-story tall arched windows, covered with sheer white curtains, gathered into bundles at the top arch of each window.
The warm hues of candles and gold-toned lighting soften the room and, making the setting feel intimate despite the size of the room. White carpeting dampens the noise, and the far reaches of the restaurant have private alcoves lined with massive dark leather booths. As we walk towards the end of the restaurant, I notice each of the tables have signs on them showing they’re reserved.
“This is a popular spot for the local politicians,” Vadim says to me as we head towards the kitchens. “Dinner, drinks…” he looks at me with a knowing glance, “and more.”
I spit out a laugh. It’s not surprising. Places like this are perfect for men well past their prime to purchase what they can no longer get for free.
Vadim keeps his pace in line with me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s relieved I’m here tonight. As someone who runs their own crew of men back home, I know it can feel lonely. But ever since I’ve come here and have been able to meet Vadim in person, I felt a connection with him. Something stronger than blind loyalty. It’s the closest I’ve felt to having a sense of family since the day my parents were murdered.
