“He’s never going to give up Archie. That’s his only bargaining chip.”

  I glance at Dima with raised brows. “What’s the point in having a bargaining chip if you’re not willing to cash it in when needed?”

  Dima sighs. He takes out his gun and places it in the glove compartment. “Well, fuck… We’re actually doing this.” He takes a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have made her any promises.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  And yet I did.

  I’d do it again, too.

  “So… Seeing as how we might not get out of this alive, I’m gonna ask you something I would never have otherwise asked.”

  “I doubt that. But go ahead.”

  Dima smirks. “Is it love?”

  I tense, the breath stuck in my throat. “I…I don’t know.” But how true is that? There are moments when I feel like I do know.

  I’m not sure which answer makes my blood churn more: Yes, I love her—or no, I don’t…but I’ve done far too much for her anyway.

  “Fuuuck,” Dima laughs. “I never thought I’d see the day. It has feelings after all.” He pokes me to make it clear which “it” he’s referring to.

  “Come on.” I step out of the car before I have to endure any more of his prying questions or irritating side-eyes.

  We step through the gilded doors and over to the concierge. The lobby sits beneath a massive stained glass dome, the walls decorated with a sprawling mural painted in baby blues and delicate pinks. Fat-cheeked cherubs flit between clouds and topless goddesses gossip next to stars.

  “I’m here for a meeting with Benedict Bellasio,” I inform the pencil-mustached man behind the counter.

  “Of course, sir,” the man says in a distinctly French accent. “He is waiting for you in the Palazzo Roma Room. Follow me.”

  Dima and I trail him down the ornate halls. Every flourish is exquisite and extravagant and wildly unnecessary. I’m not in the least surprised that Benedict chose this as our meeting grounds.

  He leads us to a bronzed door on the first floor. On either side of the entryway are two alcoves where naked Venus statues stand holding white marble torches.

  “Here we are, gentleman,” he says with a polite bow.

  I give him a terse nod and open the door.

  The carpet is a crimson velvet stretching the length of the narrow space. Every wall drips with oil paintings and crystal light fixtures. The curtains at the far end have been drawn close over the arched windows, suffocating all the sunlight.

  Benedict sits on a patterned velvet fainting couch. A huge gold chandelier hangs above us, casting a dim amber glow onto his brocade suit and the flashy Patek Philippe watch on his wrist.

  “Look at you, Benedict,” I remark as Dima shuts the door behind us. “You match the room.”

  “I thought I’d dress up for the occasion.” He chuckles without getting up. His man stands behind the couch like a trained dog in a black suit, eyeing us with the same suspicion we feel.

  “Ah, Dima,” Bellasio continues. “Nice of you to come. Although I have to admit, I’d have kept my best stooge home. You know…just in case.”

  “He did,” Dima replies. “Mila is probably browsing the pantry as we speak.”

  Benedict barks out a laugh. “Clever! And wise. No good in losing two Zakharovs. It would be a pity for the whole family to be snuffed out in one go.”

  I take the wingback chair opposite Benedict. Dima takes the second seat beside me. “Nothing will be getting snuffed out today, Benedict. This is a peaceful meeting. We’ve made a gentleman’s agreement. I know you’d never break that.”

  Benedict leers at me. “Indeed. How is that beautiful fiancée of yours? Did she survive the crash?”

  The casual way he asks about Celine pisses me off. I let him see the anger in my eyes, if only to drive home the connection he believes I have with her. Which isn’t a lie, either. Technically.

  We’re still connected.

  Just…not how I’d originally planned.

  “As a matter of fact, she did,” I say smoothly. “She’s doing very well now.”

  “Ah, I’m relieved to hear that. I like her.”

  “I’m sure you do,” I say, channeling more self-control so the words don’t come out from between gritted teeth. “Why else would you have wanted to marry her in my place?”

  His smile drops just for a moment. A millisecond, really, but I’m not blinking during this conversation.

  “She told you, did she? I just thought she was smart enough to back the right horse.”

  “I’m not a horse, Benedict,” I growl. “I’m a lion.”

  Benedict leans back while his doorknob of a man stares between Dima and me with a vacant expression on his face. “You know the tragedy about lions? They live in prides. Alone, lazy, and they let the females do all the work.” He gestures to his arm where the suit is a bit thicker—no doubt padded by bandages from where Taylor shot him. “So your metaphor suits you perfectly.”

  “And what does that make you?”

  He grins at me, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know how to win, Ilarion. I run hard, I work hard, and I don’t accept loss or defeat. I’m not just the winning horse—I’m a champion.”

  I snort. “I believe your father would’ve disagreed.”

  Benedict’s fist white-knuckles on the armrest. “My father was a fool. He underestimated me. And he’s not the only one to make that mistake. I’ll admit, it used to bother me…but not anymore.”

  I rest my elbows on my knees and lean in. “You agreed to this meeting, so I’m assuming you want to resolve this without any more bloodshed.”

  Benedict purses his lips. “If you’d like.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes and cut to the chase. “What do you want?”

  “Me?” he asks innocently. “I’m not the one who asked to chat.”

  “Cut the shit, Bellasio. You wouldn’t have accepted the meeting unless you wanted a soapbox to stand on and something to win. So tell me, what will it take to get you to fuck off?”

  He chuckles darkly. “Let’s start with an honest conversation first, shall we?”

  Dima and I exchange a glance. “I’m capable of one,” I say. “Are you?”

  His eyes narrow, but he manages to keep that sickly smile in place. “Archie Theron. You want him back.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m aware of who he is.”

  “You want a prize for that?” I ask sarcastically. “As for wanting him back, he’s my future father-in-law. It’s not really a matter of what I want.”

  “I wonder what your fiancée would think about your generosity of spirit.” He picks imaginary lint from his pants and recrosses his legs. “Tell me: Did money change hands after the engagement, or before? Did you see her and bargain, or was Archie the pimp?”

  I don’t look at Dima. If I do, Benedict is going to suspect something. He’s going to know that I know. I hide my clenched fist by drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. “It was a coincidence.”

  “Probably not for the old man, though. He’s more cunning than you realize.”

  Oh, don’t I know it.

  “His daughter, though, not so much, right?” I hesitate, and he laughs. “Don’t worry. I already know she has no clue what’s going on. The woman is pretty, but not very bright.”

  “I’d say you’re projecting, but then again, you’re neither bright nor pretty, are you?”

  His forehead reddens instantaneously. The man is so easy to needle. His every nerve is exposed and raw, waiting for someone who knows how he’s wired to drive him to the brink of madness.

  “She would have passed you over for me,” he snarls. “Another couple of days working my magic and she wouldn’t have been able to refuse.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you to try, fruitless as that may have been.” I arch a brow to match my smirk. “You’ve always wanted what someone else has.”

  He glowers at me, anger flashing in his eyes. “I saw the look on her face when she saw me,” he spits. “She wanted me. The little tart. The whore.”

  “Celine would never be interested in a worm like you.”

  He grins wide. “I’m not talking about Celine.”

  I can’t help it. My hands ball into fists. I suck in a breath to calm myself, and he hears it.

  Benedict laughs like we just shared some playful secret. “Ah, that’s it, isn’t it? Broke through that glacial composure of yours and I didn’t even have to say her name. Don’t like when I talk about your baby sister, do you, Don Zakharov?”

  “Brother…” Dima warns from where he’s seated next to me.

  I bite down my anger. “Quit stalling. You didn’t agree to this meeting to ask me about my fiancée or my future father-in-law.”

  “Didn’t I?” Benedict coyly asks. “I’m so curious about your chosen family, though, Ilarion. There’s so much I’d love to know.”

  “You’ve done enough prying for the night. Now, tell me what you want before I walk out of here.”

  He folds his hands in his lap. Behind him, his mute guard still scans back and forth, back and forth, as robotic as a sprinkler head. “Do you really think you can keep this secret from Celine forever?”

  “It’s not my call to make.”

  Benedict nods. “What are you prepared to do to get him back?”

  “And there it is. Fucking finally.” I sigh with relief. “For the hundredth time—what do you want?”

  Benedict gives me another wolfish smile. “Your ancestral home in Russia transferred into the Bellasio name. In addition to half of your largest properties on this continent, plus half your businesses and profit sharing on every other enterprise you choose to keep in your name.”

  I raise my brow. “Is that all?”

  “Two more things. You’ll stop coming after my men, period. No more raids, no more shoot-first, ask-questions-later nonsense. And…” He pauses, regarding me with actual seriousness now. “I want Mila.”

  Dima and I both jump to our feet. Now, he’s as pissed as I am.

  “The fuck you do,” he growls. I subtly motion for him to stand down, but I have no problem letting him speak for both of us in that regard.

  “That’s right,” Benedict says with a smile. “Don’t worry—I don’t want to marry her or anything. Just one night will suffice. Honestly, it’s more for her benefit than mine.”

  “You son of a bitch,” I snarl. “This is a fucking game to you.”

  He spreads his hands wide with that same stupid shrug and that same stupid smile. “You asked. I answered.”

  “You certainly are a dreamer, Benedict,” I say, sauntering one step towards him. He and his bodyguard both tense up in unison as I approach. “We’ve known each other a long time, and that’s never changed.”

  I extend my hand out to him. He looks dumbfounded by the gesture, but he takes it. I tighten my grip and yank him to his feet hard against me, so that I can snarl into his ear, “Take your demands and stick them up your ass, you pathetic fucking excuse for a man.”

  Then I shove him away from me. His man stands there looking shocked and uncertain of the next best move. Benedict lands hard on his ass on the fainting couch, his face purpling into something bright and mortified.

  I turn my back on the mudak and make for the exit.

  “You walk out of here, I will kill the old man!” Benedict yells after me.

  I throw him a cold glance over my shoulder. “Go right ahead. He’s not worth as much to me as you think.”

  “What are you going to tell your fiancée? Do you really think she’ll be so keen to marry you after you sentenced her father to death?”

  “Celine will believe whatever I tell her,” I say with a roll of my shoulder. It’s a half-shrug, half-warmup in case I do, in fact, need to kill him with my bare hands. “Including the fact that you were the one who reneged on your part of the bargain and killed her father before I could do anything about it. Who do you think she’ll believe, Benny? The man she loves, or the man who abducted her and then tried to seduce her?”

  I’ve got my hand on the doorknob when I hear the cock of a gun.

  All I can think is, How predictable.

  59

  TAYLOR

  Mila glances over at the clock hanging above the cavernous two-door refrigerator. “Isn’t it time for your visit?”

  I shake my head, ignoring the plate of gnocchi that she just shoved in front of me. “I-I can’t.”

  Mila fixes me with that bold, direct stare of hers. “Listen. I know that people put doctors on some kind of pedestal. But the fact is, they’re only human. And they’re as prone to error as the rest of us.”

  I blink at her. “I’m sorry—is that supposed to be comforting?”

  “In this case, it should be,” she says. “I know Dr. Baranov put a three-day timer on Celine’s life, but fuck that. Not everyone is the same. Maybe she’ll wake up on Day Five and everything will be alright.”

  Everything will be alright. I don’t see how that can possibly be true.

  “No. Even if she does wake up, nothing will be ‘alright.’”

  “Because of your feelings for my brother?” When she catches my jaw dropping, she holds up a hand. “You don’t have to say anything; I already know. It’s pretty obvious, anyway. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

  I blush. “I…I’m having his baby. So obviously, there’s history. Kind of. It’s just a little confusing.”

  “I would think that having this baby makes it less confusing,” she offers. “The two of you want to be together. Now, you have the perfect excuse.”

  The moment she says it, I feel my heart drop. “For that to happen, Cee has to… She would…”

  “No, Taylor.” Mila sighs, leaning in and putting her hand over mine. “That’s not what I meant. Even if Celine wakes up, I think you owe it to her to be honest. Tell her the truth and let whatever happens just happen.”

  I shake my head. “No. No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I love her,” I explain. “She’s my sister, my best friend. We have always, always had each other’s backs. Why would I stop now?”

  “Because you saw him first?”

  I pause. I want to have a good, snappy comeback, but I don’t.

  Mila shrugs. “Look. You’ve been carrying around this guilt as if you’re stealing her man. Technically, she stole yours.” I open my mouth to object, but she holds up a hand once again to stop me. “I don’t care what the technicalities are or were. The fact is, you and Ilarion saw something in each other or felt something or whatever romantic bullshit it took to make both of you climb into a backseat and make a baby. Before Celine even knew he existed.”

  I sigh and rub my eyes. “That doesn’t change the fact that he asked her to marry him. Besides, she deserves to be happy. He can make her happy.”

  She frowns. “You’ve changed your tune.”

  “Because I realized that under all that macho toughness, he’s actually a decent man,” I admit. “And I believe him when he says he’ll take care of her.”

  Mila shakes her head. “You’re really willing to sacrifice your own happiness for Celine’s?”

  “Yes,” I say without missing a beat.

  She smiles quietly, then sighs. “Dammit.”

  “What?”

  “I really didn’t want to like you.”

  “I have been told I have a magnetic personality,” I joke, tossing my hair playfully. It feels good to experience a small moment of lightheartedness amidst all the darkness I’ve been going through.

  The silence settles and thickens. Both of us look in the corners of the room, wondering if there are maybe some answers hidden there that will solve all of the shit swirling around us.

  “Mila…” I chew on the inside of my cheek for a moment. “Can I ask you something? You mentioned earlier that Benedict has devoted himself to getting Ilarion back. I was wondering…”

  “You haven’t heard the story?”

  “Not sure if you’re aware, but your brother’s not really the chatty type.”

  “Didn’t think I was, either. But then, here we are, chatting the day away.” She pushes my dinner plate closer to me. “I’ll make you a deal: you eat and I’ll talk. Sound good?”

  “Damn,” I mutter. “Relentless.”

  “I’m just looking out for my little niece or nephew.”

  That makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, and at the same time, incredibly nervous. But I push the worry away and fork a gnocchi. The prongs slide in like a knife through butter. I pop it into my mouth and sigh.

  “Okay, I’m eating,” I mumble between bites. “I believe you have a story to tell me.”

  Mila leans against the counter. “When we were kids, our father used to have meetings that included all the most influential men in the state. It was a sort of sizing up of each other, cloaked behind a façade of professional civility. The main players would take turns to host, and one year, it was my father’s turn. The Bellasio don decided to bring his son along.”

  “Benedict?”

  “Benedict,” Mila confirms darkly. “He was nineteen or twenty at the time. Ilarion was a couple years younger. They were both at a point where they were being included in some things concerning the ‘family business,’ but not all. I guess Benedict felt he was old enough to have a seat at the table, and he got pissed when his father shut the door on his face.”

  “What does Ilarion have to do with it?”

  “Ilarion saw the whole thing,” she explains. “And from that moment forward, Benedict had to throw his weight around, had to prove he was the alpha.” She leans over and steals a gnocchi from my plate. “He started strutting here and there in the courtyard, ordering men around, scrapping with the security, too bullheaded to see that none of the vors would engage him because of his last name. So he decided to pick a fight with Ilarion. He suggested they have a sparring match. Nothing too serious. Just a dick-measuring contest, really.”