Scarred_A Russian Mob Romance_Anosov Family Mafia Page 5

  “Which answer would you prefer?”

  I looked over my shoulder at him. He ran a hand through his hair, and the way it bounced back perfectly into place made my fingers itch for it. Did it feel as soft as it looked? I wanted to know for myself. His jaw shifted, and I realized I needed to say something. I turned my focus back to the books.

  “The truth,” I said, running my finger down a massive copy of the collected works of William Carlos Williams.

  “Okay, then.”

  I heard his footsteps crossing the room, and I braced myself for the woodsy scent of him. For the annoying warmth that was already building in my lower body. I didn’t care about these books unless Anton planned to press me up against them while he slammed himself into me.

  “These are the books of all the people I’ve killed.”

  My heart stopped. I turned to face him. Normally, I would have tried to disguise my emotions, but I was to shock to even try. “What?”

  Anton stared at me, his icy-blue eyes looking into my soul, and then he smiled. “I’m kidding.”

  My heart restarted with a splutter and a dull ache, then I slapped his shoulder. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

  He kept laughing. “What kind of sense does that even make? Did you think I took one book from each person I killed or took all the books from every person I killed? Because that is a large difference. I could have either killed two avid readers or three-hundred different people.”

  I hadn’t really had time to think about the logistics of it. When people confessed to killing people, I tended to glide over unimportant details and focus on the murder. “So, you do read, then?” I asked, ignoring his pleasure at having scared me.

  He shrugged. “From time to time. Not as much anymore.”

  “How much did you used to read?”

  “How long are you going to try and drag out this sad attempt at small talk?”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing right behind me. To know he was pinning me to the wall with his eyes. His hands hit the shelf around me, caging me in with his arms, and as much as I wanted to stand there and wait for him to move, I knew I needed to challenge him. I spun around and faced him.

  “I was just trying to make conversation before we started talking business, so I’m not sure what you mean,” I said. The truth was that I was scared to learn what Anton did. Scared to know what exactly he was capable of. He’d just told me he had killed countless people and I believed him in an instant. So, why then did I want him so badly? Shouldn’t I be running in the opposite direction? Was $100,000 really worth aligning myself with someone like him?

  His eyebrow quirked up, and he leaned forward until his lips were only a few inches away. It would have only taken the slightest movement for our lips to press together. “You’re scared of me,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “You’re scared to be alone with me,” he continued. “I make you nervous.”

  “Of course you do. You just confessed to killing hundreds of people.” I tried to push past his arm and free myself.

  He stepped forward, pinning me to the bookshelf with his hips and stealing my breath in the process. Suddenly, my lungs felt heavy. Each breath was labored, and my chest pressed against him. Anton moved his hand from the bookshelf to my waist and squeezed, his fingers biting into my skin.

  “You’re scared of what you want.”

  I bit my lower lip and Anton watched me, a smile creeping onto his lips, softening his chiseled face. He thought I was wild with desire for him. And while there was definitely an undisclosed amount of wetness pooling between my thighs, that wasn’t the only factor. I was scared of what he was capable of. Of what he could do to me if I ever learned too much or became too much of a hassle. Sure, he liked me well enough now, but how long would that last? How many other women had he taken in, consumed, and spit back out again?

  I leaned forward until my lips were a whisper away from his. I felt him stiffening against my thigh. “You don’t know everything, Anton.”

  He stared at me, his eyes nearly crossing because of our proximity, and I knew he was going to kiss me. I knew he would close the distance between us and crush me against the bookshelf. I also knew I would let him. I would willingly strip nude in his office, bend in whatever direction he wanted, and orgasm until my heart gave out. I hated that it was true, but hadn’t I been the one to ask for the truth. Well, there it was. Despite every reason I should stay away from Anton, I wanted him.

  He inhaled, preparing to make his move, when three loud knocks sounded on the door. And just like that, he was gone. He was across the room answering the door, and I was still pressed against the bookshelf, held there by desire. It felt like every muscle in my body had fallen asleep and was in the process of waking up, pinpricks working up my arms and legs.

  “Bailey?”

  I turned towards the door, my head swimming. It felt like I’d been submerged in water.

  “This is Sandra O’Hare. She’s going to have you fill out some paperwork. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  I think I nodded, but I couldn’t be sure. Anton left, and Sandra sat down behind his desk and directed me to sit in the wooden chair across from her.

  “This is just preliminary paperwork, telling us where to send your paychecks and your tax forms. Nothing major.” She flipped through the stack of papers. “Anton seems to have filled out some of this for you already, so that makes my job easier. I just need you to sign here and here.”

  She slid the pages over to me, and I realized Anton had listed his address as mine. Was that okay? I guess I didn’t really have another option. If I didn’t live with Anton, I’d be homeless. I decided I could always change the address later and signed where Sandra directed.

  “Now, this document is just saying you agree to the salary and benefits you’ve been offered. So, if you agree with what’s written at the top of the page, go ahead and sign the bottom.”

  Sandra had sleek brown hair and a bird-like nose. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, but she looked clean and crisp and seemed confident in her role. I wondered if she knew the business she worked for was a scam.

  $100,000. A one with five zeroes. No matter how many times I looked at the number, it was large. Larger than anything I’d ever seen or ever expected to see. Was there any way I couldn’t sign my name?

  I pressed my pen to the page and signed, feeling like I was giving Anton the promise of so much more than my employment. When I finished, Sandra collected the papers and stood up. She shuffled back through them, double checking I’d signed everything, licking her finger between each page.

  “Oh, one more. Non-disclosure agreement.” She slid it across the table to me, pointing to a highlighted line on the bottom left.

  “Non-disclosure?”

  She shrugged. “It’s business. Your assurance you won’t give away any ‘industry secrets’, you know?”

  “Do I have to sign it now?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

  “You have to sign it before Anton talks with you about the company. We have to know you won’t say anything.”

  She knew. She definitely knew. Sandra’s clean, crisp exterior suddenly looked edgy. This woman was a criminal. Or, at the very least, an accessory to crime. I didn’t yet know which ones. Could I sign a non-disclosure without first knowing what I was promising not to tell? What if I signed it and then Anton told me about his human trafficking ring where he bought and sold babies for profit. Could I really keep quiet about something like that? I didn’t assume he was involved in something so horrific, but I was coming to realize I didn’t know much about Anton at all. I had no basis for what he was and was not capable of.

  “Can I talk to Anton first? About the document?” I asked.

  Sandra sighed, slightly annoyed, though she tried hard not to show it. “Of course. I’ll leave the form here and when you sign it, just leave it on the desk for me to grab later.”

 
When I signed it. She was confident I would.

  Sandra left, and I read over the document several times, trying to discern any clue about what I would be agreeing to, but it was standard and non-descript. In short, “Keep your mouth shut, and everything will be fine.”

  Anton came in a few minutes later, his crisp suit hugging him in a way that made me want to rip it off, though I ignored the impulse. I had much more important things to contend with.

  “What do you do here?” I asked, gesturing to the office.

  “Did you sign the NDA?”

  I shook my head. “I need something – some clue as to what I’m becoming involved with. If we were caught, would I go to prison for a few years or for a lifetime?”

  He laughed. “You won’t go to prison.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Do you say that because you aren’t doing anything wrong here or because you are cocky?”

  “I say that because you will know nothing of any import. You will arrange meetings, order my lunch, take my phone calls. You will not sit in on meetings or make any deals. If the police ever come for me, which they will not, you will have nothing more to tell them than how I take my coffee.” He leaned forward, his hands folded on the table between us.

  “You truly believe I can work here and know nothing of your illegal dealings?” I asked, my doubts written clearly on my face.

  “Sandra does.”

  So, Sandra didn’t know. Not the details, anyway.

  “You didn’t tell her once she signed the form?”

  He shook his head. “The only people who know the truth here are people who need to know the truth. The NDA is just a promise between the two of us that if you overhear anything you shouldn’t, you’ll keep quiet about it. If you decide to rat, of course, there is little legal recourse I would have. The document is more of a gentleman’s agreement. Or, in your case, a lady’s agreement. If you betray me and I find out about it, consequences may ensue.”

  I leaned back in my chair, holding in a panicked laugh. “God. Your life is a mob movie. You’re like the godfather.”

  “I’m hardly the godfather,” Anton said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. Despite his words, I could tell he found the comparison complimentary, though I hadn’t meant it to be. “Are you going to sign or not?”

  It felt like I was walking up to a fork in the road. I was choosing a path from which I would never return. Take a left into unknown territory, towards a path I would need to forge myself and possibly turn my entire life around for the better. Or take a right towards normalcy, towards the status quo, towards everything I’d known and hated for the past few years. Towards a life I had wanted to get away from for longer than I could remember, but one where I knew exactly what to expect.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you, Bailey.”

  I looked up, and for the first time, I saw the truth written on his face. He cared. I didn’t yet know as to what level he cared, but he did. Anton didn’t wish me harm. He wanted to help me, and despite all of the reasons I knew I should drop the pen, walk out the door to his incredibly nice office, and never look back, I found myself leaning forward.

  I pulled the NDA form towards myself with shaky fingers, pressed the pen onto the page hard enough that some of the ink bled onto the paper, and after a few seconds of hesitation, I swirled out the signature I’d spent years perfecting. Bailey Rhimes now worked for Anton Anosov, doing whatever it was he actually did.

  God help her.

  Chapter Eight

  Bailey

  I didn’t linger at the office long after I signed the non-disclosure agreement. I got the feeling that Anton had just wanted to show me his operation was official and I could trust him not to hold me prisoner in his penthouse. Or something like that.

  When I got back to his penthouse, all of the clothes we’d bought that day were already hanging in the closet, and despite the fact we’d spent the entire day together, Anton had somehow found time to have a note and a bouquet of blush pink peonies waiting for me on the nightstand next to the bed.

  Join me for dinner on the balcony at seven. If you wish.

  Anton

  I read the note several times, trying to find words that weren’t there. An explanation that would tell me whether this was a celebration dinner or a date. I didn’t exactly have a pre-planned outfit for what to wear to a dinner with your boss, who you are also living with, and who also won you in a poker tournament.

  In the end, I opted for a black A-line dress that fit snugly around my waist and flared out across my hips. I felt like a sexy 1950’s housewife, which oddly felt like the perfect mood for the evening. I pulled my hair out of its bun, letting it fall in waves around my shoulders, and paired the whole outfit with black pumps.

  Then, I sat on the edge of my bed for fifteen minutes so I wouldn’t be perfectly on time. Even though I lived with Anton and he was probably back from the office, and thus could hear me not moving around in my bedroom, I didn’t want to show up perfectly on time. It was my form of mild protest. Protest against what, I didn’t know, but it was a protest nonetheless.

  When I finally stepped into the hallway at 7:15 pm, the lights in the hallway were dimmed.

  “Anton?”

  It didn’t look like anyone was home. The lights in every room were out, even the kitchen. Had my tardiness pushed him over the edge and he’d left to teach me a lesson? I wouldn’t put it past him.

  “Anton?”

  “Out here,” he said. “You are so impatient. Three more steps and you would have seen me standing here waiting for you.”

  I took the three steps he mentioned, and he was, annoyingly, right. The door to the balcony came into view. It was open, and Anton stood against the railing of the balcony in a perfectly tailored navy suit. He’d opted for no tie; instead leaving the first few buttons of his white dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tanned chest and wisps of dark chest hair. He was half-hidden in shadow, but somehow his dark hair found enough light to look effortlessly shiny and shampoo commercial worthy.

  “You look stunning,” he said. The annoyance that had just been in his voice had disappeared, replaced with a growl I couldn’t place.

  “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

  “What do you mean? I’m always cleaned up.” He moved around a small table in the center of the balcony to pull out a chair for me.

  He was right. The only time I’d seen him in anything but a suit had been the night before when he’d come out in his pajamas. Did Anton own a pair of jeans? I tried to picture him in a pair of casual blue jeans, and while his muscly legs still filled them out perfectly, something about the image seemed wrong. No, Anton belonged in dress pants and slacks and suits. He belonged in business casual.

  “And so modest,” I joked, settling into the chair as Anton pushed me into the table.

  “I’m a businessman, Bailey. It’s my job to know my assets and my strengths. There’s nothing wrong with confidence.” He took the seat across from me.

  Several candles filled the space between us, giving his already dark complexion a shimmery luminescence, and a covered dish sat off to the side of the table.

  “There’s also nothing wrong with accepting a compliment,” I said, giving him a closed-lipped smile.

  He ignored me, but I could see the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He lifted the cover off the plate, revealing a perfectly pink, perfectly delicious looking cut of meat.

  “Beef tenderloin with a bourbon pan sauce and a side salad,” he said, indicating to the bowl of fresh greens and veggies sitting on the other side of the table.

  My mouth was already watering. “Did you make all of this?”

  He shrugged. “I can read and follow directions.”

  “I’ll make a note of that.” I looked up at him from beneath my lashes.

  Anton plated my food and then his own, and we began eating in silence. The city below was filled with lights and people and cars, but that all seemed impossibly far away fro
m the balcony, little more than a hum by the time it reached us. I watched the headlights move through the streets like fallen stars, making a wish on each one that my life would work out. That despite all I’d done and all that had been done to me, I would be okay in the end.

  “It’s a bit lonely up here.”

  I turned to Anton, mouth agape. “I think it’s beautiful.”

  He looked at me, the candlelight flickering in his eyes like flares launched at sea. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”

  If Anton truly felt lonely, then he was right. Beautiful and lonely could coexist. One did not dispel the other. Because as much as I hated to admit it, I had seen few people more beautiful than Anton.