28
Oksana
Movement among the bushes caught John’s attention, and I followed his gaze out the window. The tight feeling around my racing heart evaporated as Vasilije burst from beneath a tree and barreled for the Lexus. I didn’t get a good look because of how fast he was moving, but he seemed okay. The engine purred to life while he yanked open the door and ducked inside, and the second it thudded closed, John put the car in gear.
Off came Vasilije’s gloves. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his face, even though it was freezing outside. What had happened? Had David put up a fight? I scoured the boy sitting beside me, looking for signs of injury, but if he were bleeding, I couldn’t tell with his dark clothes. Vasilije didn’t have any holes in him, which was good. And he hadn’t come to the car limping or clutching a part of his body—
“What?” he asked, looking down at himself. “Did I get some on me?”
I almost laughed, but was too distracted by my relief. “No. I was just curious if you were okay.”
A slow smile crept across his lips as he unclipped the holster from his back and dropped it to the floorboard with a thump. “Worried about me, baby?” He stabbed a finger on my seatbelt, releasing it, and tugged me into his lap so I was straddling him. His eyes were wild with adrenaline. “Don’t be. I’m fine.”
“That’s great.” I made half an attempt to get out of his lap. I wasn’t as motivated to put space between us as I should have been. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Lights from the highway streaked across his handsome face as he kept me from scrambling away. “Jesus. Let a guy catch his breath first.”
The breath he wanted to catch must have been my own, because his icy hands inched beneath my sweater and grazed my belly. I flinched at the contact, but mostly from the cold, rather than his touch. His glittering eyes connected with mine in the darkened back seat, and the air thickened.
As his palms burrowed up my sweater, the story spilled from him.
There’d been no hesitation pulling the trigger, even though the kill was personal. It gave me hope that when the time came to end my father’s life, I’d be able to do it. If not, perhaps the man whose hands closed around my breasts could. But I still had a long way to go before I could tell Vasilije the truth.
He trailed his fingertips over my bra as he talked about ransacking the house afterward, which explained why he was sweaty and short of breath when he’d reappeared. I wasn’t prepared for the bombshell he dropped, though. I had to say it again.
“You listened to the song I wrote?” My brain wouldn’t function. “Why?”
“Because it’s mine?” He said it like I’d asked a stupid question. “The music was fucking perfect, Oksana.”
Holy shit. My spine went weak. He’d been impossible to read before, only offering me the infuriating comment that the song was good. Was he fucking with me? I repeated it in disbelief. “Perfect?”
His expression was serious. “Yeah. Now stop squirming or you’re going to get me hard and I’m gonna make you blow me again.”
I swallowed a breath. “John didn’t seem to mind last time.”
“You want it, huh?” He pinched my nipple through the bra, twisting until I whimpered, and his eyes flooded with heat. “You’re so turned on, you’ll take my dick in any hole you can get, won’t you?”
It wasn’t the murder that had worked me up, but Vasilije, who was riding the high of invincibility right now. His power leeched off onto me, and I grew hot and damp between my thighs. Having him call my composition perfect had taken me right to the edge. I was desperate. Needy to connect with him in any way possible.
“Go on,” he said, leaning back against the seat, oozing confidence and sex. “My pants aren’t going to undo themselves.”
♪
Vasilije had to work on Black Friday. He’d explained the shopping holiday to me last night and I’d nodded, pretending to be clueless. He was up and gone before I was awake, so I went to the piano, eager to compose a second song.
He’d killed someone last night, and all I could think about was music. How fucked up was I?
Whitney, his personal chef, appeared at eleven a.m. I’d been too engrossed in my playing to hear her at first. She’d brought in several plastic bags, set them on the counter, and lingered in the kitchen, listening to the song.
As soon as I finished, she strode toward me. She was younger than I expected, appearing as if she wasn’t even forty. Her brown hair was cut short and stylish, and as she smiled widely, it showed off her perfectly straight, white teeth.
“Oksana,” she said warmly. “I’m Whitney. You play beautifully.”
I rose to stand and took her offered handshake. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her grip was ferocious and she shook my hand a fraction too long, as if distracted. “First Luka, and now this.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The way these Markovic boys are when they find a girl they like. They just go all in, don’t they?” She gave a light laugh. “I didn’t even know he was serious with anyone.” She sobered a little, contemplating her own statement. “But then again, we don’t talk like we used to. He’s been . . . different since his father passed.”
Her expression was surprising. She was sad, as if she missed her friend.
I took in a deep breath. I’d been told Vasilije was charming and the life of the party, but hadn’t seen it for myself. Learning the truth about his mother’s death and killing Dimitrije had changed him.
Whitney pushed her thoughts away and brightened. “Anyway, I’m excited you’re here. Cooking for two is easier than one.” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’ve been told you eat like a bird, and Vasilije wants me to introduce you to American cuisine.”
“I think he wants to fatten me up,” I said dryly.
She just laughed. We chatted for a while about meal ideas. Usually Whitney prepared the upcoming week’s menu and left instructions for Vasilije to execute. He ate well. Not just large meals, but healthy ones. Should I have been surprised? He liked staying in shape, and his diet played a big role.
“Will it bother you if I play while you’re cooking?”
She grinned like I was being silly. “Um, no. I think it would be amazing.”
Back I went to the piano, leaving Whitney to her meal prep while I worked on my symphony. I heard the song in my head as a full orchestra, and the strings would feature a haunting melody. It flowed from me so fast, I struggled to keep up with my pencil on the paper. I worked feverishly, trying not to lose the inspiration as it struck—
A hand closed on my shoulder, and I startled. My body went on red alert. This hand was male, but it did not belong to Vasilije. It was too large and warm. I jerked away and whirled to face the owner.
I sucked in a breath so fast, it was painful.
Goran Markovic.
What the hell was he doing here? I stared up at him, unable to find words. He wore a suit. Black, but not as dark as his eyes. Nothing seemed to be as pitch black as those. Cold washed over me at his intense expression.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I’ve been standing here a while. You didn’t hear me come in?”
My vocal cords refused to work. I shook my head as I subtly slid away from him on the bench. My gaze went to the front door, glaring at it for letting him in.
He must have figured out what I was wondering. “I have a code,” he said. “No one answered the door when I rang.”
Whitney’s strained voice came from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, sir. I must not have heard it either.”
The way she said it made me wonder if he’d used the doorbell at all, or had he planned to sneak up on me. I stood from the bench and smoothed my clammy palms down my thighs. I wasn’t mentally prepared to face Goran, especially without Vasilije around. My father’s warning echoed in my head. What reason did Goran have for showing up unannounced?
“My nephew was right,” he said. His eyes drilled into me, and I’d rather do scales for hours than endure his scrutiny another second. “You’re talented.” His voice dropped low. “I wonder how talented you are at other things.”
I couldn’t breathe.
My father wanted me to seduce this man, and here he was, giving me the perfect opening. Goran was the head of the Serbian mafia, but I wasn’t a fool. I saw right through to the motivations beneath. This was a power struggle between the family. Whether Goran was interested in me was irrelevant. His goal was to weaken Vasilije.
And since it seemed like the younger Markovic man was infatuated with me, the older one would use me to make his first strike. My throat closed up as my pulse skyrocketed. The look in Goran’s eyes was sexual and dominating. I’d come to enjoy that same look from Vasilije, but on this man? It was revolting.
In the kitchen, Whitney dropped a pan and it clattered loudly in the sink. I flinched at the sound, and his irritated gaze flicked to her before returning to me. “I need to speak with you in private,” he said. “Come on.”
The head of the Serbian crime family didn’t make requests. I would have to do as he said. While he strode toward the office, I glanced at Whitney like she could save me. She looked back with concern. The thought that struck me right then was shocking. I didn’t want to be alone with any man—
Any man except for Vasilije.
I had a terrible suspicion of what was about to happen in the office. Like a sick déjà vu, I started thinking about scenarios. If Goran tried to force himself on me, could I get to the gun in the desk drawer in time?
Stay calm. Maybe all he wants to do is talk. I marched to the office, sure I was heading toward ruin.
It was noticeably colder in here. The room was all dark, elegant wood, and a tufted leather couch sat opposite the desk in the center. On the other side of the huge arched front window was a built-in bookcase and fireplace, and I stared at one of the pictures on a shelf. A beautiful dark haired woman stood beside the piano, holding a baby in her arms while a young boy clung to her leg.
Vasilije’s mother.
I faced the man in the room, who was responsible for that woman’s death.
“Close the door,” Goran ordered. He knelt at the fireplace and turned the key beside it, making orange-yellow flames burst to life over the ceramic logs. “The insulation has always been terrible in here. The window lets out all the heat.”
He straightened and his gaze evaluated me surgically.
“You’re a skittish little thing.” His tone was amused. He’d noticed how I was trembling, and seemed to enjoy my apprehension. “Do you speak, girl?”
I forced it out. “Yes. What did you want to talk about?”
If he advanced on me, I’d step to the side rather than backward, and move toward the ornate desk with the gun in the bottom drawer.
“Vasilije shouldn’t have brought you to dinner the other night.”
No, he shouldn’t have, but like I had a choice in going? I bit back the response and chose to stare at the flickering flames rather than the imposing man in front of me. We stood several feet apart, and yet he was much too close.
“You overheard us talking about things I would have preferred you didn’t.”
Had Goran only come here to tell me to keep my mouth shut? I straightened, feeling the first tug of relief. “I don’t repeat things that aren’t my business.”
Usually a smile was meant to put a person at ease, but I was learning a Markovic grin signaled danger.
“You do seem like the quiet type.” He took his first step in my direction, and I knew it was just the beginning. I shifted subtly toward the desk as he kept talking. “I’m partial to women who can be quiet.”
It was so heavy with meaning, it was crushing, and he took another step. I adjusted, keeping the distance between us.
“The club the Russian man mentioned at dinner,” he said, “has women like you. They’re young, and beautiful, and they don’t speak unless told. In fact, they’ll be absolutely silent if I tell them to.” Goran’s stride was larger than mine and he was gaining ground. “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. Fucking them, getting rough, however I want. They are paid to obey, and I enjoyed going to that club very much.”
The side of the desk dug into my thigh. Even with heat pouring from the fireplace, it was arctic in the office. Goran casually rested a hand on his belt, but this movement had a threatening purpose. Like Vasilije, his uncle preferred an under-the-arm holster, and the grip of his black gun appeared beneath the side of his suitcoat.
“Since I can’t go there anymore,” he said, “you will be an adequate replacement.”