What do I say to that? How do I respond to him? He’s a police officer. How is it even possible? His family is the Russian Mafiya. They would never let their soldiers go, let alone Mafiya royalty. I’ve been around the Master long enough to hear him speak about the loyalty of the Mafia man. That’s exactly what Beau is when it’s broken down—he’s royalty. His family isn’t just in the Mafiya; they run it. It’s their blood that carries the name. Maybe he is a corrupt officer like the ones Yema and the Master bring to visit us sometimes. That would make sense. Maybe it’s a part of their plan? It’s hard to think of anything bad when it comes to Beau, though. He doesn’t fit the part from what he’s shown me so far.
“I know a few officers,” I admit reluctantly. I’m not supposed to ever speak of the men I’ve met before. There’s something about Beau that makes me want to share everything with him. I want to make him like me, and if this is the only way, then I’m not above spilling my secrets if it brings him to me. He did, after all, admit to me his own secret. That has to mean something, right?
“You know them how?” he asks, leading me back toward the large estate. It’s even bigger than the Master’s home. People are nice here, though, which makes a huge difference.
My forehead scrunches. I don’t think he really wants the answer to that question. He may not look at me so kindly if I tell him. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth closed about it. I just want his attention on me and no one else. Who cares about the other officers or the other women.
My stomach’s still fluttering from the kiss. I can’t believe I did it and he didn’t punish me. Maybe he likes the more forward women? If he gives me a little time, I’ll learn what he likes, and I’ll do everything I can to become it. I know he said he couldn't own me, but that’s never stopped men before. I can see the kindness in his gaze, and I want that for myself. So many of the others have gone to men that are full of hate and violence. Beau isn’t that man, and I want him to keep me. I want to be the lucky woman who captures him in my own way.
“We shouldn’t speak about this anymore.”
“Don’t clam up on me now. You admitted that you know a few cops. I want to know how and who they are.”
“Th-they visited the Master’s home a few times,” I admit, not wanting to go into further detail, but Beau’s not one to give up so easily when it comes to information I’ve discovered.
“To arrest him?”
“No.” I shake my head, hoping it’ll be the end of the questioning as we take the steps to enter the house.
“They were acquaintances?”
Why must he be so persistent? “They were there to see a few of the women.”
“You included?”
My gaze shoots to the ground as I nod my head again. I don’t want to see his look of disgust when I admit the truth to him. The officers weren’t so kind, threatening horrible things if we didn’t obey them.
His hand goes to my cheek, pulling my face toward him. “You did nothing wrong, Sasha. I need you to tell me everything you remember though. You don’t have to do it right this very moment, but eventually, I need to know. And any names you can recall would be really helpful, locations too.”
“I’ll tell you what I know.” But not what they did.
We’re interrupted by his father. He’s scary, but still handsome like his son and appears much more serious. He has some graying at his temples and a clean-shaven face. He’s a very well put together man.
“There you two are.” His eyebrows rise at Beau’s hand still on my cheek, a look of intrigue crossing his face.
“Victor.” He acknowledges and drops his hand to envelope mine. “Come on, Sasha, we’ll finish that conversation a little later, okay?”
“Okay.” I send a small smile toward his father. “Mr. Masterson.”
He chuckles, amused. “Oh no, young lady. I don’t use that fake name. I stick to my Russian roots. I’m too proud for that nonsense. Besides, Beau answers to Masters anyhow. You may call me Victor.”
My breath catches in my throat.
Masters?
“It’s to help keep my identity safe since I’m a cop,” Beau interrupts, catching my surprise and shooting a scowl at his father.
“Beau Masters?” I ask, rolling the name over my tongue and deciding I like the way it sounds. It’s strong, like the man himself. I don’t so much care for the last name, but I know he’s nothing like the man who tormented me.
“Yes. Although that’s not even close to his real last name. You go to Russia; men would tremble if they heard his true name.” Victor shakes his head and leads his way inside.
I can imagine if his father has been the one to name him and spread the word. I love my country, but many of the men from there are merciless, hardened beings. Not sure I can really compare them to the Sicilians that had kept me for so many years though. They’ll always be terrifying to me after making my mother disappear.
“This isn’t Russia. This is America, and my name is Beau Masters. I haven’t answered to anything else since I was a child.” It’s spoken with a touch of venom and finality, and I can’t help but wonder why he speaks to Victor with such hostility and disrespect.
Men are confusing. If I were to speak to him like that, I’d most likely end up buried or burned in some field. I don’t get it why you’d want to treat your parents like that anyhow. My mother was everything to me. She was so beautiful and kind; I’d do anything to be able to tell her I love her.
“What are you thinking, little dove?” Beau gives my hand a brief squeeze.
“That I wish I could tell my mother that I love her.”
Victor’s step falters, and Beau’s gaze grows stunned. “You have a family?” He asks like the thought never even flitted through his mind. I’m an auctioned woman, a nothing. Why would anyone expect me to have family—a sister, a mother, a father, or anyone for that matter, who’d love or want me? Men are selfish beings.
“Yes, of course, my mother. Only I’m confident she’s dead. I think she died the day I was taken.”
“And when was that, young lady? Do you remember?” Victor stares at me with kindness and curiosity, shedding the scariness from before as we come to the plush sitting room. Rich men and their fancy rooms. I’m sure he has a spotless bar around here somewhere too. It’s not a bad thing, but not only are men selfish, but they’re creatures of habit too.
“I was only a girl. Probably six years or around there, I cannot be sure. I can’t remember it all; it’s a bit fuzzy.”
Beau sucks in a quick breath, letting it back out through his clenched teeth, his hands clamped in tight fists. I don’t know why he’d be upset about it, though. I can’t remember, that should be a good thing, I think?
“They had you for that long? The Master or whatever the fuck his name is?” Ah, I understand his anger. If he only knew just how many children get taken, it’s much more than he’d expect.
“The Master, again?” Victor grumbles, familiar with the name.
Beau nods shortly.
“My dear, you don’t mean Don Franchetti, do you? There are rumors that’s what his girls call him. Forgive me; it’s been a while since I’ve been around any of them.”
“I’m sorry, I do not know his name. We were told to call him Master and Mr. Capelloni, except in public. Then Mr. Capelloni is just Yema. They like to be casual at the auctions and formal when away from everyone.”
“I see.” Victor sighs, pouring himself a glass of something clear. Beau tugs me lightly to sit on the sofa next to him. It’s fancy with pretty grey material trimmed with wood along the bottom. “I got a call this morning, Beau; Viktor will be here either this evening or tomorrow.”
“He’s coming here?”
“Yes, he wants to meet Sasha and discuss your plan to move forward with the others.”
“Okay. I’m just surprised to hear he’s okay with coming here and doesn’t want me to go to him.”
He sighs again, clearly feeling every bit of his age. “I told him he was welcome, but to leave Tatkiv at home. I’m not in the mood to deal with my brother’s wild child. Viktor is always welcome; I’ll stay away if you two wish when you speak about business.”
“Tatkiv?” I turn to Beau.
He nods. “It’s my cousin Tate. Tate is short for Tatkiv. He has like three or four different names he answers to. His father did that when he was younger so fewer people would know who he is. Figured it’d keep him safer that way being so close to the organization.”
“Oh. Like the Master?”
“Yes, we know he has another name, but not his real name. It makes it harder for us to find out who he really is. And Viktor is Tate’s brother, they’re both my cousins.”
“That makes sense. Will you ever tell me your real name? The one you were born with?”
“Maybe someday.” His mouth tilts down a touch, obviously not too fond of it. He’s lucky, though at least he knows his real name. I’m still confused if Sasha is mine from my mother or the Master. I should know it, but after so long, it’s hard to remember. I learn to answer to whatever they call me, and most of the time it was just girl.
“Is Mr. O’Kassidy leaving today?” his father asks, breaking Beau’s intense stare on me.
“Yeah, he has to get back to his business, you know how it is.”
“Will you have protection at the next event then, without him here?”
“Yeah, Finn said he’ll come with me next time too, or else I have the men Viktor sent with me. I’ll be fine.”
“Good. It makes me proud to see you close with your cousins, working with them. Be sure to let Susan know when you’re ready for lunch and she’ll take care of you. I’m going to make a call to the doctor now that Sasha is up and moving around. We want her on the quickest road to recovery.”
“Spaseeba,” he replies, and Victor leaves the room, foregoing his glass tumbler. I love hearing them speak Russian, even if it’s just random bits. It reminds me of being home.
“They speak Italian so we can’t understand them,” I say out of the blue, remembering a small detail and thinking it might be helpful.
“You’re certain it’s Italian?”
“Yes, when I was a child, the Master would let me ask questions sometimes and one thing I asked was what language they spoke. It didn’t seem familiar to me. The Master told me it was Italian so I couldn’t understand them. He spoke to us in English. We all learned English because he said most men that would buy us would come from America or else speak English. The men I saw were from everywhere though. I think they told us that so we would never know what they were talking about.”
“That makes sense. There are plenty of times we’ll speak Russian too, so others don’t understand us as well.”
“It reminds me of home; I enjoy hearing you.”
“Yeah? Are you really Russian? That wasn’t something Yema threw up there for the show?”
“No. I am Russian. It’s one of the few things I’m sure of.”
“If you give me your mother’s name, I can see if I can locate her for you.”
Beau offering to find her for me is the nicest thing anyone has ever done. Not giving me food or medicine or clothes or even sleep. To know he’s kind enough to find my mother only makes me want to belong to him even more. I wish I still had a mother alive to find, but I know she’s gone. I’d still feel her warmth if her heart was beating.
“You are the sweetest, Beau.” I smile and lean over, kissing his cheek. He pulled away from my kiss earlier, but I can’t stop myself from kissing him in some way. Is it wrong that I want to touch him? I don’t usually care for it, but his tenderness has me wanting to be close to him. How can you not want to express gratitude to someone like him?
“You have to stop doing that, Sasha,” he scolds softly, as if he wants it to happen but has to say these things.
“Why?” My muscles grow stiff. He’s kind yet won’t let me touch him. He’ll hold my hand, but won’t let me kiss him. He lets me talk freely and ask questions, yet he holds back. I know I shouldn’t expect anything from him, but men like to touch me. Why doesn’t he? Why is he so confusing?
“Because I already told you we can’t do this.” His head shakes, and it causes my chest to clench tightly.
“No, I can’t do this!” I respond in a sad huff, tears pooling in my eyes. He’s already seen me cry. I don’t want to be weak in front of him anymore. He allows me to speak to him however I wish, and it’s strange, but refreshing, not bottling my frustrations up completely like I’m used to. Standing, I turn away. “I’m tired.”
It’s a lie. I can’t handle him pushing me away anymore right now. The denial, the detachment, hurts too badly coming from someone like him.
“I’ll walk you to your room so you can rest.”
Ever the gentleman, he makes it even worse by offering.
“Thank you, but I don’t want to push you any further. I can find my way,” I reply stubbornly and leave out of the sitting room as quickly as I can. It’s not very fast with my sore thigh and tired body, but I do the best I can to appear strong in front of him. I can cry in the room I’m staying in without him seeing me confused and upset. He’s seen me weak enough already.
I was nearly asleep when my bed covers shift, the mattress dipping under pressure from a petite body sliding into the bed with me. It has my muscles wound tight, as people aren’t normally able to sneak up on me so easily. I must’ve been leaning more toward being asleep than I’d thought for me not to hear the door open or click as it closed. That’s not good. I have to stop letting myself get too tired to stay alert, even in sleep.
“What are you doing?” My voice is loud and gruff out into the silent night.
“I wanted to lay with you.” Her voice is soft…meek and has my groin tightening with lustful thoughts.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Please let me stay; I won’t bother you. My room is much bigger than the space I’m used to. I’ve never been alone so much before.”
Christ and she begs me; it’ll cripple a man’s resolve quick.
Fuck. I didn’t even think of that; I assumed she’d want as much privacy as possible. It turns out I was wrong—again.
“Okay,” I reply absently, acutely aware of her presence in my bed, merely a foot away from me. She’s making it harder and harder to keep up with my resolve. I could so easily touch her right now, and in the middle of the night when I’m full of sleepiness, it has my defenses down even more. I can’t hold myself back from her heat if she comes at me. I’m afraid I’ll be too harsh or else give in completely.
“Are you all right?” I ask after a moment of tense silence. I feel like I could cut the tension with a knife, she has my body so wound up.
“Yes, Beau; I like it better in here.”
I hold back the groan of hearing my name leave her lips. I’m a fucking dog for thinking of her this way. “Good. Night, Sasha.”
“Goodnight, Beau.” She yawns and snuggles into my side.
It’s going to be the longest night of my life, keeping myself from touching her like I dreamt about since I first laid eyes on her.
It becomes our nightly routine for three straight weeks until I’m called back into work and am forced to fly back home to California. The funny thing is, when I got there, I realize that I hadn’t missed it like I normally do when I’m away. It was nice to drive my Jeep, but the apartment was just that. It didn’t feel like home. The East is beginning to call to me more and more. My family, the humidity…ahh, hell, the girl…
I put in for leave and lie to my chief about my father being sick and needing to stay in Tennessee longer. He doesn’t hesitate to approve it because he trusts me. He knows I wouldn’t normally ask unless it was important. More lying and now to my boss, a man I respect. When did my life become this, where I’d rather be on this side of the fence than the other?
Two more weeks of getting time with her and two more weeks to try and stop this sex trafficking that’s so widely accepted by the various crime families. If only time were in my favor.