Chapter Seventeen
Misha
I’m nervous as hell as I walk into the hotel, even more so than when I walked in with the most off limits girl on the planet. I don’t know if he’s still here. I don’t know if he’ll help me. All I know is that I need him, and I’ll do whatever he asks.
I approach the desk and give the girl behind it my flirtiest grin and say, “Hi there, honey.”
She looks up from the computer monitor, and her eyes grow wide. I’d say I was the best looking guy she’s seen in a while, if I didn’t know Dimitri Federov was staying at the hotel. Or maybe he’s gone and she didn’t see him.
“I’d like Mr. Federov’s room number, please.” I give her a little wink. I don’t even know what she looks like, and she’s standing right in front of me. I’m looking at her, and all I see is blue gray eyes, tons and tons of glossy brown hair, and full pouty lips.
“I really shouldn’t,” she mutters, but there’s a giggle in her voice.
“I won’t tell, I promise.” My face is going to crack if I have to keep this fake smile pinned to it much longer.
“Federov, he’s in the penthouse,” she says.
“Thank you.” I wink again.
“Can I get your…”
I’m already walking away, toward the elevator. It’s the elevator where I kissed Chi. I should stop by the room where we made love. I should buy the room, and keep it as a shrine to her. To us. To love.
The elevator dings, and the automated voice says, “Penthouse suite.”
And when the doors part, I see two men with guns standing in the hallway, and two more men standing by the door. They’re obviously Russian. One of them even speaks to me in the language.
I just shake my head. I kinda regret not learning, especially when I see the arrogant look flash in the other guy’s eyes. I walk toward him, and stand at least eight inches taller than him. Now try to act like you’re better than me, motherfucker.
I tip my head down to look into his eyes, and introduce myself. “I’m Mikhail Ivanovich. You might have heard of me.”
The confident expression completely evaporates. That’s when I see the flicker of fear in his eyes. He quickly tries to cover it, but I already know he’s almost ready to piss himself. Just the mention of my name does that, even to gangsters.
“I’d like to see Dimitri. Can one of you let him know I’m here?” I don’t raise my voice. I don’t change my tone. I don’t have to.
“Yes, right away Mr. Ivanovich,” the guy I’m currently dwarfing answers, before he heads toward the door and knocks. Another guy with a gun answers, and they chat for several seconds in Russian.
The door closes, and the guy stands just outside it and waits. I’m assuming he doesn’t want to join me again. That doesn’t matter, I know it’s because he’s intimidated.
I don’t wait long before Dimitri himself opens the door and calls out to me, “Come in, Misha. Don’t stand out here scaring my men.” I chuckle and walk toward him, before I grab him in a hug. He slaps my shoulder and complains, “You make me feel like a kid. Stop growing for fuck’s sake!”
“I stopped growing ten years ago,” I reply. And I don’t know why he even mentions it, he’s only three inches shorter than me.
“Did I see you here on Thursday? Weren’t you with a girl? A hot girl, if I’m remembering correctly.” He smiles at me and motions for me to sit on a leather couch. I don’t remember room fourteen twenty being this nice. I guess that’s the difference between being the crown prince and the family flunky.
“Yea, that’s why I’m here. The girl.” One of his men brings me a glass of vodka, and I take it thankfully. I need this, maybe more than I’ve ever needed a drink before. I slam it back, and breathe in through my clenched teeth. “Smooth.”
Dimitri examines me bemused, and I do the same to him. He wears tailored three piece suits, without the jacket of course because he’s in a hotel room. He wears expensive Italian shoes, and gets two hundred dollar haircuts. I mean sure I could probably look like that if I wanted to spend that kind of money.
“Why don’t you go to Ivan or Anatoli?” It’s a fair question, but not one I wanted to hear. Ivan is married to Dimitri’s sister, as a way to unite the families. It’s worked out well, mostly, but there are still minor issues of two families doing this kind of business so close to each other.
“I need to ask a favor of you, Dimitri, as the heir to the head of the Federov family. And I would be in your debt.”
He responds wordlessly to my offer, his blue eyes glitter and a smile creeps over his face. “This sounds very serious, Misha. Tell me your problem.” He leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees and his big hands pressing together. I think Ivan said that Dimitri was an impressive hockey player in college. He looks like he could shred offenses with one punch.
I take a deep breath, look him right in his eyes, and tell him, “I need you to kidnap Guilia Rossi.”
He stares at me for several moments, then breaks out in laughter. My expression doesn’t change. He notices, and shakes his head. “I’m not kidnapping Guilia Rossi. She’s Nicola’s daughter, right? Isn’t she marrying Frankie Moretti?”
“No,” I start, but he interrupts me.
“No, wait, his fiancée has a really strange name, even for the Italians. It’s something like Cliana, or Clarita…”
“Chiara,” I provide.
“Chiara,” he repeats. He blinks several times, and then nods. “You’re fucking Chiara Rossi?”
Why does everyone have to make a new relationship sound tawdry? “We’re not fucking, we’re…” What are we? She’s insisting on marrying my enemy. I’m insisting on having her at all costs.
“In love?” Dimitri counters, obviously doubtful.
“I would do anything, promise anything, kill anyone, for the chance to find out if she could even possibly love someone like me.” I admit. “I’m not ashamed. Chiara is worth it.”
He laughs at that. Dimitri is older, more experienced in these things, and definitely more jaded. His own wife left him soon after her father died. Apparently their marriage was arranged as well. Apparently that’s a thing in the mob. First sons marry women they don’t love, and last sons are ignored, or worse.
“Is this what happens when a person falls in love? Is this how they act?” He scoffs, and shakes his head. “You’re acting even more reckless than usual, and that’s not a good thing. With the way the cops are cracking down on the business, no one wants a war right now. Calm down, take a few days to reexamine, and then we’ll discuss how you can get your girl.”
He’s right. I am being even more impulsive than normal. Maybe I should leave her alone for a few days. Maybe I’ll be able to think straight. But I doubt it.
“How long are you staying in the city?” I ask, as I stand to leave.
“I’ll be here until Tuesday. Maybe I’ll see you Monday, and we can chat about your options?” he offers, and extends his hand to me.
I take it and shake it, while smiling at him. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll take your advice and leave her alone until then.”
He pats my shoulder, then leads me to the door. “I’ll see you Monday.”
As I leave, I give the asshole the side eye. He avoids my eyes. Probably best. I’m in the mood for a fight. Anyone will do.