Chapter Two - Fedor
Fedor Volkov swirled the glass of Scotch in his hands. It was only midday, but he was on vacation now, so he allowed himself the treat. Back in Chicago, he didn’t take his first drink before all the day’s work was done, not before midnight. He needed to be thinking straight at all times.
He definitely needed this break. Puerto Rico was good for him. His mansion was isolated, well-guarded and he never invited any of his friends or associates along. A few weeks at his getaway meant just that: a getaway. In complete isolation. It gave him somewhere to think, to actually think.
But Will Stern might have spoilt it all. He had called on his direct line the previous night, sounding crazed, afraid. If Will sounded afraid, it had to be something big. He nearly begged Fedor to hide his daughter, to give her protection till he could sort out this gang war. Fedor couldn’t say no, he couldn’t say no to one of his closest friends. Will and he had both risen through the ranks together. Will was an outsider, he wasn’t Russian, but he had the guts to play with the big boys. They always had each other's backs, and this poor girl didn’t even have a mother anymore. He couldn’t possibly say no.
“Boss, she’s here,” he heard Pyotr’s voice say in Russian behind him.
“Bring her in,” Fedor replied and folded one leg over the other, sinking a little further into his leather chair.
He heard the clicking of heels on the marble floor outside, and he immediately had an impression of Will’s daughter. She definitely walked with a lot of confidence. He hadn’t met her since her mother’s funeral. She was only twelve then. She was twenty-three now, practically a grown woman.
Pyotr opened the large oak doors of his study and Fedor looked up from the glass in his hand. When she walked in, she brought with her a sharp all-encompassing scent of her perfume. It was unmistakably musk, but a gentle feminine musk that tickled his nostrils.
Whatever image of a twelve-year-old little girl he had in his head went hurling out of the window. Sylvia Stern was a woman now and what an absolutely gorgeous one she was, at that.
She walked directly towards him, with her back straight and taking large quick steps in her high heels. She didn’t need Pyotr to make introductions or show her the way.
Her skin was dark, shining in the natural tropical light streaming through the windows of the room. Her hair was just like her father’s, tight dark curls and she kept it open like a halo around her head. Her eyes were a dark chocolate brown. Her lips were thick and luscious and she had painted them in a rich plum red. She wasn’t dressed like a regular twenty-three-year-old either. She was in a slim pencil skirt with a white silk blouse tucked in. This girl had style.
Fedor stood up out of courtesy, but she didn’t seem pleased.
“I’m Sylvia Stern. My father sent me here to be your captive.” She stuck out her hand towards him, taking him by absolute surprise. Fedor stared at her, and then at her hand, his mouth hung open a little. He was expecting a spoilt brat maybe, or a meek little girl, someone more like her mother, her late mother who was afraid of her husband’s job. Fedor had met Cassandra a few times since he started working with Will, and he had always felt sorry for her.
But their daughter was nothing like either of them, and he wasn’t expecting this.
“My captive? Is that how you look at it?” Fedor shook her hand, clasping her small hand in his and giving it a rough quick shake. He was about to offer her a seat, but Sylvia sat down across from him on the empty leather chair without his invitation.
“What else is it? He forced me to pack my bags and then sent me here with guards. It wasn’t my choice, which means I’m a captive.” Sylvia crossed her long slender legs. Fedor allowed himself to look for a moment and then he immediately looked away. This was inappropriate, she was his friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be staring at her perfect body, but he couldn’t help it.
“He’s sent you here for your own good, for your own protection. Such is the nature of his job,” Fedor said slowly, and then took a long sip of his drink. He noticed the way her eyes sparkled as he spoke, how her chest rose and fell. It was obvious that she was trying very hard to contain her anger. She looked like she wanted to slap his face or throw his glass against the wall and shatter it to pieces.
“I’ve wanted to be left out of his job, out of his world. I’m an adult now, I should be allowed to choose,” Sylvia said, in a more composed tone of voice. Fedor smiled and licked his lips before speaking again. She was watching him too, just as he was watching her closely.
“You can’t just be left out. You’re his daughter. All his enemies know what you mean to him. They’ll hurt you the first opportunity they get.” Fedor swirled his Scotch around in his glass again and noticed the way her eyes were drawn to it. There was defiance in her eyes, she was still angry.
“Is this how you treat your daughter as well? Is this why you’re on his side?” she asked and Fedor couldn’t help but laugh.
“I don’t have a family. No liabilities. That has been my number one rule,” he said, and laughed some more. Try as she might, Sylvia Stern was still a young naive little girl.