Chapter Three - Sylvia
His laugh was loud and Sylvia felt like it shook the floor underneath her feet. She had been expecting a pot-bellied Russian mafia boss with thick signet rings on his fingers and greasy hair. This was not the man she had pictured in her head. Fedor Volkov. She couldn’t remember his face but she knew she had met him before. She knew that her father and he were as thick as thieves, but all his friends were all the same in her eyes - criminals. And she never wanted to have anything to do with any of them.
But Fedor Volkov had thrown her. When she entered the room he was sitting behind his desk, but when he stood up to shake her hand, she realized just how tall he was. At least six feet and five inches if not taller.
He had a thick dark beard that covered the lower half of his face and fell way past his chin. His hair was dark and thick too, but it was beginning to gray, just like her father’s. His eyes, on the other hand, were small, intensely blue like a clear icy blue Russian lake. His shoulders were broad, and his handshake was strong.
The most intriguing bit about him perhaps was his voice. He had a Russian accent, even though he spoke English fairly well but his voice was deep and soft and gentle. He sounded more like a voiceover for a documentary rather than a Russian mobster. It was hard to imagine him dishing out orders for murders.
Sylvia shifted in her seat while he looked at her, still laughing from her question about his nonexistent daughter.
“Laugh all you want, Mr. Volkov, I just want you to know that I’m staying here against my will,” she said, lifting her chin up at him. He stopped laughing, but he was smiling while he studied her with his icy blue eyes. Sylvia felt self-conscious under his gaze, she could feel goosebumps appear on her arms. This man was definitely sexy as hell. He might be her father’s age, but he was tall and handsome and rugged and sexy. Sylvia smiled, an idea instantly forming in her brain.
“I am only doing your father a favor. I promised him I’ll protect you till he thinks it’s safe for you to return to New York, and that is exactly what I’ll do. Your problems with your father are your own, not mine,” Fedor said softly in his Russian accent and Sylvia bit down on her lip.
“Of course,” she said sweetly and saw the look of surprise in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so quickly with what he was saying. He was expecting her to kick and scream some more. But he wasn’t aware of her change in plans, her decision to make her father regret his decision to send her here.
“I apologize for involving you in this, and I’m grateful for your hospitality,” Sylvia said, suddenly standing up. She pushed her breasts out towards him as she leaned over the desk, stretching out her hand towards him again.
She caught Fedor’s gaze travel down to her breasts, which she very blatantly dangled right in front of his eyes, then he stood up too, immediately towering over her.
The goosebumps on her flesh appeared again, and he shook her hand.
“You are very welcome here. I’ll make sure you feel right at home here and enjoy your vacation. My aid, Pyotr will always be at your disposal and feel free to ask for anything. Your father is a very good friend of mine. I owe him my life,” Fedor said, letting go of her hand.
“Just as I’m sure, he owes his life to you too,” Sylvia said, as politely and humbly as possible. Fedor breathed in and smiled, still taken aback by her sudden change in behavior.
She remained standing before him, looking up at him and smiling, while he pressed a button beside him.
Pyotr opened the door and walked in, addressing Fedor in Russian.
“Please show Ms. Stern to her room upstairs, and give her a tour of the estate,” Fedor spoke in English and then turned to Sylvia again, his blue eyes piercing through her skull. She gulped, no man before had this terrifying effect on her.
“Please do forgive Pyotr’s English. I hope you will find a way to easily communicate with each other,” he said and sat back down on his chair, a clear indication that their meeting was over. He seemed like the kind of man who wanted to be left alone, who wasn’t very fond of company.
Sylvia smiled, turned to Pyotr and stretched out her arm.
“Shall we? After you,” she said and watched as Pyotr turned his nervous, confused eyes to his Boss. Fedor laughed again, enjoying the confusion and the reversal of roles that Sylvia was causing. Clearly, no woman had ever shown Pyotr the way.
“Ok. This way. You come,” he said in a thick Russian accent that Sylvia found hard to follow.
He opened the door and she turned to throw one last look at Fedor before she left his presence. She smiled at him as he sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled, his glass of whiskey standing next to his elbow while he watched her, studying her with keen eyes. She could see that she was a mystery to him, that she had surprised him and also intrigued him.
That was exactly what she wanted. She needed him to be interested if her plan was going to work. He had already studied her body. Now he needed to be interested enough, weak enough to fall for her seduction.
That would be the greatest revenge she could cast upon her father, make him regret sending her here. His daughter seducing his best friend. What could possibly be worse than that?
Sylvia could hear her own heels clicking as she walked out of Fedor’s study and up the marble staircase towards her room.