Chapter Twenty-four
Chiara
It feels strange, riding on the back of Misha’s motorcycle toward my house. But instead of driving to the front of my house, we drive to the alley in the back. I guess he’s not as confident about our plan as he wants me to believe he is.
“Grab what you can carry,” he urges, after I remove my helmet. I gaze at my house, and wonder what in the hell I’m going to take. How can a person gather just what they can carry from a lifetime of possessions? I’m still staring, I guess, as Misha climbs off the bike and takes my hand. “Come on, babe. We don’t have long.”
I turn to the hot, tall Russian, and all I can think is: I don’t want to go.
I don’t want to pack a bag and leave everything else. I don’t want to leave my grandparents, my parents, and my siblings.
“We need to go, Chi. We can’t stay here.” He’s calm as he says it, but I hear the edge in his voice. I turn my attention to him, and see the most beautiful, sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life. He makes my knees weak just gazing at him. I want him, but I can’t leave my home.
“No. I’m not leaving.” I shake my head, and begin to climb off the bike.
“Stay on the bike. If you won’t pack, we’ll leave without your things.” I quickly slither off the bike, and stand to face him.
I’m about a foot shorter, but that doesn’t stop me from staring him down. “I’m not running away. I’m not leaving my house. I’m staying.”
“You’re insane! Get back on the damn bike!” His blue eyes are hard as ice. His voice is barely contained anger. And his back is as straight and rigid as an iron rod.
I’m still not getting on the bike. I’m not afraid of him. I know he won’t hurt me. “No,” I reply curtly as I move toward my back door.
He grabs my shoulders, and tries to pull me backward, but I duck and evade him somehow, and run toward my house as if it will protect me and keep me safe.
I still refuse to look at him. I’m finally at my door, and as I try to unlock it, he grabs my hand and turns me to face him. “Stop Chiara. Frankie Moretti will find you, and he will hurt you. He showed you one side of him, the side he wanted you to see. But he’s a mobster, Chiara. Make no mistake. He’s not a nice guy.”
I already know all of this. It’s the reason I couldn’t allow myself to fall for Frankie. But I don’t miss the irony, with the lecture coming from Misha.
“Not like you, huh? I’m sure the sweet, innocent Bloody Ivanovich is just a little misunderstood, am I right?” I pull my wrist out of his hand, and continue to unlock the door. When it’s open, I don’t hear the beeps of the alarm system. Did I forget to set it when I left earlier?
“We can argue about this when you’re safe, when we’re both safe.” He stops me at the door, and pulls a gun out of the waistband of black pants.
“I…” I begin, but he stops me.
He quickly covers my mouth with his hand. Then, he brings one finger to cover his lips, to shush me, before he puts up his hand as if to tell me to stay here. He puts the gun up, takes one big step to the side, and stares into my dining room. Then he stands as still as a statue, as if listening intently.
I do the same thing, but I don’t hear anything. It’s like he’s not even breathing.
He takes several silent steps into the hallway, past the rear steps. I can’t believe how quietly he moves for such a big man. He turns toward me, and makes a come-hither motion with his hand. I try to close the door as silently as possible, but I hear it squeak. He flashes a dirty look at me, and I roll my eyes in response.
He takes several more steps, and stands in the doorway of my sitting room. After looking inside, he shakes his head and puts his gun away. “What the hell are you doing here, Dimitri?”
“Really?” I murmur under my breath, and walk to stand beside Misha.
“You were taking too long. I was worried,” Dimitri answers.
When I look into the room, I almost don’t recognize the speaker. His dark hair is slicked back away from his handsome face, and gone are the tailored suits he normally wears. He’s wearing black pants and a black long sleeve shirt, dressed almost like Misha, with a gun holster around his huge shoulders, and a pistol on each of his slender hips.
“Your sister is safe, Chiara. She’s with two of my most trusted soldiers, and their wives will meet them as soon as they travel across the state line.” He says it almost nonchalantly as he glances out the window.
“Wait… What?” I exclaim. “We’d decided you weren’t kidnapping my sister.”
“I agreed with that, until the Moretti family attacked your parents’ home. Your sister needs to be protected, from your father and your fiancé’s brother.” He waves to someone outside the house, then turns back to me. “Pack, now, and you can follow your sister. You will both be safe at my hotel.”
“And what about…” I begin.
Misha interrupts me. “I’ll be here, until the Morettis are dead, or they accept that you are now mine and under the protection of the Ivanovich family and the Federov family.”
“I’ll go with Guilia,” I immediately reply, without even thinking about it.
Misha gives me a very dirty look, but doesn’t say what he’s thinking. He doesn’t need to. I know that I have to be with my sister, to protect her.
There’s a knock on my door. Dimitri moves to answer it. Hello, this is still my house! But apparently the Russians in my house don’t seem to understand that, for some reason.
“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Dimitri asks. I nod slightly. “You’ll be transported to New Jersey with one of my men. You’ll meet up with Guilia there. You’ll both be taken care of.” He motions for the man dressed in black to come inside. I see three black SUVs sitting in front of my house. “Pack a few things, now. You’ll leave soon.”
I nod without argument, and make my way up my steps toward my bedroom. Misha follows.
*****
“So you’ll leave to keep your sister safe, but not yourself?” he asks, as soon as the door to my bedroom is closed.
“Basically, yes,” I reply, as I pull a duffle bag out of my closet, and begin stuffing clothes into it.
Misha’s big hands grab my shoulders, and pull me against his body. I take a deep breath, and try not to melt. His scent, his strength, and his amazing physique all work together to seduce me, even when he’s not really trying.
He chuckles deep in his chest when he feels my shoulders shiver. “You’re going to make me insane, treasure,” he says, before he kisses my neck.
I turn quickly, and stare into his beautiful face. I hope it’s not the last time. Finally, I ask the question that I’ve been dying to know the answer to, but just never asked. “How old are you?”
He scoffs, before muttering, “What?” Then he shrugs his shoulders, and releases me.
“Please tell me, Misha.” He steps away, and opens my underwear drawer. The fact that he even knows which one it is should creep me out. He pulls several sets of panties and bras out of it. “Misha, I have to know. You look so young sometimes, and other times you seem wise beyond your years. Tell me.”
He places my underwear on the bed, then moves toward my closet. “I’m turning thirty soon,” he almost whispers, as he’s facing away from me. He returns with several pairs of pants, and tops that I wear to teach in. He’s picked out some of my most conservative outfits, damn him, as if he knew exactly where to find them.
So he’s been killing since he was fifteen. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. I am shaken to the core for this man, who was as old as some of my students when he became a soldier for his family. His father fucked him up so much worse than mine did me.
I wrap my arms around his waist, and just hold him, until there’s a knock on the door.
He opens it, and we find the man who is to escort me out of the state on the other side. “There’s been movement at the Moretti headquarters. Ms. Rossi needs to leave now.”
“Of course,” Misha replies, and closes the door as I finish shoving the clothes in the bag. He kisses me, almost desperately, for several moments. Before I can deepen the kiss, or wrap my arms around him, he pulls away. “You need to go.”
As he opens the door, I have to ask, “What happens next?”
“If I don’t come for you, you’ll know I’m gone,” he replies, as he practically drags me out of the room.
“No. Come with me,” I insist. When he tries to nudge me forward, I try to grab hold of the banister. I’m not going without him. But he lifts me easily, and carries me down the steps kicking and screaming, “No! I’m not letting you die, Misha!”
After he’s tossed me into the back of a black SUV, he releases me and quickly closes the door. I try to open it, but apparently the driver turned on the child safety locks.
“I love you,” I hear him say, even though the car is in gear and pulling away. I turn to look out the back window, and watch as he waves at me. “I love you!” he calls out again.
At that moment I realize, I haven’t told him I love him. And now it might be too late. I throw myself onto the leather seat, and begin to cry.