*
DANIEL VOLKOV
On a lovely Friday evening, Grigor parked the Lincoln in front of Tomasso's estate.
Tucked in between rows of trimmed vineyards and a shimmering lake, was a two-story, ivy-covered house. A picture-perfect proof of Rossi living his best life.
Already, dozens of guests were arriving, handing the keys of their flashy cars to valets and accepting refreshments from the white-gloved waitstaff.
On the left, in front of a maze-looking rose garden was a courtyard. Workers were running to arrange floral centerpieces on round tables, adjusting small platforms in the middle of the dance floor with easels and spotlights for the art to be auctioned later.
Tomasso and Valentina were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they were inside, waiting to make a dramatic entrance.
My boots crunched beneath the gravel as I stepped out. The gang behind me. Their expressions as stiff as mine, including Clara's.
Of course. None of us wanted to be here.
But I still put on a poker face and my palm on Clara's low back, making our—
She pulled away hissing. "Get your hands off—"
"Shh." I smiled through gritted teeth. "We're supposed to like each other, remember?"
"Um, no. You're supposed to like me. Why would anyone believe I'd ever fall for you?"
Ouch. "Obviously because I'm rich, handsome, sexy, and you find me irresistible."
She snorted but failed to come up with a smart reply when I brushed my thumb lower, grazing her skin above the waistband of her skirt.
I leaned to whisper in her ear. "If you don't like my hands on you, then why are you blushing?"
"I'm having an allergic reaction."
I chuckled. Complete bullshit. I still remembered her breathless amusement when I massaged her feet. Or how she refused to let me train her and chose Niko instead. She was avoiding me, avoiding whatever fucked up sexual tension kept building between us.
Maybe she was the smart one. Because if I wasn't careful, then my plan was going to be the reason of my death. Tomasso wouldn't hesitate to use her against me.
We were escorted into the house, and it felt like wolves were hiding behind every corner, waiting to sink their teeth into me. I scanned left and right. Left and right. Over and over again. Monitoring every detail, every face, every potential threat.
Upstairs, our rooms awaited. Thankfully, Charlotte and the boys were directly across from us. Of course, Charlotte would sleep with Niko and Andrei. I wasn't going to risk her staying alone in my enemy's house.
The moment we walked through Clara's bedroom, she whirled to me with a pointed finger.
"Okay. Don't dare make fun of me. Everything is from my teenage—"
"Shh." I scanned for—
"Excuse me?"
"Shut up for a second—"
"Don't fucking—"
I covered her mouth with my hand and held the back of her neck with my other one to keep her still.
If looks could kill, I'd drop dead.
"Shut. Your. Mouth." I whispered. "Not another word."
Something in my expression must've gone through her, because she angrily obeyed. I stepped back and rolled my eyes at her silent attitude, then turned to do my job.
Glimpses of her private life asked for my attention, but I had to focus. Still. From the corners, I noticed. All the academic awards framed on her walls. The romantic books on the bookshelves. The melancholic drawings and words of wisdom to keep her company. No pictures of friends or family anywhere.
I brushed my hand over the back of the headrest, past the intricate woodwork, inch by inch.
Clara scowled. "What are you doing?"
I widened my eyes in warning and brought my finger to my lips. Shook my head when she blinked in surprise, before returning my gaze back to the furniture.
Nothing. I checked under the bed frame, behind the legs. Kneeled on the carpet and pressed my palms section by second until—
Right there.
I pulled out a small recording device.
Same size as the one I planted in Mexico, but only for audio.
Clara's face turned pale.
I moved to search the rest of her room. Found one more near the door, and the third one in the bathroom.
Tomasso was definitely paranoid. He wanted to eavesdrop, huh? Nice try.
Andrei texted the group chat, letting me know he cleared their room too.
I chuckled humorlessly, typing back to let him know the same.
Then said to Clara, "We should leave one of them on for tonight and pretend to fool around. It'll be a nice lesson to never—"
My words died in my throat when I saw Clara.
She was hyperventilating, or having a panic attack. Breathing too fast and not enough. Her wide eyes were darting between the cameras I put on the sheets, then all over the room, like she was afraid there were more left to find.
"I...I'm sorry...I didn't think—"
"It's okay—hey, Clara? I cleared it. There's no more. That's it."
Tears welled up. "I'm so fucking stupid—"
"No, you're not—"
"Why didn't I think of that—It didn't even cross my mind—"
"Hey—"
"I could've ruined everything—"
"I should've warned you—"
"No, I should've known better!"
"Look at me." I was getting anxious about her escalating panic. "Clara. Look at me."
She shook her head and tried to step back.
I grabbed her face in my hands and pulled her closer to me, lowering until her brown and tormented eyes were leveled with mine.
"Look at me. Now."
With a shaky breath and guilt, so much guilt, the same guilt that ripped her apart in Mexico, she looked at me. And it burned through my chest, demanded me to do something about it.
"I should've warned you. I'm sorry."
She looked so broken that I...God. She was bringing me to my knees again, making me want to open up, show her my own brokenness.
"I've spent the last six years of my life either being haunted by nightmares or staying awake and worrying about a thousand ways other people might hurt me. The fact that you didn't think to check for cameras has nothing to do with being smart. It only proves how I never feel safe."
Silence stretched between us as my words settled over her. She stared at me, absorbing my confession, my vulnerability.
"I would never want that for you," I murmured. My thumbs traced her cheeks. To soothe her, ground her. Or for selfish reasons. "I'm glad you didn't think about it. I hope you never do."
Then it hit me.
How close we were.
Our noses were almost touching. And our breaths, both hard, tangled. Hers was sweet and minty—and as her lips parted, her eyes drifted down to my mouth. As if she was also thinking the unthinkable. The forbidden. The reckless wish to break that last inch of distance, just to find out...what would happen—
Someone knocked, snapping us to reality.
I swallowed, forcing my gaze up into her eyes and my thoughts scrambled when I found the same fear and longing reflecting back at me.
"You okay?" I managed to ask.
She nodded, a bit dazed. "Yeah."
Another knock, polite but urgent.
I backed away. "What?"
A waitstaff opened and apologetically smiled. "Mrs Clara, I'm sorry. Your mom is waiting for you? She bought you a dress for the auction."
"Oh. Of course." She gave her a weak smile and to my shock, started moving.
I grabbed her wrist. "Excuse me?"
"I have to participate in the auction."
"Elaborate."
"Ugh, it's this stupid tradition. Don't worry, I've been doing it since I was thirteen." She brushed it off with a wave of her hand, as if I wasn't scowling. "At the end, when all the art is bought, I volunteer to have tea and cake with one of the guests. It's right here, in the house. For barely an hour. Totally safe. The whole point is to donate to my dad's foundation. It's like a silly way of showing off their 'biggest' art, their daughter."
"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever head."
She glanced at the waitstaff. "Yeah, well..."
"If you think I'm going to spend even five cents on a cause that has his name on it—"
"I never asked you to."
"Yeah, but—"
"I don't need your rescue." She pulled her wrist free from my hold and turned to leave.
"Don't do it. Don't you see? They're just using you."
"I know."
"Then why are you putting up with it?"
"I'll be right there, Jenny." She said gently to the waitstaff. When the women left, Clara gave me a cold look. "What's your problem? Is it because you want to act possessive over me in front of them? To prove your dominance or something? Show my dad who's in charge?"
"My problem is that you have no problem arguing with me like it's a full-time career, but you let your parents use you to make them look holy in front of everyone. I don't get it."
"And what makes you different? The only reason I'm in your life is because you wanted to use me."
"You already know the answer."
It was a weak reply. Because she was right. The only reason I married her was to stop her dad, to get revenge, to win. We both knew that.
"As justified as your intentions are, it doesn't take away the fact that you are using me," she said with a smile that hit a lot worse than a slap across the face ever could.
"Just don't do it. You're better than that."
"I know, I am." She snapped. "I don't need to prove it. Look, you spend most of your nights worrying if people will hurt you? Well, I've spent my life worrying if people give a crap about me. At some point, it doesn't hurt anymore. You just learn to adapt. So, if an hour of my life eating cake with someone I find unpleasant can help someone else in need? Guess what? I'm going to fucking do it. There are worse things in life. You know that better than anyone."
After she left, I wanted to drive my fist into a wall.
No way would I feed Tomasso's ego and let him laugh in my face. I wouldn't stoop that low. It was Clara's choice. Let her do what she wants. None of my fucking business.
Dinner was as dreadful as expected.
Each table had twelve available seats. But they didn't put anyone else at our table. Only us.
Like social outcasts. I could feel everyone's gossiping whisper and gaze. As if Tomasso wanted us to feel unwanted and hated.
Charlotte wondered where Clara was. I told her. Needless to say, she was also disturbed.
An hour passed. People ate different roasted meats and salads, drank an endless amount of alcohol. While a DJ entertained them, describing each art over the music. They yelled their price and competed, throwing thousands into the Rossi fund and making him look like a saint.
"And now, for our most special part of the evening, everyone..." The DJ announced into the microphone, causing dozens of heads to turn toward the stage. "Let's welcome the beautiful Clara Rossi on stage with a round of applause!"
Everyone cheered as two workers opened the front door of the house and allowed Clara in.
I almost spit my drink out when I saw what she was wearing.
She looked like a red cupcake.
It was a mini dress with ruffles and feathers, and she looked miserable in it.
I caught Marko's eyes from the table next to me lower over her tan legs in thin nude heels.
Clara accepted the DJ's hand for support and lifted on the platform, then lowered on the chair. She crossed her legs and forced herself to smile.
I tensed.
"...Whoever pays the most, has the pleasure and honor of spending a lovely time with their daughter, talking about how much she loves her parents and all the amazing things that they do."
"Fucking hell..." Charlotte muttered in Russian, looking down at her plate.
As the DJ started off with a thousand dollars and the number quickly began to climb, Tomasso and Valentina joined the party, and stood over Clara's shoulder like proud parents.
Don't care. Don't care. Don't care.
"Ten thousand!" Marko shouted with a laugh. "You deserve a million, my pretty girl!"
Don't take the bait.
Tomasso looked so fucking smug as he wrapped his arm around her and kissed Clara's cheek.
But Clara kept her gaze down with that strained smile. A knowing smile. Knowing that she was alone, and she would survive, no matter how much it sucked. Because how many times had she smiled like that around them? How many times did they pretend to not notice? How many times did they treat her like a trophy?
No. She didn't need my rescue. Of course, she didn't.
That woman was strong enough to stand in front of pointed firearms. Strong enough to trick the man who called himself her uncle. Strong enough to sell her dignity to help others.
Fuck anyone who made her feel bad.
Fuck me.
For making her believe that I didn't care.
"Fifteen!" I yelled.
Everyone looked at me. Charlotte, Niko and Andrei stunned. Clara too.
The DJ's eyebrows flew up. "Wow!" He looked at Tomasso. "Your son-in-law must be crazy about your daughter!"
Tomasso would end up using this against me. I already knew it. I showed him that he got under my skin. I showed him that I cared about her. I showed him another weakness.
He gave Marko a look, an order.
"Sixteen!" Marko barked.
"Twenty," I said.
"Twenty-three!"
"Thirty."
"Thirty-one!"
"Thirty-nine."
The audience laughed, thinking I was being a clingy husband. Just being jealous and possessive. But it was more than that.
"He's not letting you go." The DJ joked, smiling at Clara.
Clara pretended to find it all funny, but her eyes danced with confusion.
"Forty!" Marko said.
"Forty-five. Get your own wife!" I snapped with fake playfulness, causing others to crack up.
Tomasso's smile began to fade, venom and hatred showing his true mask.
I stared back calmly, pouring the same at him.
"Forty-five! Wow, that's a record." The DJ exclaimed. "Does anyone want to top that?"
"FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!" Charlotte stood up and screamed behind her cupped hands.
"Huh?" My head snapped towards her.
Clara yanked the microphone from the DJ and with a wide grin, yelled back at her. "SOLD!"
A/N
Girl powerrrrr <3
But also, yay for Volkov for growing and for his feelings towards Clara, right? <3