MILENA
“I’m so glad we could do this, Milena.”
I feel the exact opposite, motherfucker.
Still, I smile—not a genuine one, but a degree or two north of an utterly fake one—at Leo across the small bar table.
Obviously, this was not my idea. But Uncle Levka ambushed me when my head was still in the clouds after coming back from seeing Nero. He even had my father unwittingly in on the ambush too.
Apparently, both Leo and his father Vladimir reached out to Levka once again, trying to impress upon him the benefits of a deal between our families. My uncle felt that it was worth it to at least play ball with the Debolskys, even just to see how we might benefit from Vladimir Debolsky’s newfound power given his seat on the Russian Aviation Council.
Papa—horrifically—agreed.
Of course, he was quick to take me aside and assure me, repeatedly, that in no way shape or form did he want me to even entertain the idea of marrying Leo; that I was not being “married off for politics”; and that he just felt I might be the best member of our family to feel out via Leo what any such deal might look like.
So that’s why I’m here at a swanky midtown bar, having drinks with the guy.
Well, I’m having a drink—a real one, that is. But just the one. No way am I getting drunk around Leo after that mess in the Hamptons. I don’t care if he’s sober now.
Leo, meanwhile, is on his fourth virgin Arnold Palmer, sucking down the lemonade/iced tea combo like he needs it to survive.
Maybe sugar is his new alcohol.
“I’m always happy to talk business as it relates to my family,” I say with another half-smile. “I hear your father is really making waves on the Aviation Council.”
Leo giggles—legit giggles—as he drains his fourth glass and flamboyantly signals the waitress for a fifth. Then he turns back to me, face flushed as his eyes lock with mine.
“Yes, it’s very exciting. My father’s worked hard to establish our network both here and back in Moscow. And with this new position?” He whistles loudly. “Fucking hell, it’s a license to print money.”
I smile a bit more genuinely this time. “That’s…incredible. Congratulations, Leo. That’s really—”
“You could be a part of it,” he grins, leering at me across the table.
I shrug my shoulders. “We could…talk about it.”
Leo’s eyes widen. “Wait, seriously?”
“About a deal between our families,” I say, raising my palms. “Look, Leo, nothing personal, but—”
I’m cut off when the cocktail waitress brings over Leo’s Arnold Palmer. He grins, looking right at me as he sucks down half of it in one pull.
“You were saying, beautiful?”
Fucking hell.
I smile tightly. “What I was saying, Leo, is that I’d love to—”
“I knew you’d come around.”
The fake smile is starting to make my cheeks hurt.
“If you want to discuss a business arrangement between our families,” I say carefully, “I can tell you openly that my father is quite interested in the idea. With his US connections, and your father’s ability to move anything you want from Russia to anywhere in the world, that could be a seriously powerful alliance.”
Leo nods, looking at me…specifically, my chest…like he’s not listening to me, but imagining what’s underneath my clothes.
It’s creeping me out.
“Leo.”
His eyes are glassy as they snap to mine. “Yes, Milena?”
“We were…” I clear my throat. “Talking about a potential business relationship between our families.”
He sighs, waving a hand around. “Right, right. But how about…”
He gulps down the rest of his drink, slams the glass down a little too hard, then rests his elbows on the table as he leans across it toward me.
“How about we talk about us, Milena?”
What the fuck.
He doesn’t say “Milena”. It’s more like a slurred Mlil-ayy-nah, with an extra “L” in there somewhere.
I frown as I peer at his glassy eyes and flushed face. At the unfocused way he’s leering at me. The slurred words. The slumped posture.
My eyes drop to the empty glass of ice and lemon twists in front of him: the virgin Arnold Palmer.
“Virgin.”
Shit.
Leo is drunk.
I smile at him. “Hold that thought. I’m just going to the ladies’ room.”
“Need a hand?” he leers at me.
“Pretty sure I’m all set,” I say crisply as I stand and march to the back of the bar.
I find the waitress by the service bar, loading up a tray with cocktails.
“Hey, my friend over there…” I nod toward the puddle of Leo. “Those are virgin Arnold Palmers, right?”
Her look says it all as she shakes her head. “No, I’ve just been bringing what he ordered at the bar before you joined him. Vodka, lemonade, splash of iced tea.”
Motherfucker.
“Is there a problem?”
Not at all, because I’m leaving.
“All good,” I smile at her. “Can I settle up my part of the tab, though?”
“Of course, hon.”
After I pay, I head back to the table. I should just leave, but even if Leo’s secretly getting shitfaced, and is not sober these days after all, I’m still representing the Kalishnik family. And I did come here on business.
The bar is more crowded now, with a mob of finance-bros in identical suits and four-hundred-dollar haircuts drinking shitty beer and jostling each other near our table.
Leo grins at me when I slide back into my seat.
“Theeere she is.”
“Yep, here I am,” I reply dryly. “Look, Leo, I actually need to take off—”
“Awww, what?” he groans loudly. “You just got here!”
“I know,” I smile politely. “But, you know, time flies!”
Or…whatever.
“So, yes, we should definitely talk again about maybe working something out between my father and yours—”
I jolt as a hand lands heavily on my knee.
Leo’s, under the table.
My smile drops like a stone as I shake his hand off.
“Don’t do that.”
“You know,” he grins, “I always thought we could have had so much fun in the Hamptons that time.”
I start to stand. Instantly, his hand grips my knee again.
He’s a lot stronger than you’d think to look at him. And he’s grabbing me right on a pretty fresh bruise from the other night, courtesy of Nero. So when he touches me I wince, and my leg gives out.
I drop back into the seat, gasping as his hand runs up my leg under my skirt.
“LEO, STOP!” I yell.
But the bar’s loud, and there’s a wall of finance bros with their backs to us.
I kick my leg, but the hand stays where it is.
“Leo!” I scream. “Take your fucking hand off—”
“Or what.”
One second, he’s gripping my thigh, sending chills up my spine. The next, his hand is shoving all the way up my skirt.
Bile rises in my throat as his sweaty hand cups my vagina through my panties. His fingers claw and tug, trying to wriggle under the lace to get at my sex.
And that’s when I grab the table between us with both hands and send it crashing to the floor.
It actually gets the attention of the finance bros, who whirl as my vodka soda, ice, and shattered glassware all go skittering over their polished shoes.
“Dude, what the fuck!” one guy roars, whirling on Leo.
I seize my opportunity. As Leo turns to the guy, I shove his hand away, lurch to my feet, and bolt into the crowd.
My pulse is on fire. My body is trembling. A horrified, nauseous feeling curdles in my stomach as I shove my way through the bar patrons and go stumbling out the door—
Right into waiting hands.
I scream and thrash, clawing and gasping before they grab tighter, shaking me.
“Milena!”
I blink, my breath catching sharply as my eyes focus.
Nero.
His face is dark and lined as he frowns down at me, his eyes searching mine.
“Wh-wh—what are you doing here?!” I blurt.
“What happened,” he growls.
The sick sensation is still roiling inside me. And before I know it, I’m hurling myself into his chest and clinging to him like my life depended on it.
The tears come hot and fast as I press my face to his chest and scream into his shirt. His strong arms surround me, holding me tight, quietly stroking my hair.
“Leo,” I finally choke out, pulling back to look up at him with a tear-stained face. “Fucking Leo Debolsky happened.” I’m shaking as I look at him with pleading eyes. “I didn’t want to come. I thought it would be a business thing, and—”
“What happened,” he growls again.
Not “Why are you out with Leo”. Not “What the fuck”.
What happened.
Tell me what you need.
“He’s shitfaced,” I blurt. “We were talking business, and I thought he was drinking virgin drinks, because apparently he’s sober these days. Except—”
“He’s not,” Nero finishes.
I shake my head as my face falls. Nero cups my face gently.
“He touched me,” I choke out. “Nero, he fucking shoved his hand under…under…”
I break again, tears flooding my face as he wraps me in his arms and pulls me into his chest. We stay like that for I don’t know how long, him holding me, me crying against him.
Finally, I pull back and look up at him. A shiver ripples through me when I see the venomous look on his face.
“Get in the car, princess,” he says quietly. I turn, blushing when I realize that we’re not alone. A tall, built, good-looking guy with dark hair and a great suit is standing next to a sleek black Escalade, holding the back door open.
“What?”
“This is Dominic,” Nero murmurs. “He’s going to take you to my house.”
I nod, dazed, forcing an awkward smile at Dominic as he and Nero shepherd me into the back seat. Then I turn, and frown when I see Nero isn’t coming too.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He steps close, reaching to cup my face.
“To fix something.”
Then he leans in, and before I know it, he’s kissing me.
Not the vicious, feral kisses we usually engage in.
This one is…normal.
Soft.
Comforting.
It leaves me tingling as he pulls away. He turns to Dominic and nods quickly.
“Take her to the house. Keep her safe. I’ll be home soon.”
