Page 50 of King’s Promise

“Don’t go there. I’m not going soft. I was tired and Paris, well, it’s my weakness.”

“Tell yourself what you like, my money says Anya is getting under your skin and into your head.”

“Get the fuck out,” I quip.

“Going,” he replies as he closes the door behind him.

I shower, hoping to rinse off her lavender scent. I can’t walk around smelling her and not get an erection. Damn, Pavel is right. She’s changing me one tiny detail at a time. A day off? Me? No one would believe it. A memory of her in Paris pops into my head. Her eyes were closed, and her head was tilted back while eating scrumptious delicacies at the restaurant. Clearly, she likes the finer things my money can buy. But is her heart warming to me?

Why does it matter?

It fucking matters. I noticed men checking her out as we walked through the dining room last night. Granted the earrings were stunning, but they pale against her beauty. She has no idea of the effect she has on men, and she’s not a bitch like most women in affluent circles. Most women in our wealthy circle have to have the best of everything, from the location and size of the house, the most expensive cars, loyal staff and near famous cooks.

They will talk sweetly to Anya’s face but have a dagger poised to stab her in the back. These hyenas circulate in the same social circles with us, and Anya will never see them coming with their digs filled with jealousy and talking behind her back about her outfit not being up to snuff even though nothing is wrong with it. I will need to run interference for her and have the few women I’ve befriended over the years watch over her. The jet-set life resembles Noah’s Ark because everyone has to be a couple, especially for women, It’s a double standard, but true in this case.

The only reason I have anything to do with these people is because their social circle provides me access to elected officials and investment partners. My family is constantly striving for legitimacy in the eyes of society, and the law. Perception is reality and I’m milking that teat for legitimacy.

As for Anya, I’ll vet her friends; she’ll never know about it as Pavel will do it behind the scenes. I, on the other hand, need to be in the know. I’ll always worry about her safety. It’s best to mitigate it by overseeing it myself but I don’t have time. Sure, Alex can do the everyday detail, but I’ll have his balls in a guillotine should something go wrong on his watch. I can’t risk anything happening to her. I’m falling in lust with her, because love is out of the question even if she’s held a special place in my heart since we were kids. I thought I could live without seeing her again. At times, I wished I hadn’t, but fate intervened putting us together again.

I buy what I want and have a garage on the estate filled with the most expensive sports cars. The only thing I deny myself is love. I can’t allow myself the luxury, or heartache when it’s no longer returned. I already broke a rule by letting her stay in my bed last night. It can’t happen again.

I dry off from the shower and dress professionally before I meet Pavel downstairs. The day is filled with contractors we need to refurbish old offices we will rent, and legitimate business associates for a new club we are opening later this summer.

I’ll be short on time and decide a short honeymoon will have to suffice. I want to be at sea so I can bend Anya over the bow of my yacht and fuck her. I’m sure the tabloids will take notice of us, and it’s the type of publicity which will get my name in front of the men I want to meet.

I wasn’t surprised when the pictures of her deceased father appeared online and on the side was a snapshot of us walking out of her flat the day we met again. The ‘mystery man’ they call me. Little do they know, they’ve spotted the new king of the Volkov Bratva.

I head to the kitchen, hoping Anya will be here to see me off. It’s an unspoken ritual we have, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. My heart beats faster and my blood pressure rises, as does my cock.

Pavel is slouched against the cupboards but straightens when he hears my shoes on the cold marble floors. He pours me a coffee.

“Pavel, any word on the reading of the Petrov will?” I take the mug of black coffee and bring it to my lips, wondering if Anya will appear before we leave.

“Yes, it will take place Monday, after the wedding. What’s up?”

“No matter, I’m curious, it’s not like us to be in the dark this long. Has Dmitry cracked into the files? I don’t want any surprises.”

“He might have news when he arrives. I know he was working on it. He’s traced facial recognition cameras from CCTV for Darci and all he’s discovered is her going to and from school and the grocery store. After the incident she was seen leaving her apartment, some seedy dump in the East end of London.”

“Mm. Yes, we move lots of drugs there. In fact, I’ll have to dispatch Dmitry to New York after the wedding to team up with our Bratva connections there. Dad was trying to broker a deal with the Italians to get more fentanyl into the city. From there we’ll move it west to Chicago, and east to the coast. The Cubans control the Miami ports. I don’t want to mess with cartels. I’d rather have someone else be the buffer.”

He nods, respecting my thought process. “Are you working with the Morettis?”

“Yes, it appears Dmitry has friends in New York and ties to the Morettis from boarding school, something about a beef in a bar during spring break at some snotty resort.” I chuckle, leave it to him or Roman to find trouble at any hour of the day or night. Dmitry isn’t one to back down if he feels he’s been played at poker or set up in a pool hall. I don’t know why wise guys push the envelope. It’s in their DNA, they can’t pass up a hustle. Russians tend to remain low key unless too much vodka is involved. Making detailed plans and executing them with laser-like precision is the key to staying under the radar. Get in, get out, and don’t blow it.

The Italians in America are more flagrant. The more I mull it over, I need boots on the ground. There’s no room for error. I’ll send one of my brothers to handle the deal to make sure the Italian’s don’t fuck it up. Three million pounds is our buy in, and that’s only our end of a deal. It would be a good haul to pick off if our enemies knew it was coming. One fucked shipment can put our neck in the noose. We have fences waiting on this delivery in numerous countries, and they aren’t the type of men I want to piss off.

Hazel busies herself at the gas stove and the comforting aroma of ham and eggs swirl in the air while I anxiously eye the doorway. Will Anya show up or is her nose bent out of joint? If it is, how do I fix it? Why do I care? She’s addicted to the sex like me; we can’t resist each other.

“You know, if you keep pissing her off, it’s only going to build resentment. You need her as much as she needs you. Would it be so bad to be pleasant?” Pavel asks, and he has a point. I’m happy he’s the only one to notice my disappointment when the piercing blue eyes don’t join us for breakfast.

“Remember who you’re talking to,” I bark as Hazel slides plates of eggs, fried potatoes, toast, and ham under our noses. A pot of hot tea, coffee, cream and sugar are already on the table in the breakfast nook.

“Aye,” he replies and stuffs a piece of buttered toast in his mouth. Dressed in black polo and slacks, his gun is clipped to his belt and his cell phone lays on the table.

I’m in a gray suit for my business meetings. “Have someone pick up my tux from the cleaners. Our wedding bands are in the safe. I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

“You knew you were to be married off. You had a good run,” he adds, scraping the yellow yolk off his plate with another piece of wheat toast.

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