Page 19 of Twisted Obsession
“I can keep him occupied,” she replied confidently. “You will be gone before he realizes what’s happening.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter Ten
Dmitri
Gisela sat across from me, her eyes locked onto mine, anticipation etched on her face as she awaited my reaction to the startling information she had uncovered by pure chance. She had been meticulously monitoring Andrei’s financial accounts, yet something about them didn’t quite add up in her mind. Driven by her relentless curiosity, she decided to dig deeper on her own. Rather than focusing solely on suspicious withdrawals, she decided to scrutinize the deposits as well. One particular transaction immediately drew her attention—a recurring deposit of $10,000 every month, consistently made for the past eighteen years. As she delved deeper, Gisela cross-referenced these deposits with those in Larissa’s account, the very account she had used that led us to her. Her meticulous tracking led her to a bank in New Jersey. Using her adept skills and dark web resources, Gisela unearthed a connection between this account and the notorious Cosa Nostra. That revelation spurred her bolddecision to visit the Zhukov residence, driven by an insatiable curiosity that no one could dissuade.
“You still shouldn’t have broken into the Zhukov house alone. You should have taken one of the men with you,” I reprimanded her, my voice firm as I examined the documents she had discovered in Andrei’s safe, cleverly concealed beneath the floorboards in his bedroom.
“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known Larissa’s true identity,” she retorted, defending her actions with unwavering conviction.
Everything I thought I knew about Andrei Zhukov crumbled to dust. The revelation was staggering—Lara wasn’t even his biological daughter. She wasn’t Russian at all. She was Italian. “Fucking hell, Giovanni Balestrini.” I never thought I would hear that name ever again.
Just as Gisela pushed herself up from her chair, a soft knock echoed at the door. It creaked open slowly, revealing Camile standing on the other side. “Sorry to interrupt. But do you have a moment to talk?” she asked, her voice gentle yet purposeful.
Camile had spent most of the afternoon with Larissa, as I had instructed her to do. I had asked her to inform me if Lara said or did anything inappropriate, and I was eager to learn what had transpired.
“We will speak later,” I assured Gisela, glancing at her. She nodded in understanding and dipped her head slightly before leaving the room, granting Camile and me privacy.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Camile announced, her voice taking on a playful lilt. Instead of settling into the chair acrossfrom my desk, she glided toward me with deliberate grace, lowering herself to her knees with a provocative demeanor, her fingers reaching for the buckle of my belt. “I’ll be a good girl, just like old times.”
Camile had once been a delightful distraction, but over time, her constant demands for attention grew tiresome. One thing I couldn’t stand was a needy woman. “Stand up, Camile. Tell me what this is about,” I requested firmly.
Her lips curled into a pout as she rose to her feet, smoothing out the fabric of her skirt with deliberate care. “Ms. Zhukov chose her wedding dress, and since it needs alterations, I need her to come to the shop so I can ensure they’re done correctly. With only two weeks left to prepare for the wedding, it must be tomorrow; otherwise, it will disrupt my schedule.”
Lara’s previous defiance had already shortened the preparations for the wedding by two weeks. I needed this day to be flawless, and that meant Larissa had to look her absolute best. “I’ll make sure she is there,” I promised.
“Good. Bring her to the shop around noon,” Camile instructed. She leaned over, placing her hands gently on my chest before bestowing a chaste kiss near my lips. With a playful sway of her hips, she exited my study, leaving behind a faint trace of her perfume.
~***~
Stepan maneuvered the SUV to a stop in front of Camile’s boutique, and a wave of doubt washed over me about bringing Lara here. She had been jittery all morning, her anxiety palpable. The intel Gisela had unearthed on Giovanni Balestrinihad kept me on edge too. Most unsettling was discovering he was the don of the Cosa Nostra in Boston—the very city where Larissa had been in hiding for the past three years. The Cosa Nostra was the shadowy force behind my mother’s death, and since that harrowing event on my eighteenth birthday, they had kept their distance. I couldn’t shake the feeling that might change once they learned I had the don’s daughter. Yet the question lingered: why was she in the custody of Andrei and Lidia Zhukov?
As we stepped out of the SUV, Stepan and I were on high alert, our senses sharpened by the information Gisela uncovered. The bridal shop loomed ahead, its windows reflecting the morning light. Inside, Camile awaited us, impeccably dressed in a tight black pencil skirt, a vibrant green silk blouse, and stiletto heels that clicked authoritatively on the tiled floor. She was the epitome of elegance.
“Dmitri, Ms. Zhukov, thank you for coming and sparing me some time from your busy schedule,” Camile greeted us warmly, her smile wide and welcoming.
“It’s Lara. Please call me Lara,” mykukolka—my little doll—responded, catching me off guard with her relaxed tone.
“Of course,” Camile nodded with a gracious smile. “Dmitri, please make yourself comfortable in the waiting area. I’ve arranged for my assistant to serve you some appetizers and champagne while you wait.”
I sank into the plush chair, its cushions enveloping me, and watched as Camile’s assistant—Oliva, if my memory served me correctly—delicately poured a glass of champagne, bubbles rising in a delicate dance.
Forty-five minutes had trickled by since Camile had spirited Lara away for the alterations on her wedding gown. Though patience was usually my strong suit, I found myself restless, wondering how long it could possibly take to pin a few seams in a dress. Just as I resolved to make my way to the door where Camile had disappeared, Oliva reappeared, halting my advance.
“Is there something I can assist you with, Mr. Antonov?” she inquired with a polite, professional demeanor, her voice smooth and composed.
“I was going to check on my fiancée to see what was taking so long,” I replied, feeling the threads of my patience wearing thin.
“These things take time,” she suggested, casting a glance toward the door. “Let me find out how much longer they will be.”
Nodding, I settled back into the chair, my eyes following her as she walked purposefully toward the door leading to the room where Camile and Lara were. Her heels clicked on the polished floor, echoing softly in the quiet hallway. Fifteen minutes later, Camile emerged, but Lara was conspicuously absent. Immediately, I rose with the force of a storm gathering beneath my skin, my presence darkening the room.
“Where the hell is she?” I demanded, seizing Camile by the hair and yanking her head back until I could see the glint of pain flickering in her eyes.
