Chapter One
Seething, attractive dark eyes capture me. They are angry, deep, and elusive while holding me firmly in their grasp through the computer screen.
Sergei Petrov.
I’ve heard the name before. He owns several clubs in the area with his cousins, and the rumor mill says they’re mafia.
I click on the headline above his photograph and scroll through the article. His grandmother on his mother’s side passed away last week, and he stands to inherit the family business, Kustov Metals, Inc.
His mother died years ago, an illness that isn’t stated in the article.
It’s this detail that drags me back to the reason I opened my computer in the first place.
My mom.
“Venti Caramel Latte for Cora.” The barista calls out my drink, and I quickly get up to snatch it.
I shouldn’t be splurging on an overpriced coffee, but when you’ve lost your full-time, low-paying secretarial job, your mother’s health public assistance has denied her residency at a full-time care facility, and your bank account has been drained in order to pay out of pocket so she has a roof over her head for the next month, will seven dollars on a coffee really make that much of a difference?
When I settle back in front of my computer, I take another long stare at the ruggedly handsome man on the screen. There’s something sinister in his smile. It’s not really even a smile. More of a lifting of the side of his mouth. There is nothing close to happiness in his appearance.
After logging into Mom’s Medicaid patient portal, I search for the rejection of benefits letter.
I scan it, reading their decision process and reason for rejection.
The sale of her house has screwed it up.
Since it was sold in the last five years, they consider it income and are holding it against her ability to get public aid funds. The same issue came up in her initial review. It had taken months to get them to understand the money was spent on bills. There’s nothing left. But now it looks like I’m going to have to go through the whole thing again.
I grab my phone. Hopefully, the appeal process won’t take a full thirty days, and I can get all of this cleared up before next month’s fees are due. I have no idea where I can get the money if they don’t help. Maybe I can try getting a credit card again, though the one I currently have only has a two-thousand-dollar credit limit.
How many credit cards can they split the fees on?
And how long will it take me to pay it off so they can charge them all again? Maybe I can shuffle credit around long enough to keep her housed for a couple of months. And then what?
Without insurance, home healthcare is out of the question. And if I don’t find a job soon, I won’t be in a home for her to get care in anyway.
All of these questions swirl in my mind as I listen to the on-hold music.
“Listen. This Petrov case is at the top of my pile.” A man’s voice cuts through my worry and the somber instrumental music playing on my phone. There’s a man standing a few feet from me waiting for his order while talking on his phone.
“Yeah, it’s a solid lead,” he says, turning to his right and looking around.
I dip my eyes back to my computer screen when he turns toward where I’m sitting.
“He’s already proven that he’s close enough to get information that will be useful.” He brushes his suit jacket to the side to slide his hand into his pocket, exposing both his holstered government-issued handgun and a shiny badge.
“Hi. Thank you for holding. My name is Serena. How can I help you today?” My call is finally picked up on the other line. I hesitate a second, then end my call with a swipe of my thumb but leave my phone up to my ear.
“Leskov,” the cop says in a lower voice into his phone. The name has a familiar ring, but I can’t place it.
“John! Café Latte for John,” a barista calls out just as the cop continues talking into his phone and blocks me from being able to understand him.
He raises his hand to the barista and snatches up his coffee. He’s gone in the next moment, out the front door, still talking on his phone until he reaches the sidewalk and then clicks off. He pauses a moment as the morning sun beats on his face, and he takes the first sip of his drink.
Putting my phone down on the table, I watch through the window until I can’t see him anymore.
Someone in the Petrov organization is talking with that cop. I drum my fingertips.
It would have to be someone close to someone like Sergei or one of his cousins if they have information the cops want.
And now I have information that the Petrovs might want, might need.
It’s no secret that information is power.
Expensive power.
I chew on my bottom lip.
It will take at least thirty days to get the Medicaid system to reverse their decision. Nothing happens quickly when it comes to them shelling out money.
I don’t need a lot. Just enough to pay Mom’s fees. I can recoup the money I lost when they drained my account and get enough to pay her fees for next month just in case they slow walk the paperwork.
A quick search gives me an address for the main offices for the Petrov business. They work primarily out of Kraze, one of their clubs.
I sip my hot coffee, considering my options.
I’d be dealing with a man who could crush me just as easily as help me.
But I have information.
It’s not like I’m asking for a loan.
I’d be getting money for information.
A trade.
As I’m thinking, a notification on my computer pops up. A reminder I set for myself that my rent is due next week.
If I don’t take this chance, Mom could end up kicked out of the facility and I might not be able to get the rent together in time. We’ll both be without a place to stay. And how will I take care of her then?
I glance back at the card.
There are worse things I could do than sell a little bit of information to the Russian mob.
Another notification blips on the screen.
An email that my deference has been rejected and my student loan payments are due to begin this month.
My heart sinks into my stomach.
There are worse things I could do.
[divider]Chapter Two
Cora
Spiced leather. I’m hit with the scent the moment I step into his office.
I take a shaky breath.
I’m in Sergei Petrov’s office.
There’s a casual setup of a leather couch and loveseat in the back of the office, and a more formal desk with brown leather chairs facing it. Paintings of cities in Russia hang on the walls. I recognize Moscow and St. Petersburg from history class, but I’m stuck on the third painting.
“Kazan.” A deep voice cuts into my thoughts.
I spin around on my heel, nearly tripping over my feet, and find Sergei Petrov standing only a few steps behind me. The door to the office is shut, and we’re alone.
How did I not hear him come in?
“I’m sorry?” I barely squeak out, my face flooding with heat. He’s bigger than I thought he’d be.
“The painting you were looking at is of Kazan. It’s a city in Russia.” He moves his eyes over my shoulder to the painting.
I twist my neck to glance back at it.
“Oh.” I swallow. “I recognized the other two, but not that one.”
He’s gazing at me with a dark stare. I can’t say it’s frightening, but it has potential.
“It’s pretty.” I gesture at the painting behind me, nearly spinning around on my heel again from the momentum.
Why am I talking about a damn painting? I wish he’d say something and fill the area with more than just his presence.
“My mother had it commissioned.” His expression softens at the mention of his mother, but it doesn’t last. A breath goes by, and his eyes darken again.
“Oh.” I have no idea what to say to that. How much of what I know do I let him in on?
His eyes narrow for a second.
“You told Dimitri downstairs you had something to discuss.” He moves to the large leather chair behind his desk and sits, gesturing for me to take a seat in one of the others.
I quickly take a seat, pulling my purse into my lap. You’d think I’d feel less small with us both sitting, but somehow, he’s gotten bigger.
I thought it would have been harder to get in to see him, but all I had to do was tell the guy at the front of the building I wanted to speak to Sergei. After he had a short conversation in Russian on his phone, I was brought up to the office.
“Yes.” I nod and take a breath. “I have a proposition.” I try to smile, but then I hear what I said and quickly sputter out more words. “A proposal. I mean a deal to offer. Not a proposition like I’m propositioning you. Not that.” I snap my mouth closed.
Real smooth.
I practiced my speech five times on the way over here. I should have done it a few more times.
“A deal?” His eyebrows peak. “What sort of deal can you offer me?”
“Well.” I clear my throat. “If someone had information about your family. That would be worth something, right?”
He frowns.
Okay, not a great start.
Information is currency. I have to keep it to that.
“What do you know about my family?” His voice dips with the question.
“I know you and your cousins own this club.” Good. Start off with public information. “And I know that you guys also have some… well… you have other business dealings as well.” I haven’t the slightest idea what those are, but maybe if I stick to generalities, he’ll stay with me in the gray area.
My finger gets pinched, and I jolt. I’ve been fiddling with the zipper of my purse and have managed to pinch myself with the damn thing. I try to casually pull it out without him noticing, but he’s noticed.
“Are you alright?” He leans forward to make an obvious inspection.
I yank the zipper open and move my fingers well out of the way before closing my purse again.
“Yes. I’m fine.” I rub the spot on my middle finger that’s tender now with my thumb. I’m making a complete mess of this.
“Anyway. I think I have information that you would find interesting, or at least helpful.” Finding a traitor among his ranks would help him not get arrested; that has to be worth something.
“What is it?” He leans back again; his business face returns.
“Well, I’m not just going to give it to you.” I laugh. “I mean, information has a price. Right?” I probably didn’t need the question at the end there, but this is my first time trying to sell intel to someone in the mafia.
“Are you trying to extort me?” His brows pull down and his expression intensifies. I have to swallow back a little sound that’s trying to escape.
It’s probably my psyche telling me to get up and run out of this office. I’m not the kind of person to do this. I don’t make deals with the mob.
At least I wasn’t until my entire world imploded and I had nowhere else to turn.
“No.” I swipe my hand through the air and try to chuckle. “Of course not. I’m just saying I might have information that you’d like to have and that I’m willing to sell it to you.”
He stares at me in silence.
I’ve just defined extortion to the mobster glaring at me.
“How much?” he finally asks. I can breathe again. At least for the moment.
“Fifteen thousand.” I’m starting high and hoping he’ll land around ten.
“I’d need to know what the information is to know if it’s worth that much,” he says, very businesslike. Good. We’re negotiating.
“I’ll need to know what the amount is before I give you all of the information.” I raise my chin. Time to be a businesswoman. Something I’ve never had any intention of being in my life.
The closest I wanted to get to business was working in one while getting through college. The plan was to get a teaching degree, find a good school with a good English department, and settle in for a long career of discussing Romeo and Juliet with a class full of students.
Not once did I ever consider having this sort of conversation with a hulkingly hot Russian mob boss.
“What is the information about?” he presses.
“It has to do with the police.” I can give him that much.
“You’ve been talking to the police?” he demands, his hands turning to fists on the desk.
“No!” I wave both hands in front of me. “No. Absolutely not.” I need to make that clear. “I overheard a cop’s conversation, and he mentioned your family.” I rush to get that out before he thinks I’m some sort of police informant and pulls out a gun to remove me from his troubles.
“What did you overhear?” He leans back again, but his eyes remain firm.
“Do we have a deal on the amount?” I answer with my own question.
“What do you need that much money for?” he counters, tilting his head to the side.
“That’s personal.” Telling him about my mother will only give him something to hold over me. Right now, I have some power, maybe not a lot, but some. He can use my mom against me.
“Do you owe someone? Are you a gambler?” He doesn’t believe that—I can see it in his eyes. He’s just grasping, trying to make me answer.
“What I need it for is my business. Do you want the information or not?”
His stare grows more intense. It’s unsettling. I wish he’d think faster, but I know enough not to push. As desperate as I am on the inside, I can’t let it show on the outside.
“Are you in trouble, Coraline?” His question is steady and smooth when he asks it. I freeze for a moment when I realize he used my full name. I hadn’t given the guy downstairs my full name.
“No one calls me that,” I say.
“I do,” he says flatly.
“How did you know my full name?” And what else has he been able to find out about me in the ten minutes I was alone in his office?
“Are you in trouble? Don’t make me ask a third time.” There’s a definite warning in his tone.
I clear my throat. Would I be here if I wasn’t?
“No one is after me if that’s what you mean. I’m not in any danger or anything like that. I just think the information is worth the money.” I push the strap of my purse over my shoulder and stand up. “But if you’re not interested. Fine.”
I have never been good at bluffing. I’ve never won a hand of poker, or even gotten away with a lie because my face tells on me every time. So I keep my eyes on the floor as I make my way to the door, taking slow steps.
“Coraline.” Again, my body freezes at the deep sound of his voice. It’s like the man holds a remote control to my body. “Sit back down.”
“If you’re not interested in talking about my offer, I’m not interested in staying,” I say, gripping the doorknob, so he can’t see my hand shaking. Everything inside of me is shaking. And sweating. I’m going to be covered in a thin layer of sweat if we don’t finish this soon.
The chair scraping against the carpeting sends a chill down my spine. I turn to see what he’s up to and find him only a step away.
He closes the gap between us until my back is pressed against the door. I crane my neck, looking up at him.
“Do you know how dangerous it is to provoke a man like me?” His gaze dips down to my mouth, just as he traces my bottom lip with his fingertip.
“I’m not trying to provoke you.” Though his raised eyebrow and firmly set jaw suggests I’ve already done so.
“You come into my office trying to extort me and then you turn your back on me?” He moves his finger along my jaw until he pushes my hair behind my ear.
I swallow hard, wishing the floor would do the same and take me away from here. My heart and my stomach have collided somewhere in my body, but since his stare has every nerve ending busy firing off electricity, I can’t tell where.
Pressing his forearm against the door, he leans in further.
The spice of his aftershave fills the slim space between us.
“I told you to sit back down,” he says. “I don’t like being disobeyed.” He runs his gaze over my face, like he’s searching me.
I’m stuck. All I can do is keep staring at him. I don’t want to ruin my chances any more than I might have already.
“I was only saying if you’re not interested, then I won’t waste your time.” I’m shocked the words come out in the right order.
“If you were mine, you’d learn not to disobey.” He pushes off the door before I can process the words. I stand gripping my purse in front of me, watching him as he makes his way back to his desk.
Once he’s settled in his chair, he leans back and brings his eyes up to mine.
“Ten thousand if the information is helpful,” he says after another moment passes. He leans forward, pressing his elbows to the edge of his desk as he points a finger at me. “But the information has to be helpful.”
“Of course.” I fidget with the zipper on my purse again. I can’t show him how much hope his sentence gives me. Ten thousand buys me an extra month, maybe a little more. I should be able to get everything squared away by then.
“All right.” He gestures. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath and hurry back to my seat. No need to poke the bear any more than I already have. Especially when he’s looking like he’ll cooperate.
“Someone in your organization is talking with the police. Well, he could have been FBI, I’m not sure, I couldn’t see his badge well enough.” I clench my teeth to stop talking. What is wrong with me, I’m all word vomit today.
It’s him. It’s Sergei.
It’s the sternness of his eyes and the spiced aftershave, mixed with his square jaw and that beard. Something about a strong jaw covered in a neatly trimmed beard just gets me, and this man has everything to go along with it.
“All right. Who?” he presses when I say nothing else.
“I’m sorry, what?” I lean toward him.
“Who is the someone talking to the police or the FBI?” He’s calm. I would think he’d be angry about this, but he’s completely composed.
“Oh.” I chew on the inside of my lip and think back to what the police officer said. There was no name given. “Well, I don’t exactly know that. Only that he’s been talking with the police officer I overheard this morning.”
Sergei blinks. “You don’t have a name?”
I open my mouth but shut it when I realize the situation. I have nothing to offer.
Knowing someone’s snitching isn’t as useful as knowing who is snitching.
“No, but now you know someone is talking out of turn and you can find out who it is.” I do my best to spin it.
He leans back, steeples his hands.
“Leskov!” I blurt out, nearly launching myself from my chair. “He was talking about something having to do with the Leskov family, too.”
His eyebrows flicker, but he catches himself before he reacts to what I’ve said. It has to be worth something.
“But you still have no name for me.”
“No, but you have something to go on now,” I point out.
“This information isn’t worth ten thousand dollars.”
“You said it had to be useful. You didn’t say how useful,” I point out.
Now his expression tightens. “Are you talking back to me?”
“Talking back? No. I’m standing my ground.” I jerk my chin down. “You said…”
“I know what I said,” he cuts me off. “If you have a name, then it’s useful. We’re careful about who in our family knows things so these things aren’t an issue. And the fact that you’ve said another Russian name doesn’t tell me anything either. You’ve given me nothing.”
“That’s not true!” I’m losing here.
He sits back, thinking.
How hard do I push? I’m so close to getting what I need.
He stands up and walks around the desk until he’s standing right in front of me. “I have an offer. One that will be helpful to us both.”
“Oh?” I lean back in my chair as he bends over me, his hands pressing into the arms of my chair.
“You may not like it, but I’ll pay you the fifteen thousand you asked for.”
Fifteen thousand would buy me even more time. Maybe even get Mom into a better facility.
“What, what’s the offer?” I’m trying to sound casual, like none of this is any skin off my nose, but let’s face it. I’m fucked if this goes south.
“I’m in need of a woman.”
I burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry.” I cover my mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s just… well, how can you need that. I mean… look at you.” I gesture to him. “You’re…” I stop myself from saying sexy as all hell. “Good looking and have money. You can get any woman to hop into bed with you, I’m sure.”
My face ignites at the words flinging out of my mouth. Where the hell is my filter?
“I don’t need a woman like that. I need a wife.”
“Oh.” I nod. He’s insane. “A wife.”
“Not a real wife. I need a woman who will marry me until a legal matter is settled and then the marriage will be dissolved. A short time. A few months.”
I search his face, waiting for the punchline. He has to be kidding. I came here to sell information and now I’m selling myself?
“You’re serious.” The smile fades from my lips.
“I’m always serious.” He nods. “You marry me for the duration of the legal proceedings, and I’ll give you the fifteen thousand.”
I swallow, thinking, thinking. “The money upfront?”
“Ten upfront. Five at the end.”
“And it’s just on paper?” I clarify. “I’m not moving in with you or anything like that.” I’m more concerned with the anything like that category, but we’ll get to that.
“Married people live together. You’ll move into my home immediately.” He moves closer to me. I think he knows how much his presence messes with my thoughts.
Rent is due.
Bills are waiting for payment.
Mom needs to be in a full-time care facility so I can be sure she’s safe and well cared for. She deserves so much better than what I can give her right now.
There’s no choice to make here, not really.
“Yes. Okay.” Immediate relief mixes with an immense terror of what I’m getting myself into.
He lifts my chin with one finger and brings his mouth down over mine.
Sealing the deal with a kiss.
All right.
But this isn’t a simple peck on the lips. His hand opens, cupping my cheek as he deepens the kiss. A soft whimper escapes from my chest as his tongue brushes across my bottom lip, demanding entrance. And I’m too caught up in the whirlwind of arousal to do anything other than give him what he wants.
A sigh falls from me when he breaks the kiss.
“Now.” He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m going to teach you what happens when you put yourself in danger like you’ve done today, and when you disobey me.”
“What?”
“Your punishment. It’s time for your punishment.”
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