Possessive Boss, page 7
Nothing appears out of the ordinary at first glance.
"Which painting do they want?"
Lucy glances around the room and, after a few seconds, points to the painting featuring a field of daisies. The colors are muted. The painting is an original but faded over time, and no one bothered to restore it because it probably wasn't worth a dime.
Why this painting?
"Nikita?" Dmitri's voice carries into the bedroom. "What are you doing in here?" he asks. He doesn't even ask about Lucy. Maybe he knows better than to question why she's here, and why I brought her back into the compound.
"I need you to watch Lucy for a bit, in the study."
"I'm not her babysitter," he glances Lucy over, "put her in the cellar."
I'm not going to do that. While tempting at times, Lucy doesn't deserve to be imprisoned. Not anymore. "Ten minutes tops." I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't necessary, and Dmitri knows that about me. Hopefully, he'll help.
Dmitri emits a heavy sigh and a huff under his breath. "Let's go," he says and points at the door, waiting for Lucy to accompany him.
She hesitates, glancing from Dmitri back to me. "Go with him. You'll be fine."
I turn to face the painting, and she retreats, following Dmitri. Her heels click against the wooden floorboards as she walks, the sound growing fainter the farther away she is from what was once Aleksandra's bedroom.
With Lucy out of sight, I step toward the painting and remove it from the wall, bringing it to the mattress to examine. What is it that Aleksandra could want with the picture? There's nothing remarkable about the frame or the painting. Not even the artwork itself could be deemed priceless.
It's unlikely that Aleksandra has any attachment to it.
I gently flip it over, examining the back of the frame. Nothing stands out, but if there were something valuable, wouldn't it be tucked away inside. Perhaps under the painting or inside the canvas?
Mikhail will kill me if I ruin his artwork for no reason. The paintings that he's procured don't come cheap.
Did he buy this piece, or had it been Mikhail's father who purchased the painting, and Mikhail inherited it upon his death?
I turn the painting back over to examine the front in more detail.
My fingers run over the frame. The gold is etched with swirls and decorative emblems, which doesn't feel quite right with the painting. It's almost as though another painting had been the original, and this one had been its replacement. Why would someone do that?
I retrieve my pocket knife and unsheathe the blade.
"What are you doing?" Mikhail's gruff voice startles me. He steps into the room, his footsteps heavy and brisk on his approach.
He must have just gotten back from the doctor's.
"The Italians sent Lucy to deliver this painting to them. But I can't imagine how she'd have carried it out." The painting isn't the least bit small or light. "How'd you know I was up here?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at Mikhail.
"Your prisoner is having tea in my dining room."
"I sent Dmitri downstairs with her while I examined the painting more thoroughly."
Mikhail gestures toward the knife in my right hand. "With this?"
"There's nothing significant about the painting or the frame. There has to be something behind it."
"And you intended to decimate the heirloom without my permission?"
Shit, I fucked up. "I didn't realize it was an heirloom, sir."
"It's not," Mikhail says, "but it could have been." He grabs the knife from my hand and flips the painting over, ripping the brown paper that covers the back of the canvas.
Beneath the shredded paper is a flash drive and a manila envelope. Mikhail takes the flash drive, shoving it into his pocket before opening the envelope and revealing the contents inside.
"It was never about the painting," Mikhail says, staring down at the old stock certificates. "Some of these are worthless," he mutters, flipping through them until he lands on a handful of public companies still trading today.
"I'm guessing that's what Aleksandra was after," I say.
"How'd she know about the certificates and the flash drive?" Mikhail asks, although the question is rhetorical. "Follow me." He walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs, heading into his office.
Dmitri pokes his head out of the study, catching our attention in the hall as we head for his office. "Are you done?" His eyes are wide, and his hair is disheveled. Can he not handle Lucy for a couple of minutes?
There's chit-chat from inside the room. Lucy isn't alone. Hannah's laughter carries into the hallway.
"Almost," Mikhail says. "Keep an eye on our guest."
I momentarily hold my breath, not realizing the gesture until I exhale. Lucy doesn't sound under duress; she seems to be enjoying herself with Hannah. I doubt Mikhail will appreciate me bringing her under his roof after what transpired yesterday.
I follow Mikhail into his office, and he shuts the door before taking a seat behind his desk. "I want to know what's on the flash drive." He places the pages of stock certificates on his desk, momentarily ignoring them while his focus is on his computer.
I don't dare ask what the certificates may be worth, but a single glance at them earlier and I'd recognized several publicly traded companies. There's value in them, but is there enough to send a stranger into our home to rob us?
There's no way Lucy would have gotten out with the painting in hand, not unless she intended to strip it down, destroy the backing and discover the contents hidden inside like Mikhail had done.
I take a seat across from his desk. He attaches the flash drive to the USB port and taps his fingers on the wooden desk. "What does Antonio have on Lucy?" Mikhail asks.
"He's threatened her son." I hadn't wanted to mention that she has a kid, not that I believe Mikhail would harm the child, but he's not above hurting anyone who betrays him.
His gaze tightens. "What's her connection to them?"
"From what she told me, it sounds like she unintentionally interfered in some type of exchange."
"What type of exchange?" He glances up from behind his computer.
"Of the money variety," I say. "Or she was set up," I say. I hope it's not the latter, but I wouldn't put it past the Morettis, especially since they wanted something from the compound but didn't want to step in here themselves. Had Antonio or one of his men attempted to steal the painting, it would have been all-out war.
"You mentioned her kid is in danger. Where is he?" Mikhail asks. He taps at the keyboard before sitting back, stretching his arms behind his head. "I'll be damned."
"What is it, sir?" I ask.
"Cryptocurrency, and a hell of a lot of it. Worth over four million dollars." Mikhail isn't usually smiling, but he quirks a sideways grin. "Bring your girlfriend in here."
"She's not my girlfriend." There's bitterness in my voice when he refers to her as mine. I never slept with Lucy, and she's certainly not mine. I'd be keeping her under lock and key with the Italians causing trouble if she was.
"Bring her in," Mikhail says, and his gaze holds no-nonsense. His jaw tightens, and the faint smile disappears.
"Of course, sir." I follow his orders and head out of his office, opening the door but leaving it ajar while I head down the hall to the study.
Lucy is seated on the sofa with Hannah. They're both having a cup of tea, chatting, and laughing like they've known each other for years. I feel like I'm interrupting, and I don't care.
"Lucy, would you come with me?"
She clears her throat and whispers an apology as she stands and accompanies me down the hall. "You don't have to be so rude."
"Are you seriously criticizing me here? Right now?"
Doesn't she realize that I stood up for her, tried to keep her out of prison–well, after I'd already interrogated her briefly the day before?
She presses her lips together but doesn't say anything as she follows me to Mikhail's office. Lucy is wise enough to remain silent and listen as we enter the small space. I shut the door behind us, giving the three of us privacy. Unless Mikhail asks me to leave, that would be fine on my account, and I'd be happy to find something else to do, anything else.
Making Lucy my responsibility is a headache. She's less of a chore than I thought, babysitting her and ensuring that she isn't running to the Italians.
"Have a seat," Mikhail says and gestures to the sofa against the wall.
Lucy glances in my direction, probably waiting to see if I'll do the same. I head toward the sofa but refrain from sitting. Instead, I stand against the wall near the couch as she sinks into the leather.
"Nikita told me that you have a son, and he's in danger," Mikhail says. He comes around from behind the desk and grabs the chair I was in earlier, turning it around to sit and face her.
Her green eyes widen, and she glances from me to the Pakhan. "I do."
"And his father? Where is he?" Mikhail asks.
Where is he going with this line of questioning? Does he think the boy's father might be part of the Italian Mafia? That wasn't something I considered; I'm not sure why not. Lucy never mentioned a spouse or significant other. Not even a boyfriend or the child's father, for that matter. And I hadn't cared enough to ask.
"Out of the picture."
"Are you sure?" Mikhail asks as he leans forward, his hands clasped together. "It's entirely possible that he could be involved with Antonio and his men."
"I can assure you that isn't the case because my son was the result of a donation from a sperm bank."
"I see," Mikhail says.
My hand covers my mouth as I pretend to stroke my jaw, shock evident on my face. That wasn't the answer I was expecting from Lucy. I'm not sure what I was anticipating. We haven't exactly talked about her kid. He's probably an off-limits topic, and I'm okay with that being the case.
"Where is he now, your son?" Mikhail asks.
"He's safe with my sister, " she answers.
Mikhail glances in my direction, silently wanting to know where she believes safe to be. There is nowhere that one can hide from the underworld. "They're in Chicago. I don't believe they'll go after the boy while Antonio believes he can retrieve the painting."
"And what happens if I don't deliver it?" Lucy asks. Her eyes widen, and she gnaws on her bottom lip.
"Where are you supposed to make the delivery?" Mikhail asks.
He can't be considering handing over what the mafia wants. That's unlike him, especially considering its value.
Her voice trembles. "Tonight, at my motel." Her lips are puckered, and her brow is pinched as she glances from Mikhail to me. "They'll kill my son and me if I don't deliver what they're after."
"And what is it that you believe they're after?" Mikhail asks. He glances her up and down, reading her mannerisms and body language. He's skilled at interrogations. It goes with the job.
Lucy opens her mouth; her ruby lips part and a small breath expels past as she glances at the desk. The certificates are face down, but I suspect she recognizes what she's after in this room. "The painting."
Why hadn't Mikhail put the stock certificates away?
Did he want to see if Lucy had any inkling of the contents inside the painting?
"Yes, we saw the painting. I can't imagine that you could have carried that monstrosity over the fence undamaged."
"It's about what's inside the painting," Lucy whispers.
"And what might that be?" I ask, stepping closer. "What do you think is inside of a painting?"
"Just what I heard the tall Italian man say. He mentioned it contained something precious."
Mikhail exhales a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. "You'll accompany her to the motel," he says, staring at me.
While I do not doubt that I can handle Lucy and a handful of Antonio's men, if they have any inkling of what the content inside the painting is worth, they're not going to let some low-level associates handle the exchange. There will be plenty of men with guns waiting to take aim if things go sour. "And what about reinforcements?"
"You needn't worry," Mikhail says. He's cautious about stating anything further in front of Lucy. I don't blame him. She kept the fact that it wasn't the painting she was after but the four million dollars inside. He grabs the stock certificates off the desk and nods for me to accompany him out into the hallway. There's no sign of the flash drive, and I assume it's in his coat pocket.
I shut the door and accompany Mikhail into the hallway, leaving Lucy on the sofa, alone.
"I don't want her out of your sight. It'll likely be a blood bath when the Italians realize that she's not handing over four million dollars."
"You're not suggesting we bring her to the motel."
"What do you intend on doing with her?" Mikhail asks. "Dmitri can't babysit her all night. I will send him out to the motel with Luka to watch your back."
"She can stay here with Hannah and Madisyn," I say. "Madisyn used to be an FBI Agent. I'm sure she can keep an eye on Lucy."
"You're suggesting my wife watch your girlfriend."
I press my lips together, refraining from commenting that she isn't my girlfriend again.
"No, sir. I'm recommending that Lucy stay with us, to protect her."
"For how long?" Mikhail asks.
I'm not sure he will like my answer, but I say it, nevertheless. "Indefinitely. Unless the mafia intends on leaving Lucy alone, she'll be a target to them."
"Why you care about this girl is beyond my understanding. When this is all over and done, fly to Chicago and bring back her son. We'll talk again." Mikhail heads back into his office, leaving me to inform Dmitri and Luka that they're about to help my ass out taking down the mafia, all for a girl.
He shuts his office door, the frosted glass making it impossible to see inside through the door. I find Dmitri and Luka and inform them of the assignment before we grab weapons and ammunition from the armory.
It will be a long night, and I don't expect the mafia to go easy on us. No, they'll expect that we're coming fully armed. Antonio was aware that I was following Lucy, and by now, they may not know where her loyalties lie. I'm not sure I'm even certain.
SEVEN
Lucy
The boss, Mikhail, steps into his office, leaving the two of us alone. I fiddle with my hands as I sit on his leather sofa. It's nice, plush, but I'm not the least bit comfortable, especially while under his scrutiny.
"Nikita and my men will be dealing with the Italians. You are to stay here until they return."
There isn't anywhere else for me to go except Chicago. But I'm not about to bring my son into a massacre. I sent him away with his aunt to keep him safe.
"May I leave the premises to get my cell phone?" I ask. I left a handful of my belongings parked near the mansion in the car.
"Give me your keys, and I'll retrieve your belongings," Mikhail says.
I shove my hand into my pocket and hand over my set of keys and the miniature pink fuzzy handcuffs keychain attached. It was funnier when my sister Katie gave it to me. Right now, it feels highly inappropriate.
He clears his throat but does not comment on the keychain or anything else. Mikhail heads for the door.
"Don't you need to know which car is mine?" I ask.
"You parked outside, dark blue sedan, rust on the bumper and a scratch on the taillight?"
How'd he know that? "Yes," I whisper. I'm practically speechless. What else does he know about me?
"Stay here." Mikhail exits the office and shuts the door. He fiddles with it for a minute, and I suspect he's locked me inside.
I see his figure disappear through the frosted glass as he stalks farther away from the office.
Alone.
I glance around the small space. For the enormity of the house, his office is quite humble. Is there more hidden behind a bookshelf or storage closet? I've probably had my nose in one too many books.
Standing, I glance at the nearest wall. There's nothing out of the ordinary. The wall is painted a soft shade of blue. It's calming. Tranquil.
Was that intentional?
I'm quiet and methodical as I poke around his office, glancing around the tiny space. There's no sign of any cameras or video surveillance. However, I hadn't noticed much inside the premises. Outside the property, is another matter.
The bratva thinks they can own me and make me do as they please. I'm not going to work for Nikita or his boss. There has to be another way out.
I scan the room, and my fingers graze over the walls, the small bookcase pressed against the wall, the filing cabinet nearby. The bookcase is new compared to the rest of the furniture that is covered in a light sheen of dust, minus the desk.
Mikhail must sit at his desk often. The wood at the top shows slight signs of wear. Dings on the side, the wood has imperfections.
There's movement outside the room, and I dart back to my seat, but it's too late. Mikhail opens the door, staring back at me. "Looking for something?" he asks.
He's direct, a bit abrasive. Although he hasn't laid a hand on me, I can't help but fear him. He's strong, and tall, and the cold gaze behind his eyes sends a chill down my spine.
"No, sir."
He hands me the cell phone that had been abandoned in my car, along with my keys. "You're quite popular," he says.
I glance down at the half dozen missed calls. Four are from my sister; the other two are an unknown number. Probably the Italian Mafia is sending me death threats if I don't fulfill my end of the bargain.
"Go ahead and listen to your messages. I'll be just outside the office," Mikhail says. He steps out of the room, leaving me with a semblance of privacy.
I listen to my voice messages. Katie's voice trembles, and there's a slight hint of fear as she relays that someone might be following them. She's paranoid. That's probably all that it is. My sister has quite the imagination, it comes with her job. The girl is creative, and that spark includes a dash of crazy now and again.
