Dimitri's Forbidden Submissive (Submissive's Wish) (45 page)

The only solace he could offer himself was that these walls would be standing long after his father was in the ground.

Rya jerked to a halt behind him and he turned back, finding her staring out the window. “Holy shit.”

Wondering what had caught her attention, he saw that her gaze rested on the Summer Home sitting on the edge of the lake. It was a beautiful palace, constructed in the 1700s with fanciful towers and balconies designed to catch the cool breeze from the big lake. Great sweeping dual stair cases flanked the front entrance and an elaborate fountain, now dormant for the season, sat between the stairs. Only a few lights burned on the main floor, illuminating a few squares of glass in the slowly falling dusk.

“What is that?” Rya asked with wonder in her voice.

He ran his finger down her cheek, avoiding the bruise spreading over her temple and on the side of her face. “The Summer Home. When that bastard dies it will belong to us. I would like to live there for at least part of the year. It is a beautiful home with much history and where we lived when my mother was alive. I have many happy memories of my mother and sister there.”

She bit her lower lip and looked up at him. He could tell by her expression that this idea did not please her. “Dimitri…”

“No, we will talk about this later. Come.”

He held her hand again and led her back to his father’s room, his nose scrunching as the stink of death reached him. For a moment he stood before the closed doors, his heart racing as he tried to get his mind into the right place for dealing with his father. At one time Dimitri had worshiped his father, had thought he was a great man, but now his gut churned at the thought of seeing the monster who had so casually ordered his torture in the very home he’d grown up in all because he tried to keep two innocent young girls from dying.

Rya squeezed his hand, hard. “You don’t need to do this.”

He looked over at her, studying her face, her beautiful golden eyes and let out a pent up breath. “Yes I do. I do this for us.”

She tried to protest, but he’d already opened the door. Normally, they would have been locked, but without a doubt his father knew he was coming. Not only because Peter would have called ahead, but because he would have been seen on the surveillance system set up throughout the home. As Dimitri stepped into what had once been his step-mother’s suite a pang of sorrow hit him. Though he’d never met Alex’s mother, both he and his brother had spent a lot of time in this room, reading her books, looking at the pictures of her family, and basically helping Alex feel some connection to his mother.

The heavy indigo blue brocade curtains had been drawn over the windows and a fire blazed in the hearth, but the rest of the room was dimly lit. He looked all around the open space, noting how many of his father’s favorite pieces of art had been crammed into the room, but he didn’t see Olga, Alex’s mother’s picture hanging over the mantle and briefly wondered if his father loved the Monet that currently hung there more than he loved his first wife.

People milled around, nurses, bodyguards, and a group of his father’s advisors. He looked at them first, silently letting them know that they would pay for their part in taking his woman. While he wasn’t foolish enough to wage war on his father, the men standing at his side and looming over his sickbed like vultures waiting to swoop in for the kill would know his wrath. One of the vultures in particular, Gravel, made him want to stride across the room and snap the old man’s neck. Gravel was one of his father’s most trusted enforcers, a cruel man who only respected those with a greater propensity for violence than even Jorg possessed. Four years ago, Gravel was the one who’d been in charge of torturing Dimitri for information on the Boldin twins and Dimitri owed him much suffering.

Gravel looked away and nervously licked his thick lips.

When Dimitri finally looked into his father’s eyes he was surprised at the open joy he saw there and shocked at how bad Jorg looked. The last time Dimitri had seen his father two years ago he was ill, but still robust. Now the cancer that was slowly killing Jorg had almost won and Dimitri could see death hovering around the wizened old man. It took him a moment to process the changes, but once he was in control of himself and had pushed away the annoying pity that tried to take residence in his heart, he stared directly into his father’s eyes.

“If you ever touch Rya again I will end you.”

Everyone gasped, but Jorg gave that horrible, cackling laugh that Dimitri hated so much. In Russian Jorg said, “Good. I love that bloodthirsty streak you’ve developed. But do not worry, she is under my protection.”

Baffled, Dimitri stared at his father and drew Rya closer to him, aware of her confused look but too focused on what was being said to reassure her. “Your protection? Why would you do that?”

“You mean why would I give Rya my protection, and not Jessica?” He sneered at Dimitri.

“Yes.”

“Because Jessica was too weak, too gentle for the life of a Bratva leader’s wife. She would have been quickly killed. I was saving her.”

Striving to control his anger, Dimitri said in a low voice, “Saving her? She was killed anyway. Maybe if she had your protection she would still live and you would be able to love your granddaughter instead of visiting their empty grave.”

Jorg laughed and Dimitri had to grip his hands into fists to keep from launching himself at his father. How dare he mock Alex’s pain at the loss of Jessica. “You are so arrogant, so sure of yourself. How I wish I could see your face when you learn the truth.”

Confused by his father’s rambling, and concerned by his father’s increasing struggles to draw a breath, he shook his head. “You aren’t making any sense.”

Smiling at him, Jorg put his oxygen mask over his face and his voice came out distorted as he said, “I know you, Dimitri. I know how you think, how you will react. I know your heart.”

Dimitri kept silent, striving to hold his father’s increasingly intense gaze. “You know nothing about me.”

His father flapped his skeletal hand in his direction, the white tape holding the IV in place a sharp contrast against the dark age spots littering his skin. “I know what I need to know. I chose you, Dimitri, to head the Novikov Bratva when I die. You are my chosen heir.”

Conversation erupted through the room and Dimitri’s father smiled at him. He dragged a deep breath into his lungs, willing himself to keep standing upright. No, this was wrong. Alex should inherit, not him. He tried to form the words to reject his father’s offer, but his mind couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

Jorg gave the room an imperious look. “Leave us, except for you, Peter-and your rabbit can stay, Dimitri. I rather like her.”

By the time the room emptied Dimitri had regained control of himself. “Why? Why me? You hate me.”

“I do not hate you. You are my son. You will always be my son, but I did not pick you because of any affection I might feel for you. Dimitri, you have proved yourself to be the man I believe can lead the Novikov Bratva with strength after I die.”

“But what about Alex?”

“What about Alex? He will take over my public business, will run my corporations and be the public face of our enterprise.” For a moment his father’s eyes dimmed and sorrow etched his face. “I want Alex to have what he wants most in the world, a normal life for his wife and child.”

Dimitri frowned at Peter, who slowly shook his head. “Father, Jessica is dead.”

For a long moment his father stared at him, then nodded. “I forget these things.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Dimitri, if you will come with me, there are some things we must discuss, alone.”

He tightened his hold on Rya and said in English, “She does not leave my side. Whatever you say to me can be said in front of her.”

“That is mistake,” his father said in English then switched to Russian. “Do not burden her with the evil of our lives. She is a strong woman, but kind. It is your job as her husband to protect your wife, to keep her safe.”

“We’re not married.”

His father laughed, but this time it was a deep chuckle that reminded Dimitri of when he’d been a child and his father had laughed like that all the time. “You will be, and you will keep her safe and break this curse, this plague that took my wives and my daughter from me,”

When his father’s voice broke on the last word Rya made a soft sound and whispered, “Is he all right?”

Looking down at his woman, Dimitri nodded. “Do not worry,
dorogaya
.”

“I have something for you, little rabbit,” his father said suddenly and began to dig around the blanket over his lap. “Come here.”

Rya stared at Dimitri’s father, not trusting him a bit, but approached his side of the bed anyway. If he tried anything she could probably snap his bones like a twig. “What is it, Mr. Novikov?”

He pulled out a worn gold velvet case about the size of a book from beneath the blankets. “I want you to have this. It belonged to Dimitri’s mother, and has been in her family for generations. They were to go to my daughter, but she died a long time ago. I want you to have it.”

His hands trembled as he handed her the box and when she opened it she found a gorgeous rose gold necklace and earring set studded with hundreds of apple green gems that sparkled like nothing she’d ever seen. The necklace and earrings were done with floral patterns of the gold woven around the stones and even if she didn’t hold the old fashioned box in her hands she would have known this jewelry was antique.

Looking up at Mr. Novikov, then back down at the magnificent jewelry she shook her head. “I can’t take this.”

“You will take.” His stern tone allowed no argument. Still, she looked over at Dimitri who nodded with an unreadable look on his face before she took the box.

“It is very beautiful. Thank you.”

Peter moved from around Mr. Novikov’s bed and said in English, “Dimitri, we must discuss business. Please, time is of the most importance.”

“I will not leave Rya alone.”

When Dimitri gave her a worried look she smiled and hugged the soft velvet case close to her chest. “Go ahead. I’ll wait for you in the library.”

“Actually,” Mr. Novikov said in a strong voice so at odds with his frail figure that she did a double take, “I would like Rya to stay with me.”

“No.” Dimitri said and moved to Rya’s side, sliding a possessive hand over her shoulder.

Mr. Novikov made a tsking noise. “I will not harm her or tell her anything that would make her feel less for you. I promise.”

“You promise many things and they are all lies,” her man growled and the tension thickened between them until Rya found herself clinging to Dimitri.

“Leave us,” his father demanded and Rya inwardly groaned, knowing there was no way in hell Dimitri was leaving her alone with his father now. Eager to get the hell out of here, she leaned forward and said, “Dimitri, please go talk to Peter by the fireplace. That should give you the privacy you need and I’ll let your father say his piece then we will leave.”

“I do not want him harming you,” Dimitri said in a voice so low it was almost a growl.

She winked at him. “
Volk moy
, there is nothing that he could say that would make me leave your side.”

Dimitri and his father argued in Russian before Dimitri stalked to the other side of the room. Mr. Novikov looked up at Peter. “Go talk to my son. Get the documents signed, now.”

Peter stared at Mr. Novikov with open animosity. “Then you will do it? You will tell me where they are?”

“Then I will fulfill my promise to you.”

When Mr. Novikov turned his attention back to Rya she could see how much this had drained him and her gaze skittered over to the medical equipment that was showing an increasingly weak heartbeat. Without thought she said, “What are you ill with?”

“Cancer,” he said with a grim look. “When I was young man I was exposed to massive amounts of radiation from Chernobyl.”

“The nuclear power plant that blew up back in the eighties?”

“Yes. The place I lived, Kiev, was in direct line for fallout. I was in parade, a celebration held on May first in old Soviet Union. While I was marching with the rest of the people we were being slowly poisoned by radiation falling from the sky like invisible rain. Many, many people got sick and died in the weeks that followed.”

“Wow,” she said in a soft voice and slowly shook her head. “No one told you about the accident? Or that there might be an issue?”

He rested back into the pillows mounded behind him, his breathing labored. “No, no one told us. Our government hides many things from its people. They are more corrupt than even the worst Bratva. Never forget that, little rabbit. But I do not have much time. I must know some things that you have answers to.”

She glanced over at Dimitri and found him talking with Peter in hushed tones over by the fireplace. “What is it?”

“Is true you died?”

“What? I mean yes, but how did you know?”

He gave her a look that made her feel foolish. “Come, Rya, you must know I would have you researched.”

“Right. Well, if you did then you know that technically I did die.”

“I am not interested in your death, I want to know what you saw after.”

This didn’t surprise her in the least. In her experience as a hospice nurse she’d had this conversation many, many times with her patients and it allowed her to get into a different mindset, to stop thinking like Rya the freaked out woman and like Rya the nurse. “What do you want to know? I’ll answer you as best I can, but I would like to remind you that this is just my experience and that my memories may not even be correct.”

“What was it like?”

She told him her story and watched him carefully as she did, looking to see if her words gave him peace or unsettled him. That’s the way it usually went. People were either comforted by her story, or scared of it. In Mr. Novikov’s case, fear seemed to be his response. After she finished he watched her for a few moments, swallowing convulsively before he said in a low whisper, “I would like to think that my wives and my daughter are waiting for me, but what if they are not happy to see me?”