Chapter Two — Discovery and Deceit

London

"Father's been acting strange all week."

Yulia pauses the smooth motion of the brush she's been running through my hair and meets my worried gaze in the mirror.

"How do you mean?"

I huff.

"Oh, don't act like you haven't noticed. He's always looking worried. He barely eats, sweats alot and he does not even look me in the eye when he's talking to me anymore."

I run my fingers through the smooth surface of my dresser.

"Something's definitely wrong, Yulia. And from the looks of it, it's bad."

I stare at Yulia earnestly through the mirror, willing her to agree with me.

She purses her lips for a while, contemplating my words.

"Well, you're right about one thing. Something's not right."

I heave a sigh of relief. Atleast I've not been imagining things.

"Want to go snooping?"

Yulia's already wide eyes widens even more. She has such beautiful eyes.

Yulia is just drop dead beautiful, full stop. Sometimes I wonder how she ended up as my personal maid.

"What exactly would you gain from that, miss? You would only get us in trouble and you know how much your father hates it when you go snooping around his business."

"Ugh. Don't start with the pep talk, mother."

I raise a brow at her,

"I'll be twenty in a few weeks. I'm not a child anymore. I know what I'm doing."

Yulia, ever the voice of reason, refuses to let it go.

"Shouldn't your impending maturity be one of the reasons you should be staying away from this? If something is indeed not right and you deserve to know, I believe your father would tell you, Skylar. You know he's never hidden things from you.

Now sit still. It is already very difficult to braid your hair, as it is. I don't want to get it all wrong."

What Yulia and Dad do not realise is that I'm so tired of being treated like a child. All my life, Dad has always protected me from the "horrors that lurk beyond" as he loves to call it.

Enough!

I've had a strange feeling all week. My skin tingles anytime I come in close contact with my Dad.

It is almost like something big is going to happen.Something that would change the course of all our lives. Dad always makes sure to keep me locked up.

But not for my nightly escapades, I would never know what the outside world beyond the walls of father's mansion looked like.

He makes sure I am home schooled with no friends and no one to talk to except Yulia and our housekeeper, Thelma, and even she had disappeared a year ago— went out for the weekly groceries and never returned.

I know I am Russian, but I have never stepped foot on Russian soil all my life.

I love my father, very much actually, but I might go crazy if I continue to live like a recluse.

I yearn to feel the sunlight on my face, beyond these gates. I yearn to talk to someone, tell my thoughts to a person that is not Yulia or the quiet walls of my bedroom and my dolls' lifeless eyes.

Father says he is a banker, but we have a disturbing amount of security patrolling the mansion's grounds every single day. Strong, bulky men, with fierce expressions and dangerous looking guns.

But non of them are smart enough to outwit me.

I leave the mansion almost every night by a small, broken, wooden fence behind an abandoned garden. I try to make sure no one sees me because if word got to Dad, he would order for immediate patch up of the fence and all round checks for possible areas of security breach.

We have an absurd amount of "security" for a bank owner, if you ask me.

During such nights, I make my way to the beach and spend sometime with my best friend, Marcus, an English student of the Oxford University.

He's one of the brooding, intelligent types. Qualities that drew me to him the first night he found me skipping rocks on the beach alone and offered to sit with me.

We've been good friends ever since.

I tell him everything. He always has this thoughtful look whenever I tell him about Dad.

We met a year ago and we've become inseparable ever since. When we're not at the beach, we explore the streets of London, under the glaring nightlights. We break into museums, visit roadside restaurants and talk about everything and nothing while we try to read the stars.

I believe I would've gone insane if I had not found the broken fence during one of my unguarded wanderings through the mansion's grounds.

I desperately needed a break from all the strange things that have been happening lately.

Dad is particularly around alot, but before now, he hardly ever came home. I didn't even know what he looked like until ten years ago when he decided to come back to London permanently. I know his job is in Russia and he spends most of his time there, but lately, he hardly ever leaves the house.

And as if things aren't weird enough, strange men keep coming to see him. Some bald, some bulky with huge forearms and creepy tattoos.

Something is definitely not right and if Yulia is not coming snooping with me, I'll just have to go by myself.

"Yulia?"

"Hmm?"

She does not look up from the heavy tangle of curls she's trying so hard to braid.

"I have a really bad headache. Could you continue later?"

She looks up, her blue-green eyes clashing sharply with mine in the mirror.

"A headache? How bad is it?"

"Uh... it's really bad, actually. It started a while ago and it's not showing any signs of letting up."

She drops the hairbrush on the table, her gaze softening with worry.

"Well, that's not good. I'll give you a head massage. That helps with headaches."

"No!" I say suddenly.

"Excuse me?" She looks up, surprised at my outburst.

"Uh, I mean...I just need a few hours of rest. I'll be as good as new after a power nap."

"Are you sure? You should take a few tablets of Aspirin. We do not want the headache getting worse."

"Yulia," I say impatiently, "Why don't I take that nap first, then see how I feel afterwards. Okay?"

"Okay" She agrees grudgingly. "I'll be back to check on you in a few hours."

"Thank you, Yulia. You're the best!"

She gives me a strained smile, straightening a non-existent fold on the pristine duvet on her way out.

My breathing finally becomes normal after she leaves. I give it ten minutes before I'm scrambling from the dresser stool and out the door.

I tiptoe towards the halls, expecting to find a guard or two on patrol. Satisfied that I am alone, I tiptoe down the polished marble stairway and make my way towards the East wing of the mansion, where Dad's suite of offices is located.

I stop at the door, startled to see that the expensive French doors have been replaced by a private elevator.

Since when does the mansion have an elevator?

I run my fingers over the cool surface of the new mystery.

Dang! Why would dad replace the perfectly working door with a fucking elevator if he indeed does not have anything to hide?

I kneel to untie the laces of my sneakers, retrieving the hairpins I keep under them for cases of emergency.

But that's the problem.

I watch a stunning amount of YouTube life hack videos and murder documentaries to know that some elevators have special keys and how to pick them. but Dad's new toy does not look like it can be picked.

It looks like some dungeon door straight out of one of those top ten craziest inventions videos Yulia loves to watch.

I run my eyes over the door's massive size, an angry "damn it" leaving my lips when I discover the key pad on the wall.

.Why the hell would dad need a fucking key pad?

"What could the code be?"

Great. Now I'm making conversation with a lifeless door. If I'm correct, an alarm would be triggered if I make three failed attempts.

I take a deep breath and run my sweaty fingers down my shorts.

I key in the date of my parents' wedding anniversary and the entire keypad blinks a blinding red.

Oh, good Lord.

Two more incorrect attempts and all the guards will be alerted by the alarm within seconds.

Taking another deep breath, I key in my birthday, mentally crossing my fingers.

I feel invisible shackles release their grip around my heart as the keypad turns green. I grin, unable I help my excitement.

"Damn, Skylar. You should be recruited into the Special Forces."

The doors do not reveal the insides of an elevator, to my shock.

Instead, it opens into a massive hallway. The hallway that leads to Dad's office.

A dummy door?

This shit just got messy.

I tiptoe down the hallway and stop suddenly when I hear voices filter through one of the doorways.

Low, strained voices are gradually intercepted by the raised, angry ones of my Father. I bite my lips, mentally steeling myself for some serious eavesdropping.

Today, I find out what Dad has been hiding from me. Or I atleast get a hint.

I look up, momentarily wondering why Dad does not have guards stationed by the doorway and my eyes clash with the suited back of Dad's personal assistant, Richard Smollett.

God, I dislike the man. I visibly shudder as my brain conjures images of his deadly brown eyes.

He's a creepy bastard.

He is not bulky like the rest of the men Dad has dealings with but I have the feeling that he's more mentally dangerous. Right now, his low, calculative voice sent shivers down my spine.

I cover my mouth with my fingers to hide a startled squeak when Dad suddenly slams his hand on the table and begins pacing the length of the vast office.

Smollett merely sits there, watching him.

"What do you suggest I do, Smollett? If I even attempt to venture out there, you know what Blackstone would do to me. I would be a fucking dead man within minutes."

"But if you do not do as I say, your daughter will die with you."

I gasp and both men still.

"Did you hear that?" Dad asks.

"I do not know what it is but I sure heard something. Stay here, boss. I'll sweep the halls."

Shit! Shit! Shit! Dad will never let me out of this fucking prison if he realizes I've been sneaking around.

I run down the hallway and disappear into one of the empty rooms, thanking God every step of the way that I chose rubber soled sneakers for this adventure.

I peep through the doorway just as Smollett opens the doors to Dad's office wider, hands going to his waist band in a move I know all too well. The fucker has a gun.

His lifeless eyes sweep through the length of the hallway, pausing only for a minute at my hiding spot.

I hold my breath, counting the seconds until he simply shrugs and steps back into the office, leaving the door ajar.

I sag against the wall in relief. That was too close.

I tiptoe back towards the now wide open door, my hands firmly clamping my lips in place to prevent any other surprise sounds from slipping out.

I have heard the name Blackstone in my Dad's conversation with his men one too many times. I even looked him up online but the search came back with nothing. Nada.

It was as if anything in relation with the damned name had been wiped out and worse still, I do not know his first name. Everyone just calls him Blackstone.

"If Blackstone comes for me, I need my daughter protected. I need complete protection for her."

"There is no 'if', boss. Blackstone is coming for you and the bastard's getting closer every damned day."

Dad flings an empty coffee mug across the room. It lands on the hard wall, shattering to pieces on the wood floor. What the hell?

"Don't you think I fucking know that? We need to strategize then, Smollett. Get my men together. Get more men if necessary. I need this mansion to become a fucking fortress. No one should be able to come in and most importantly, no one gets out. Get your men to scan the perimeters. I need all entrances sealed. You can upgrade the security cameras if you have to. I need maximum protection for this place."

I stand there, transfixed to the spot.

I've been towing along the thoughts of Blackstone being a business man Dad must have upset but this obviously goes way beyond that.

I have never seen Dad so angry.

Surely death isn't a suitable punishment for some lost investment or fall in the stock market.

"We've done all that, boss" Smollett finally speaks up.

"This mansion cannot have more security even if we tried. But if Blackstone and his men manage to find and infiltrate this place, your daughter's safety will be jeopardized. You haven't made provision for a solution to this problem in your plans yet."

I feel my heart sink as dad sits back in his chair, a look of defeat crawling over his features.

Poor Dad.

"What do you suggest I do, Smollett? I've protected her from my enemies for all these years. I cannot let them get their hands on her now.

Blackstone has placed a fucking bounty of five million on my head and that of my family. If they get their hands on Skylar, heaven only knows what they would do to her."

Dad and Smollett sit quietly for a while, staring into space, then Smollett speaks up.

"We could marry her off."

Okay, back up. What?

Dad's head comes up sharply and he regards his P.A. with a wild expression.

"Excuse me?"

Smollett merely flicks imaginary lint off his pristine suit and continues.

"We have no guarantee that you can get Skylar one hundred percent protection should incase Blackstone manage to trace your current location any time soon, but we can only make sure she is safe and sound. The way it looks, the only means to go about that is if we marry her off to another powerful man. Someone that can easily contend head-on with Blackstone and still stand strong."

I can almost see the wheels turning behind Dad's eyes. I cannot believe he is actually considering what this monster is saying.

"But you're aware that I have some very serious plans for Skylar. And anyways, she's still too young to get married."

Father has plans for me? What plans? Why am I only finding out about this?

Smollett moves to the edge of his seat and clasps his hands together.

"Think about it, boss. We could lure Blackstone out here with a potential lead, then ambush him and his men before they even get off their plane or he could come here to kill us all. Either way, if you want your daughter to come out of this unscathed, she has to take on the last name of a powerful man. Someone Blackstone would stop to think twice before launching an attack on.

Concerning her age, she'll be twenty in a few weeks right?", He does not wait for an answer.

"Most young girls in Russia are married off at the age of eighteen. I believe a twenty year old bride would be much better off."

I crouch on the floor, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. This cannot be happening. If Dad agrees to marry me off, I'll never get the freedom I've always wanted.

I'll always look at world from yet another luxurious cage, the house of some wealthy man with intentions of controlling my life.

My earnest wish has always been that Dad would one day come to realize that the world is not as dangerous as he makes it out to be, clouded with his delusions and bouts of paranoia.

Though we've never discussed it, I have always harboured belief that Dad would one day free me from this miserable cage. But he intends to sell me off like a ram on the free market because of a little squabble he has with a business partner.

Well damn if I am going to stand here and continue to let other people decide the course of my life. I am my own person, for heaven's sake.

I'm about to march through the doors of Dad's office and give Smollett a piece of my mind when I am suddenly pulled back against a soft body. Delicate fingers fist over my lips to prevent a very startled squeak from slipping out.

I pause my struggling, my brain letting go of the cobwebs of surprise and fear long enough to recognize the scent of roses that can only be Yulia.

A breath of relief escapes me and I sag against her.

"Do not make a sound, miss." Comes a muffled whisper.

I nod stiffly, unable to move or speak. She lets go of me slowly, then whispers,

"What do you think you're doing here?"

I open my mouth, about to reply when Dad speaks up.

"Who is this man and how soon can this wedding take place?"

My eyes widen but Yulia's just narrow at me, clearly not impressed with my snooping antics.

"His name is Ramsey Mikhailov."

I can feel the temperature in the room drop by several degrees. Whoever this Ramsey guy is, Dad apparently dosen't like him very much.

Even Yulia's breathing come out in short gasps when Smollett mentions his name.

"Did you just say Ramsey Mikhailov? The Ramsey? Son of the Russian..."

Smollett cuts in,

"Yes, that Ramsey, boss. He's the best option for Skylar at the moment."

Anger.

No, raging fury clouds Dad's features. He stands to his feet suddenly, sweeping half the contents of his expensive oak table to the polished wood floor.

I place my palms over my ears as glass pen holders and expensive table figurines shatter under the brute force.

I turn, giving Yulia an exasperated stare. One that asks, "Who is this angry giant.?"

The Dad I thought I knew, never ever looses his temper. What exactly is going on?

"Have you maybe digressed from the normal workings of your senses, Smollett? You want me to give my only daughter out to the Russians when you're well aware of the strain in our relationship? That may be even worse then letting Blackstone get his evil hands on her. Imagine what that Russian brute would do to my baby girl."

He takes a deep breath and collapses into his chair.

"You better think of an alternative, Smollett. You will never be able to sell me in on this one."

Smollett gets to his feet, sending Yulia and I scurrying into the shadows to avoid being seen. He does not pay the door any attention. He merely saunters over to the bank of floor to ceiling windows that occupy an entire wall of Dad's office, his hands clasped firmly behind his back.

"You're only focused on the negative aspect of this intended alliance, boss. Unlike you, I have already thought this through."

Father regards his back with a narrowed expression.

"Well, do not keep me in suspense, dear Smollett."

"Protection is the one thing you want most for your daughter and that is exactly what she's going to get. Why do you think Blackstone has never launched a direct, personal attack on the Bratva?"

"I'm not really sure," Dad replies. " Calculated risks, I guess."

"Yes. That could be a reason. But you're missing the main points, boss.

Fear. Fear of the Russian Pakhan and his son keeps Blackstone from making a personal appearance in Russia. And who better to commit the safety of your daughter to, then someone Blackstone himself is afraid of?"

Dad sits silently throughout Blackstone's analysis and a sense of foreboding creeps through me.

"Make all the necessary arrangements for a secret, closed doors meeting with Ramsey. He owes me for saving his life during the northern blast and I intend to collect. He will become my daughter's protector until it is safe enough for her to come back to me."

I have seen the words Bratva and Pakhan in books enough times to realise that Dad is involved with the Russian Mafia.

My own Father, whom I love and trust more than anyone else in the world is part of a fucking crime syndicate.

I feel a sharp pain in my chest and the beginnings of an actual headache as my brain tries to process the amount of information it has just been dealt with.

Somewhere in my mind, I can hear the worry in Yulia's voice as she asks if I'm okay.

But that's it. My father is a fucking criminal. I am not okay.

I feel the world spin on its axis and I welcome the suffocating darkness that presses in around the edges of my vision.

A muttered word leaves my lips,

"Criminal."

****

New York

"I heard you blew that fucker, Sullivan's brains out."

I look up from the papers splayed on my table in time to catch my best friend and second-in-command, Ricardo, walk through the doors of my office, two bottles of beer in hand.

I raise a silent brow at him.

"Should you be drinking during working hours, Ric?"

"Technically, it's my day off. I deserve to kickback and relax with a bottle of beer. I even brought one for you, ungrateful sonofabitch."

I tighten my lips to stop a smile from slipping out, reaching across the table for one of the bottles.

"You know I have a huge refrigerator in this office for a reason. I can get my own beer."

Ricardo scoffs,

"Check this out. This is the Bronze Beer. Second most expensive beer in New York and only sold to exclusive clients. I bet your fancy refrigerator dosen't have that."

"Hmm... Impressive. I get it you're an exclusive client?"

"Of course, man. How the fuck do you think I got my hands on one of these babies?"

I take a swig of the beer and it's rich, cold flavour hits my tongue. Good stuff.

"So, what are we celebrating?"

Ricardo plops down on one of the swiveling chairs in front of my desk... and props his booted feet on my table.

"You know, Ric, I just shot some fucker's knee off for doing what you just did. You should be grateful for my love. Otherwise, your feet would be reduced to smithereens a long time ago."

He merely smirks. But he does move his feet from my table...and plants them on the chair next to his.

"Annoying fucker." I mutter under my breath.

He laughs.

"Why are you in my office again?"

He regards me with laughing blue eyes.

"Didn't I tell you? We're celebrating. A fucker has been eradicated from the Familia and word on the streets has it that New York City has a new Capo."

He raises his bottle to me.

"And a very formidable one at that. Just got out of a meeting with your ubderbosses. Your induction is in a month and those fuckers have never been so silent during a meeting. I could literally feel the fear, Luca. Good job."

Did I forget to mention that Ricardo is the only person alive allowed to call me Luca?

The only other person is six feet under and every other fucker addresses me as Blackstone.

"What can I say? I love a good challenge. Sullivan and his men proved to be an...interesting sport."

"Ah, good stuff. You should have paged me. I hate to miss out on all the fun." He takes a swig of his beer and continues,

"Could have helped you wring a neck or two."

"It was a spur of the moment kinda thing."

"Exactly my kinda thing, boss. I love to wreck surprise havoc."

I shake my head.

"Ricardo, you're a sadist."

He drops his bottle on my table.

"Right back atcha, sweetheart."

"So", I lean back in my chair, "Any new development on the Romanov issue?"

All traces of laughter disappear from Ricardo's eyes. He drops his feet from the chair and faces me fully.

"I was getting to that, boss. Tie your laces. You're getting married next week."

I almost choke on a mouthful of beer.

"What did you just say to me?"

"Congratulations, Lucas. I found you a wife and you're getting married to her next week."

I take a deep breath, trying in vain to keep a rein on my temper.

"Explain, Ricardo. Because I know you sure as hell wouldn't come into my office spewing all that marriage bullshit without a reason."

Ricardo leans in,

"You want to get the Russian Enforcer?"

"Of course I do. We both do."

Ricardo's voice becomes hard with hatred.

"We were only children, Luca. Fucking children. And Romanov made sure we suffered enough for a life time. Now, we're going to make his life miserable and how best to draw a coward out than to use his precious family?"

I'm confused.

But I recognize that gleam in Ricardo's eyes all too well. Something's up. Something big.

He gets to his feet, rounding the table to hold me by the shoulder. Then he crouches until his lips are level with my ear.

"You, my friend, are going to marry Skylar Romanov, Romanov's only daughter. And you are going to make her life and that of her father's a living hell."

Holy fucking shit!