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Unmeasured (Unmatched Book 1) Page 5
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Oleg pressed his lips together, feeling mixed about those words. It was no wonder why Dimitri had always felt in competition with Oleg.
“If you think Dimitri should be included, I will not argue,” Oleg said finally. A loose cannon in the midst wasn’t his preference, but he wasn’t making the decisions here.
He’d agreed to do his part, to contribute for the good of his family. His uncle had never once asked a thing of him in return for raising him as a son. Viktor was the only father he knew. Even a Dom could recognize when obedience was due.
His driver navigated the morning rush hour with the deft knowledge of a man accustomed to punctuality. Each Balashov would arrive like dignitaries for a summit at the sprawling home of Michal Harakian. A guard in black fatigues armed the gate, checking off the guest list and nodding with his permission to continue into the circular stone-paved driveway. Dimitri waited against the door of his car, having arrived first. Oleg recognized the familiar look of disdain on his face.
“So this is it. A truce with the Harakians has been twenty years in the making, and you’re going to just swoop in and save the day,” Dimitri said and pulled away from the car, standing with arms folded. His Rolex glinted in the sun and contrasted with the dark hair revealed on his wrist.
Oleg grinded his teeth and willed himself not to react in anger. “I don’t fancy myself the hero here.”
“Oh, but you do fancy yourself. Always have,” Dimitri said and spit on the stone pavers next to his feet.
Oleg shook his head. “Cousin, you are wrong about me. Always have been.” Oleg buttoned his suit jacket and pushed his chin toward the car in front of them. “Viktor has arrived.” He noticed the gray Jaguar pulling ahead of Dimitri’s Mercedes.
“He wants us all to walk in together,” Dimitri said, and as if on cue, Viktor’s driver proceeded to open his car door. Viktor stepped out, looking impeccably sharp, as usual. Oleg had learned everything he knew about how a gentleman handles himself from the silver-haired man, no matter the brutal nature of his business.
Respect for oneself came first. Respect from others would follow. As a Dominant, Oleg lived by this one rule.
Ascending the grand stone steps together with his uncle and cousin, he hoped he wouldn’t be asked to compromise this principle in the name of family obligation.
Dimitri rang the intercom, and a giant of a man opened the door. Once inside, they were greeted by a diminutive, rotund woman with up-swept, black hair held in place with a peacock-blue comb.
“Welcome to our home, Viktor,” she said, extending her arms for a polite embrace.
“Irena, let me introduce your future son-in-law,” Viktor said and stepped aside to present Oleg.
“Oh, yes, yes,” she said excitedly and tugged him into a hug. “You and my Karina will make beautiful babies.”
When she finally released him, Oleg tried not to grimace. Now was not the time to set her straight on that account.
“Michal is waiting for you in the library, gentlemen. I’ll bring you to him.”
Two large wooden doors stood open to reveal an opulent room with intricately carved shelving lining the walls. Heavy drapes were drawn nearly closed, and a single stream of sunlight cut through the lamp-lit space. Michal sat in a large leather wing chair, smoking a cigar. Two men that Oleg presumed to be his captains stood up from one of the sofas when Viktor and Dimitri walked in before him.
“Michal,” Viktor said, addressing the one man who remained seated. There was a pause as Viktor waited until Michal pushed his portly frame upright before walking over to extend his hand. They shook. Oleg felt his fate being sealed.
“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Michal said and waited until everyone had taken their place on the two sofas and three other chairs in the room. He was the last to sit. Oleg recognized this dance of predators vying for dominance. Viktor was on Harakian turf to settle the details of an alliance that he needed more than Michal. For Oleg’s uncle, it had to be a hard pill to swallow.
“Business first, before we begin to speak of wedding plans,” Viktor said. He rested back in his chair, though he didn’t look relaxed. His uncle never looked relaxed. “Luka Durchenko is more vulnerable now than he will ever be. I have already secured a warehouse in the 10th district, but it won’t be long before word finds its way to them.” He leaned forward. “I need your commitment to secure the area. My men alone will not be enough to sufficiently intimidate.”
Michal shifted his eyes toward Oleg. “How did your first conversation go with my daughter?”
Viktor held out his hand, warning Oleg not to answer. “Michal, your commitment,” he pressed.
The round-faced gangster took a long drag of his cigar. “I want to know what your nephew’s commitment is?”
Oleg nodded at his uncle. He could answer truthfully. “I honor my family. I will honor yours too.”
“My Karina is not an easy girl. I know this. But she is my only daughter, my youngest child. I want the best for her, and the kind of man that will give her the life she deserves. She needs watching over, needs the right man in her life. My Karina has never been good at finding the right man.”
“I will do my best.”
“Ah, but will that be enough?” Michal grinned. “I ask again. How did it go the other night when you met?”
Oleg weighed his words carefully. “She was a bit preoccupied.”
“Preoccupied?” Michal raised an eyebrow and stood. He walked to the door and opened it. “Irena!” he called out.
His wife appeared at the door on hurried feet. “Yes, Michal.”
“Have Karina join Oleg in the living room. They could use some time alone.”
“Yes. That is a good idea.” She waved enthusiastically for Oleg to come with her.
Oleg watched for his uncle’s reaction, awaiting his endorsement. If Viktor needed him in their meeting, he would stay.
Viktor nodded. “Now we can get back to the other business at hand,” he said.
Michal pursed his lips, and the flesh bunched together almost grotesquely. He was not a pleasant man to look at. Rancidness seemed to lurk about his aura. “Then we’ll all have lunch. Irena has arranged a feast…to celebrate.”
Oleg managed to smile weakly. “Gentlemen,” he said to everyone as he left.
Irena led him back down the hall, her reasonable heels click-clacking on the marble-tile floor. “Wait here for a few moments, and I’ll go get Karina,” she said once they’d reached the archway of an indulgently appointed room outfitted with plush cream tufted sofas and an enormous limestone fireplace.
She smiled wide and spun around toward the grand staircase. Oleg took a closer look at the photographs displayed on a console next to the entrance. Karina sat upon a prize-winning horse in full dressage apparel, her hat tucked under her arm as she posed and smiled for the picture. Another image showed Karina with younger versions of the two men in Michal’s library flanking her on either side as they sat beneath a twinkling Christmas tree. They must be her brothers. In the pictures, Karina’s smile seemed genuine.
“All right!” The shrill whine bounced off the walls and grated his senses.
Oleg looked up to find Karina shaking free of her mother’s grasp.
“You two spend some time getting to know one another. We’ll have lunch as soon as your father is done.” Irena patted her daughter’s arm.
Oleg took a deep breath and tried not to let it out as a sigh. “Karina.”
She rolled her eyes and flung herself onto one of the sofas. “What is your name again?”
Oleg locked his jaw. “You know very well what my name is.” He sat down across from her on the matching sofa. An expansive glass coffee table separated them. “Now, shall we have an adult conversation?”
Karina folded her arms. “About this ridiculous idea my father has? I do not want to marry you.”
“Then we have a problem, because your father has made an arrangement.”
She frowned at him. “I have other plans.”
r /> “Really? Is it to pump your veins up with that shit until you’re lying in a gutter somewhere?”
“What’s it to you?”
Oleg shook his head. “Nothing. Just that I’ve got debts to pay. Considering this charmed life you’ve lived, you do too.”
“You don’t know about my life.”
He shrugged. “You’re right. I don’t. Tell me how bad it is.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have to tell you anything. I just want to live my life the way I want, with who I want.”
“So why are you still hanging around? Get your junkie boyfriend and get lost.”
She didn’t say anything.
“I think we both know why. Daddy’s money and this lifestyle is hard to say no to, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you.”
It was Oleg’s turn to roll his eyes. His patience was wearing thin. “This is how it’s going to work. You get clean. We get married. You live your life, and I live mine. No kids, no fucking heroine, no questions. You get to keep being daddy’s girl and all the benefits that go along with that.”
“What do you get?”
That was a good question. What did Oleg get from giving Karina Harakian the Balashov name? “Atonement.”
She twisted her face at him. “What do you owe my father?”
“The atonement isn’t for him. Anyway, it’s none of your business.”
She pressed her thin lips together, and the smear of lip stain hurriedly applied earlier feathered out. “I haven’t said I will go to rehab.”
“That man at the catacombs… What’s he to you?”
“Jean-Louis is my boyfriend.”
“You can keep him if he goes to detox as well. I need you clear headed. I won’t be a babysitter.”
“What do you mean I can keep him?” she said, narrowing her hollow eyes.
“This arrangement doesn’t need to change our lives all that much as long as you remain discreet.”
She was silent then, tapping her finger to her lip. “All I have to do is go to rehab?”
“You stay away from my affairs, and I’ll stay away from yours. It’s that simple.” Oleg stood then. “Just know that the first time you disrespect me or the trust I am offering you, it will be the very last time.”
“Yes, sir,” Karina said with a sarcastic salute.
Oleg shot her a glance that wiped the smirk from her lips.
“Fine. Okay,” she said, dipping her head and rubbing her arms beneath her sweater. “Louis isn’t going to like this though.”
“That’s your problem.” He pulled his phone from his breast pocket and searched for the number to the private facility recommended by Henri.
“What will you tell my father?” she asked.
“You think he doesn’t know? Why do you think he’s so anxious to marry you off?” She turned away from him then. Oleg wished he could feel something more than mere obligation when it came to Karina. If there was any sort of spark, a sliver of attraction, he might be mildly enthusiastic about the life sentence he seemed to be writing himself. But Karina represented every character trait he disliked. Oleg preferred a woman with fire in her veins, not poison. It would be a privilege to tame a dragon. Karina only pretended to be fierce. She’d never survive him. He’d never want her to.
He sighed. “I’ll make sure you get clean. I’ll give you a home. After that, you can make up your mind about what you want to do with your time.”
“We’ll live together? I don’t even know you.”
Oleg found that amusing. “I can offer you a reference to vouch for my good character.” She didn’t laugh, and he shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my home in the country and my apartment in the city. I’ll place you in a townhome and let you know on the occasions when I’ll be arriving. We don’t owe each other anything. That’s not what this is about.”
“How long do we have to stay married?”
He shrugged. “As long as our families need each other. Forever probably.” It really didn’t matter how long. Oleg had no intentions of truly settling down with anyone. Ever. Love was dangerous. It had gotten both his parents murdered. He didn’t need that kind of complication in his life. As far as he was concerned, a marriage in name only suited him just fine.
He dialed the number to the rehab facility. “Yes,” he said to the woman who answered for La Vie de Demain Centre. “We would like to request a reservation.” He handed Karina the phone and gazed at her expectantly.
Karina slumped in her seat, and she glared at him. The woman on the other end of the line could be heard calling out, “Hello? Hello? Are you there?”
With a petulant flick of her wrist Karina snatched the phone from Oleg’s hand. “I’m here. My name is Karina Harakian.”
“Tomorrow,” Oleg mouthed.
She threw herself against the pillow behind her on the sofa and huffed. “Tomorrow. Yes, I want to check in tomorrow.”
Oleg nodded his approval. When she was finished, he left her and headed back toward the hallway. She remained slumped among the many sofa pillows, her mouth a crooked line of defeat. Oleg didn’t feel like he’d won a prize either. The deal was in place. Efficiency was his singular goal now. He stopped at the door. “The program runs for five weeks. I’ll be in touch when you are through.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled. The woman, and Oleg used the word generously, was twenty-two going on fifteen. A sheltered life had produced a wholly incapable brat. There was no itch to straighten out her attitude. The thought literally made him cringe. He wouldn’t waste a second even trying.
In that moment, he remembered the American, Samantha. Her face appeared in his thoughts, the way it had several times since the night at Duval’s. Oleg pushed the image out of his mind, bothered by the persistence of this daydream. He might never see her again. The way Marielle had run from the club suggested another introduction was less than likely. That was all well and good. She’d pushed his buttons way too perfectly. It was a distraction he didn’t need. But those slightly pursed lips, that flagrant curiosity in her eyes…
No. Better to find someone more experienced with his preferences. Training a new sub, especially one that didn’t quite know what she wanted yet, was more than he could handle. Though knowing what he needed didn’t arrest the craving to see her face flush just one more time…feel that inviting mouth, watch those innocent eyes narrow and focus. His cock stirred in his pants every time he thought of her. Wants versus needs. Oleg already knew which would win.
Chapter 6
Ethics class was far more brain-numbing than usual for Samantha, never mind the mid-term exam that loomed the next week. Her sleep-deprived eyes fought to stay open. She’d had plenty of restless nights over the past week and a half while lying in bed imagining what would have happened with Oleg if Marielle hadn’t demanded they leave. In less than five minutes, he’d pushed her further than anyone else had ever dared. He’d pushed her, and by reflex, she’d pushed back. But had it been to stop him or to challenge him? She wasn’t sure. Hours passed as she warred with how she should feel about that moment versus what she did feel. It had been confusing and fleeting, but right before Marielle had blown her top and broken the spell, a sense of peace, a sensation of joy had washed over her. That bliss had been ushered in on two words. “Good girl.” She could hear Oleg say it even now, in his thick accent on a grit-filled rasp. He had her with those simple two words, and she didn’t even know if she would ever see him again. It was nuts. Besides, Oleg was engaged, business arrangement or not. She wasn’t that stupid.
She never got his last name. Good, that would make it near impossible to find him. If she were to look, that is—which she didn’t plan on doing. There had to be hundreds of unnervingly tall, fiery-eyed, sexy-beyond-words Russian dudes flooding the streets of Paris at any given moment. The odds of crossing paths again with the one she’d met the other night were slim to none, right?
It didn’t occur to Samantha that the rustling in the room had m
eant that her class had ended. When Professor Milieu cleared her throat, Sam finally got the hint. She peered at her over the rim of her glasses, looking mildly annoyed. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.”
Okay, if she didn’t get her act together soon, she’d be explaining to her parents why the school sent back her next tuition check. Clearly, she needed to get the whole idea out of her system. She’d try this whole BDSM thing—one time. Just to say she’d done it, and then she could concentrate on what was important.
But what was that exactly? Samantha sighed and tugged her jacket on. She had enough time between classes for a bite to eat, then it was back to the grind. One way or another, she’d have to learn to fall in love again with becoming a lawyer. Like the long ponytail swinging behind her as she descended limestone steps, the idea had been with her since she was a child, from the precocious musings of a six-year-old, all the way through high school. When her mother was elected to the U.S. Senate, Samantha had declared her political science major at Yale like a…
Good girl.
Somehow, when Oleg had called her that, the words had taken on an entirely different significance. Samantha shook her head. Trying to be the good girl for her family had done nothing but make her miserable. Lately, she’d spent a decent amount of time making sure the label didn’t stick. Why did hearing a stranger say the same words make her want to melt? None of it made any sense.
She crossed the street to the popular café and hoped they hadn’t run out of the lentil soup she loved so much. Today, Sam needed something warm and familiar.
“Samantha.” Her name never sounded so perfectly decadent. From behind a folded newspaper, it floated in the cold air like sweet steam off hot chocolate. With her hand on the door, she stopped in her tracks and turned to find Oleg neatly folding the financial pages. He tucked them under his arm, and Sam was suddenly hungry for something other than soup. Oh, but damn, he was beautiful.
“Wow, this is a coincidence,” Sam said, though something in the way he was looking at her told her that coincidence had nothing to do with it. If he’d been a regular for lunch at that café, there was no way Sam wouldn’t have seen him before. For Sam, Lentil soup for lunch at least three days a week was a given. And if she’d seen him, there was no way in hell she wouldn’t have memorized every striking curve and angle of his face.