Page 86 of Beautiful Broken Obsession
Milos tosses me over his shoulder. “You are exactly as I want you.”
What the hell? I’m placed in the back of the car with careful hands—so different from the way he treated me in the closet.
Chapter28
Celia
For the first time,I watch as he pulls an earbud out of an inner pocket then makes a phone call. He speaks French in a liquid flow. Instantly I know it’s to keep me unaware of what’s going on. My stomach is churning. His uncle wants him dead. Yet, we’re on our way to have dinner with him like nothing is wrong.
The car is filling with tension, leaving no air. Finally he ends the call. I open my mouth but it takes a moment to find my voice. “Is there anything I should know about your family? Any subjects to stay away from or…I don’t know, things that would offend them?”
“Things to know? They are craven, weak, and brutal. They are also classless and unrefined. Grigori is petulant and despotic. Stay away from them. Unless I am at your side.” The ice in his voice brings the temperature down in the car, causing me to shiver.
“Okay,” I force out.
Nothing else is said the rest of the way until we’re turning from Lakeshore Boulevard into the heart of downtown. I recognize we’re going to the restaurant Sergei took me to earlier.
I wipe my mouth to clean up the lipstick smeared over the edges and run my fingers through my hair.
It isn’t until the car pulls up outside the restaurant on the street Peter speaks, saying something in French. Milos only answers in a grunt. Peter opens my door since he’s in the front passenger seat and gets to me quicker. Only seconds later, Milos offers me his hand to help me out. I take it, clinging tight. In the lights from the streets I catch the tattoo on the back of his hand just right.
“Milos what does this tattoo mean?” I wonder aloud.
He goes still. “Nothing.” The way he drops my hand and turns his back on me is a slap that stings.
Biting my tongue to hold back the words to fight with him, I follow his large black figure into the restaurant.
We go up the stairs where several people are milling around with champagne glasses in their hands. The huge area has been cleared away of the other furniture, and only one long table remains.
Mother’s smile is strained as she greets me. Her eyes hint she’d rather be anywhere but here. Nikita is smiling as he proudly introduces his fiancée, a timid girl who is maybe my age but probably younger.
Milos wasn’t exaggerating about his uncle and cousins. His uncle’s eyes are winter blue and so very cold, even with a smile stretched across his face. There is no doubt he’s related, as he looks a lot like Milos and his brothers, except his hair is completely white. The man is also slightly bent over. His sons are him only younger, but just as empty and cold.
The older cousin, Ivan, eyes me. “Fat but pretty enough,” he says in Russian.
I go stiff. “Empty but handsome yourself,” I respond in Russian.
His father laughs, I fight not to shiver at the sound. “Milos always the winner, in life and in love.” He attempts to put his hand on my shoulder. I’m not even thinking about Milos’s decree that no one touch me—I don’t want this man to touch me. I don’t want him within a thousand feet of me.
Milos growls low in his throat, his hand goes from my arm to around my waist and yanks me against him. “Do not touch my woman. She belongs to me. No one is allowed to touch what is mine.”
A blush comes over me, but I don’t argue. Dropping my eyes from the man, I press against Milos.
An eyebrow goes up as blue runs over me. “Pretty but hardly worth guarding, nephew.”
“It’s not about worth, it’s that I never let go of what’s mine. Not a dollar, business, or woman.” Milos is taller than his uncle by several inches, and the man sees something in his nephew that has him chuckling roughly.
“Just like your father.” It’s an accusation.
The moment passes as if it never happened. Peter appears, his mouth to Milos’s ear. “This won’t take long.” Milos flashes a smile. “Since it’s about her father and issues with the engagement party tomorrow, I’ll be bringing Celia. Give us a few minutes.”
His hand at my waist guides me along beside him. He walks me into his office. The moment we clear the door, he closes it behind him. I study the door, it’s clearly hardwood. I’m impressed by how thick and quietly it closes. My guess is it would take a battering ram to get it open. When I came earlier the door was opened wide, which now that I think of it was odd. Most men in the mafia kept their offices tightly closed and guarded. Why had it been open?
Milos picks up a phone on his desk—the French is back. Keeping me out of what’s going on. Nerves have me pacing his large office as he talks. He hangs up the phone yet continues to stare at it. I can feel him thinking.
“Milos, is there…something going on?” The words come out of my tight throat in a whisper.
He turns his head to look at me. The shake of his head is small. “Business is business. It’s just busy. Timing issues.”
