78

I wasn’t living in a fantasy world where I could pretend he didn’t have blood all over his hands. Could that include the blood of someone Alexei loved? More than likely, but I still didn’t know for certain.
“You can’t blame a girl for trying.” I shrugged and flashed an apologetic smile. “At least you can say my father’s name without hissing. Alexei almost spits every time he mentions him.”
When I thought of Oleg as little more than a thug, I went the direct route. He’d proven a bit too bright to fall for that but I could be subtle too. People who wouldn’t answer your question might give information away when you approached it obliquely.
“You’d have to ask Mr. Lebedev about that,” he answered, proving my subtlety wasted. “It’s getting late. You should get some rest. We will be at sea tomorrow but in port the day after.”
With that, he turned around and slid sideways through the door, leaving it open for me. He continued down the hall, disappearing into the door across from where I’d found my luggage.
He’d left me a few things to consider. Minutes after he left me alone, I trudged back to my cabin. Whatever happened tomorrow, it was best to be ready for it with a full night’s sleep or at least as close to one as I could get.
…
Sleep faded from me slowly the next morning. Between the low, almost imperceptible hum of the engines and the equally subtle swaying of the yacht, I snuggled under the blankets when I first woke, enjoying the caress of the cotton sheets. They had to have had a thread count in the high four digits.
All too soon, the waking world opened the flood gate of memories, of why I luxuriated to the sound of an engine and the rocking of a boat. I tossed the sheets from my body as if they were covered in bed bugs.
Bright daylight shone through the long narrow window of my cabin. No, my cell. Alexei might not have locked me in last night, but I was still his prisoner. Even on a swanky yacht in a cabin with sinfully soft sheets, I had to remember I was a prisoner here, not a guest. That was what he wanted me to see myself as.
Thinking about him gave my mind an excuse to picture the man and what we’d done last night, what I’d almost let him do. I leaped off the bed and my eyes darted around the small cabin for any sort of distraction, a way to put that tall, blond and handsome genie in the bottle.
Seeing none, I grabbed my toiletries bag and rushed to the small bathroom connected to my cabin. No, my cell. My morning routine usually centered me and helped me focus on the coming day. If there was ever a day I needed focus, it’d be today dealing with Alexei. No, my kidnapper.
As the scalding water steamed the air in the tiny shower compartment, I visualized my worries and anxieties evaporating into the cloud, steaming away. A ridiculous idea, it was some meditation exercise that Katie had stumbled upon once. I’d laughed the entire duration the first time I’d tried it, but damned if I felt better after, not that I’d ever shared that with her or anyone else.
A few deep breaths of the thick humid air offered more clarity. No fear or worry, and most importantly after last night, no lust clouded my thoughts. Logic beat passion, nine times out of ten.
Had last night affected Alexei as much as it had me? Would he be this distracted, maybe more?
Dangerous questions. They brought up images of our evening together. Annoying as his non-answers had been, the conversation had kept me interested. Later, he’d put that talented tongue of his to good use between my legs. No other man had ever done that. I never would have asked the guys I’d messed around with, I had been way too shy, and compared to Alexei they’d been mere boys.
Now he wasn’t shy with the way he offered the tour clad only in those skin tight shorts. They couldn’t conceal his excitement. No, he was all man, maybe too much for me, as Katie had told him.
An image of him clad in those shorts invaded my mind and had me twisting the hot water knob even higher. The burning water started to melt away the errant thought. Dangerous distracting questions indeed, but they also offered a weapon in Alexei’s desire for me. That, I could use against him.
The man wanted me to fall in love with him so he could steal me from my father. His plan didn’t require reciprocity, he had no need to fall for me to win. I knew his type, men who only cared about gaining and maintaining power. He saw me as an asset, a way to exact his revenge. It seemed to me he was more like my father than he was willing to admit.
All that was true about my captor, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Maybe, when he’d come up with his little scheme, he’d been beyond the trivialities of love, but he wasn’t anymore. He desired me, maybe even liked me, even though I’d been rightfully acting like a royal bitch to the man who’d kidnapped me. Still, he’d called me his worthy opponent.
Not love, not yet, but still a weapon, a way to distract him, to lure him into a false sense of security. Once he let his guard down, I’d slip away. Oleg said we’d be in port tomorrow. Unless Alexei was taking me to his own secluded little private island, it should be easy enough to get away, contact my father.
That realization of how I could use Alexei’s own feelings against him did little to give me courage. After my shower, I sat back on the bunk in my cell and flipped the television on.
It offered no channels to watch but connected to Alexei’s media center on the ship. Searchable by name, genre and even year of production, browsing the extensive catalog of movies and TV shows did little to distract my thoughts away from my captor.
Living with Katie, the aspiring dramatist, I’d watched more than a few of the classics. Alexei curated his collection with the greats: Wilder, Welles, Hitchcock and the rest. I started North by Northwest. Watching Eva Marie Saint’s femme fatale go up against Cary Grant might offer some tips to use against Alexei.
My choice in movies proved to be the opening mistake on my first day aboard the ship. Every action Grant took, I compared to my captor and found the actor lacking. Like the itch of a mosquito bite, I tried to distract myself from the thought, but mental fingers scratched the itch.
As counterproductive as that was, the ending sealed the deal on why it was a bad choice. Suave, sophisticated and sexy in that Mad Men sort of way, Cary Grant always got the girl at the end of the picture. The screen clicked to black before they even got off Mount Rushmore. I’d seen too much already.
Men like that, men like Alexei, they expected things to go their way. If I conjured up a little Eve Kendall before she betrayed her employer for their enemy and married the man, I could exploit those expectations.
My stomach rumbled; another nudge for me to leave the confines of my cell, face Alexei after last night. I hesitated at the door and snatched a thin shawl from my open suitcase. With it loosely wrapped around my shoulders, I finally ventured outside my cabin.
The sun hung high above the boat. Craggy green peaks rose along the coastline in the distance. At least few miles of glittering blue sea separated us from land. A cool breeze had me cinching my wrap tighter before I climbed the stairs to the next deck.
The aroma of freshly baked bread joined the salty sea smell. I followed it around the balcony outside Alexei’s suite. The table we’d eaten dinner at sat at its back. The empty bottle of wine on top served as the only evidence of the delicious meal. I listened to my grumbling stomach and padded further along the balcony
The door to the lounge Alexei had showed off on the tour hung open. I peeked through. Alexei and Oleg stood at the pool table. My captor, his back to me, leaned over the table, cue in hand. He wore black shorts, though much looser than the underwear he’d given the tour in. Still, they tightened as he lined up his shot.
The bigger man faced me. His head nodded an inch when he noticed me. The cue ball cracked against another. Alexie rose and froze for a tick. Observant as he was, he wouldn’t miss the shift in his body guard’s attention.
“I see Sleeping Beauty has awoken,” Alexei said after spinning from the table to flash that slappable smile, “and it didn’t even take a kiss from a prince like in the fairy tales.”
“Did it take you all morning to think that up?” I snapped back but dropped my eyes, cheeks burning.
“Not all morning. We’ve started playing snooker after we ate,” he replied, and pointed to the bar opposite the pool table. “Are you hungry?”
My stomach sent my eyes that way before his arm moved. A long baguette sat next to half a loaf on the edge of a platter. Grape sized balls of fresh mozzarella were piled next to the bread. The creamy inside of half a bulb of burrata oozed next to the thinly sliced meats that took up the rest of the platter.
“If you’d like, you could play winner.”
Alexei’s words pulled me from the sandwich I’d just stuffed an obscene amount of spicy capocollo inside of. He waved at the pool table. The mansion back on Long Island had a pool room, two really. I rarely visited the one in my father’s wing, but spent a lot of time in the rec room about as far from my father’s office as possible in the building.
The table Alexei and Oleg played on appeared similar enough to the one I had at home, though larger. Every ball other than the cue was red though. Obviously not pool, at least not how I’d played it.
“I’d love to play Oleg at pool,” I said before pressing the top bread onto my sandwich.
“Pool is a children’s game, this is snooker,” he said, tapping the table, “but don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you, help you learn the rules before I beat you.”
“You wouldn’t want to face off against an unworthy opponent, would you.” A dry chuckle escaped after I spoke.
It was all part of his game of seduction. He’d spark my competitive nature with a match in an unfamiliar sport. If I asked for help, he’d gloat but happily comply. I could just imagine him behind me, arms on mine as he helped me line up a shot. The mental picture almost had me forgetting my sandwich.
Alexei turned back to the table before responding. His next shot sank one of the red balls, the one after the same. By the time I’d finished inhaling the sandwich, the last red ball had disappeared into the corner pocket. It clinked against the others inside it.
Oleg nodded to his boss’s victory. They conversed without a word and the bigger man gave another nod. He slipped the cue on the holder under the side of the table and made for the door.
“So, have you ever played snooker?” Alexei asked once the door closed behind his body guard.
“Is it like pool?” False innocence filled my voice. From what I’d seen watching his last match with Oleg, the rules seemed similar enough, but every good pool shark knew to play their abilities down.
“A little,” he replied and that slappable smirk bloomed.
The sun had dropped halfway to the horizon by the time I’d backed up my boastful thinking with action. The best two out of three became four out of seven. I won the fifth frame after it turned into the best out of nine, but it became best out of eleven after the next one.
Alexei never balked when I kept the match going. His smug smile faltered after I won two frames in a row but he came back harder the next one. Instead of giving in to my desire to slap the triumphant smirk from his face, I channeled it to the game and went on to win the next three.
As we traded shots, he kept up a steady stream of small talk interspersed with personal questions. I kept my answers short at the start, guarded. He was probing to learn more so he could beat me. Why help him? As I started to win, my tongue loosened. The competition remained on the table but not in our talk.
Alexei fell silent as we faced off in the thirteenth frame. His eyes narrowed at the layout of balls before he lined up the shot. If he sank the ball, he’d win the frame. I stood on the opposite side of the table, leaning on my cue.
The wrap I’d covered up in hung over the back of a nearby chair. When I’d laid it there a frame ago, the top button of my shirt had opened. I wasn’t above distraction. As he leaned in to make his shot, eyes that should have been focused on the table rose to me.
The cue balls struck the last red ball but it bounced at the edge of the hole. Alexei’s face pinched, flaring red but only for a moment. His head shook and he stepped away from the table with a wave.
I understood men like Alexei. They didn’t expect to lose. Watching as they experienced even a small loss could be telling. I marched around the table, thumping the butt end of the cue against the hardwood deck. His lips pressed together as I readied myself. He wouldn’t stoop to my level, use distraction. No, he wanted a worthy opponent, to savor the most satisfying of victories.
My cue ball hit the red one exactly where I aimed. It clattered into the corner pocket. My arm shot up, holding the cue aloft.
“Best of fifteen?” he asked, already pulling balls from the pockets.
So far, I’d been the one to ask for another round every time. Instead of agreeing like he had, I shook my head.
“Isn’t it about dinner time? Maybe we can play later,” I said, pausing for a fake yawn before I set my cue in its place.
Alexei froze, hand still in the corner pocket. No angry blotches appeared on his face, his expression didn’t pinch. He sighed and stepped back from the table.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, pointing at the snooker table. “This isn’t over.”
As he led me out of the lounge to the galley in the next room, our easy conversation returned. Competitive as he was, he brought the match up more than once as we ate and tried to resume it right after, even asking as he escorted me back to my cabin in the dim running lights of the yacht near midnight.
The loss hadn’t sat well with Alexei, but he took it better than I would have. Hell, I took after my father in that regard. He lashed out at the mere thought of losing. Alexei wouldn’t rage when I got the upper hand. Learning that made it a productive day, fun even.
…
Less than a half hour after I awoke the next morning, I stepped out of my cabin fresh from the shower. I’d slipped on a dress Katie had made me bring along. Heck, she’d snuck it into my pile at the boutique we were shopping in after I’d decided against it. The sheer material barely reached halfway to my knees. When the light hit it just right, it might as well have been transparent. I wore the floral bikini, yet another garment Katie had insisted I try on, underneath to keep a modicum of modesty.
When I got out of this, I’d have to thank her for the fashion advice, among other things she’d shared…
I shook any images from our encounter the night before last out of my head and bound down the hallway. During my aborted escape attempt, I’d gone to the back of the boat, today I walked to the front. Alexei’s balcony overlooked the deck there. He’d probably want to thank Katie for the advice, too… once he saw me.
The sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky. A distant coastline, craggy mountains with tiny cities at the coast faded to the horizon the further to the left. Up ahead, the land grew closer, a sliver of water separating it from a small city on the other side. Red and white electrical towers jutted up near the water from either side. They were so tall I had to step out from under cover to see their full height.
“The pylons of Messina.” Alexei’s voice boomed from above. “You can climb the one over there.”
He stood on his balcony, shirtless with a towel wrapped around his neck. His wet hair spiked messily on top of his head. My fingers twitched as the desire to run my fingers through it and straighten the lopsided spikes hit me. Thankfully, his words pulled me away from the danger.
“Messina?” I asked and glanced between the two pillars and then the water in front of us. “So this is the strait of Messina and that’s Sicily?”
“Someone knows their geography,” he said, flashing the smile I had considered slappable yesterday; today other thoughts crept in. “We will be in Syracuse harbor in less than an hour.”
“Syracuse is on Sicily,” I replied.
“Someone really knows their geography.” The smile returned, more smug, which almost seemed impossible. “Care for some tea? I don’t want to spoil my appetite, so I wasn’t planning on any breakfast. Sicily is renowned for its street food, but there’s always time for tea.”
My father had instructed me to stay away from Sicily when we’d talked the day before yesterday, right before Alexei had descended on my table. He wasn’t the type of man to explain why he gave the order, why he didn’t want me on the island. At the same time, he wouldn’t warn me about something like that for a frivolous reason.
The modern American Mafia traced its roots to Sicily and their Cosa Nostra. Mussolini had cracked down on them in the 1920s after he slighted a Mafia boss who then instructed the locals to skip Il Duce’s speech. A lot of the mobsters that rose to prominence in the US and Canada fled Italy in that crackdown. My father’s grandfather had come to the US from Milan decades before the fascists took power but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wanted me to avoid Sicily because of their Mafia.
Alexei watched my reaction, eyes rapt with attention. He’d already demonstrated the extent of his intelligence network. Given what he’d learned about my potential suitors, he had to know why. If I asked nicely, he might even share, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Great, I love street food,” I replied, keeping a whole new sets of worries and fears from robbing my face of its flirty smile, “and I could use a cup.”