VIKTOR TARASOV
Patience. Patience. Patience.
I repeated the singular phrase in my head as my left thumb flicked over the side of my index finger, a pointless habit I'd picked up since before I hit puberty. As insignificant as the motion seemed, it somehow managed to help keep my thoughts grounded every time.
Now? Not so much.
I tilted my head slightly, studying the appalling sight before me over the rim of my wine glass. Two puzzling questions ran through my head, as my thumb moved at a faster, maddening pace.
One, what the fuck was I doing here on a random weekday, punishing my taste buds with subpar alcohol?
Two, why was the sight of the group two tables away from me unsettling to begin with, when it had nothing to do with me?
Both questions were left unanswered as I continued to feast my eyes on the one woman that caught my attention since she stepped into the room, draped in a white dress that looked buttery soft even from afar. Her brown, bronzy skin glistened every time the lights hit her bare shoulders, creating a soft halo around her.
Angelic.
That was the only way to describe this woman without doing her beauty a disservice. She reminded me of a goddess I'd seen in one of the many mythology books my father had gifted me to keep me busy when I was younger.
Beautiful yet aloof. Ethereal yet unapproachable. So close yet unreachable.
Yet, these people had the guts to take her presence for granted, conversing amongst themselves like she didn't exist. No one noticed that she hadn't touched anything on her plate, neither did they care that she hadn't drunk a sip of her water since she got into her seat.
They were all too comfortable leaving her out, and that infuriated me more than anything.
Fools.
Ten minutes passed before her father finally addressed her, and I watched with growing displeasure in my chest as she jumped out of her skin when he fixed his stern gaze on her.
They had a little back and forth, the sour look on the older man's face deepening. He abruptly jerked out of his seat, barking out an order that could be heard throughout the entire restaurant.
"Come with me!"
He turned away from the table without confirming if she was following him. Of course, she did, ever the dutiful daughter, distress painting her face.
I let a few minutes pass before I rose from my chair in a secluded corner of the restaurant, taking a casual stroll out the door. I had just crossed into the hotel's lobby when I saw her dash out of the doors with an obvious cut on her bottom lip.
It was easy to come to a conclusion.
The bastard had struck her.
A new found rage coursed through my veins as I pulled my phone out of my pocket, shooting off a text to the perpetrator. He replied within seconds, and I tucked my phone back into my pocket, making my way to the elevator.
Within minutes, I was in front of his room door. 2005. I brought my hand up to knock, but the knob twisted from inside, and I was face-to-face with a tall, muscular man with salt and pepper hair.
"Mr. Tarasov. I didn't know you were in town. How did you know I was here?" Even though he forced a smile, it was hard not to notice the air of agitation surrounding him, a clear sign of his earlier, unresolved altercation with his daughter.
"Does that necessarily require an answer, George?"
His thin lips stretched further in that same forced, patronizing smile of his. "Only if you wish."
"I'd rather we just get started with this conversation."
"Sure." He stepped to the side, opening the door wider. "After you."
I walked through the door, following the familiar outlay of all luxury suites at Halton's, until I found myself in the sitting area.
"For a short notice meeting, you seem well prepared." I jerked my head at the bottle of whiskey at the center of the table, surrounded by two glasses, two ashtrays and several sticks of Cuban cigars. My favorite brand. "Interesting."
"I try my best." George dropped into his seat, gesturing at the chair behind me. "Let's start, shall we?"
"Hm, indeed." I shrugged off my trench coat, hanging it over the armchair before I finally took a seat. "I'll just go straight to the point. Your daughter and I are married."
George's movements stilled, his whiskey glass a hair's breadth away from his lips. "What?" he rasped a full minute later, like he needed sixty whole seconds to process the tidbit of information I just dropped.
"You heard me." I held up my left hand, showing him a black, nondescript wedding band wrapped around my finger. "I'd show you our marriage certificate, but I don't have it on me."
"First of all, which one of my daughters are we talking about here?"
"Dahlia," I deadpanned. Jokes on him for thinking I could tolerate his other daughter's insufferable attitude long enough to put a ring on her finger.
I watched with satisfaction as all the color drained from his already pale face, turning his skin a sickening shade of white. This wasn't how I planned to drop the bomb on the him. My initial plan wasn't until the next few months, but his reaction was rewarding enough for me to brush off the inconvenience of things not going exactly how I'd planned them.
"Dahlia wouldn't... she... you..."
I chuckled, leaning back against the armchair. "My, my, George. Finish a sentence, would you? This is unbecoming of a polished man like yourself."
Forget all the color that drained from his face earlier. His face was an angry shade of red now, sparks of fury filling his hazel eyes.
It looked prettier on her.
I shelved the observation into the recess of my mind, arching a brow at him, the simple action prompting him to go on.
"When did this happen? What did you do to her? How did you get her to agree to this utter madness?"
"Vegas. High emotions." I shrugged. That gave him enough clue to piece two and two together, and the insipid anger in his eyes brewed even more violently.
"This is utterly mad."
"So, you've said."
"Dahlia would never do something as careless as this. What did you threaten her with? I thought we were doing well on the business negotiations. Why would you involve..."
He abruptly cut himself off, his eyes rolling violently to the back of his head while his body spasmed in his chair.
I cocked my head to the side, taking in the pitiful sight of his body.
Was he so shaken by the news that his body couldn't contain so much of that anger of his?
It was interesting to see him all up in arms about this, when he never showed any sign of caring for her wellbeing in the past. He would never have let that scum bag around her if he did.
Long after his body stopped moving, I unfolded my frame from the uncomfortable 'aesthetically' designed chair, crossing the short distance to where his body laid.
Knocked out cold. I placed a hand on the pulse in his neck, and it weakly thumped against my fingers. If he didn't get any help soon, he was going to die.
Was that something I necessarily wanted to avoid? His life meant nothing to me.
In my contemplation, I'd somehow forgotten to register the sound of the door beeping as someone let themselves in with a key card. I further didn't register footsteps heading my way, until a goddess wrapped in that silk, white dress from earlier filled the threshold of the sitting area, her eyes wide open as they darted from me to the unresponsive man below me.
Fuck.
"Dah-"
She screamed, not giving me a chance to de-escalate the situation before she bolted, sprinting as fast as she could in those ridiculously tall heels of hers. She was going to break her neck if I didn't stop her soon.
George's condition now on the back burner of my mind, I bolted after her. I had to give her a little credit. She was quicker than I expected given the height of her shoes. By the time I burst out of the door, she'd cleared the hallway, but I caught a glimpse of her flowy black hair just seconds before she made a turn to a corner that led to the stairs.
Again, not-so-smart decision given the ankle breakers she had strapped to her feet. Nonetheless, I went after her, ignoring the incessant buzzing in my left pocket. Whoever was calling could wait a few minutes, until I could effectively clean up this mess. Not that I had a plan drafted yet. A migraine brewed in my skull at the mere thought of charging into this situation blindly, but my little runaway had caught me in a rather comprising position.
"Dahlia, wait. That was all a misunderstanding. I didn't touch your father."
"I saw you," she screamed without breaking her pace or turning her head once, or she'd have noticed I was closing in on her faster than she probably expected. "And what are you even doing here? I don't see you after Vegas, and you mysteriously show up here? It's you, isn't it? This is Father's shady business catching up to him, now, isn't it?"
"Got you." I wrapped my hand around her wrist, bringing her to a complete halt before she could go down another flight of stairs. "Listen to me, will you?"
She fought against my grip, clawing at my arm. Thankfully, I had a suit on, or she'd have done considerable damage with her sharp nails.
"Let me go, you murderer," she hissed sharply, clawing harder at me. When she noticed her nails had no effect on my arm, she reached for my neck, dragging her nails down the skin.
Now, that one hurt a bit because I momentarily let go of her hand for a second. Fueled by adrenaline and her desire to get away from me, she fully yanked herself out of my grasp.
"Dahlia, wait. Be care-" I began before she started running again, but the rest of my words died down with the horrified shriek she let out as she tumbled down the stairs.
I was right about those fucking heels all along.
"Fuck me," I cursed as I hurried down after her body, but not quick enough to catch up to her and dull the impact before she hit the bottom of the stairs.
Only once in my life had I felt a fear so paralyzing run through every vein in my body like this, as the sickening sound of a crack filled the air before I could reach her.
No, no, no, no, no.
I knelt beside her unmoving body, scooping her into my arms. Warm liquid coated my fingers supporting the back of her head, and a chilling realization washed over me.
She'd cracked her skull.
I froze, my head barely registering anything except the lifeless look in her eyes while blood seeped out of her skull, drenching my fingers and clothes.
"No, not like this, baby. Not like this."
The first time I got to hold her in my arms in months shouldn't be like this. She shouldn't be slowly losing her life in my arms, while I foolishly did nothing to help her.
My buzzing phone snapped me out of the temporary trance I'd fallen into. Help. I needed to get her help.
I scooped her closer to my chest, rising to my feet simultaneously as I dug my hand into my pocket. I could get her to the hospital faster, but I needed doctors on standby by the time I arrived.
Aleksei's name flashed across the screen. Good. He could get in touch with a doctor for me.
I pressed the phone to my ear, climbing back up the stairs to make use of the elevator. It was quicker and more efficient that way. I was losing her with every second that passed. Crippling dread pooled in my stomach, but I fought back for my control, barking out an order at my cousin. "Get in touch with Michaelson for me. Tell him it's a very important emergency."
"Viktor."
"What?" I violently punched at the buttons of the elevator, waiting with bated breath as the doors slowly slid open. "You heard me clearly, Aleksei. Fucking call Michaelson for me." I shook my head when I didn't get a response from him. "Nevermind, I'll do it myself."
I moved to hang up on him when a broken sob from the other end of the phone filled my ears, filling my stomach with even more dread.
Aleksei never cried. Not in all the years I'd known him.
Not when his father put him through gruesome training sessions when we were younger.
Not when he had to get in a ring with me with a broken rib, knowing I'd never show him mercy.
Not even when his father punished Misha knowing he hated that more than anything.
What the fuck could've possibly happened?
"Alek. Tell me what the fuck is going on," I ordered, preparing myself for the worst.
"You were right. I fucked up," he whispered between quiet sniffles. "I fucked up and now Zoya is dead. I killed your mother, Viktor."
My phone slipped from my grip, clattering to the floor before I could even fully process the bomb Aleksei dropped on me.
My mother was dead, and my woman was dying in my arms.