Relentless Sinner

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Gabriella

I wake up to bright sunlight spilling through the window. I try to open my eyes but close them again quickly. The sun is too intense.

Rolling onto my side, I find myself tangled in silk sheets.

My mind is foggy and disoriented, but I know I’m not home.

It takes a moment for my mind to settle, then suddenly everything comes to me.

Jaxon’s house. Jaxon’s room.

Jaxon’s bed.

Memories flood back into my mind of everything I wish I could forget.

My eyes snap open and I sit up, finding myself not chained to the bed. My wrists are free from restraints.

I’m still practically naked but the sheet is covering me. It wasn’t last night.

I look at the clock on the wall. It’s eleven.

Switching my gaze back to the window, I take a moment to peer at the sun pouring in. The drapes have been pulled, so I can see outside.

I could almost cry at the sight of the radiant rays that I haven’t seen in almost two weeks.

The room is bathed in them but… it feels no less oppressive than last night.

The reminder makes my hopes sink like a heavy weight in my chest.

I push off the blankets and place my feet on the floor, getting another surprise when I find my duffel bag next to me.

“Oh my God, it’s here.” I kneel to open it and I’m so happy when I find my phone, my laptop, and the clothes I packed inside.

I change into a blue long-sleeved top and a pair of yoga pants, then I search for my diary and find the printout of the email Natasha sent me a week after she left.

Only I know where she is. I haven’t even shared the information with Clara. Natasha knew I wouldn’t tell anyone. That’s why she confided in me.

The email has a secret message hidden within it letting me know she’s in Marseille, in France.

Mom took us there when I was ten while Dad was away on business for a few months.

Natasha wrote:

I’m not sere when I’ll see you again but pray for me like we did that summer with Mom.

The sere was made to look like a typo and the reference to praying like we did with Mom were clues she knew only I would get. We always used to drop clues like this for each other as kids.

She was referring to Michel Serre, a seventeenth century artist who has a couple of paintings in the église Saint-Cannat, a church in Marseille.

When we were in Marseille Mom took us there every day. We lit candles, prayed, and she always talked about the paintings.

This is all I have of Natasha for now. I’m praying that she’ll be safe in Marseille and if she has to leave, she’ll find a way to let me know.

Until then my lips are sealed because I know the consequences. Father will have Alessandro killed and the baby, too.

I put the letter away and stare at the door. It’s closed.

God, what will happen to me today?

And why did Jaxon give me back my things?

Last night it seemed like I’d be stuck in here forever, only leaving this room to take my vows.

I can’t believe this is happening and there’s nothing I can do. And what about Dad?

I don’t want to see him but at the same time, I do. Maybe for closure. Or information.

Really, Gabriella? Information from my father? Dad has never told me anything. Not even on a need-to-know basis. Why do I think this time will be any different?

Maybe the person to get information from is Jaxon.

After last night it’s clearer than ever that I can’t simply run away. That doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the idea.

Right now I have to determine what I’m up against. Then what I need is a solid plan. Something better than the sketchy ones I’ve previously come up with. Something that will actually work and get me away from the monsters in my life.

I pack my stuff away and push the bag under the bed. Then I stand and walk to the door. I stare at it for a little while before I chance turning the handle. I gasp when it opens.

“What the hell?” This is strange. I can leave the room?

Maybe Jaxon left it open by accident.

No. He wouldn’t do that again after last night.

This was deliberately left unlocked. But why?

I open the door and check the landing. There’s no one around. I expected to find an army of guards outside the door.

Stepping out, I continue checking my surroundings, looking for Jaxon or his men. There’s no one up here. Only me and the beautiful satin-covered walls around me.

I wasn’t in the right frame of mind last night to take in the beauty of this place. Now I see it and I’m surprised that someone like Jaxon lives here.

The house has a French Provencal meets Renaissance design that would suit someone much older than Jaxon.

I’m thinking that but I don’t even know how old he is. I guessed early thirties, but his beard makes him look older.

I walk towards the staircase and can’t help but stare at the sheer magnificence of the paintings on the walls around me.

I grip the banister, my fingers tightening around the smooth wood as I descend the wide staircase taking careful steps.

I feel eyes on me, then I see one of the guards from last night standing in the archway.

My stomach squeezes at the thought of having guards in the house. I don’t know if that’s a normal thing here or if it’s because of me. Because I tried to escape last night.

Dad didn’t have guards inside the house. That was how he got away with being so horrible to us.

When I reach the bottom I smell coffee and breakfast foods. I also hear talking, so I follow the sound and the scent.

I walk into the dining room where I find Jaxon sitting at the head of a long, dark wooden table. He’s talking in Russian to the elderly maid who tended to me last night.

I stop and wait at the doorway while they speak.

The lady never told me her name, which was understandable given the hostage circumstances in which I arrived.

When Jaxon finishes talking she glances at me and gives me a small smile. She has a stern but kind grandmotherly look with her light blonde hair and well-put-together attire that reminds me of the Countess of Grantham from Downton Abbey . I get the feeling that she would be more sociable if not for the man sitting next to her.

She dips her head politely and takes her leave, exiting through the large wooden door opposite.

Jaxon switches his gaze to me, with cold, calculating eyes that make me want to shiver.

His eyes are brighter in the morning sun, allowing me to see the danger lurking within them. Along with that spark of desire I witnessed last night as he stared at me practically naked on his bed.

An unwelcome blush heats my cheeks at the memory, which I push away and try to steady my mind.

“Good morning,” he says in that deep, low voice.

“Good morning.”

“I see you found your way out.” His lips curve into a playful yet menacing smirk.

“Why did you let me out?”

“Because I’m not in the mood to play cat and mouse with my wife-to-be. Neither am I in the mood for keeping prisoners. I have places for people like that.”

I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that but the thought of him having prisoners locked in some dungeon somewhere makes my skin crawl.

“Does that mean I’m not a prisoner?” I sound more confident than I feel.

“That all depends on you, Gabriella De Costa. Come sit.” He points to the chair next to him. “Let’s eat and talk. There’s a lot to discuss.”

Being anywhere near him is the last thing I want to do but this may be an invitation to get the information I seek. And just maybe the building blocks to finding a way out.

I walk over to him and sit. The moment I do the smell of the food grabs me. I ate last night when I got here but now I’m starving like I haven’t eaten in years.

Ten days in captivity with nothing but moldy bread and water will do that to you.

“Eat,” Jaxon says, as if reading my mind.

I glance at him then decide to serve myself some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

I start eating and my God does it taste good. Last night I had tuna sandwiches with what I knew was homemade bread. The toast must be from the same loaf of bread because it has a wholesome taste. The bacon is crispy with an apple-smoked flavor and the eggs are divine with a rich, fluffy texture that melts in my mouth.

The maids at my father’s home always do a brilliant job with the food but this is Michelin-star quality.

I scuff down the food, almost forgetting Jaxon is next to me. And that he’s watching me.

When I remember I slow down. I was about to get more eggs but stopped myself. He, however, grabs the platter and scoops another helping onto my plate.

“Eat,” he says again in a more demanding tone. “They couldn’t have given you anything decent in that hellhole.”

“No. They didn’t.” My tone is quiet and filled with more emotion than I want to show in front of him. He’s being nice but I don’t know what his angle is.

“Did they hurt you?”

I look across at him and take in the hardness of his expression but the softness in his eyes. “I’m okay.”

It’s better to tell him I’m fine than to go into details of what those men did to me. I’m just thankful my situation wasn’t as bad as it could have been. If Jaxon hadn’t come to my aid when he did that scarred-up man would have destroyed me.

“Anyone who hurt you is long dead.” Jaxon’s voice takes on an Arctic edge that drifts into my core, giving me another taste of his danger. “I left none alive in that compound.”

I stare back at him, wanting to feel shock or some sort of sorrow for their deaths. But I feel nothing. Those men were all of the worst kind and they hurt me.

“Thank you,” I mutter, knowing it’s a strange thing to thank him for. It doesn’t matter because I am thankful.

“You’re welcome. Eat up, then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.”

I polish off the eggs and feel stronger for eating them. I have some more of the other dishes then grab some water to wash it down.

Jaxon watches me throughout and leans forward when I set my glass down, like he’s signaling it’s time to talk.

“Just out of interest, how far do you think you would have gotten if you’d managed to escape last night?” The humor returns to his face.

“Do you really want an answer or do you just want to make fun of me?”

“Maybe a bit of both.”

“I’m glad you find the demise of my life so funny.”

He tilts his head. “What makes you think marrying me will be the demise of your life?”

“The part about getting married to a man people call the Beast.”

“Are you scared of me?” He smirks, looking like he’s loving this conversation.

“You locked me in your room and chained me to your bed. What do you think?”

He sits back and leans slightly into the chair. The movement emphasizes the outline of hard muscle under his white button-down shirt.

“I never do anything for no reason at all, Krasota .”

There’s that word again— krasota .

This is the second time he’s called me that and I don’t know how to react. It would be easier if the endearment were coming from someone else. Not a man who’s forcing me to marry him.

“You tried to escape from me twice ,” he reminds me. “I think I was within my rights to take precautions. The fifty armed men I have stationed around my property would have been within their rights, too, had they restrained you.”

Fifty armed men? God, I would never have made it through the door, let alone as far as the woods to hide. “Do you plan to keep me locked up in here with your fifty armed men?”

“Like I said before, Krasota , that really depends on you.”

“In terms of what?”

“Your compliance.”

Of course, that’s what he wants. Now to find out why. “Why me? Why do you want me? This must be about my inheritance but I don’t get it until next year.”

“I can wait.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to get someone who could give you what you want sooner? I understood marrying Natasha, but marrying me makes no sense if you can find someone else.”

“I’m building an empire that will be the best served under my leadership in the Bratva.”

“ Leader ?” No one told me that part.

“I’m about to take over from my father and become the next Pakhan of the Vysotsky Bratva.”

All the blood drains from my body. I was aware that his father was the current leader but I had no idea that Jaxon was nigh on taking over. So, I’ll be the wife of the next Pakhan. This is so much worse than I thought.

“I’m still sure you could have found someone more suitable than me.”

He grins back at me but there’s no humor in it. “Maybe I want you, Gabriella De Costa.”

My throat tightens. “I’m sure that’s not true. You don’t know me and I don’t know you.”

“You: Gabriella De Costa, age twenty four, height five feet four, weight one hundred fifteen pounds. You want to be a neurosurgeon. You studied at NYU but you wanted to complete your studies and training at UCLA to get away from your father. Birthplace: Italy. Hobbies include: writing poetry, visiting art galleries and old churches, and collecting first edition post-romantic novels. Favorite color is red, favorite music groups are Black Lab, Collective Soul, and Four Star Mary. Shall I keep going, Krasota ?”

I’m so blown away that all I can do is stare back at him. “How did you know all that stuff about me?” I won’t even deny what he said about UCLA.

“Do I look like the kind of man who’d marry someone he knows absolutely nothing about?”

“No.” But some of that stuff was personal. He would have needed to dig deep to find it. “How did you know I wanted to study in L.A. to get away from my father?”

“I just did. I figured it was the same reason I went to England to study. I wanted to get away from my father, too.”

That’s the first meaningful thing he’s told me.

“Want to know more about me?” He places a finger to his jaw and stares at me.

“Yes.”

“I’m thirty-three, six feet six, weigh two sixty pounds, and my hobbies are traveling, trading stocks, and wine tasting. I speak ten languages and I’ve lived in three countries. I like all music, all food, every color and my last sex check came up clean. That’s all you need to know. For now , Krasota .”

My skin heats again and my lips part on hearing that last bit of information about the sex check. Reading my reaction, he gives me a full smile. A real smile. I realize that those are the ones that make him seem less hardened and almost normal.

“That’s plenty of information,” I say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

“Great. Now that we know each other we can get to the fine print.”

I study his face and realize there’s no point in arguing. He’s dead set on his plans for us and I’m not going to be able to talk him out of this. Damn it .

“The lady you just saw talking to me is Eve. She’s one of my assistants here. If you need anything you speak to her. She will be organizing the wedding. Over the next few days she will talk to you about various things we need to plan. Please do not give her any trouble.”

“I didn’t plan to.”

“Glad to hear it. But just so you know, I’ve given her permission to go ahead without your consent if you do give her trouble. With the wedding being three weeks away we don’t have time for shit.”

“Why is it so soon?”

“Less room for trouble .” He gives me a stiff smile. “We’ll be getting married at Oheka Castle. Your family will all be invited. Eve will go over the guest list with you to check we didn’t leave anyone off.”

“What about my father? Will he be involved with the wedding, too?” I want to know when I’ll see him so I can prepare.

“He’s coming by tomorrow. You two can talk then. As for the wedding, no, he won’t be involved.”

My skin crawls when I think of how furious my father must be. “Have you been in touch with him?”

“He was here last night.”

My eyes snap wide. “He was here? And he didn’t want to see me?”

“Of course, he did. I just didn’t allow him to. Was I wrong?” His gaze intensifies.

I can’t answer, so I shake my head. The last time I saw my father was when he forced me to sign the contract. Chances are that if he hadn’t been so vile I wouldn’t have left the way I did and ended up in the hands of those men.

“Tomorrow is fine.”

“I will be here.”

My father won’t care about that. If he’s angry, he’s angry, and he won’t hesitate to show it.

“What does he get out of this marriage?” I gaze into Jaxon’s eyes hoping he’ll tell me.

“Don’t worry yourself about that.” Jaxon’s face hardens. “Your father will get what he needs.”

That’s vague and hardly an answer. Dad will get what he needs . What the hell does that mean?

It’s strange, but a feeling washes over me and I sense that I’m wrong about the mutual partnership I imagined Jaxon and my father having. It may not exist. In fact, talking about my father seems to have shifted Jaxon’s demeanor into something darker. It makes me wonder if Dad did something to him.

That certainly would explain why I feel like I’m paying for someone else’s sins. If that’s the case, it’s unfair as hell.

“Any other questions?” He searches my eyes.

“I’d like to see my cousin, Clara.” I need her. She’s possibly the only person who can keep me sane.

“That can be arranged. She can come and see you here.”

Shit, I was hoping to get away from this godforsaken house. “Can’t I go and see her?”

“Not yet.” He lifts his chin but keeps his gaze trained on me.

“When can I go out on my own? Obviously, I can’t run away.” I smirk.

A lazy grin spreads across his lips. “I need to believe you won’t try . It’s less work if you’re around my people.”

“You said I wouldn’t be a prisoner here.” I’m doing my best to sound like I’ve given up the idea of leaving.

“Let’s talk about it on Saturday.”

My chest caves. “That’s a long time to wait.”

“Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable and do your best to be compliant. As hard as that will be for you.” He raises his dark brows and clenches his jaw. “Your phone is tapped and so is your laptop, so don’t get any bright ideas.”

Well, that explains why I only got them back this morning. Asshole. Did he wire up my clothes and notebooks, too?

Jesus, I don’t have a leg to stand on. Jaxon Bortsov has me barricaded left, right, and center.

Keeping his eyes on me, he rises, then reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small ring box with the Rêve insignia on the center.

My entire body goes rigid when I realize what that is. What it means.

Shit feels real when he flicks the box open and my eyes glue to the beautiful pear-shaped diamond engagement ring set on a thin platinum band.

The diamond seems to sparkle endlessly. As if each sparkle is renewed by the glint that preceded it.

I stare, shocked, stunned to silence. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.

How much did that cost?

Clara told me that Grace Kelly’s ring came from Rêve. She’s obsessed with knowing things like that. It comes with her job. She writes for a celeb lifestyle magazine.

My guess is this ring could be anything close to the million-dollar mark. And it’s mine?

“Give me your hand.” Jaxon’s deep voice makes my stomach squeeze and the nerves in my gut turn to rocks.

I look up at him standing before me. Tall, foreboding, and overwhelmingly handsome. He’s staring deep into my eyes as if he’s trying to peel back the layers of my mind so he can look inside my head and figure me out.

His gaze is so potent I almost allow him in. But I catch myself before I fall into his deep blue gaze.

I extend my left hand. When he takes it a visible tremor ripples across my skin from his warm touch. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t warmth. I suppose I thought his hands would be as cold as his stare.

I look away from him and down at my hand as he slides the ring down my finger. It fits me as perfectly as if I’d gone to the store and picked it out myself.

This man knows what I like, many of my favorite, favorite things, and he even knew my ring size. That should mean nothing to me but I know it does. Even if I try to deny it.

Besides, I don’t know any woman, no matter what her situation, who wouldn’t swoon over a ring like this on her hand.

Suddenly Jaxon’s grip tightens around my wrist, snapping the reverie and the dreamlike haze from my mind.

He lowers his mouth to my ear, wrapping me in that scent of power, and the menacing look returns to his eyes. It pins my soul in place.

“Make sure you’re wearing this all the time. And don’t even think about selling it.” He speaks in that low voice again, his accent stronger than ever, making him sound more threatening. “Do you hear me, Gabriella?”

A rush of fear clogs my throat and I no longer feel the bravado that gave me the courage to give him my snappy comebacks. What I see when I look at him now is a dangerous man who can’t be reasoned with.

“I hear you,” I mutter.

“Consider last night a trial run gone wrong. It must not happen again. If it does, you won’t just be chained to my bed. Next time I guarantee you’ll be completely naked and I can’t promise that I won’t be buried deep inside you.”

My blood jolts in my veins as if charged with shards of electricity. My brain seizes and all I see inside my head is the raw image of us together. Me naked with him inside me.

The erotic vision makes my throat go so dry I can’t even swallow.

“Then again.” He comes closer. “This little war dance of ours is very entertaining. I’m sure we’d have way more fun in bed. From what I know so far about you I’m sure you will cross me again at some point. So, if I were you, I’d keep taking those pills of yours.”

Pills ? What the hell is he talking about?

Wait…

He went through my bag. The only pills I had in there were for birth control.

As the realization hits me he inches away with that dark look in his eyes. Then he turns and walks away, leaving me staring after him, stunned to silence. Like I’ll never speak again.

It’s not until he goes through the door and another few moments pass before I realize I’m not breathing.

I release the burning breath I’m holding and pant, realizing that I’m way out of my league with this guy.

He hasn’t just trapped me in this house. He seems to have trapped my emotions, too.