Page 93 of Claim Me
Seconds later, the elevator dropped by a few feet, the ding indicating the doors were about ready to open.
When they did, Drake Carlisle stood in front of three other hotel personnel, his eyes open wide. “Mr. Dmitriyev. Are you…two okay?” His gaze swept to Marissa and I noticed his chest tightened.
“We’re fine. I appreciate you getting us out of here. It would seem Ms. Valentine is somewhat claustrophobic.”
“Yes. I’m certain. I’ll have the elevator checked. That never happens.”
“You do that.” I took her hand, leading her onto the wrong floor, heading immediately to the stairwell. When we reached the door, I threw a look over my shoulder.
He was still watching us with darkness in his eyes.
CHAPTER 25
Marissa
The music came easily, my fingers flying across the keys. As soon as I finished the last notes, a single tear slipped onto the keys. Just like before. The grief was still strangling me.
With voices just outside the hotel door, I curled my fingers, happy I’d been able to relieve some stress. When he walked in, his eyes lit up. He’d left me with guards at the door, doing a safety sweep that had lasted for an hour.
In the time he’d been gone, I’d felt terribly lonely, the music paling as company. How strange.
“Did I interrupt?” he asked.
“No.” He studied me as I rose from the stool, returning to the chair where I’d been curled up before. “Are there any boogeymen out there?”
He chuckled. “Thankfully, no.”
Boogeymen. Hell, there were real monsters hiding in the shadows. In my fitful sleep, I’d gone from being in the throes of passion to waking up in a cold sweat, terrified I’d been kidnapped. It was no way to live.
As I’d heard so many times before. Seeing was truly believing.
First had been seeing the two Russians using their acting skills, dancing around the ring of power. I’d half expected they’d be pounding their fists against their chests and making gorilla noises. The air in the restaurant had been electric for all the wrong reasons. I’d wondered if any of the employees had realized how close they’d come to witnessing a massacre.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe all the posturing was typical behavior, yet I’d felt the anger reaching the boiling point.
At least Kazimir had remained calm and collected while I’d come close to flying across the table. I didn’t need to understand the Russian language to know whatever he’d spouted off to Popov and his son had been a threat. Let alone what he and his brother had told them while ending the discussion. In truth, I’d relished the moment, barely resisting pumping my fist in appreciation.
Even the magical elevator ride had only masked his anger, but his roughness and domination had highlighted his frustration with the situation.
I’d also seen the company’s financials. That had brought so many unwanted emotions that even as I sat in the living room of the beautiful suite, I had tears in my eyes that wouldn’t stop no matter how many times I rubbed my eyes or told myself everything would be okay. I no longer was certain that was the case. I lived in the shadow of my family and their deaths and nothing would change that.
Not time.
Not a bloody war.
And certainly not traditional business negotiations. I’d learned enough to realize that didn’t work well within the merciless worlds of crime syndicates.
“Are you okay?” Kazimir asked as he removed his jacket and loosened his tie. When he rolled up his sleeves, I couldn’t help but watch him. Just the simple act seemed so masculine.
“Fine. Perfect. Just very… angry.” My hiss held a bitter tone like every word whispered from my lips. Kazimir had tried to sign, which I appreciated, but I’d tuned him out.
Navigating the murky waters of grief was unforgiving, catching you in moments of panic-driven mania then tossing you into a wave of sadness so intense you couldn’t stop crying.
My mind had tried to shove aside the reality I was in and I knew why. I’d lived with my parents less than a year before. Their deaths had been so sudden. They’d been healthy and happy, my dad enjoying semi-retirement even while keeping my brother on his toes.
They’d been planning a trip to Italy, a location my mother had talked about since I could remember. They’d been a week away from leaving. I could still remember the excitement in my mom’s voice when she confided in me over the phone how many new outfits she’d purchased.
Something she’d rarely done in her life.
