Page 2 of Arranged Control
“I guess you’re looking for Alex,” he says casually. He’s got a very good voice. It’s deep and low, rumbling down into the soles of my feet. “He’s not here anymore.”
Fear hits me then. I’ve known men like this all my life. Violent, dangerous men, predators who stay hidden behind good looks, expensive clothes, and confident smirks. Only brutality is one wrong move away. Playing games with men like him feels like tap dancing on the edge of a cliff.
“Who are you?” I repeat, eyes narrowed. “And what the hell did you do with Alexander?”
His smirk gets bigger. “I like that. What about you move that pillow and we’ll keep talking?”
“How about you tell me what I want to know right now and you don’t get murdered? Do you have any idea who you’re playing with?”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are, Alina Morozov.”
My lips go numb. I stare at him, dumbfounded. He knows exactly who I am, but he doesn’t look worried at all. Most men in his position would be way too terrified to mess with the baby daughter of the most powerful Russian Pakhan in all of New York City.
But this guy? It’s like he doesn’t even care.
It sets off all my alarms.
“Last warning before I hang up and hunt you down.” I’m bluffing now. There’s no way in hell I’d ever get my family involved in my relationship. They’re aware of it, but they pretend like they’re not. That’s how it works. So long as I’m being discreet, I’m allowed to have a little indiscretion. But if it ever becomes a problem? Then I’m in trouble.
“Don’t worry, love. That won’t be necessary. Your boyfriend is alive, although I can’t really describe him aswellat the moment.”
My jaw tenses. I really, really wish I had a shirt on. “What did you do to him?”
“We had a conversation. I explained to him that he is no longer in a relationship with you and that he’s going to leave the city for good before the sun rises tomorrow morning. He was very understanding.”
Anger slams into me. Another gift from my family. My short fuse burns twice as hot. “You had no right. I don’t even know who you are, you bastard. Where’s Alex? I want to talk to him.”
“Alex isn’t available. And I doubt he’d want to talk much, given the state of his jaw.”
I could scream. Worry and rage mix and create a combustible emotional state. I’m not sure if I’m going to start crying or try to murder this guy. “Who the hellareyou?”
“My name’s Seamus Whelan, and we’re getting married in a couple weeks. It’s good to meet you.”
I don’t know what to say. I stare at the handsome stranger and try to make sense of this. The Whelans are a strong Irish crime syndicate, and I know my father’s been working closely with them lately—but what the hell is this aboutgetting married? Nobody said a word about that to me.
This isn’t how these things are done.
My cheeks burn bright pink. I’m mortified, confused, afraid, and angry. None of this makes any sense. I’m worried about Alex. He doesn’t do well with pain. What if this Seamus guy actually killed him? What if the beating went too far and Alex is lying in a ditch somewhere? It’s not like I can trust the word of this monster.
“You’re probably in shock,” Seamus says before I can answer. “Imagine how I feel. I call my future wife to say hello for the first time, and there she is, beautiful breasts and a string of lovelypearls on display for me. I’ll admit, an unconventional first impression, but a very,verygood one.”
“You’re lying,” I whisper, practically forcing the words out like vomit.
His eyebrows raise. “About finding you attractive? Not in the slightest.”
“No, about the marriage. You’relying. My father would never?—”
“But he did.” Seamus’s tone hardens. His lips still smile, but his eyes burn with a bright, serious intensity. “It’s not my fault nobody told you. Here I was doing you a favor?—”
“You think nearly killing my boyfriend is afavor?! What kind of crazy person are you?”
“You’d be thanking me if you knew where he’s been the last three days.”
That gets me. My jaw shuts with a click. My fingers tighten on the pillow. WherehasAlex been? And what’s he been doing? This isn’t the first time he disappeared, but usually he has some kind of excuse. Visiting family out of state, taking a temporary construction job for some side cash, meeting potential clients for a web development business he started (and abandoned). He’d answer texts at least, if they were usually short and to the point. This time, it was nothing. No excuse, no contact. Just silence.
“If you really hurt him, you’re going to regret it.” I cover my discomfort and confusion with aggression. Another trick I learned from my lovely family. Don’t know what else to do? Go straight to violence. Pain is the universal language.
“Oh, come on, Alina. You seriously liked that guy? Are you really pretending like he was more than just a fun distraction?”
