Page 5 of Big Bad Daddy

My mind free-falls into the murky depths of depravity, imagining all the things Ineedfrom Sybil Sheridan. This little girl will be impossible to erase from my thoughts. As I close the door, signaling my driver to leave, I hear myself say one last word. “Perhaps.”

Chapter Four

“What did I tell you?” Tasha pours creamer into her coffee and dips her special frother wand into her Minnie Mouse cup, inspecting her work with each buzz. When it’s to her liking, she smiles with satisfaction and makes her way to the tiny breakfast nook we’ve created in our kitchen.

“Which part?” I lift my tired eyes and quirk a brow.

Tasha has always been more practical than me. She’s just as worried about Scarlett as me, but told me I’d never get any information from a mob boss. Of course, she was right. She’s always right.

“I had to take the chance. Her parents aren’t doing a damn thing. I feel like everyone’s abandoned her,” I murmur into a cup of hot tea, then sigh, running the events of yesterday evening in my mind. A sensible girl would consider it a colossal waste of time, but the nagging voice in my head tells me I’m on the right path. Scarlett deserves my tenacity. I’ve watched far too many episodes ofDatelineto believe a story concocted by the alleged kidnapper’s father. That would be an amateur move.

“Not that part. I still think that was a stupid move, but I know you’d never forgive yourself if you left any stone unturned. I meant Boris. Didn’t I tell you he was dreamy?” Tasha’s eyes widen as she sips coffee and then pauses to correct herself. “In a scary, crazy-ass kind of way.”

I roll my eyes, trying hard to demonstrate I wasn’t affected by his gorgeous face and hot body. If I wasn’t so tired from staying up half the night dreaming about crawling into bed with him, instead of thinking of alternative ways to save my friend, I’d throw in a huff of disdain. “He’s a gangster, Tasha. I was so frightened that I hardly gave him a second glance.” I lie through my teeth and drown this blatant deception with a generous sip of Earl Grey tea.

Tasha’s blue eyes narrow with suspicion as the corner of her mouth tips into a tiny grin meant to mock me. “You’re a terrible liar. Boris Volkov might be a ruthless killer, but he’s God’s gift to the single women of Brighton Beach. My mother would stab my father in his sleep if she thought she had a chance with him. She practically gushes like a teenager whenever she runs into him at Sergei’s, his brother’s restaurant. In fact, I’m starting to believe she times her visits on days she knows he’ll be there. Dear Lord, I think my mom is a stalker,” Tasha rambles as my chest tightens with jealousy, imagining the line of women he’s got parked outside his bedroom.

If he’s such a lothario, why didn’t he make a move on me?

A shiver of rage courses through me, quickly followed by waves of shame and rejection for not having motivated him to make the slightest effort. He could have at least suggested a quid pro quo—sex for information. I’d like to think I'd say no, but it would hardly be a sacrifice if it led me to my friend. I blow out a sharp breath laced with disappointment.

What’s gotten into me? Why would I care if a brutal man like Boris finds me attractive? I don’t know what I expected him todo, but I always believed I wielded a teensy amount of feminine persuasion.

“I don’t want to talk about Boris,” I snap, shuffling across our small kitchen to rummage through the fridge. My stomach is rumbling, but I don’t think it’s hunger. I haven’t spent enough energy to work one up. All I can think about is the man with piercing brown eyes who looked into my soul, saw the gaping wound, and still managed to deny me comfort or reassurance.

Boris Volkov is a man of few words, and he uses them wisely. Everything about him was a pleasant surprise. Tasha warned me he was easy on the eyes and feared I’d get so distracted by his good looks I’d forget to ask about Scarlett.Easy on the eyes? That’s the understatement of the year. I’ve never had a man stir up so many butterflies in such little time. Fortunately, I proved Tasha wrong and stayed focused on helping my friend.

Boris was polite and thoughtful but didn’t tell me much more than I already knew. I can’t fault him for wanting to protect his son, and deep down, I don’t believe Vasily’s irrevocably harmed Scarlett. I know she was attracted to him, and she’s always had decent judgment regarding men.

Which is why she never dates.

Still, what if Vasily is holding Scarlett against her will? What if his passion is so great that he decides if he can’t have her, no one will? Was Boris trying to tell me Scarlett left of her own volition? Is my best friend in love with a Russian gangster?

I wish I wasn’t such a judgmental hag. If I were less narrow-minded, Scarlett might have opened up and told me about her plans to run away. Then I wouldn’t be traipsing all over Brooklyn, cozying up to hot, dangerous men who make me believe they’re going to help, then leave me hanging in the wind.

Maybe it wasn’t him. I haven’t spent enough time with men to tell when they’re genuinely trying to be of service or just hoping to jump in your pants. Tasha would insist it’s all thesame. She says they provide one to earn the other. I don’t know about that, but I know the man everyone calls the Boogeyman of Brooklyn didn’t seem so scary to me.

“Why are you so quiet? Have you tried to call her again? Have you considered she’s doing the Kalinka all over Westchester County, and you’re worrying yourself to death?” Tasha mumbles through a mouthful of yogurt, waving her spoon to scold me.

“Are you serious? I told you two days ago that someone found her cell phone by the side of the road, about thirty minutes south of Rye. Where do you suggest I call? And what the hell is the Kalinka?” I snap, furrowing my brow as I open a loaf of bread and pop a slice into the toaster. It’s only for appearances’ sake. If I don’t eat before our big day, Tasha will spend the rest of the day trying to feed me.

“It’s a Russian folk dance. It’s my euphemism for sex with a Russian man. Sorry, my mom and I made it up for the women who magically appear in Little Odessa in hopes of snagging a wealthy gangster. Never mind me.” Tasha scrapes the bottom of her cup of yogurt and savors her last bite.

“Maybe she is. I don’t fault her for having a good time if she’s in love. I just wish she’d grab the nearest phone and give me a heads up—preferably before I leave for Spain. She knows I’m a worrier. It runs in my family,” I mutter, buttering my bread with angry swipes. I take a small bite, and my stomach grumbles with the first taste. I don’t remember the last time I ate, but I devour my toast so fast, I almost sink my teeth into my thumb. This is a horrible time to leave the country. How will I work when Scarlett is still missing?

Tasha leaves the kitchen table and places her cup in the sink, nudging my elbow to pull my head back from the clouds. “If you’re that concerned about Scarlett, go to the police or threaten to go if her parents don’t tell you more about what they know. I bet they know where she is, and are either too scaredof the Volkov Bratva or theNew York Timesto confess they’re complicit.”

“Complicit?” I stare, confused.

“You know what I mean. Senator Rossi may not be in on the kidnapping, but they’re going along with the cover-up. The man has the ear of the FBI, and congressional powers we can’t begin to understand. Why isn’t he moving heaven and earth and sending people to the four corners of the world to hunt her down? Think about it.” Tasha slaps my arm and pads into the hallway, reminding me we need to get to work soon. I’m spending the day at her place of employment, modeling new designs she’s created under the tutelage of designer John-Paul Armitage. It’s a big day for her, and I promised her I wouldn’t skip out, despite my desire to head to Westchester and retrace Scarlett’s steps again.

“How long do you think this will take? Is this a whole-day kind of thing?” I flip the faucet and rinse our cups, placing each in the dishwasher. While I dry my hands, my mind again drifts to Boris’s thick forearms and strong hands. I bite my lip, imagining his prominent Adam’s apple and how it bounced every time he uttered something in Russian to one of his guards. It was so hot. As much as I questioned Scarlett’s taste for being attracted to a man like Vasily, I think I understand how irresistible danger can be.

Obviously, I have lost my ever-loving mind.

“Are you complaining about your favor?” Tasha returns to the kitchen, her peeved expression giving away her annoyance. “Are you trying to get out of it?”

Momentarily confused by her question, I float back to the real world and try to piece together her words. “What are you saying?”

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