Chapter 14: Chopin Family Reserve

SERAPHINA

~Nathaniel Chen is a snake. And that’s an insult to snakes.~ I repeated this mantra in my mind, my anger simmering as I drowned myself in vodka. I spent over an hour sifting through a rainbow of thongs, taking a shot each time, trying to shake off the repulsive feeling of Nathaniel Chen’s presence.

The memory of our encounter slithered around my mind like a slimy creature, an experience I had no desire to repeat.

Nathaniel was a womanizer, a worm that needed to be squashed. He thought that now that I, Jack’s poor little wife, was in charge, he could bulldoze me out of thousands, if not millions, of dollars.

He threatened my staff and my establishment in the process. He assumed I’d just hand over my businesses in Alaska to him, based on his “generous” offer.

He suggested I should be somewhere sunny, being pampered, with my pretty little toes all painted, as he so eloquently put it. I responded with a tight smile and polite words about drawing up contracts. It was a diversion tactic akin to waving a red flag at a bull.

I was fumbling, not knowing what else to do. I tried to console myself that I was steering him toward the contracts while avoiding his metaphorical horns.

Now that I had sidestepped the bull, it was time for me to strategize my next move. My rage fueled my determination to bring him down. I busied my hand, taking inventory, while my mind worked on a suitable punishment.

I sampled the vodka, my anger consuming me. I was desperate to forget Nathaniel Chen’s chauvinistic ideals and the way his proximity made my skin crawl. I was angry with myself.

Angry at Jack. Angry that I was still ~here~.

“Sampling the merchandise isn’t usually proper in one’s own establishment. Especially while…counting inventory? Or are you doing stock boy work?”

I clenched my teeth, not pausing as I downed another shot and slammed the bottle onto the counter with a thud. I had lost count of how many I had had. Aleksandr’s presence was the last thing I needed.

The alcohol was already numbing my senses and my lips. “Who let you in?”

“Let me?” Aleksandr chuckled, sliding into a chair next to me. A small table sat between us, holding the bottle and paper cup I was using as a shot glass.

“You just need better security.”

“I’ll have Damien get right on that,” I retorted, marking down a few more bottles before slowly pushing them from their box onto the shelf. “I’ve had a shitty day. Can we do this later?”

“I would, except that hundreds if not thousands of my clients are going to be affected very quickly. When you called off the arrangements in Suman, I was excited about the additional funding all the art would bring, since you were effectively handing them over to me. It was cost-effective.

“However, I didn’t expect it to be a peace offering to end all funding to my clinics. That money will only keep them afloat for three months at best.”

“I’m entitled to give my money to whatever or whomever I choose to fund,” I replied, pouring myself another drink without a hint of apology. Chen had pushed me to my limit, and I wasn’t about to bow to Vasiliev because he decided to bully me next. Even with our patchy history.

At least he wasn’t accusing me of sabotaging the flesh trade, which I had actually done.

“Clearly, because saving moronic people from the snow is much more important than a grandmother on dialysis. Entitled is certainly the correct word to use here,” he replied, referencing my deals with Gerrick in a low tone.

He must have noticed the increase in his funding from someone on the inside. That suggested he had intel on Jack that Garrick could only dream of. His words made me feel guilty, as if I were responsible for my own grandmother’s death.

But as I slid the shot toward myself, I realized part of it was just the alcohol making me overly emotional. I glared at him, really glared at him, as I took another drink, slamming the already collapsing paper cup onto the table once I was finished.

I reached into a plastic bag above my head to retrieve another 4oz. “Dialysis my ass. Most of them are blood clinics. For what? So, every time your men get shot by my men, I can help stitch them back together?”

“Especially when you decide to cross hairs on deals? I read over what happened in Freemont. You got pissed and tried to make me suck your cock over that, but in reality, you fucked yourself. Not only that, but you—”

“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand. You’re using a narrative from a dead man without seeing the entire picture. He tried to kill me, and my second. Though I’m sure he omitted that,” he interrupted, sliding the bottle over and stealing my paper cup to pour himself a drink.

He took a deep sigh and ran a hand over his face as the liquid slid down his throat. He then turned to me with a serious expression. “Here’s the thing, ~doll~. You want to be a part of our world? That’s fine.

“But it’s polite to discuss business before making a move that bold. It could cause bad blood, and that’s not what I want between us. Do you?”

His question seemed genuine, but it was ~ridiculous~ considering our history. He threw back another drink and poured himself another. His words ignited my anger.

“Bad blood? Bad blood!? Are you kidding me?” I asked, setting aside my inventory list to stand up and slam a hand on the table. “You want to talk about bad blood after the shit you pulled with me? After you continue to harass me?”

I felt the room spin slightly, a faint hum in the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or magic, but it made me want to giggle. I knew I was playing a dangerous game, and a role I wasn’t accustomed to.

The mafia wife’s powerful widow.

Aleksandr seemed amused. He leaned back and laced his fingers over his chest, stretching his legs toward me. “Harass you? Well, that’s certainly an interesting view. Who was following whom at the funeral?

“I believe you also accused me of killing your husband by the end of it?” His raised eyebrow sent a shiver down my spine. “I didn’t seek you out until you fucked with my business, Seraphina.”

I gritted my teeth, snatching the bottle from his grasp as he reached for it again. I glared at him, clutching the bottle to my chest, and hissed the words I had been dying to say. “You killed my husband.”

Aleksandr’s eyebrows shot up, his face a picture of pure surprise at my accusation. “Because I wanted you so ~badly~ after you had melted in my hands in front of him? Did I miss the moment I became that obsessed?”

He pondered, his hand stroking his chin while his eyes roamed over my body, a small grin spreading across his lips. His teeth began to show, as if I was as amusing as I was sexually arousing. His gaze lingered on my breasts and thighs for longer than was comfortable.

He was making fun of me. From the tone of his voice to his relaxed posture, he was treating this like a game.

“You’re his killer. I know you had a reason, and I’m going to prove it,” I declared, my words likely influenced by the alcohol as I felt my balance waver slightly.

Aleksandr rose quickly, his proximity suddenly too close for comfort. He looked down at me and advanced, taking the bottle from my hands to place it on the table. He closed the gap between us, even as I retreated and he advanced.

“Really? You’re going to prove it?” he asked.

He grabbed my hand, a sinister chuckle escaping his lips as he glanced at the hand he now held. The hand I had just tried to slap him with. To wipe that smug look off his face.

Instead, a deep, dark desire began to stir in my stomach as our eyes met, and a moment of understanding passed between us. His lips brushed the inside of my wrist. He placed a small, deliberate kiss over my racing pulse, his eyes locked on mine.

~”Touch me again, spit on me, do anything to my body whatsoever, I won’t hesitate to fuck your brains out. That’s what we’re calling consent, sweetheart.”~

The memory flashed through my mind as vividly as his fingers tracing my skin like a branding iron. His sinful eyes were burning, hot, searing me, sending waves of heat coursing through my body with their intense gaze.

Words of denial eluded me the longer our eyes remained locked.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he whispered, leaning in as his other hand stroked my hair. He pulled me into his chest, and the room seemed to spin slightly from the alcohol. Or perhaps it was just his intoxicating presence.

I was lost in his dark embrace once more as his essence enveloped me.

“You remember what I said before, don’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear. His breath was already coming quickly, matching my own as I buried my face in his chest. I was trapped by his arms, my heart fluttering.

“I can hear your breath changing, and your heart racing. It’s not fear.”

I shook my head, trying to deny his words while weakly pushing at his chest. I was enjoying the sensation of his body beneath my fingers. He moved as if to give me space, but instead trapped me against a stack of alcohol with his body as I tried to turn away from his advances. His mouth was on my ear.

I could feel his body against mine. The sensation was driving me crazy as his teeth grazed my neck.

“No. You’re wrong. I’m not—”

His hot, heavy words were in my ear again. His delicious heat was pressing into my soft folds despite our layers of clothing as he held me close.

“Wet for me? You think I can’t tell how much desire is pooling between your legs? That I haven’t memorized exactly how your body responds when you’re around me?”

His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling it back so he could run his mouth over my neck. He pinned me against the stacks.

“I’ve been dying for an excuse to taste you.”

“A bullet wound will be the least of your worries if you—agh!” I cried out as he yanked my hair, his teeth tugging at the top of my earlobe. One knee pinned my arm to a shelf while his other hand pressed mine to his throbbing cock, forcing me to feel his desire.

“Shhhhh…” he whispered, nuzzling back into me. He was bringing me closer to an edge I didn’t know existed as my head began to spin.

“Don’t worry. I hear your concerns. I’m fair. How about this?”

His other hand was on the fly of my jeans, his fingers slowly and methodically working the buttons. His cock throbbed under my fingertips in anticipation.

“If you’re not wet for me, and I mean soaking my fingers to the knuckles wet just from touching your sweet little pussy—I’ll let you go. If you’re ready for me, though?”

His breath was shaky, matching mine as my zipper gaped open.

“I am taking a fucking taste.”