Dimitri

Dimitri (Her Russian Protector, Book
Two)

By Roxie Rivera

Copyright © 2013 by Roxie Rivera

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter
Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Author's Note

Roxie's Backlist

Chapter
One

With a loud grunt, I tried to drag the heavy
sack of flour from the unloading dock to the storeroom. I'd already
moved six of them and felt what little energy that remained with me
start to drain. My four o'clock alarm and a full day of running
from the kitchen to the bakery counter had done a number on
me.

An irritating heat prickled my eyes as the
stress of it all started to beat me down. I stretched my neck,
hoping to ease my tense muscles, and closed my eyes while I drew a
slow, steady breath into my lungs. Giving in to the panic of my
craptastic situation wasn't going to help me.

My ears perked to the sound of
someone coming in the side employee entrance.
Finally
!

"Johnny?" Is that you?"

There was a long pause before my younger
brother finally shouted back at me. "Yeah."

I frowned and let the sack of flour slump
against my leg. "You're three hours late. I needed you to help me
close today. Where have you been?"

"Hey, I got here when I could." He appeared in
the doorway of the stockroom looking every bit the hooligan and
scowled at me. "Get off my case, Benny"

I bit my tongue at the sight of his baggy jeans
and that god-awful tank top. His sneakers were immaculately clean
and bright white, of course. The gang tattoo on his neck still
infuriated me. When he'd come home a few days before his high
school graduation with that ugly thing emblazoned on his skin, I'd
almost had a stroke.

"Look, I need your help. The supply truck was
late today and I've got to get everything into the
storeroom."

He didn't move. "Why didn't you have Marco or
Adam do it?"

"I can't afford the overtime, Johnny. We're
barely making ends meet." I wasn't telling him anything he didn't
already know. We'd discussed our financial difficulties numerous
times over the last few months but I don’t think he gave it much
thought. Apparently he assumed I would fix the problems—just as I
always did.

"Maybe you should think about selling to that
real estate guy," Johnny suggested and finally started to help me.
He tossed the bag of flour onto his shoulder and carted it into the
storeroom.

The thought of the slick real estate developer
who had been pushing a sale contract at me for the last few weeks
made my jaw tighten. Gentrification my ass! "We aren't selling,
Johnny."

"Why not? It's good money, Benny."

"Money isn't everything, Johnny.
This bakery isn't just part of the neighborhood's history. It's our
history. Three generations of our family have worked here. Our
grandparents built this
panaderia
with their blood and sweat and tears." I shook my
head. "We're in a rough patch and we'll get through it. We
are
not
selling."

"That's what the yarn shop lady and
the furniture guy down the street said before they got smart."
Johnny brushed by me to grab another sack of flour. "That's your
problem,
nena
. You
don't think big. You know what we could do with that kind of
money?"

I rolled my eyes. Lately, Johnny had all these
big plans. What he lacked was follow-through and drive. It was so
easy to make concoct schemes but even harder to put in the work
required to make them a success.

"First of all—stop calling me
nena
. And secondly? There
wouldn't be that much money left over after the sale."

He frowned as he carted the heavy sack into the
storeroom. "What do you mean? I saw what the guy offered us. That's
a shitload of money, Benny."

"Yeah, it is but how do you think we paid for
Abuelita's chemo and all the hospital bills? Before that, she'd
taken out lines of credit on the building to pay for grandpa's
diabetes problems. There are lines of credit and second mortgages."
I rubbed the back of my neck as the stress of it all made me tense.
"It's complicated, Johnny."

His eyes narrowed accusingly. "Why did you let
her get all those loans?"

"I didn't, Johnny. I didn't find out until she
opened the books to me. By the time she told us she was sick, she'd
already gotten in way over her head."

"But the bakery makes good money."

"It's not that simple. The costs of supplies
have increased. We had to replace all the ovens and the proofing
boxes. We lost a quarter of our breakfast and lunch income when the
layoffs at the gas plants hit." I couldn't even bring myself to
mention what kind of a nosedive our business would take if the
rumors of a Starbucks going in down the street were true. "Our
health insurance premiums are way up."

"So cut them off," he coldly suggested. "Let
them pay for their own doctor visits."

I glared at him. "Do you ever listen to the
crap that comes out of your mouth? Some of our employees have been
with the bakery since the day our grandparents opened,
Johnny!"

He shrugged. "Yeah. So? People should pay their
own way."

Frustration welled up inside of me. "I guess I
should have made you pay all the lawyer fees for your last arrest,
huh? I mean, you want to pay your own way, right?"

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "How many times are you
going to throw that in my face?"

"Oh, I don't know, Johnny. As many times as it
takes for you to realize what a dumb ass you are with all this gang
bullshit."

"It's not bullshit, Benny. My crew is my
family."

"Your family?" Anger surged through me. "I'm
your family, Johnny. I'm the one that loves you just the way you
are. I'm the one who has been there for you since we were
little."

"You don’t get it, Benny. You never
will."

I couldn't even look at him. Glancing away, I
said through gritted teeth, "Just finish moving the heavy stuff,
okay? I can get everything else."

He started to argue with me but slammed his
mouth shut and got back to work. We didn't say a word as we carried
the stacks of baking supplies from one room to another. I'd learned
that arguing with him only pushed him farther away from me. There
was nothing I could say that hadn't already been said.

For some reason I couldn't fathom, he liked
playing homeboy with the Hermanos. Some days I got the feeling it
was all a big game to him. Only it wasn't a game. Not even close.
The Hermanos were a brutally violent street gang that ruled over a
huge section of Houston. I worried that Johnny would soon find
himself in over his head—and then what? There was no walking away
from the life he'd stupidly chosen.

His cell phone chirped and he dropped the
buckets of shortening he carried to answer it. A second later, a
car horn started blaring in the back alley. He shoved his phone
back into his pocket. "I gotta go, Benny."

"What? No! You've got to help me finish
this."

As if bolstered by the close proximity of his
crew, he snapped, "I don't have to do shit for you,
Benny."

Before I could even respond, a harsh male voice
growled, "Don't talk to your sister that way!"

Both of our gazes jumped to the open doorway
leading to the loading dock and alley. Dimitri Stepanov, our
family's longtime tenant, loomed there. Tall, blond and rugged, he
narrowed those icy blue eyes at Johnny. "You apologize to your
sister."

"Fuck you, Dimitri." Johnny shot him the
finger.

"Fuck me?" Dimitri took a step into the room
and never let his unwavering glare leave Johnny. "Those are tough
words, Johnny. You want to step out into the alley and see if you
can back them up?"

"No." I moved between the two men and tried to
put a lid on the simmering tension. "We're not going to have a
street brawl behind my bakery."

Dimitri's harsh gaze softened as he glanced
down at me. "He should not speak to you like that."

"Tell your boyfriend he better back up out of
my business," Johnny warned.

My face went hot at the mention of Dimitri
being my boyfriend. As if a man like Dimitri would give a short,
thick-hipped girl like me a second look!

"When you disrespect Benny like that, you make
it my business."

"I'm about to make whipping your ass my
business, Dimitri."

"Johnny!" I gawked at him. "What is wrong with
you?"

"What's wrong with me?" He stepped closer and
poked his finger down into my face. "What's wrong with you? Why do
you always take his side over mine?"

"What? Johnny, that's not—"

He threw up his hands. "I don't need this shit.
I'm outta here."

"Johnny!" I chased after him but he darted out
the back door and disappeared. Moments later, I heard the squeal of
tires. Shoulders rounded with defeat, I stared at the empty
doorway.

"I'm sorry, Benny. I shouldn't have gotten
involved." Dimitri spoke gently, his words colored by his light
Russian accent. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

I pivoted to face him and shrugged. "Johnny was
in the mood to fight. You simply gave him a target."

Dimitri closed the distance between us. His
familiar scent wrapped around me and left me yearning for his
touch. Towering over me, he dared to touch my cheek. The feeling of
his rough fingers moving over my skin made my belly do wild
somersaults. "I'm sorry that I upset you."

I smiled and grasped his wrist. "You didn't
upset me. I'm fine."

His hand fell from my face. Instantly, I missed
the warmth of his touch. "Let me help you get all of this
moved."

I shook my head. "No, Dimitri, this isn't your
job. You're not my employee."

"No, I'm your friend—and I don't
mind."

After five years of friendship, I recognized
that arguing wasn't going to work. "Thank you."

He waved it off and grabbed the nearest sacks
of sugar. As if their combined hundred pounds of weight were
nothing, he hefted them onto his shoulders. "You should have told
me you had a delivery coming today. I would have come home early to
help you."

"I already asked you to help me with the
plumbing when the sinks were leaking last week." I followed him
into the storeroom with two boxes of sprinkles and colored sugar.
"I feel like I'm taking advantage of you."