The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (56 page)

Charlotte’s smile wavered. “You don’t mean—”

“Stop it!” Her hand dropped away. “Stop acting like me being out of your life isn’t the thing you’ve been longing for since I was born. I’m offering you your freedom. Tell me what you want.”

All pretenses of the doting, helpless mother dissolved. Charlotte straightened, drawing back her shoulders elegantly. Her features went from docile to shrewd and calculating.

“I want the estate.”

“No, that house has been in my family for generations. It belongs to me.”

Charlotte blinked. “Your family? I’m your family.”

Ava never so much as batted an eyelash. “John Paul was my family. His family is my family. That house belongs to me.”

Red lips pinched. “Then I want my own place, in Paris. A beach house on the beach and a flat in the city.”

Ava shook her head, mostly out of disgust. “Fine.”

She started moving towards their parked car only to have Charlotte leap into her path, teetering slightly when her heels sank into the grass.

“And a bank account, something to keep me tied over comfortably for a little while.”

John Paul had already left Charlotte an account with more than enough funds to last six people four lifetimes. Ava knew, because she’d seen the will, as had Charlotte, the morning of the reading. John Paul had arranged it to take place before his funeral, stating he didn’t want his loved ones to worry about how to bury him properly. But it had all been there.

A bank account for Charlotte, his wife, in the amount that had even the lawyer adjusting his glasses. The rest, every property, business holding, every car, painting, spoon in the kitchen had been left to Ava. With the exception of a brand new
Ducati
motorbike left to Dimitri with a note that read,
take better care of this one.

Dimitri, who hadn’t been expecting anything, had just sat there, staring at the note with a rigid tightness in his jaw. Ava had asked him about it, but he’d only shaken his head.

“Dad already left you a bank account,” Ava said.

Charlotte bristled. “I am accustomed to a certain type of living, Ava. What would people think if I suddenly couldn’t.”

Ava shook her head. “You’ve already gotten all of Dad’s money you’re going to get. I’ll look into a flat and a house, but after that, we’re through.”

“You ungrateful bitch!”

With her teeth bared, Charlotte seemed old and tired. The kind of woman who tried a little too hard to be young.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

She walked away with Charlotte’s shrieking profanities trailing after her.

Dimitri slipped his hand into hers. She gripped it tight.

Robby sat waiting on the front steps of the estate when Saeed pulled up into the driveway. His face was still a maze of bruises and cuts, but he smiled when they climbed out of the car.

He ambled over to her, limping slightly. He waved and the late rays of light caught the clip poking out through the wrapping on his left hand. The metal glinted.

“Hey.” He squinted down at her. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get back.”

He was still dressed in his funeral clothes, which made her think he’d come straight over after the service.

She hadn’t really seen or talked to him since the bombing, since their fight, since he’d been captured. They’d talked briefly during the reading of the will where John Paul had left him enough money to pay off his school loans and buy at least eight houses. They’d made plans to meet up later and talk things out, but she hadn’t expected it to be now when she was too mentally exhausted to have a decent conversation with anyone.

“You okay?” she asked.

He nodded. His hands began sliding to his pockets, but only one fit, the one not mummified. He stopped trying and let his hands drop down to his sides.

“I…” He pulled in a breath. “I honestly wasn’t planning on coming here, but I left the cemetery and kind of wound up on your doorstep.” He rubbed his good hand through his hair. “I know you probably want to rest. I was going to give you time, but I keep thinking about the things I said and every day that passes and we don’t talk, I feel like this huge hole is growing inside me and I…” He licked his lips. “I don’t want to lose you, Avs. You’re the only family I have and I’m fucking scared that you’ll never forgive me, and I don’t blame you. I said some seriously fucked up things. I didn’t mean them, but I said them and I’m so sorry.”

She knew he was, but even if he wasn’t, she didn’t blame him. He had every right to be angry. He had every right to hate her. His entire life had been thrown into the blender because of her. He’d become an addict, he’d watched his bodyguard get shot, was kidnapped, tortured, and nearly blown up, all because of her. Could she really blame him if he never talked to her again?

“I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me,” she whispered.

He swallowed audibly and gave a jerky nod. “Done.”

Ava chuckled. “Ice cream?”

“And beer. Lots of beer.”

“Deal.” She hooked her arm through his and led him towards the front door. “Then you can tell me about talking to the judge and what your conditions are to reinstate your residency.”

Dimitri was still in the foyer, shrugging out of his coat. The two men exchanged nods as she shut the door.

“How are you?” Dimitri asked.

“Sober,” Robby muttered. “Painfully sober.”

“We’re going to have ice cream and beer on the patio,” she told Dimitri.

His nose wrinkled. “That sounds disgusting.”

Robby sighed. “It is. You’ll throw up, but it’s oddly delicious at the same time.”

Dimitri snorted a chuckle and turned away to hook his coat up on the ornate coatrack.

“Hey, so I never thanked you,” Robby began, shifting awkwardly. “For that stuff you did for me … with the judge and getting my residency back.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, uh … I was a total shit to both of you before. I know I don’t deserve any—”

“You’re family,” Dimitri interjected. “Family’s say stupid things.”

Robby nodded slowly. “Sometimes, they try to blow you up. I get it. Still. I was a fucking idiot.”

Ava tugged on the arm she still held. “Come on. Tell us about the judge.”

He shook his head. “I have to see some therapist or something a couple times a week for a little while. Once he gives me the green light, judge is going to talk to my attending doctor and the hospital director, and see about bringing me back on. It’s not official or anything, but…”

He grinned a little and Ava squeezed his hand.

“That’s still really good.” She relinquished her hold on him and started towards the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll grab the ice cream if you two can get us something to drink.”

In theory, it wasn’t a very hard task to grab a pint of
Ben & Jerry
from the freezer, a few bowls from the cupboard and make her way to the back patio. In reality, the moment she pulled open the fridge door, she forgot why she was there. She forgot the importance of conserving energy as she stood with the cold air biting through her simple, black dress. All she could see was the container of salmon sandwiches tucked away behind the tower of casserole dishes and cold salads. It was the same batch John Paul had ordered specifically for her the day she returned home. It was old and needed to be tossed away, but the sight of it was a steel fist in the gut. And it all came apart.

“Ava?”

Dimitri found her on the floor, in front of the open fridge door, clutching the container to her stomach and sobbing.

He lowered himself down behind her without a word and gathered her up into his lap. With his foot, he shut the door and just held her … and the sandwiches.

“I’m sorry.”

He shushed her gently, hand stroking her hair. “No,
myshka
.”

“He was your father, too.”

“But he was your dad,” he reminded her, not unkindly. “You knew him like I never did, and that’s okay.”

She sniffled, wiped her nose on the back of her hand. It was disgusting, but neither of them mentioned it.

“What happened that night, at the warehouse?”

“Ava…”

She raised her head off his shoulder. “Please? I need to know.”

Deep, penetrating sadness darkened his eyes, the kind that mirrored the gaping emptiness left inside her.

He swallowed. “He saved my life.” He stopped abruptly. His lips pressed together, tightening his jaw. He lowered his gaze, but not before she saw the sheen in his eyes. “He threw himself at Ivan so I could…”

His voice broke.

The container of sandwiches was set aside and she engulfed him in her arms. She mashed her face into his shoulders and held him, pretending not to notice the subtle tremor in his shoulders. She stroked his hair the way he’d done to her and kissed the side of his head, his temple, tasted the saltiness on his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

She kissed his lips, slow, gentle, needing to pull him back from the despair stiffening his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” she promised him quietly.

Somehow, that ended with her straddling him right there against the bottom part of the counter, the container of sandwiches forgotten as she sank him deep into her body.

“I love you,” he whispered after, when she slumped in his arms, panting.

She raised her head off his shoulder and captured his lips again, needing to taste the words, taste him.

“We’ll be okay,” she whispered against his mouth. “Promise me.”

He tightened his hold on her. “I promise.”

It was only when she was tugging her panties back on when she remembered Robby.

She grabbed the ice cream, told Dimitri to get the bowls, and sprinted in the direction of the back patio. She found her friend reclined on the lawn chair, eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly.

She exhaled.

“About time,” he mumbled, eyelids still closed. “I almost finished the wine.”

She glanced at the bottle sitting on the glass table and raised an eyebrow. “You did finish it.”

Robby shrugged. “Your fault. Too busy getting laid in the kitchen. Pervert.”

Ava’s jaw dropped. “You saw us?”

“You promised me ice cream,” Robby slurred drowsily. “I came to find the ice cream I was promised. But I didn’t stay. I saw nothing.”

Ava shook her head. “Come on. Let’s find you a room upstairs.”

“I’m not sleeping with you,” he blurted just as Dimitri walked out, bowls and spoons in hand. “You can beg all you want, but I have … wine.”

Dimitri met Ava’s gaze and raised a brow.

“He finished the wine,” she explained. “Help me take him upstairs?”

He set his items on the table with the ice cream and the empty bottle, and walked over to the man mumbling to himself about the importance of drinking wisely.

“Come on.”

Dimitri slung one of Robby’s arms over his shoulder and heaved him out of the lawn chair.

“I never slept with her,” Robby babbled. “Like a sister, she is. You don’t sleep with your sister. You’ll have ugly babies with eight heads.”

Ava resisted the urge to face palm.

“Glad to hear it,” was Dimitri’s response as he walked Robby back into the house.

“I thought about it,” Robby went on. “When we first met. She’s hot.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agreed with an edge that made Ava grimace.

“Can you say that about your sister?”

“No.”

Robby’s head bobbed on his shoulder as he turned it to squint at Dimitri warily. “Aren’t you her—”

Dimitri jostled him roughly. “Shut up.”

“I won’t tell,” Robby promised. “I’m a doctor. I have to keep secrets, but your baby will have eight heads.”

Ava did face palm then.

They got Robby all the way to one of the guestrooms and tucked him into bed. At least, she did after Dimitri dumped him gracelessly on the mattress. She pulled off his shoes and tugged the sheets up around him.

With him out of the way, she left the room with her hands undoing the pins in her hair. She met Dimitri’s disgruntled gaze and laughed.

“He’s drunk,” she said.

The sour expression didn’t lift.

“Our baby will not have eight heads.”

She started to laugh again, but stopped. She stared at him with her hands still in her hair, trying to process what he was saying. But her brain function wasn’t as quick as it normally was.

“Are you saying…?”

His answer was to close the distance between them at a near stomp, lift her up into his arms, her legs around his hips, and march into her room.

“It’s been empty long enough, hasn’t it?” Theresa tapped the gold top of her pen against the table, a relentless rapping that was giving Dimitri a headache. “A month is plenty of time to mourn.”

“Can we just focus on one topic at a time?” Erik massaged his temples with the tips of his fingers. “John Paul was one of us and some of us actually respected him.”

Red lips pursed. “It has nothing to do with respect. Need I remind this group what happened the last time a leader fell?”

“The position needs to be filled regardless,” Marcus agreed. “But I think we can agree that it will be difficult filling that chair. It needs to be thought out properly.”

“Fine.” Theresa straightened in her seat. “We will bench the topic … again.”

“I think we need to finish discussing the shipment of guns I have coming in next week,” Erik said smoothly. “I need assurance from the east that it will not get waylaid by authorities like last time.”

“Which had nothing to do with my crew,” Marcus protested. “We all agreed the Devil reported it because he’s a cocksucker.”

Theresa’s chair squeaked with her shifting weight as she leaned back. “That … man, has more bloody lives than a cat.” She clicked her nails on the table, the snap matching the fire in her eyes. “Stole over eight hundred grand from one of my businesses last week.” Her nostrils pinched with her sharp inhale. “I would like to get my claws in to him. Just once.”

It was one million seven hundred thousand, actually. She must not have been given word of the other eight grand he’d taken just a few days ago when she’d allowed an entire apartment complex full of low income families to fall apart. The money was going towards building them a home in a better neighborhood, for less than what they were paying her for a rundown piece of garbage with no running water and crack dealers on every street corner.

Dimitri partially wondered if he shouldn’t tell her. The people the money was going towards were in her territory. The money that was supposed to be going into stable housing was actually doing just that.

He decided not to. Theresa wouldn’t take that kindly.

“I have offered a million dollars for information about that asshole and not a word,” Erik muttered, lips a thin, white line. “Do you have any idea how much that shipment cost me?”

Dimitri did. He’d done the math, but Erik’s mistake was bringing the shipment into the city, which would have ended up in the hands of young thugs with a point to prove and blood on the streets. There had already been enough of that. Plus, for the amount it took Erik to move those guns, he could have put it towards the homes that were lost in the bombing. People were still crowded in shelters and living on the street and Erik had spent almost eight million on guns. That had been the actual trigger for Dimitri.

“The people like him,” Theresa muttered. “Even if they knew who he was, they won’t tell us.”

“He’ll fuck up,” Dimitri joined in. “Eventually, his luck will run out and we’ll be ready.”

“Let’s hope so. At this rate, we’ll all be broke.”

That was unlikely, but Dimitri didn’t say as much. He nodded with the rest, going with the scheme, pretending outrage—something he was getting fairly good at. It helped a lot that he knew their moves before they made them. It helped that he knew when to strike and when to avoid. He’d been very careful not to get caught, like he had with Chan Lee. That was a disaster he couldn’t face again.

He’d also taken to stealing from himself, which was a lot harder than it seemed. Not because he couldn’t part with the money, but he always had to be sure it was done in a way that seemed harder than it was. The efforts paid off when no one asked why he wasn’t getting his shit taken. It avoided detection and suspicion.

Being a vigilante was a lot harder than one would suspect, especially in a world of technology and him with zero computer skills. Criminals no longer kept their blocks of cash in some dusty backroom under tripwire. It was all digital. The transferring, the making and spending of money was all done with the sweep of a finger.

Stephen helped with that.

Dimitri had been forced to lure the boy into his web, threatening him with what would happen if the other territories ever found out it was him helping the Devil. Stephen had practically fainted initially, but once he realized he was like Alfred to Dimitri’s Batman, things had gone fairly smoothly.

The rest, the physical breaking and entering, Dimitri could do on his own. That was only for the shipment of things, weapons, drugs, and sometimes people. It was easier knowing what he was dealing with if he could see the product up close.

In all, the operation was going as smoothly as one would expect considering he was a criminal fighting against other criminals for the better of the city.

Theresa reached for her papers and shuffled through them. She found the ones she was looking for and was about to address whatever was on the docket next when the numbers above the elevator began to climb.

Marcus noticed it first and motioned for the others. The room went silent as the tiny ball of light stopped on their floor.

No one moved. But hands were inching into lapels for the weapons tucked out of sight. Dimitri’s own fingers coiled around the trigger of his 9mm as his vision sharpened on the doors.

They slid open with a rumble of gears.

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Then a tiny figure emerged, the click of her heels entering the room before she did, a stunning sight in a sleeveless, form fitting dress the exact shade of midnight accented by a thick, gold belt and gold pumps. Hair the glorious auburn of a sunset shimmered in fat curls down a slender back and pale shoulders. Green eyes painted a seductive, smoky gray turned over the group.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Dimitri came out of his shock first. He shot out of his chair, his concern overruling his questions.

“Ava?” He started towards her, searching for signs of injury or that something was wrong. “What—?”

She stopped him with just one hand being barely lifted past her hip. She offered him a look that said everything was okay. She was fine, but he remained standing.

When she was sure he wouldn’t continue, she addressed the rest of the room.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” she said formally, her tone even and clipped. “I hope I’m not too late.”

“Late?” Theresa glanced at the others, as puzzled as they were. “What’s is this?” The question was directed at Dimitri. “This is a sacred location that you swore you would protect, not just divulge to any—”

“He didn’t tell me,” Ava interrupted. She started the slow walk across the spacious room, her heels cracking in a rhythmic pace across the marble. “I’ve known for a few years where this place was.”

Theresa looked skeptical. “How?”

Ava smirked like that was an adorable question. “My father and my lover are both part of the organization. I listen.”

Being called her lover had the pit of his stomach pitching, that tugging sensation that made him want to grab her and sink his teeth into her naked thighs. And she always said it in such a possessive manner, like she was daring the other person to challenge her.

But none of those thoughts helped him fathom what on earth she was doing there, or why she was circling the table.

She passed him and he felt the brush of her finger tips over his ass before she was gone and moving onward.

It hit him the moment she came to a stop at John Paul’s vacant chair. When she set her palms flat on the curve of its headrest, her nails an alluring red against the buttery black.

“Ava…”

She spared him a fleeting glance, a look that told him to stop worrying. She knew what she was doing. But he wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t possibly understand what she was implying.

Her gaze swept across the expanse and fixed on the only other woman in the room.

“My father is—was the thirteenth Morel in this chair,” she proclaimed, gliding her palms along its width. “It was passed down from father to son for generations. I know, because he told me so. That tradition is not going to change now.” She pulled out the chair and lowered herself into it. Her long legs crossed. Her fingers rested comfortably along the armrest, a regal queen on her throne. “I’m taking my rightful place as head of the mainlanders.” She raised an eyebrow as she continued. “That is how this works, isn’t it? A member can only inherit the seat or be voted into it, right?”

Theresa stole another glower at Dimitri like this was his fault.

“Stop looking at him.”

Ava’s sharp command startled everyone, Dimitri included, even though she never raised her voice. The authority in it sent a powerful shiver through him that made him painfully aware of the bulge forming in his pants and the fact that he was still standing. Thankfully, no one else seemed to be paying him any attention.

“As a strong business woman I would think you would understand how clever we can be without the aid of men. Now,” she leaned back, sexy as fuck, in Dimitri’s opinion. “I am John Paul’s daughter. I will fight you tooth and nail on that, and this chair. As sole heir to his estate and business holdings, it’s mine and that is my territory. Is that a problem?”

Theresa’s mouth opened. It shut. It was the first time any of them had ever seen her speechless.

“Great.” Ava smiled. “It’s settled.”

She stared from face to face, pausing at Dimitri to offer him that little smirk she normally reserved for moments she was about to do something that would send his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

He was already hard enough to embarrass himself, but that look … it had his molar grinding together with the barely suppressed urge to fuck her right where she sat.

Her grin broadened knowingly.

Fucking woman.

“Now, that we’ve settled that.” She peered at the others. “What’s next on the docket?”

Dimitri lowered himself back into his seat. It was across from hers, across a table that had never seemed so massive than it did in that moment.

She didn’t glance at him again and when she did, it was neutral, professional. No one would have ever guessed she’d spent that morning being plowed in the ass against the shower tiles. The image had him biting the inside of his cheek. Her cool indifference when he knew what a dirty, foul-mouthed siren she could be was the worst sort of turn on, the painful kind, the kind that physically hurt his balls.

He didn’t hear a word of anything that was said throughout the entire meeting. He made a passable attempt to make a mental reminder to ask Marcus or Erik later. Much later, he thought as everyone rose out of their chairs almost an hour later, his eyes fixed firmly on the woman smoothing delicate hands over her skirt.

Theresa said something to her and Ava nodded, her curls bouncing lightly on her shoulders. The two shook hands. Then more handshaking between her and Marcus, then her and Erik.

Dimitri stayed back, casually at ease in his chair, one leg bent over the other. His elbow rested on the armrest, his hand balled loosely against his mouth.

Then it was just them. Him and the woman who exhaled loudly the moment the elevator doors closed behind the others.

“That was intense.” She laughed, hand pressed to her belly. “I was so nervous. Did I do okay?”

“You were perfect.”

She bit her lip, still grinning. “I thought they could see my hands shaking. I kept trying not to wipe them on my dress.” She blew out another breath. “And that Theresa woman … wow! Scary.”

“You were better.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You’re such a liar, but I love you for it.”

He ran a tongue over his bottom lip. “What made you decide to do this? You never mentioned wanting the mainland before.”

Her expression became serious, thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit since the funeral. I kept wondering who would take over and would they be good enough? Would they be fair? Would they help the people or themselves? Then I wondered what John Paul would want, who he would pick, and I couldn’t think of anyone. So…” she gave a little shrug. “I thought, why not me? I’ve been part of this world since I was nine. Between you and John Paul, I was basically groomed for it. I know my territory better than anyone. I love the people and I know what John Paul would have wanted.”

Christ, he loved her.

“This is a conflict of interest now,” he reminded her. “You’re basically sleeping with the enemy.”

Her eyebrow lifted even as her eyes darkened. “Is that right? What do you suppose we should do about it?”

Dimitri’s answer was to push to his feet. He moved around the table, his strides slow and even. He watched as her lips parted and her breathing quickened.

By the time he’d reached her, her panties were already around her ankles and her skirt twisted around her hips. Her pussy winked at him, pink and wet.

He tore the flimsy bit of material over her shoes and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he had her hips, his hands biting as he forced her on the table, her legs wide around his hips.

She freed him, her small hands yanking apart his trousers and fishing him out. She stroked the painfully stiff length of his erection, making him groan and buck into her palm. The head leaked. He was already so fucking close, he almost stopped her.