But after his empire was secure again, after he’d killed a few men to prove himself still the most powerful, the most ruthless of men in the Bratva, he realized the real truth. He wanted to bring her back to him—to force her back into his bed where she belonged—because sex without Caterina had lost its zest.
Even though he had his pick of the young women brought into the US by the human trafficking ring, even though his men singled out the prettiest, youngest, most virginal-looking blondes for him to deflower before putting them to work as prostitutes, it still hadn’t been enough. The tears of the women he raped did nothing for him—he’d craved the hate in Caterina’s eyes. The hate...and the immensely powerful feeling it gave him to know she couldn’t stop him taking her...despite her hatred.
But eventually...after all these years without her...he’d adjusted. The fire to possess her, control her, conquer her, had dimmed. Then he’d merely wanted her dead. Not just to ensure the evidence she’d stolen never fell into the wrong hands—though that had been a concern—but to have his revenge on her for depriving him of the sexual pleasure she’d given him. Pleasure he’d never been able to recapture with another woman no matter how hard he tried.
What was money, after all? he’d reasoned when he raised the price on her head. A means to an end. A million dollars was worth it. Oh yes, Caterina Mateja had been worth a million dollars to him...dead.
She still was. That hadn’t changed. With Caterina dead, the case against him would fall apart like a house of cards with one card removed from the bottom of the stack. So close! he raged suddenly. His men had been so close.
Vishenko no more believed in miracles than he believed in God. But if he did believe in them, then Caterina’s escape had been one. He’d used nearly every tool in his arsenal, had called in markers from a half dozen of his fellow crime bosses within the Bratva, had bought the best law enforcement officials his money could buy—the plan should have been foolproof.
But at least her near-death experience would make her reconsider testifying. Wouldn’t it? Changing her mind about that wouldn’t save her life—she still needed to die—but it would buy him a little time.
* * *
Cate woke late. She knew it by the angle of the sun’s rays coming through her bedroom window. She laid there for a moment, trying to remember where she was. Fayetteville, her brain finally supplied. Safe house. With Liam.
Liam. She turned over and tucked her hand beneath her cheek as she thought about him. He reminded her so much of Alec in the way he looked, the way he talked, even his mannerisms. But—and it seemed almost sacrilegious to admit after Alec had rescued her from a life on the run and convinced her she had a purpose in life far greater than just continuing to live—she liked Liam even more than she liked Alec...and that was saying a lot. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Alec had eyes only for her cousin, Angelina...but she didn’t think so. Not entirely.
There was just something special about Liam—his heart-stopping smile, the way his eyes smiled even before his lips did, the flashes of self-deprecating humor that told her even though he was a serious man in many respects he didn’t take himself too seriously. She liked that about him. And then there was the way he so carefully didn’t touch her if he could help it, as if he knew—well, perhaps he does, she admitted with a little pang of pain. Perhaps Alec told him. Or perhaps I told him when I flinched away from his hand yesterday. He’s a very perceptive man. It wouldn’t take much for him to figure out I can’t... I don’t...
She hadn’t wanted him to know. Silly, she realized now. She couldn’t keep who and what she was a secret from him—he already knew, at least in part. And eventually the whole world would know everything...when she testified. Hadn’t she already had this discussion with herself, when Alec had convinced her to testify? “‘I am only one,’” she whispered, reminding herself why she was here. Why she was putting herself through this. “‘But I am one.’”
It was cold comfort. Especially with thoughts of Liam fresh in her mind. What wouldn’t she give to be able to come to him—whole, clean—and see where their attraction took them? If nine years ago had never happened. But that was stupid. If nine years ago hadn’t happened, Liam would never have entered her life. She wouldn’t have been in that courthouse yesterday morning. No one would have attempted to kill her. And Liam wouldn’t have been forced to come to her rescue. To save her life.
She rose eventually and made her way quietly, cautiously, to the upstairs bathroom, taking along the plastic bag with the toothbrush and other essentials the Morgans had given her at the other safe house—the one in Fairfax. No one else seemed to be around, so either they were still asleep—not very likely—or they’d all awakened far earlier than she had and were already downstairs.