This irony was not lost on bright young Isabella. For the first year at the orphanage, Isabella said nothing. She just seethed with anger on the inside, appearing quiet to everyone around her. Some of the children wondered if she was a mute. They called her names to which she did not respond. She spoke only a few words for two years.
Then, still at the orphanage, Isabella Sudakova blossomed at the age of thirteen.
Her hair was long, a natural shade of bright red that looked like it came out of a bottle. Almond-shaped emerald eyes made boys literally stop and stare at her. And at age thirteen, she started to develop into a woman. Soon, she knew what the boys wanted from her and she gave it to them for a price. She was not a stupid girl. In fact, she was far smarter than many of her teachers, just as surely as she had been smarter than her stupid parents. With their divorce and her abandonment, she developed a deep hatred for them and for her aunt. Anything that smacked of “family,” she despised.
Her family did not want her.
So, she didn’t need them.
She would make her own “family.” Her “family” were all the twelve-to eighteen-year-old boys she regularly had sex with. She used her looks and her ripe body as a prize, going to the highest bidder on any given day or night.
Isabella sometimes had sex for free, but only if she wanted to and only if it suited her needs on that day at that time. She found that along with her developing sexuality came a violent streak.
At the age of fifteen, she was caught having sex with two boys at once, but she was not expelled, because she had made herself available to her school’s principal. It was the first time she had had sex with an old man. The look and smell of him disgusted her, but it was worth it. If she was ever caught again, she could blackmail him and the school. She made it known to anyone who threatened her that she had the goods on them.
She was not afraid to do what she needed.
She had never felt fear in her life.
At the tender age of almost sixteen, she was pregnant. At sixteen, she gave birth to a baby girl with black hair and blue eyes. The child was given up, because at this age, Isabella could not care for her. She did not wish to care for her then. She herself was still a child.
Isabella used her charms to graduate at the top of her class.
With no one and nothing to graduate to, she soon found herself in the capital city of Ukraine, literally sleeping in the streets. Her hunger did not last long, as she continued to use the “gifts” that God had given her.
Her body was for sale now, just as it had always been.
Now just to the public, as opposed to the boys at school.
Her mind, on the other hand, would never be for sale.
She had made up her mind about that long ago.
The sex trade was exciting at first. The pimps promised food, warmth, endless sex, drugs, nice cars and clothes. Even furs. Only one such man had made the mistake of tricking Isabella with such promises and not delivering on them. She strangled him to death.
Then, one by one, she went to each of his girls and told them that she was the new boss.
Unlike other pimps, Isabella was not stupid. She allowed her girls, the stable, she called them, to keep some of the money they earned. Over time, she eliminated the drugs and any gambling. If a girl did not clean up, Isabella put her out. If a girl was disloyal, she was disfigured and put out. Isabella made these traitorous girls so ugly, they would never work in the sex trade again.
Isabella bought the loyal girls in her stable decent but sexy clothes so they did not have all their flesh hanging out.
After all, a man likes to use his imagination occasionally, she reasoned. A tight, sexy black leather skirt and soft white silk blouse could be just as sexy as anything else, if the only things underneath were black fishnets and a garter.
Isabella took her girls off the streets. They were groomed and polished and beautiful. They were manicured, their hair and bodies clean, if not fresh.
With her looks and her insatiable sexual desire for all things, Isabella was able to make friends with men in high places, including lawyers, politicians, diplomats, embassy officials and doctors. She alone kept a black book of these men’s names, dates, times, preferences, amounts paid. She made sure that each man knew about the black book. Threats could be a wonderful tool. This was a further way of keeping control over them and their sexual desires. In two words, it was sexual extortion.
Isabella did not trust anyone else with this sensitive information. Names, contact information and preferences were never entered into any computer because computers could be hacked. Isabella kept her black book on her person or close to her at all times.
Unlike the girls in other prostitution rings, her girls did not look or act like whores. They were well-groomed former college students who were high-paid escorts, except when they were alone with a client in a bedroom. And she made sure that each of the girls knew that nothing sexually was considered off-limits. If a client wanted something kinky, Isabella’s stable was the place to go. Everyone in the Ukrainian capital knew this.
If a girl got bruised or beaten, Isabella would take her out of commission for a while. She did not want damaged goods damaging her image. Because of this, the girls were careful about how they allowed a client to treat their bodies. Some gained a semblance of self-respect.
As time went on, Isabella even started to recruit her girls from legitimate jobs. Secretaries and office workers came to work for her because they knew they could make more in the stable than in a regular job. And the perks of high-class prostitution had a certain charm. Her girls would be protected. And to the extent they chose to have sex, they would be compensated for it.
With the Soviet Union falling apart, Isabella and her stable of beauties were a safe haven.
Isabella ran high-class glossy ads in Ukrainian and Soviet magazines promising a better life—just not saying specifically what it was. Soon her ring started to compete with the big boys of Russian and Ukrainian organized crime.
Isabella did not care. She did not know fear.
She only knew brutal truth.
This was Isabella’s way.
It was all she had known her entire life.
The one thing that Isabella had connected with, her child, had been unceremoniously stripped from her before she hardly had a chance to look at her. Isabella should have screamed at them that she wanted to keep her baby. She should have fought for her baby. Her child. Not theirs. But after giving birth, she had been weak. She had let them take her daughter. Isabella barely had a chance to name her before they snatched the baby away. At that moment, Isabella made up her mind. She would find her daughter and take her back. She would do this if it killed her. Her life did not matter.
Only that of her daughter.
After a year running the stable, Isabella went back to see the school principal she’d loathed having sex with. By now, he was even older, and he smelled worse than before. If anyone knew where her daughter was, it would be this man.
She knew this as surely as she knew her power over him.
She went to his house and he answered the door. His wife had died three years before, he shared with her. She did not care. All she cared about was finding her child.
She asked of the baby. At first he seemed flustered by her questions. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he think that she came back here because of a sense of friendship with him? God forbid, did he think that she wanted him?
The notion was ridiculous to Isabella as she watched this old man.
Finally, she grew tired of his small talk.
“Tell me where my daughter is, or I will kill you slowly and let you bleed like the pig you are.”
The old man said nothing. Then he whispered, “She was adopted by an English couple who live in Bath, England. Their names are Peter and Molly Patterson. I haven’t heard from them in years. But they were smitten with the child the moment they saw her. They waited for more than nine months until the adopti
on was complete. I will never forget the day that Molly scooped up your child in her arms and they knew they were taking her home with them to England. Her smile . . .”
With that, Isabella was up off the man’s couch. She had brought a clothes hanger with her and had carefully unwrapped it before she stepped foot in the man’s house. She had concealed it in her purse.
In one instantaneous movement, she gripped it around the man’s neck from behind and wrapped it so tight, it dug into his neck so deep she could see his blood.
“I’ll show you a smile,” Isabella said as she pulled the wire tighter.
The man’s old body jerked and twitched. His hands grasped at the wire. But he could do nothing. A strange sound came from deep inside him. His last.
Isabella was done with him.
She was done with being alone.
She would find her daughter.
She would finally have her family.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It is good to keep close the secret of a king.
—Tobit 12:7
“What the hell does this FBI woman keep sneaking around for? She just keeps showing up all over the place. Why? What does she want?” Natasha Klenkov is livid, screaming at her legal partners.
Her blue eyes look like they could burn through ice.
Roxie Jennings sits outside of the meeting at her desk but can hear the young vixen’s voice through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls it is so loud.
All the other partners speak in hushed tones, so Roxie cannot hear what they are saying. Clearly, the meeting is not a normal one.
All the partners are on edge today, including Thomas Pierce. And Isabella has not shown up for this meeting.
Something is not right.
It makes Roxie not want to work or eat or do anything at all. But as secretary, she knows she should at least look like she is doing something. She must appear to be working.
Isabella gets there ten minutes late.
Roxie tries not to look up as the Ukrainian beauty enters the meeting, dressed in an impeccable navy blue business suit that hugs her curves. Roxie does not want to incur the wrath of Isabella today.
Isabella storms into the meeting and closes the pressurized glass door, so the silence and secrecy of the meeting are safe. Roxie glances up to see Isabella’s eyes blazing as she addresses those at the conference table. It is clear she is not happy about something from her mannerisms and the look in her eyes.
* * *
Inside the meeting, things continue to deteriorate as Natasha Klenkov grows angrier. She is no longer yelling, but the look in her eyes shows pure anger. She picks up the phone, calls Clayton Pierce and asks him to come to the meeting. All the partners wait the forty minutes until Clayton enters the room and closes the glass door behind him.
Natasha Klenkov stares at him, her eyes just about boring a hole right through him.
“It would seem we have a problem,” she says to him, not a hint of her native country in her perfect British accent.
“Tell me,” is all that Clayton Pierce says.
This man has seen and been through a lot. As a business man and real estate tycoon, he does not blink or break in the face of a problem. He tackles it dead on, and what he cannot tackle dead on, he disposes of. This problem is no different, whatever it is.
“We have had this FBI bitch snooping around. I do not know what she wants or what she is looking for, but her presence here and her questions make me nervous.”
Clayton looks at her with a natural ease. “My dear Natasha. There is nothing to be frightened of. I will take care of things. Just like I always do.” He allows his voice to trail off and watches the fury in Natasha’s eyes dissipate.
He continues to speak to her almost as if she were a child. “Now, you know from the past, that is how it is. If there is a problem, I fix it. As it has always been.”
“Yes,” Natasha says in hushed tone. She understands what he is saying. She understands what he means without his having to voice it.
It is a simple matter.
It will be taken care of. There is nothing to worry about. Clayton always takes care of everything.
It has always been this way.
* * *
Clayton Pierce turns in his black leather chair away from Natasha and looks at the other partners.
Each of them gives him their undivided attention.
“Have any of you, other than Thomas and I, had any contact with Dr. Catherine Powers or anyone at the FBI?”
They all shake their heads from side to side. Not one dares say a word.
“What does she call herself, Thomas?”
“She goes by Cat as a nickname.”
“How utterly American,” Clayton Pierce says in a dismissive tone. “And what does she know, Thomas? Anything concrete? Tell me.”
Thomas Pierce looks shaken. His eyes dart about, looking at each of his fellow partners. He starts to sweat. He looks down at his hands, not knowing what to do with them. His shoulders hunch as he says, “Not that I can think of. Nothing at all. I told her the lies about Anna, but then she asked to see her employment file, so she knows that.” Thomas Pierce takes half a breath and continues. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Nothing at all.”
To Clayton Pierce, Thomas is rationalizing things, like he always does. Thomas likes to look for the easy way out. Never one to consider all the possibilities of what could happen. Always looking for the easy answer—the one that requires the least amount of effort and work. Clayton is a different man. As a business man, it is his job; no, his duty to look at all the possibilities. No matter how difficult or obscure they are. Like his brother, William, long now dead, Clayton is a “fixer.”
Considering that Thomas showed Cat Anna’s employment file, Clayton Pierce thinks, She knows that you are a liar. And she knows that there is something else going on here.
Thomas Pierce has once again confirmed by his actions that he is a fool.
Clayton Pierce has always known it.
That is why Clayton Pierce, and William before he died, had always been “the fixers.”
Clayton Pierce says, “So why does she keep coming around? Snooping around. She suspects something. I will have to take care of it.”
Clayton Pierce’s face seems to turn to steel, it looks so cold.
Isabella stands and chimes in. “Now, let’s discuss business, shall we? How is the Operation doing?”
No one dares answer.
She has that look in her eyes like she could kill someone.
Clayton Pierce backs down. Isabella takes command of the meeting, as she always does. Her red hair catches sunbeams reflecting off the ocean below.
She smiles at Clayton, coyly acknowledging his turning control over to her.
Her emerald eyes burn into him.
As Clayton watches Isabella, he wishes he could take her right here on the marble conference room table, like he has before. Thomas Pierce has no idea of the true bond between Clayton and Isabella.
She is too magnificent to be the mistress of just one man.
Isabella knows this is what Clayton is thinking. There intimacy needs no words. It never has.
Isabella continues talking. “What were our profits last month?” This question is largely for show. Isabella already knows the answers. She has already memorized them.
The partners each scoot closer to the conference table as Isabella distributes the numbers from the Operation to each in sealed envelopes. Each of them opens what is provided and takes five minutes to read and digest the information.
Isabella looks up from her sheet and says, “The numbers look good this month. Comrades, we increased the shipments of girls to three this past month. A total of ten to twelve girls each time. Summer is a busy time in Florida. So much”—she pauses—“activity.”
Her smile widens at the thought of each of her girls having wild sex with men for money. Her girls riding and grinding on men for money, making them scream.
“A
s you know, each is brought in on a different country’s passport, which we obtain through Victor. Thank you for that, Clayton.” Her green eyes dart in his direction for about five seconds. She is practically undressing him with them as she stares him down. Clayton feels his body react to her. As it always does.
Clayton knows from Isabella’s look that she has slept with Victor too. Poor Thomas. The boy has no idea the viper he has bedded.
Isabella is a woman at the top of her game.
Clayton finds this quality about her appealing. Even more than her looks. A woman of power is a sexual goddess. A creature to be feared among creatures. A goddess among mere mortal men.
Thomas seems oblivious to this quality in Isabella, at least at this moment.
“Have any of them been a problem?” Thomas is always the businessman. Oblivious to Isabella’s true ways.
Isabella responds quickly with a snap in her tone. “There was one who was strong willed, but I had Big Tiny break her for me right in front of the others. She is fine now. She will never talk back to me again.”
Thomas says, “Good.” The others say nothing. They know better than to say anything with Clayton at the table.
“And the profit margin looks good. More than fifteen million dollars for the year so far.”
Isabella simply says nothing. She allows the numbers to speak for themselves.
Natasha finally seems calm as well.
Yosef inquires in his accented English, “The language school in Yekaterinburg has proved useful, then?”
Isabella responds. “Yes, it serves as the perfect cover for getting the girls student visas to come to the US to learn English.”
Everyone at the table laughs nervously, except Natasha.
Although she does not show it in her face, she is still nervous about the FBI.
Isabella takes control of the meeting again. “We will continue with three shipments a month until the end of the summer months. In October, we cut back to two a month. Understood?”
All of them nod.
“And the profits from the Cesari?”
Dying Declaration Page 11