Reaching into my closet, I pull out a clingy, royal blue satin dress. It has a little stretch woven in with the fabric that allows it to hug every single curve of mine, accentuating my body beneath. My mother gave me her dark eyes, but when the sun catches them the right way you can see that they’re not black, they’re actually blue. She also blessed me with her perfectly proportionate, lushly curved body. My father gave me his darker olive toned skin, black as midnight thick hair, and thick lips.
Slipping my feet into a pair of gold high heels, I grab the only thing I really care about. My picture of my friends from junior high, my iPod that doesn’t work anymore, and a stack of five journals. Nothing else matters, it’s all just—stuff. It feels like déjà vu, packing up to leave my home again, taking my few meager possessions. Being sent to an unknown place, my life being uprooted yet again at the whim of my father.
My father made it perfectly clear that my clothes and lingerie weren’t needed, so I don’t bother even looking into my closet. I don’t really own any of it anyway, not that I ever did. I may be the highest sought-after whore in my father’s stable, but I’m also a whore that isn’t allowed to keep a penny of her earnings. His promise of a prosperous life was nothing but words to make himself feel better.
Carmella has been in charge of purchasing my clothes and shoes, and anything that I might need. I have never seen a dime of the money I’ve earned. My father didn’t lie when he said he owned me, he very much does. There is no way out of his grasp, but maybe, maybe being owned by the Russians will feel less suffocating—maybe.
“Ready?” His voice calls out from the other side of my closed bedroom door.
I glance at myself in the mirror and let out a sigh. I’m not ready, but I don’t have a choice. Gathering my few possessions in my hands, I turn away from my bed, flipping the light off and walk away from everything I have ever known.
CHAPTER ONE
SIX MONTHS LATER
AIDAN
Leaning back in the chair, I watch as my brother-in-law, Timofei, walks through my office door. He glances around before he sits down. I know that he’s not here to collect, that is done on his turf. No, he’s here for something else. What, I don’t know quite yet. I will wait though. Timofei is a man of few words, but he is smart and for his age, a spectacular leader as well.
“Your wife is gone, are you legally divorced?” he asks.
I’m surprised by his question. Fallon was taken away over six months ago. I didn’t kill her like I should have. There was some truth to the fact that she is indeed, the mother of my children. I couldn’t kill her. I’m sure that makes me too fucking soft-hearted.
“I filed with the church, adultery,” I explain. Heat creeps up my neck, even if I wish that it wouldn’t. My pale skin makes it impossible to hide a blush of embarrassment or anger.
He snorts. “Good. Devyn says she was a bitch anyway.” He grins.
I don’t respond. Fallon was a bitch. I loved her as much as I could. Our marriage was arranged, and she was only eighteen when we wed, pregnant immediately, and not ready for either. I was twenty, and not ready myself but I was more responsible. I was already part of my father’s organization, running a crew, and knew how to take care of business. Fallon was, and still is, a spoiled little child.
“Devyn would like to meet for dinner, family dinner with your children and her siblings and their families. I have held her off this long. I explained that with the shift of power, that things were unstable. She’s no longer accepting my excuses.” He smirks.
His smirk is telling. He thinks my sister’s demands are cute, and I can see the obvious care he has for her. He can tell her no, and end the subject, but he’s not doing that. He knows how much she wants it. He is not only a good leader, but a good man. Yes, unknowingly, our father did one good thing before he died by drawing up the marriage contract between this Russian and my sister.
“Tell us where to be, we’ll be there, all of us,” I announce.
Timofei’s smirk turns into a smile. “I’ll text you,” he says before clearing his throat. “I hear Rossi traded his best whores at the last trade. I met his top girl,” he shrugs.
Lifting my chin, I tilt my head to the side. “And?”
“You’re single, lonely I assume, and a busy single father. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying the flesh of a woman. Every man in our position needs to have physical release, Aidan.” He smirks.
I don’t know whether to punch him in the face or tell him to fuck off. I decide to grunt instead of doing either. He chuckles, his voice low and deep. “Just sayin’. The girls we employ are better than any girl on the street, or anyone found in some nightclub. Safer, too.”
“Thanks,” I grind out.
He drops a card on my desk before he turns around and walks out of my office. Reaching for the small paper, I bring it closer. The card is simple, off-white in color with gold script writing—Kozha. It has a simple phone number printed beneath the Russian word. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t bother looking it up. Flipping the card over, I’m surprised to see a name written in black pen—Giovanna.
I shove the card in my pocket. I don’t know if I’m going to call them, but it’s been eight months since I’ve been laid. I do miss the taste, touch, smell, and feel of a woman. I’m not completely shutting down the idea of it.
A whore would be easy. She would know the score, and nobody would be any wiser. It should feel wrong, just having this card in my hand. I should feel dirty, but I don’t.
Standing from my chair, I turn to leave, needing to get some fresh air. I walk out of the bar and jog toward my car. Slipping inside of my dark BMW sedan, I push the button to start the engine. Shifting into gear, I take off down the street. I don’t know where I’m going, or why, but I need to go.
“Bluetooth audio,” I call out. “Call, Elowen,” I instruct.
Glancing at the clock, I see that she’s out of her classes for the day and should be at home with the rest of her siblings. However, that is not always the case with my unruly brood.
“Yeah, Dad?” she says.
I should scold her for greeting me the way she has. I should, but I don’t. I’m not the man my father was. I’m probably too soft on them, but I also took their mother away. They, my children, they get away with murder.
“You’re home, with your siblings?” I ask.
My girl is the eldest, at fourteen she unfortunately has to take on far too much responsibility. I have hired help, nannies, nurses, and the like. They’ve complained about them all, hated them for one reason or another. Their most current nanny seems to be working out okay, but Elowen still helps often.
“Your aunt Devyn would like to have a dinner party soon. She misses you all, the rest of the family will join as well. I just wanted to let you know,” I murmur.
In reality, I wanted to call her to keep my fingers from searching for that damn card that is now burning a hole in my pocket. The prospect of warm pussy is far too inviting now that the thought has entered my mind.
“Okay,” she says, and I know that she’s also shrugged.
I make a last minute decision that hopefully won’t piss Timofei off too much. “I would like to have it at our house. Next Sunday. If I send you a party planner, do you think that you would work with her to plan a simple affair?”
“Me? You want me to help?” she breathes.
I suck in a deep breath. “You’re going to be on your own in a few years, my sweet Wen. You need to learn things like this.”
She stays silent for a moment. “You mean when you marry me off to someone?” she asks.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Or maybe, my eldest daughter will want to be part of the organization. Or perhaps she would just like to go to college and work a regular job. I will never force you to be or do anything. This life, it’s changing, and we’re all changing with it. Contracts don’t mean what they used to, but if you would like to follow the traditions, then we can, it is completely up to you
,” I state.
I mean every single word, too. I would never force my children into a life they despised. I would never sell them off for some type of gain like my father did. I will always let them choose their future.
Talking to Elowen for a few more minutes, I tell her that the party planner will be scheduled for the end of the week. Then, I stupidly reach into my pocket and dial the phone number on the front of the card and make an appointment for myself with Giovanna. Friday evening, ten o’clock, at an address that will be texted to me earlier that same day.
GIOVANNA
Looking around my fancy condo, I wonder why I was asked to come here. It’s been six months and I’ve yet to have a single client. Moriz, the man in charge of the stable in this area, informed me that the boss, Timofei, instructed him to set me up here. He also told me that the actual madam would not be giving me my clients, that either he or Timofei himself would.
I met the man once, Timofei. The day my father handed me over to the Russians. He was younger than I anticipated, closer to my own age than not. He was handsome, in a fair way. Blond hair, piercing blue eyes. Not someone I would be attracted to normally, but I wouldn’t kick the man out of my bed. His intensity frightened me a little, however.
When his eyes roamed over me, it wasn’t in a sexual way, but in an assessing way. He was trying to decide if I would make him money, if my service would turn a profit. I felt like chattel, but I couldn’t be angry, because that’s exactly what I am.
Now, six months later, I’m not so sure that he liked what he saw in me. I haven’t worked a single day. I spend most of my time working out in the gym that was set up in the extra bedroom and reading. Luckily, the library in this condo is packed full of books, otherwise I might go completely insane. Especially, since I don’t care to watch television.
The intercom buzzes and I jump, unused to the sound, as I haven’t had a visitor in weeks. All of my food is mysteriously delivered every Monday by the building’s concierge, and although I haven’t been told that I’m restricted from leaving the building, I’ve decided that I won’t chance a jaunt outside. When I need the sun, I spend time out on my back balcony, reading.
“Ms. Giovanna,” Moriz’s voice calls through the speaker.
Hurrying toward the device, I press a button before I speak. “Yes?”
“I am on my way up,” he states with his thick accent.
I don’t say anything else, walking over to my door and unlocking it before turning away. I walk into the living room and wait for him. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I clasp my hands in my lap, down casting my eyes, and I attempt to control my breathing. Something is happening here, and I am beyond nervous as I wait to find out what it is.
“Giovanna,” he calls.
His voice is close, and I’m surprised that I didn’t hear him walk up to me. Lifting my gaze, my eyes meet his and he smirks as he sinks down in the chair across from me.
“Mr. Moriz,” I whisper.
“No, Mister business, Giovanna. You can just call me Moriz.” He grins. “I have a client for you.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip with the news. My heart beats against my ribs and I blink, unable to find words to speak to him. “A client?” I mutter.
Keeping my teeth firmly placed in my bottom lip, to keep from asking him a million questions. I’m trying to keep my mouth from bursting out with the rush of questions that start to immediately flow through me. Why now? Who is it? What awaits me?
“He’s an extremely important client,” Moriz announces. “He’s head of the Irish mob, a powerful man and ally to Timofei. He’s also Timofei’s brother-in-law and divorcee. Your previous madam, and father, both boasted of your skill and professionalism. Timofei has chosen you for him because of this.”
Clearing my throat, I release my lip. “Is he the reason I haven’t worked since being sent here?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“It is. Timofei decided that you would be a good fit for him. His wife is… gone. He’s a busy father of four, and he doesn’t have time to court a woman. There will be events that he’ll need a date for, but more importantly, he’ll just need… relief.”
I like how Moriz doesn’t fuck around. He tells it like it is, and while he’s direct, he isn’t hurtful or cruel about it. I give him a nod and a small smile. “I will be what he needs,” I agree.
“You are his until he no longer desires you, Giovanna. He is not a man who will wish to share, and he will require your services at all hours of the night or day, so you will never deny him.”
Pressing my lips together, my eyes stay connected to Moriz’s and I give him a confirming nod. “I understand.”
“Good girl. He will come here, tonight. He will have a key and let himself in. You’ll wait for him in your bedroom, have a glass of his favorite whiskey from the bar waiting for him, as well.” I nod again. Moriz stands and walks out of my condo without so much as a second glance back.
I wondered why there was fancy Irish Whiskey in the bar, or why there was even a bar. I don’t drink, something Madam Carmella drilled into my head. I know how to enjoy a glass of champagne or hard liquor with a client. However, I only take two sips, never any more.
A call girl who doesn’t have her wits about her is headed for nothing but trouble. I also don’t do drugs, aside from a little pot when I’m by myself, it’s a vice that I started when I was ten and haven’t been quite able to give it up.
Looking around the condo, I decide to start cleaning. He won’t notice, I’m sure of it, but I’m a little OCD. Everything must have a place and be in its place. It doesn’t take me long to straighten up, mop, and vacuum the floors. Glancing at the clock, I decide to start preparing myself for his visit.
I don’t know his name, this elusive Irish leader. The way Moriz said that his wife was gone, it makes me believe that there is so much more to that story than just a normal divorced situation. It doesn’t matter though, that isn’t my information to know. None of it.
Taking my time, I shave every part of myself, then wash my hair and spend far too long blow drying it. I keep my makeup light, unsure of this man’s preferences but knowing that a lot of men enjoy a woman who looks more natural and subdued.
Standing at my lingerie drawer, I frown. Usually, I have a dossier on the man I’m to meet so that I know his likes and dislikes. Not all men enjoy lace, not all men enjoy leather, and not all men enjoy silk. Texture and touch are extremely important in the art of seduction. I don’t like feeling unprepared and that is exactly how I feel right now.
My fingers gently glide over all of the beautiful pieces that someone bought and placed in the drawer for me. When I catch a glimpse of the light peach lace set, I decide that it’s what I’m going to wear for tonight.
The peach fabric has a gorgeous leaf design woven with a shimmery silver thread that adds an extra flair. Slipping the bra on and clasping the back, I smirk at the sight in front of the mirror. The extreme V of the bra shows off my ample cleavage and is a pretty contrast to my olive skin tone.
I wrap the waist cincher around myself and ensure that it is accenting the smallest part of my waist before I then shimmy the delicate silver lattice chain over the top. I quickly pull up the nude shimmery thigh highs and attach them to the garters. Stepping inside of the V-string panties, I pull them up and make a full turn in the mirror, assuring that every part of me looks absolutely flawless.
Sliding my feet into the four-inch silver high heels, I suck in a deep breath. The shoes have crystals that drape over the top of my foot, giving a beautiful shimmer that will catch the light with each step I take. My very last step is to slip my arms in a silk silver thigh length robe. It just covers my ass, and I don’t bother tying it at the waist.
I turn my bedding down, spraying it with a soft scent that is not overwhelming but inviting. Then I walk over to the small bar and pour two-fingers of the whiskey that was left here. Turning the lights down in the room, thankful for the dimmer that was installed, I wa
it.
Sitting with my back to the door, on the bench of my vanity, my black hair hanging down my back, I close my eyes and I relax. I breathe. I wait, and I go to a place of warmth and happiness, a place of calming peace.
CHAPTER TWO
AIDAN
The building is in my territory surprisingly, and I glance around, wondering what the fuck I’m really doing here. I should leave. What kind of pathetic loser goes to a whore? I glance at the door, then the call button. My decision wavering on going home or walking through the glass doors in front of me.
Before I can make up my mind, the door opens and a man in a dark suit looks at me. I lift my chin, walking past him. I recognize him from Timofei’s tributes. He’s one of his men. “Mr. O’Neil,” he murmurs, holding his hand out.
I do the same, shaking his hand. He slides something into my palm, then turns and walks away from me. The door closes quietly behind him as he exits the building. Looking down in my hand, I notice that it’s a key. The ring has a piece of leather attached to it. Stamped on that piece of dark brown leather is a number and letter.
2C
Knitting my brows together, I walk toward the elevator. I assume that the two is the second floor. Once the car doors open, I step inside and press the button for the second floor. It rises quicker than I had anticipated, and I step into the hall with a sigh. A door is directly in front of me with a big wrought iron A attached, just below a peephole.
Turning to the right, I quietly make my way down to the second door which has a B attached to it. Then I find myself a minute later standing in front of door C.
Bought by the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 10) Page 2