Vassily: Perfect Pain - a Bad Boy Mafia Dark Romance

by Alice May Ball

  “Take him to the East River or somewhere so he can have a respectable disappearance.” He throws me back a scowl. I call after him, “That way I don’t have to tell his father what you got him into.”

  Just under the doorway and almost into the darkness, he slows down. His free arm swings back.

  “Don’t.” I tell him. “I know you kept another weapon back. If you want to be alive long enough to take it out again, leave it in the back of your belt. And continue to fuck off.”

  atya is calm. She looks in pretty good shape for what she’s been through. I’m beginning to wonder what it would take to scare that woman.

  There’s work to be done. Business to attend to. But my attention is fixed on those eyes. Strapped up like she is, her constrained and swelling curves make me think about things that are not at all practical or businesslike. Not in my lines of business they weren’t anyway. My blood is pumping for her.

  “You’re alright? You’re not injured?”

  Her voice is smoky. “No. I’m fine. Especially now you’re here to save me, Russian killer.” Being tied up is definitely a good look for her. “Child soldier,” she said, throwing her head back. That neck. I want to put my mouth on her. A war is getting underway right under my nose and my mind is transfixed by this woman. that could all end very badly indeed.

  “I have to make a call. You mind if I leave you like that?” I keep a straight face. I don’t know how I manage it. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  Her eyelids bat as she shrugs. “Whatever.”

  The phone is dialing Mikhail. “I have to admit, I’m loving seeing you like that. Trussed and ready for plucking.”

  Her eyes narrow and gleam like knives.

  “Hey, Mikhail. Is everybody okay over there? I need you to set up a meet. Call Konstantin–no, wait, I’ll call Konstantin. You call Medved, Carmine, Pierce –yeah, the guy from Hotsteppa. Yes, it’s urgent. There’s something afoot and it’s very fucked up. Call it for four am. Here. Vovo’s. Why not. It’s neutral territory. Kind of.” As an afterthought, “Get Medved to be here twenty minutes ahead of the others. I need a word with him in private. Don’t tell him.”

  After I hang up, Katya looks up at me and says, “Between now and then, Russian killer, child soldier, would you be kind enough to relieve me of this precious fucking gift that everybody gets so fucking excited about?”

  “You don’t mean the ropes and the chain.”

  “Fuck, no.” She thinks for just an instant. “Now you come to mention it, leave those on.”

  I do a double take. “You like them?” I liked them, and I wouldn’t have denied it.

  Her voice purrs soft enough to get me hard. “I could struggle. I could kick and fight, Russian killer. There would be no way that I could stop you.”

  Now I am starting to throb. Her eyes make a slow tour, straight down to my cock. I ask her, “And that’s what you want? To be fucked for the first time, while you struggle. Trussed like a goose. Like the victim in a cheap women’s prison porno?”

  “It has a certain appeal, don’t you think?”

  I haul her out of the chair. Shove her down onto the carpet. Face down. I have a long knife. I take it out and show it to her.

  Twisting, she wriggles underneath me. She says, “I think you’re warming up to the idea. You can cut my clothes with that.” Her legs kick uselessly, bound tight.

  She groans, “I can’t even spread my legs apart,” she snarls. “How are you going to do it?” As she writes, she makes a noise like a growl. “How are you going to do it, eh? After you cut my dress and slit the silk of my hot, wet panties, how are you going to get the angle to get your cock up me?”

  I pull her hair to jerk her head up, Pull her ear to my mouth and my voice rasps like a saw. “Maybe I’ll ream your ass first. Maybe I’ll warm you up by jamming my hard, fat cock up your tight little asshole. See how tight you can keep it.” I jerked her harder, “See how wide I can stretch it.” I put my mouth closer to her ear. Lowered my voice even more. “I know the idea appeals to you,” I sniffed. “Doesn’t it?”

  Her head shook in a fast, trembling nod. “Get it done.”

  “I know you’d love it.”

  “But do the whole thing. Break the fucking curse of this damned, so-called ‘purity.’ Take it. Break it. Do it.”

  The scent of her is so hot and so strong, I want to taste her. I want to spread her legs around my face and drink and suck and plunge my tongue, deep and hard into her. Make her hips jump and roll. Fire her up with wild chemical frenzy. Taste the bud of her slick, shuddering pearl, slip the tip of my tongue up and around the inside of her hood.

  Then run the tip up and down her honey-drenched lips. Feel the quivering, dark soft folds. High inside her. Spread my lips as she ground her pussy against my mouth like she’s trying to scratch an itch. Fell her shake from the inside out and roll and grind, faster and harder until she bursts, clinging and shouting and shaking, until she cracks wide and lets go, gushing like a great dam, sagging and holding still, suspended in the moment before it explodes.

  Drag her. Wet, wild and quivering, down onto my cock. Hard, fierce, and ready.

  But that isn’t what she wants. She just wants a fuck. Any fuck. Just so she can be rid of the tag, lose the prize cherry. Bust the curse. I can understand that. But I have to think, what will that really do for her? How is anyone going to know? And, more to the point, what will it do for me?

  “I have a rule,” I tell her, as her lip juts and her eyes flicker over my face and my body. “I only ever fuck a woman who seriously wants to fuck me.” It’s true. I do. “Anyway, maybe I have a better idea.”

  “I hate you, Russian killer.” As I start to saw through the ropes, she hisses at me.

  ”Yeah. I hate you, too, matryoshka.”

  Now she thrashes like a shark on the deck of a boat. “Don’t you fucking dare call me that. You’ve got no idea what it means.”

  I blink and I pause, “It means a Russian doll. Inside the doll is another doll. Inside that doll, another. And so on.”

  “You don’t know what it means to me.”

  “Mm. I could hazard a guess maybe.” With the straps unbuckled and the chain off, all I need to do is to finish unwrapping her.

  “Won’t you fuck me, Russian boy? Child soldier?” She is vulnerable and lethal in the same breath.

  I’m resisting. I doubt I’ll do that too long. Although you never know. She wants it as much as I do. Maybe more.

  I tell her gently, “Look, it’s a red-hot idea. Don’t think I’m not tempted. okay, a lot more than tempted. But I think I have a better way to solve that problem for you. Maybe solve a few other problems, too.”

  I pull the rope from her. She unrolls out of it. The turquoise Prada silk is all over the place. Her hair is a wreck. Lines and smears of mascara are all over her face. As she turns, she spins her head. Whirling. Staring up at me.

  I don’t mean to say it. The words get out on their own. “Fuck, you are hot, though.”

  She’s leaning up on her elbows. “Remember when you pretended to kiss me while I pretended to kiss you?”

  I nod.

  Her lip juts out. She looks at my mouth then back in my eyes as she says, “Feel like starting to pretend that all over again? From the beginning? I don’t know that I was very convinced the last time.”

  My knee is between her thighs. She breathes hard and her eyes blaze. I reach for the back of her head and grab her by the hair. “Yes,” the word is a scrape, a hoarse scratch. Her teeth tug at the inside of her lip. She lifts her knee and her thigh slides along mine.

  I trace her cheek and her jaw with a finger. Pull her to me. Her breasts squash, firm but yielding, rising and swelling against my chest. The roll of her stomach against my abs sets a flame in me that could be hard to put out.

  She breathes hard and heavy as her arms wrap around me. I hold her so her lips are close to mine. Close enough to taste her breath. Near enough to smell the warmth of her neck.
That scent, from her collarbone. Her body comes alive in my hands. I want to kiss her now. But I know that if I wait, if I hold back, it will just get better.

  “Come on,” she says. Her eyes plead. But there’s a spark as well. She knows what I’m doing. It’s not just a tease. It’s a dance. from the tops of our heads down, we move, like two serpents, like the twisting winds of a hurricane.

  Soft, yielding and needy, her eager body wraps onto mine. I’m hard. Aching for her. With the heat of her breath in my mouth, a reflex takes a hold. Her face lunges closer to mine and my mouth snaps onto hers.

  Our lips lock and it’s like I stepped through a doorway. She groans and writhes. Her thighs and her ass shake as my finger finds the bottom of her clit. A chuckle bubbles in my chest. Her body twists and flexes. The heat of her thighs closes to grip on my hand. We’re joined. Parts of a dance. Greed in our mouths. Lust below.

  We roll, twist and pump. Waves, surges and swells of animal need power my body. A little whimper spills out of her as my thigh jams up hard between hers. I have to make this stop but it gets harder with every moment.

  Writhing, she’s toppling out of the chair. My cock is hard and aching. Through my pants, it rubs against the inside of her thigh and it’s pulling my pelvis up. Rubbing toward the hot, wetness, her folds that press into my hand.

  The sound of the elevator bings from the shadows, far on the other side of the dark showroom. It makes me let go of her and reach down for the guns. Crouched low, I aim both short rifles.

  “Boss,” Mikhail’s voice calls out. I’m relaxing as I hear him, “Are you ok?”

  “I’m great, Mikhail.” I stand and cut the straps and ropes that remain constraining Katya. She doesn’t look too pleased.

  Mikhail steps out of the shadow, into the glimmer of light in the center of the room. He’s keeping the grin off his face, but he can’t hide the sparkle in his eyes. He says, “We’ve got people around the block and an extra detail on the door downstairs. People should be arriving in about half an hour.”

  “Good work, Mikhail.”

  “We’re serving drinks back in the Viper room and all the guests who stayed are happy enough.”

  “How many did stay?”

  “After word got around about the life membership? Nearly everybody. New York’s finest are coming but after I told Captain Morden what happened, she didn’t sound like she was too pleased about it.”

  “But she’ll do what’s needed?”

  “I reminded her of the contributions we make to the annual police ball. She got the message. She’ll do what has to be done.”

  “All good work, Mikhail. Get a mixologist and some wait staff over here. All of the guys who are coming to meet will want a drink and they’ll all come with an entourage of bodyguards.”

  “I’m on it, boss.”

  Mikhail didn’t say anything about Katya. When I’d gotten her untied, he asked her if she needed anything. She told him that she didn’t.

  Away from her earshot, I say to Mikhail, “I have a worrying feeling that I may have been missing the point about what’s been happening. Vovo was sent here to take a bite of New York and get ready for an invasion, that much is certain. But what we’ve seen the last few days isn’t the invasion. All of the attacks are too targeted and too small.”

  “It’s true. And they all center around you, boss.”

  “They’ve all been where I was. But I’m not the only common link.”

  “I just thought of something. Think back, boss. When that guy rolled the grenade into Marco’s, I think we were all thinking that he simply rolled it into the room.”

  “Right.”

  “But he actually threw it–”

  “Mikhail, you’re right. He pitched into the middle of the room, but it definitely was in her direction.”

  edved arrives first. He has about twenty guys with him. Mikhail takes them into the showroom and seats them at tables. Two say they’re ‘with Medved. Where he goes, we go.’ I start to tell him what happened to Katya. He waves his gorillas away. He doesn’t seem to care particularly about Katya being taken from my club. I tell him that I think his son Bruno is behind it. He looks in my eye, fixes me with a gimlet stare. “You saying Bruno was behind the attack on your club? Because if you did, that could be serious.”

  It makes my heart sink to hear him say that. So now I know Medved knows about what Bruno is getting up to. I doubt he’s in on it himself but he’s ether sanctioned it or at the very least he hasn’t stopped Bruno from going ahead.

  Maybe he knew, tried to stop the kid. Couldn’t. Isn’t going to admit it to me. It could be like a betrayal of his son. It would mean he accepted that the kid did something totally crass and dumb and that Medved couldn’t do anything about it. These gangsters don’t like anything in their family or their organization to be out of control. Bad? Sure. Evil, even. That’s never a problem. Dumb as a rock? That’s just the order of the day, most days. Out of control, though? Nobody wants that. It reeks of failure.

  So, trying to make sure that Medved was warned, I’ve put him on the spot. His back is up, and I didn’t get any of what I needed.

  This is a bad start for me. I want better co-operation from the heads of families than this. I want us all to work together or, at least, to have some faith and trust in one another.

  I’ve set the table for us all to meet at in the center of the stage. It’s a comfortable space, it dominates the room. Like good Feng Shui, you can’t approach it without being seen from a long way off. I’m setting everybody’s place so that they’re all located at spots of power, and their rank is respected. Sounds like hooey and voodoo, but mobsters have an instinctive sense of it. It’s a kind of a hidden language and I can’t afford to get it wrong.

  I tell Katya to wait in back, in the shadows.

  She looks relieved when I say, “I don’t want you out of my sight, and I don’t want anyone else here to see you.” She found a place backstage in my eyeline and a faint light from a phone screen lets me see the outline of her face. I can just about make out the shine of her eyes.

  Pierce, the guy from Hotsteppas arrives with his two massive black bodyguards, Callaghan and Calhoun. They don’t sit with all the other captains and muscle. They stand, silent with their hands folded in front of them, either side of the entrance arch.

  Carmine Monreale, Konstantin, and Pierce Agostini start to take their places. I realize I’ve got everything about the setup right, all except for how it looks. I’ve set the heads of the most powerful families in the five boroughs up to look like a floorshow.

  I snap my fingers with a look at Mikhail. He knows that I never communicate like that. He gets the meaning. I need something urgently and it’s serious. With the minimum number of words, I tell him what I need. He thinks for a couple of seconds. Then he leaves with just a nod. He’s on it.

  Before we start, almost all of the lights over the stage swing out to dazzle the audience. the lights on our table all go down. We’re bathed in a glow that lights our heads from above, giving everyone at the able a mythical, god-like glow, and all the henchpersons around the outside are so blinded they have to turn their backs.

  Cool jazz plays low on speakers around the stage. Also facing out. The music will mask everything that’s said so that only the men at the table can hear. We have an enclave, a sanctum, a high table, and all in plain view of the room.

  Carmine Monreale says, “You’ve got a sense of the theatrical, Vassily. You know how to set up an occasion.”