Daddy’s Wild Friend

by Charlize Starr

  “What else is it? He forced me to pack my bags and then sent me here with guards. It wasn’t my choice, which means I’m a captive.” Sylvia crossed her long slender legs. Fedor allowed himself to look for a moment and then he immediately looked away. This was inappropriate, she was his friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be staring at her perfect body, but he couldn’t help it.

  “He’s sent you here for your own good, for your own protection. Such is the nature of his job,” Fedor said slowly, and then took a long sip of his drink. He noticed the way her eyes sparkled as he spoke, how her chest rose and fell. It was obvious that she was trying very hard to contain her anger. She looked like she wanted to slap his face or throw his glass against the wall and shatter it to pieces.

  “I’ve wanted to be left out of his job, out of his world. I’m an adult now, I should be allowed to choose,” Sylvia said, in a more composed tone of voice. Fedor smiled and licked his lips before speaking again. She was watching him too, just as he was watching her closely.

  “You can’t just be left out. You’re his daughter. All his enemies know what you mean to him. They’ll hurt you the first opportunity they get.” Fedor swirled his Scotch around in his glass again and noticed the way her eyes were drawn to it. There was defiance in her eyes, she was still angry.

  “Is this how you treat your daughter as well? Is this why you’re on his side?” she asked and Fedor couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I don’t have a family. No liabilities. That has been my number one rule,” he said, and laughed some more. Try as she might, Sylvia Stern was still a young naive little girl.

  Chapter Three - Sylvia

  His laugh was loud and Sylvia felt like it shook the floor underneath her feet. She had been expecting a pot-bellied Russian mafia boss with thick signet rings on his fingers and greasy hair. This was not the man she had pictured in her head. Fedor Volkov. She couldn’t remember his face but she knew she had met him before. She knew that her father and he were as thick as thieves, but all his friends were all the same in her eyes - criminals. And she never wanted to have anything to do with any of them.

  But Fedor Volkov had thrown her. When she entered the room he was sitting behind his desk, but when he stood up to shake her hand, she realized just how tall he was. At least six feet and five inches if not taller.

  He had a thick dark beard that covered the lower half of his face and fell way past his chin. His hair was dark and thick too, but it was beginning to gray, just like her father’s. His eyes, on the other hand, were small, intensely blue like a clear icy blue Russian lake. His shoulders were broad, and his handshake was strong.

  The most intriguing bit about him perhaps was his voice. He had a Russian accent, even though he spoke English fairly well but his voice was deep and soft and gentle. He sounded more like a voiceover for a documentary rather than a Russian mobster. It was hard to imagine him dishing out orders for murders.

  Sylvia shifted in her seat while he looked at her, still laughing from her question about his nonexistent daughter.

  “Laugh all you want, Mr. Volkov, I just want you to know that I’m staying here against my will,” she said, lifting her chin up at him. He stopped laughing, but he was smiling while he studied her with his icy blue eyes. Sylvia felt self-conscious under his gaze, she could feel goosebumps appear on her arms. This man was definitely sexy as hell. He might be her father’s age, but he was tall and handsome and rugged and sexy. Sylvia smiled, an idea instantly forming in her brain.

  “I am only doing your father a favor. I promised him I’ll protect you till he thinks it’s safe for you to return to New York, and that is exactly what I’ll do. Your problems with your father are your own, not mine,” Fedor said softly in his Russian accent and Sylvia bit down on her lip.

  “Of course,” she said sweetly and saw the look of surprise in his eyes. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so quickly with what he was saying. He was expecting her to kick and scream some more. But he wasn’t aware of her change in plans, her decision to make her father regret his decision to send her here.

  “I apologize for involving you in this, and I’m grateful for your hospitality,” Sylvia said, suddenly standing up. She pushed her breasts out towards him as she leaned over the desk, stretching out her hand towards him again.

  She caught Fedor’s gaze travel down to her breasts, which she very blatantly dangled right in front of his eyes, then he stood up too, immediately towering over her.

  The goosebumps on her flesh appeared again, and he shook her hand.

  “You are very welcome here. I’ll make sure you feel right at home here and enjoy your vacation. My aid, Pyotr will always be at your disposal and feel free to ask for anything. Your father is a very good friend of mine. I owe him my life,” Fedor said, letting go of her hand.

  “Just as I’m sure, he owes his life to you too,” Sylvia said, as politely and humbly as possible. Fedor breathed in and smiled, still taken aback by her sudden change in behavior.

  She remained standing before him, looking up at him and smiling, while he pressed a button beside him.

  Pyotr opened the door and walked in, addressing Fedor in Russian.

  “Please show Ms. Stern to her room upstairs, and give her a tour of the estate,” Fedor spoke in English and then turned to Sylvia again, his blue eyes piercing through her skull. She gulped, no man before had this terrifying effect on her.

  “Please do forgive Pyotr’s English. I hope you will find a way to easily communicate with each other,” he said and sat back down on his chair, a clear indication that their meeting was over. He seemed like the kind of man who wanted to be left alone, who wasn’t very fond of company.

  Sylvia smiled, turned to Pyotr and stretched out her arm.

  “Shall we? After you,” she said and watched as Pyotr turned his nervous, confused eyes to his Boss. Fedor laughed again, enjoying the confusion and the reversal of roles that Sylvia was causing. Clearly, no woman had ever shown Pyotr the way.

  “Ok. This way. You come,” he said in a thick Russian accent that Sylvia found hard to follow.

  He opened the door and she turned to throw one last look at Fedor before she left his presence. She smiled at him as he sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled, his glass of whiskey standing next to his elbow while he watched her, studying her with keen eyes. She could see that she was a mystery to him, that she had surprised him and also intrigued him.

  That was exactly what she wanted. She needed him to be interested if her plan was going to work. He had already studied her body. Now he needed to be interested enough, weak enough to fall for her seduction.

  That would be the greatest revenge she could cast upon her father, make him regret sending her here. His daughter seducing his best friend. What could possibly be worse than that?

  Sylvia could hear her own heels clicking as she walked out of Fedor’s study and up the marble staircase towards her room.

  Chapter Four - Fedor

  Fedor was on the phone with Petrov, his second in command who was filling his seat at the table in Chicago.

  “They wanted to hear it coming from you, Boss.” Petrov sounded exasperated, while Fedor clicked the end of his pen repeatedly.

  “I’m sure you handled it well, Petrov,” Fedor replied in Russian, and the other man exhaled deeply.

  “It is a big decision, Boss. They needed to hear you say it before the voting.” Petrov was repeating himself, and Fedor was losing his patience.

  “Don’t call me the next time, Petrov. I’ll call you,” Fedor grumbled and then hung up the phone.

  Pyotr entered his study just then and walked silently over to the bar in the corner. It was approaching sunset, and he poured another finger of whiskey from the decanter into a fresh glass and brought it over to Fedor. He replaced the empty one. Fedor sat back on his leather couch.

  “Make sure my direct line here is disconnected, Pyotr. I’ve started to receive too many calls on it. These people just take me for gra
nted.” Fedor picked up the new glass and sipped from it. The warm golden liquid glided down his throat and settled somewhere in his belly. This vacation was going well so far, he thought, except for a few hiccups.

  “Yes, Boss. Your dinner is being served outside.” Pyotr clutched his hands together and stood at the door with his feet apart. Nobody was more loyal to him than Pyotr. There was nobody he could trust more.

  Fedor nodded and picked up the file he was going to read from.

  “Take all of this stuff to the table. I want to read it during my dinner,” he said, making to stand up from his chair. Pyotr cleared his throat and Fedor looked up at him. Clearly, the man had something to say, but he was afraid of saying it.

  “For the love of God, Pyotr, what is it now?” Fedor asked, his voice a little raised. Just when he thought his vacation was going well! From the look on Pyotr’s face, this was going to be bad news.

  “The girl insists on eating with you,” Pyotr said, shying away from looking into Fedor’s eyes directly.

  “What? I never take my meals with anyone!” Fedor thundered this time. He was losing his calm. This was his vacation. One in every two years, much deserved.

  “I informed her of that, Boss. But she insisted. She said that if I didn’t set a plate for her at your table, she would complain to you and get my ass kicked. She used those words, Boss.” Pyotr’s voice cracked a little, and Fedor couldn’t help but smile, which he tried to immediately suppress. It was hilarious watching Pyotr squirm and nervously operate around this girl. His interaction with the female gender was obviously limited.

  Fedor cleared his throat and casually waved his hand. He grunted an approval and sat back down, while Pyotr left the room.

  Fedor rubbed his temples with his forefingers, still trying to process the information. Sylvia Stern had insisted that she take her dinner with him. He was suddenly very glad that he didn’t have a family, and didn’t have to deal with the whims and fancies of young women. He breathed in deeply, trying to get his brain to think of something else. Something other than Sylvia Stern. She was his friend’s daughter, and yet he couldn’t help but think of her as a beautiful sexy woman. He had watched her as she spoke, as she walked, how her ass moved tightly in her skirt. She was gorgeous and proud and brave!

  Fedor stood up with a jerk and walked towards the door, opened it and was caught by surprise when he found her walking down the stairs towards him.

  “Ah! Mr. Volkov. I had Pyotr lay the table for two for dinner. I guessed you wouldn’t mind,” she said and Fedor tried to smile weakly. His jaws were clenched as he watched her descending, he felt like his breath had been knocked out of him.

  “Of course I don’t. It’ll be my pleasure,” he said, standing frozen with his hand still on the cold doorknob of his study. All he could do was stand and stare at her as she approached him.

  Sylvia was in a firetruck red dress that clung to her body like clingfilm. It was short, just about reaching mid-thigh so that her long slender legs looked even longer. There were no sleeves on this dress, and her cleavage was tightly held up by the bodice, made to look more pronounced and he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her breasts. She had left her hair loose, and it fell in thick tight curls around her face, softly brushing the tops of her shoulders.

  She barely had any makeup on, other than some pale red lipstick, but that was enough. Her eyes glowed and her cheekbones were high and angular. Sylvia Stern looked like a perfect work of art, and she walked slowly towards him now.

  He stood in silence till she reached him and slid her arm through his.

  “Shall we proceed to the dinner table?” she asked sweetly, looking up at him. Fedor looked at her face, his breath caught in his throat. He could already feel himself stirring and immediately knew this was a bad idea. She was his friend’s daughter. He had a responsibility towards her, he was her guardian.

  He allowed himself to be led by her to the large circular balcony where their table had been set. Fedor walked without looking at her, aware the whole time of her body pressed against his, that same sweet sharp smell of her perfume, her confident walk.

  He wasn’t sure how this night was going to go, but he already knew it was a bad decision to have dinner with her.

  Chapter Five - Sylvia

  The scene of their dinner took Sylvia by surprise, just by how beautiful it all looked. Fedor Volkov definitely knew how to live in luxury.

  Inside the house, in her assigned bedroom, she had managed to forget she was in Puerto Rico, but the beautifully decorated balcony overlooking Fedor’s own private beach where the waves lapped against the shining sand, was starkly tropical.

  The sun was beginning to set so the sky was awash in different shades of orange and purple. A small table for two had been set underneath this gorgeously illuminated sky. Fairy lights had been strung from the balcony railings, the only source of light for their dinner, which was enough for now.

  Their dinner had been laid out for them.

  Pyotr held out a chair for her, and she finally let go of Fedor’s arm before taking the seat.

  “For your appetizers, we have a Classic Georgian Salad and some Eggplant Caviar. For the main course, we will be serving Beef Stroganoff with Mustard and a Black Bean Soup. For dessert, there is the Boss’ favorite Apple Pie.” Pyotr introduced the food to them, and Sylvia watched Fedor with a smile.

  The food looked delicious and she couldn’t help but smile, imagining him sitting alone at this table and eating by himself.

  “Thank you, Pyotr,” Sylvia said, and he only nodded in response.

  “Boss, will I still bring files?” he asked Fedor in his broken English, but before Fedor could answer, Sylvia jumped in.

  “No files. No work. This is your vacation, isn’t it Mr. Volkov?” she asked, turning her lips up seductively in a soft indulgent smile. Fedor looked back at her, not conceding to a smile yet. There was a look of irritation in his eyes, but he held it back.

  “Just some wine for Ms. Stern, Pyotr,” he said to his aid, who promptly turned on his heels and walked back into the house.

  “You should call me Sylvia, and I can call you Fedor. We’ll be spending a lot of time together, and we might as well get on first names now, don’t you think?” she asked, as Pyotr walked in with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and uncorked it right beside her, with a smooth expertise.

  Sylvia picked up her glass and held it up to him, aware that Fedor’s eyes were on her. Before she could catch him looking, he had turned away and started digging into his salad.

  “So Fedor…” she began when Pyotr had left them to themselves again. “You have a lovely place here,” she said, taking a large sip of her wine. He chewed his food in silence, and when he was done he looked at her face calmly and smirked.

  “Thank you. I hope you’re finding it comfortable,” he said and Sylvia laughed.

  “I have an entire floor to myself. You should see the size of my apartment in Brooklyn,” she said, placing the glass back on the table. Fedor wiped his mouth with the napkin on his lap and picked up his glass of whiskey.

  “You live in an apartment in Brooklyn?” he asked, surprised.

  “I didn’t want my father to pay for my house. I was stupid enough to think that if he didn’t fund me anymore, I could get some freedom at long last,” Sylvia said, unable to keep the caustic tone out of her voice. Fedor smiled finally and started eating again.

  “I thought kids only rebelled in their teenage years,” he said, popping a piece of chunky tomato into his mouth. Sylvia started eating as well, enjoying the freshness of the vegetables.

  “I’m not rebelling and I’m not a kid. I want a different way of life,” she explained, and Fedor continued to smile.

  “You will always be a kid to your father.”

  “Can we not talk about my father anymore?” she snapped and noticed the eyebrow Fedor raised.

  Even on vacation, even on a tropical island; Fedor Volkov was dressed to kill. His trousers wer
e navy, tailored and looked as smooth and silky as butter. He wasn’t in a jacket, but the shirt was formal and tailored too. Through the open buttons at his neck, she could see a smattering of dark hair on his chest. Sylvia looked at his body openly, she wanted him to know that she was attracted to him. She didn’t want to hide it.

  He shifted in his seat and then nodded.

  “If you want. What shall we talk about then?” he asked, his Russian accent betraying him every few seconds. It made Sylvia blush for some strange reason.

  “We can talk about what brings you to Puerto Rico,” she said, and he pushed his finished plate of salad away, reaching for the bowl of eggplant caviar.

  “I take some time off once every two years,” he said flatly, while Sylvia still tried to finish her salad.

  “And the rest of the time, this place just sits here, unoccupied?” she asked, looking around her.

  She noticed how he clenched his jaws. He clearly didn’t like being asked personal questions, but he had no escape right now.

  “Yes.”

  Sylvia tsk-ed and he raised his eyebrows at her again.

  “You disapprove?” he asked, and she smiled sweetly at him.

  “There are a million things you can do with this place. It’s a shame to see it go to waste,” Sylvia said, and she watched his look change suddenly. She was worried now that she was pushing him too hard, pushing him off the edge. But this was so much fun. It was so much fun to watch a big-shot Russian mafia Boss squirm and grow uncomfortable in his chair.

  “I deserve a vacation home, don’t you think?” he said. His voice had hardened, and Sylvia tightened her lips. His question sounded so much like every excuse her father had ever thrown at her.

  “Yeah, because you work so hard all year long. Dishing out orders for people’s heads and kidnapping some others. Poor you. Boohoo,” she snapped at him, and Fedor looked up at her with a jerk.