by Bella Rose
ANTONIN HAD NEVER experienced anything like this before in his life. She was so tiny and so perfect. Her pussy was tight and wet. The heat was almost scorching, and each stroke brought the most perfect friction against his cock. He felt himself growing closer. He felt her pussy begin to quiver. She was about to come, and he knew that once she did he would be powerless to hold back any longer.
He held her hips even tighter and forced her body to remain still as he pounded her wet slit. Her juices dribbled down his shaft and soaked his balls. Never had another woman been so wet for him. The soaked sound of his cock penetrating her again and again seemed to echo in his ears. It was as if he could be king if only he had this woman to fuck.
Then she cried out. Her pussy squeezed him so tightly that he could barely move. He was reduced to thrusting in hard and erratic movements until finally he burst. His balls drew up tight beneath his body, and he felt his cock throb. Seconds later he ejaculated. Antonin convulsed. Babbled phrases in Russian, English, and even Ukrainian left his lips. He cursed and begged and pleaded as he spent himself utterly inside her welcoming body. Finally, when he was utterly exhausted, he pulled his cock free of her tight pussy.
His hands shook as he attempted to tuck himself back into his pants. He had to continually remind himself that they were in the storage room of a public bar. At any moment someone could come in and create a scene. He had stuck around the bar because he felt confident. But he could not forget there was a body in the alley behind the building that could create a very tense situation if it were to be found.
She sighed and slumped against the crates. “Wow.”
“Wow?” It sounded good, but the one word response wasn’t particularly kind to his ego.
“Yes. Wow.” She stood up and turned. “You fucked me without even taking my panties off!”
Antonin raised an eyebrow. “And this is important because?”
“It’s sort of kinky,” she told him, her eyes sparkling. “And maybe a bit naughty too.”
He snorted. “I would think having sex in a storage room behind a bar is plenty naughty.”
“Maybe.” She waved her hand. “But tonight I’m going to go home and lay in bed, and I’m going to touch myself while I think about having you inside me all over again.”
Antonin was floored by her shameless assertion. He was also turned on. He tried not to look too eager. “Perhaps when you think of me tonight,” he began huskily, “you can imagine that I might want to return the favor by using my tongue between your legs.”
“Oh God,” she whispered.
To Antonin’s shock, there was a stirring between his legs that suggested he might actually be ready to take her again in only a few more minutes.
IT WASN’T ENOUGH and Juliet didn’t know why. She was not this ravenous sex kitten. She wasn’t insatiable like this. No matter that she did enjoy a good healthy sex life and wasn’t shy about her needs and wants, she generally didn’t get off on the mere idea of being with a guy. There had to be something else, something concrete and relational for her to really be into someone. But right now she was ready to bring this man home with her.
“We need to get out of here,” he told her. “Because if we don’t, I’m going to fuck you again.”
Juliet laughed. “Funny, but I was having the same thought. It’s sort of like you’re my particular brand of crack, and I don’t even know your name!”
He didn’t answer that, and she began to wonder if there was something he deliberately didn’t want her to know about him. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips. The kiss sent a shiver down her spine. Then he walked out of the storage room while tugging her along behind him. The fact that it was an exact reversal of they way they had come in there was not lost on Juliet.
They reached the hallway back by the bathrooms just in time to be nearly run over by a large man in a black leather jacket. It actually took Juliet a moment to recognize Benny. He looked positively panicked.
“Benny?” Juliet let go of her lover’s hand to turn and stare at Benny. “What’s wrong?”
“Tell Nino to call that guy!” Benny said hurriedly. “It’s your pop, Julie. He’s dead. He’s just laying out back in the alley, and he ain’t breathing!”
Horror chased away any other thoughts from Juliet’s head. Her father was dead? He was the underboss of the Caglione crime family! That didn’t just happen. Her father was a dangerous man in his own right. How had someone managed to kill him?
“Where?” she demanded of Benny. “Where is he?”
“In the alley!” It was all Benny could say.
Juliet bolted for the back door. She stumbled out into the night air taking deep breaths to keep herself from screaming. Yet she could smell the bitter copper scent of blood on the breeze. There was another smell too. The sickly sweet odor of death lingered in the air. She approached slowly, already knowing essentially what she would find.
She sank down to her knees beside her father’s lifeless body. His throat had been cut. There was so much blood. Pools of it congealed on the pavement where her father’s body lay. Juliet stared at the macabre sight and wondered what was going to happen now. Her father was the underboss. Her grandfather was the boss. But Papa was ailing, and her father had been the one who was ready to step into his shoes. The Caglione family was dwindling. There were only three capos and none of them was capable of stepping into her father’s shoes.
Juliet put her face in her hands and wept as she wondered what was going to become of her.
Chapter Three
ANTONIN TRIED HIS best not to think as he entered his father’s house. It did not matter that Antonin’s father was a Pakhan within the Bratva organization. This didn’t gain anything for a son who didn’t fight for scraps from the same table as everyone else. Antonin walked as he always did, as though he had a chip on his shoulder the size of Moscow. It was the only way to survive in his world. Any sign of weakness would have guaranteed judgment by the other members of the Bratva.
Antonin spotted one of his father’s other Brigadiers lounging about in the billiard room. Josef was one of his father’s oldest and most trusted leaders. Josef had nearly twenty vory—made men—working in his unit. Josef was also one of his father’s most trusted spies. There was no doubt in Antonin’s mind that Josef already knew that the Cagliones’ underboss was dead by Antonin’s hand. It wouldn’t make the older man happy. He hadn’t been shy about his intention to someday take Mikhail’s place as the Pakhan.
Down the hall, through the living room, and up the stairs to his father’s study Antonin went. He kept his mind centered on the prize. That way he could hopefully not dwell on the fact that the most perfect woman in the world was the daughter of his slain enemy. The woman he had fucked this evening was a Caglione! The notion beggared his ability to describe it. There would be nothing between them. There couldn’t be. Besides, once she came to know who he was, she would hate him anyway.
“Ah! There you are.” Mikhail Alexandrovich stood up when Antonin walked into his office. “I have heard of your success, my son. The gossip is of nothing else but how you laid in wait for your enemy only to slice his throat open with your own knife!”
It seemed barbaric to revel in that sort of violence, and yet this was the way they lived. Antonin entered his father’s office and slumped into a chair. “He is dead. I have achieved my status as a Brigadier, and though we cannot predict it, the Caglione are nearly dead in the water.”
“Good!” His father walked to a map of the city hanging on the wall. “This area here is contested.” His father indicated a section outlined in red. “From State Street to the harbor, the Cagliones have considered this their territory since the days of Prohibition!”
“Not anymore,” Antonin muttered. “Charlie Caglione has a daughter. Did you know?”
“The Italians would never follow a woman,” Mikhail said with a dismissive wave. “Josef killed the girl’s older brother years ago. She is only in her midtwenties. Not old enou
gh to take the reins from her grandfather, or even to issue orders in his name. The old man never named another Consigliere after his grandson was murdered. Now he will try.”
“And if he succeeds?” Antonin prompted quietly.
“Pfft!” his father scoffed. “He will try, but it is too late to stem the flow of blood. Charlie Caglione was the last man with any leadership capabilities. Now the family will fall, and we will sweep in and pick up the pieces.”
The greedy way in which Mikhail stared at the territory outlined in red on the map was enough to tell Antonin that his father would happily order the murder of anyone who stood in his way.
“Have you thought about who you will name to your own crew of vory v Zakone?” Mikhail rubbed his hands together. “A Brigadier’s crew of warriors is the backbone of the Bratva.”
“I’m aware,” Antonin said drily. “I have Aleksei and Dimitri already.”
“Yes.” Mikhail’s eyes narrowed on his son. “Your friends.”
Antonin stood up and prepared to leave his father’s office. “If you’ll excuse me? I need to speak with Aleksei about our plans for tomorrow.”
“Which are?” Mikhail prompted.
Antonin stared at his father, wondering if he genuinely wished to pry into Antonin’s business. It was very unusual and counter to the usual way of things within the Bratva. Brigadiers did not pry into the daily workings or business dealings of another Brigadier’s unit. A Pakhan only questioned a Brigadier if he suspected the man’s loyalty. In this case Antonin was coming to suspect that Josef had been whispering in Mikhail’s ear about the possibility of Antonin scheming to take over his father’s position.
Antonin sighed. “We are planning a raid on a Caglione warehouse in the harbor district. There are some goods down there that interest me. That is all.”
“Very good,” Mikhail said with a nod. “You may go.”
Antonin left his father’s office and returned to the main level of the house. He kept to the shadows and approached the billiard room from the secondary entrance. Generally only the house staff used this thoroughfare, and then only to bring food and drink to the men. That meant it served Antonin quite well when he had a few minutes to spy on Josef.
“The whelp managed to earn his rank,” someone said loudly.
“Hush!” Josef hissed. “The walls have ears in this place.”
“Aren’t you afraid of Antonin Mikhailovich?” Someone else asked.
Josef strutted around the pool table. He chalked his cue stick before lining up his shot. When he finally managed to take the shot, the balls careened wildly around the table. None went in. Then he looked around until his gaze settled right on Antonin’s shadowy hiding place.
“I have all the respect in the world for Mikhail’s son. He is a Brigadier of the Bratva now. As such he is deserving of our respect,” Josef announced.
There was a shared look of confusion around the pool table. Antonin didn’t bother to listen anymore. He turned and went back upstairs to his suite of rooms. He wasn’t going to find out anything today.
***
JULIET FORCED HER expression to remain utterly neutral. She could not show weakness. Not now. Her father was dead. Her mother had been dead for years. Her grandfather was an ailing old man who still thought he could run the Cagliones the way he had back in the seventies when things had been good and businesses were turning a big profit.
“Papa,” Juliet said patiently. “You have not named a Consigliere since Enzo was killed.”
“Your brother is not a man to be casually replaced.” Carlos Caglione glared at his granddaughter. “Do not think to push your way into the leadership of this family, young lady!”
“Papa, I’m not.” Juliet couldn’t help it. Her eyes filled with tears. “We are so few. I am simply worried for our future.”
Her grandfather slammed his fist down on the delicate little round end table. It shuddered and then fell over. “It is those damn Russians!”
“What Russians, Papa?” Juliet pleaded. “What are you talking about?” Was the old man going senile?
“Your father was murdered by the communist bastards that are trying to push us out of our territory.” Her grandfather appeared to be too agitated to expand.
Juliet attempted to look at the situation from her grandfather’s perspective. The old man had been in power for decades. He had seen his territory become filled with new blood. Some of that included city beautification movements that wanted him to tear down his warehouses and build parks that served no purpose to increase “green space.” Some of that had involved seeing other ethnic groups move into the area and become very successful. Perhaps this latest fixation on the Russians was only part of that paranoia.
A man entered her grandfather’s office. He bowed and then straightened and looked directly at Juliet. “Ms. Juliet, there is a man here from the funeral home. He needs to speak with you.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “Grandfather, I will be back soon.”
Her papa grunted as if he did not care where she took herself off to. Juliet wished that the old man would recognize that she had leadership capabilities. The family was running short on those who had the ability to lead. With only three capodecimas in the family they were already short handed. This latest string of murders was wiping out what was left of the good men in their crime family.
Juliet stopped walking. Good men. There had been a streak of murders and “accidents” that continually wiped out good men. Perhaps Papa was right about another family encroaching on the Caglione territory. Juliet had always been kept on the fringe of everything. Perhaps it was time to get her hands dirty and figure out what was really going on before there was nothing left to protect.
“Ah, Ms. Caglione,” the funeral home director said somberly. “I am so sorry for your loss. Your father had made some arrangements already. We will merely need to finalize the financial aspects of his service and burial.”
Juliet looked at Peter Holcomb strangely. The man wasn’t just the funeral director for the Italian American community in the city. He buried everybody. That meant he knew things that Juliet did not.
“Mr. Holcomb,” Juliet said in her sweetest tone of voice. “You and I need to talk.”
His brow furrowed. “We do?”
She sat at the kitchen counter and folded her hands over the top of the funeral packet that he had set on the butcher block counter. “Yes. We do.”
“About what, Ms. Caglione?”
“About what other gangs, groups, or crime families might be trying to take over my family’s territory,” Juliet informed him.
He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. He was a mousy sort of man with pale skin and the look of a cadaver. She’d never met a more stereotypical mortician in her life. Finally he sighed and took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “Your family’s biggest rival is the Bratva—the Russian mafia.”
“Bratva?” She tasted the unfamiliar word. Apparently her grandfather was not senile just yet.
“Brotherhood.” Holcomb shrugged. “That is what they call themselves.”
The brotherhood, huh? Juliet tried to wrap her mind around this new concept. “Is it a large family?”
“It’s difficult to say,” Holcomb hedged. “I might suggest around two or three thousand here in this city, but there are branches all over the world. Some are friendly with each other, some are not.”
“Three thousand!” Juliet gasped. “In a single family?”
“No. They have a very loose and yet firm hierarchal setup.” Holcomb seemed to warm to his topic. “The local men who are attempting to push the Cagliones off their territory happen to be from Moscow originally. I believe their leader is a man named Mikhail.”
“And Mikhail killed my father?” Juliet nearly choked on the words.
Holcomb made a face. Then he scratched his chin and looked uncomfortable. “I cannot say that for sure or not. In order for a man of the Bratva to become a Brigadier”—Holco
mb made a gesture toward her—“like your capodecima, he must murder a top-ranking member of a rival gang or family.”
Juliet’s brain could hardly process that thought. Could it be that was why her brother had been murdered as well? Were these men making a name for themselves in Bratva society by murdering the men of her family? It was preposterous! And yet she could recognize the absolute violence of the world in which her family operated. It wasn’t as if they were raising strawberries or something. They murdered, thieved, and made a regular mess like any other criminal organization.
“Have I answered your question?” Holcomb wanted to know. He glanced at his watch. “I really need to be getting back to the funeral home.”
“Thank you,” Juliet told him quietly. She took the family checkbook from a drawer and proceeded to write a check to cover the cost of burying her father, a man who had very likely died just so a Russian man could get that much closer to ruling the world.
Chapter Four
THREE MONTHS LATER…
“Once again I am thwarted, and the capital I invested is wasted!” Mikhail shouted in Russian.
The Pekhan paced angrily from one side of his office to the other with his hands clasped in the small of his back. Antonin stood with three other Brigadiers. All of them wondered whose head was going to roll for this latest setback.
“Mikhail,” Josef began. “The Cagliones have put everything they have into this latest venture. The goods are stolen. My sources suggest there is a buyer coming tonight to make the exchange. If we disrupt this deal, they are done. Problem solved.”
“Really?” Mikhail turned and snarled at his favorite spy. “Because what we have learned in the last several months is that the Cagliones do not put everything they have—as you put it—into one deal. They seem to be too smart for that! We outnumber them five to one and yet we cannot shut them down! Why is this?”
Antonin was afraid he knew exactly why the Bratva was losing the battle with a bunch of stubborn Italian mobsters. Yet he was hesitant to voice his fears lest he be right. Nothing that the Cagliones did since the death of Charlie Caglione was in line with their usual mode of operations. There had to be new leadership. Someone brash, smart, and with nothing to lose and everything to gain would easily have outwitted the slower, more cautious Bratva. The only person who fit that description was Juliet. But there was no way Antonin would allow someone like Josef to go and question Juliet. Antonin didn’t want any of his Bratva comrades to go anywhere near her.