Pakhan's Rose

by V. F. Mason

  We explored tents with freshly baked rolls, buns, and muffins, which smelled heavenly, and tempted the visitors to try them out. We had been walking around for two hours, when Rosa became mesmerized with St. Basil’s Cathedral. She stopped several times to study the domes from different angles with unexplainable curiosity. Thankfully, the light breeze provided good enough weather, without us having to drown in our own sweat. Yeah, Russia had become my home, and I loved the hell out of this country.

  “Rosa, let’s take a break,” I said, snatching the phone from her fingers as she glared at me. “How about dinner in my favorite café?” Plus, the pakhan couldn't be in open territory for such a long time. Even though my men had control over the square, I felt their frustration by their nervous tapping and guns ready to fire. We didn't need trouble in the main street of the city. Police officers would be a pain in the ass to deal with. “Please, krasavica?”

  “Okay. But wait a second.” She grabbed the phone back, lifted it above us while pouting her lips and kissing my cheek, while she clicked on the side button. Happy with the results, she dangled it in my face. “We have our first selfie together.”

  “More like my first one ever.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? You’ve never taken one before?”

  “What for?” Placing my hand on her lower back, I guided us in the direction of the Bosco café located a few feet away from us.

  “For fond memories.”

  “Haven’t had much of those, krasavica.” We reached the café, a host greeting us with a blinding grin. Despite the heat, he wore their standard uniform. Black pants, white shirt, and suit jacket, along with a black bow tie around his neck.

  He greeted me formally, “Здраствуйте, Доминик Константинов.” (Zdrastvuite, Dominic Konstantinov.) Without waiting, I laced my fingers with Rosa’s, walking to my usual table on the summer veranda, which opened onto Red Square. People had to reserve the veranda hours or days before, and only the pakhan had a permanent table. I helped Rosa get seated, then occupied the chair next to her, and Grisha, the waiter, placed a menu in front of us. “I’ll come in a few minutes to take the order.”

  Rosa gazed to the side with a wistful expression while the Kremlin reflected in her eyes. “Were those wives really unhappy?” she asked out of the blue.

  “Which ones?”

  “The ones who lived in the Kremlin. That’s where all the presidents and leaders of Communism lived, right?” Fuck, she wanted to go into history with me? Not the topic I had in mind for this place.

  “I think it depends what one considers happiness.” Pausing, I thought about it. “They were just prisoners of the rules. Aren't we all though?”

  “I guess.” She shifted her attention back to me. “Same with mob women, huh?” The joke fell flat as she grimaced.

  “We respect our wives and daughters, if that’s the question that bothers you.”

  “Those leaders probably did too.”

  Leaning back on the chair, my hands gripped the corners of the table. “We haven't lived back then, so we cannot judge them. Where is this coming from, krasavica?”

  “I don’t have much to do, Dominic. I’m not sure sitting at the headquarters waiting for you to have time for me is good enough for me.” Before she could add anything else, the waiter interrupted us while holding a white pad and blue pen in his fingers.

  “We didn't have time to consider our order,” I barked.

  The man paled and was about retreat, when Rosa’s gentle voice stopped him. “Actually, I’m fine. Do you have chicken risotto?” He nodded. “Then that and white wine, please.” He wrote it down.

  “The usual steak for me.” Promising to be as quick as possible, he disappeared between the tables like lightning.

  Guess my love for steaks came from my Texan blood.

  “Rosa, you can explore life to the fullest here,” I jumped to reassure her, and she looked at me skeptically, biting her cheek from the inside. “Tons of good universities here. Classes. As long as you understand you are mine and no one else’s, and the bodyguards have to be with you 24/7, we are good.” Hope flared in her beautiful eyes.

  “Are you serious?”

  “What did you think? I didn't bring you here to put you back in the protective cocoon Damian and Don had you in. As much as I’m grateful for that, trust me, you don’t have to be afraid of it with me.” She rose from her seat swiftly and sat on my lap while squeezing the life out of me.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Patting her back, I didn't give a fuck if anyone watched. Plus, most of the people knew me by name.

  And none of them wanted to deal with my wrath.

  “Krasavica, I have a feeling you’ll like Russia,” I whispered into her ear, hoping with all my beat-up heart it would be the truth.

  Holding her here against her will didn't appeal to me, but life without her was impossible.

  Man with the dragon tattoo

  Don finally woke up, and with the special papers the Mob had in those rare cases someone ended up in the hospital, they allowed me inside to check on him. Playing the Good Samaritan grated on my nerves, but what choice did I have?

  The machines beeped loudly and steadily, as Don slept restlessly, while the bright sunlight in the room illuminated his face and the burns, which would hurt for years.

  Fucking great, at least one good thing came out of it.

  My eyes landed on the pillow at his feet, as my hands twitched with the all-consuming desire to grab it, push it on his nose, and press with all my might so he’d suffocate to death, but not before he suffered for few moments. His fitful breaths would have been the best song to my ears. The ward had no cameras and the nurses were missing, to my surprise, so who would really know or stop me once—

  “Regazzo, you came,” he said weakly.

  Through my gritted teeth, I replied, “Of course.” He coughed several times, and I placed my palm over his bandaged one. “I’m so sorry for this, Don.” My voice actually held concern. God, I should have had an acting career on the side. Would have made millions, since everyone believed the bullshit spilling from my mouth.

  “Where is your father?” His voice was barely a murmur, as he still required a breathing mask.

  “He’s at the warehouse, taking care of business while you can’t.”

  Don’s brows furrowed. “Where is my consigliere?” The title meant ‘counselor,’ and was the equivalent of the Bratva’s sovietnik.

  “Xavier is visiting Lorenzo right now.” A red haze of rage assaulted my vision any time I thought about the man, as he assumed the position which always belonged to my father and was meant to be given to me. Although mafia houses voted in members and nepotism didn't sit well with the rest of the gang, my whole life I grew up with the knowledge of becoming consigliere one day. Instead, I ended up being a laughing stock in the Cosa Nostra, which was all Xavier and Don’s fault.

  “No one else survived?” After I shook my head, his eyes closed as deep sorrow settled in his expression, making the wrinkles on his cheeks stand out. On the other hand, euphoria and happiness rushed through my blood like a fire to gasoline, inflaming my insides to the point of my clothes sticking to my sweat-covered body. God, this rush was what I lived for in this good-for-nothing world.

  “The minute you get better, we’ll pay the pakhan back.” Or at least when he came back from Russia, which really played well for me. The connection, love, and whatever the fuck else Dominic and Rosa shared would deepen, and the wound of losing her would hurt him immensely. People who knew no happiness never cried. How could you cry over something you never had?

  But Dominic Konstantinov’s pain would be unbearable. I’d personally see to it.

  The man fell to the ground as I fired my gun straight at his heart. The fear and shock in his eyes didn't awaken any feelings inside me.

  He betrayed the Bratva, so mercy was out of the question, especially when the rest of my life depended on it. Vasya clapped his
hands, patting me warmly on the shoulder. "You passed the test, boy. Not that I ever doubted you." The pride was evident in his voice. "You are now officially part of the Bratva." With that, he took out a cross and placed it around my neck. "That's my gift to you. Everyone will know that Vasya Konstantinov has claimed you. You're now under the protection of my power." The other men in the garden where the assassination took place whistled, and several of them fired their guns into the sky, showing their approval in their own way.

  I killed a man willingly for the first time. Nothing shifted inside me, and for a second, thoughts of Damian came back to me.

  Somewhere, he probably lived a carefree life, where the dark world and deaths didn't touch him. He forgot about me, and probably put all the shit that happened to us behind him as I asked him to many times.

  Oddly, it felt good to have at least the knowledge that he was happy out there.

  Even if another part of me resented him for it.

  "Come on, Dom. Let's get to the girls so you can properly celebrate," Vasya chuckled, and I nodded in agreement. Fucking sounded good, not that it brought anything but physical relief and blanked my mind from all the memories.

  That was the difference between Damian and me.

  My world was filled with crime and dirt, hopefully, something he never had to be part of.

  Rosa

  “Baby,” Dominic whispered against my cheek, as his lips trailed down to my neck. “Wake up.” My head settled deeper into the soft cotton pillow still holding his smell.

  “No,” I murmured, not wanting to open my eyes and face the world. “Make love to me instead.” My voice was pleading and needy, and as he chuckled softly, his hand travelled down to my hip and squeezed it possessively.

  “I’d love to, but not right now.” He kissed my collarbone, and his voice whispered again, “Wake up, baby.”

  Opening one eye, I glared at him. “Why?” Instead of answering, he slid lower, sucking my tight nipple into his mouth and pulling on it lightly as my fingernails dug into his shoulder, making him groan. “I have to deal with shit before we can fly to North Carolina for the wedding.” He bit painfully on the underside of my breast and then palmed the soft mounds, thumbing them in the process, sending a jolt downward, so I had no other choice but to arch my back.

  “So? I can still stay in this warm bed.” Nipping down my stomach, he delved into my belly button, tickling my skin so a giggle escaped. It quickly transformed into a loud moan as he squeezed my ass cheeks harder, while making room for himself between my legs. He lifted my hips a little, and without any kind of warning, his lips probed the way for his greedy tongue as he pushed inside me. Breathing through his nose harshly, his five o'clock shadow scratched the sensitive skin of my thighs that were holding his head in a tight grip. My toes curled as I crossed my ankles on his back and laced my fingers through his hair, pulling his mouth closer as he created magic with his lips and tongue. He sucked my clit for a moment and then nipped and bit softly on my heated flesh, licking my wetness in the process.

  “Dominic, please.” The whole going down on me in the morning was becoming a routine. “Let me return the favor.” He shook his head and just focused on bringing me to the peak. Sizzling, burning fire washed over me, colliding at my center, as this magnificent man took me high into heaven once again. My body froze as I cried out loudly, but I quickly covered it with my fist, not wanting the men downstairs to hear it from the open balcony.

  Right in that moment, nothing could have snapped me out of my perfect morning with my man.

  Except his groan of pleasure as he came all over the sheets. Then my perfect cocoon shattered, leaving an empty hole inside my heart. Pushing him away, I slid from under him and rolled to the side while he ended up lying on his back. My bare feet shivered at the cold of the marble as I stood up from the bed, my eyes not meeting his while his gaze bored into me.

  “Rosa,” he said sternly, but I just wrapped the sheet around my body, my insides feeling too raw to face him naked right now. “Baby—” I raised my hand in a stop gesture, unable to listen to his excuses anymore.

  “We’ve been here for a month and a half. Yet our sex life hasn’t progressed further.” He narrowed his eyes, taking a step toward me, but I stepped back instead. “You don’t allow me to touch you, to try to give you head. Nothing.” As much as I loved what he could do to me with his lips and hands, I longed to explore his body and learn to pleasure him too. He shied away from every contact with me that didn't involve him being in control, and the frustration of my inability to get closer to him angered me, and deep down, I worried he didn't think I’d be able to do the job.

  Like his ‘hotel room’ women were able to.

  “Generally, women enjoy it, yet you have to complain about oral sex every damn time.” We both froze as he sneered those words, my stomach flipping at his implication. Cold slipped into every bone in my body as I rubbed my arms, shifting uncomfortably, not knowing how to react to it without losing my dignity. “Rosa,” he started, remorse coloring his voice, but I shook my head.

  “No, it’s fine. Practice makes perfect, right?” Not bothering to wait for a reply, I shut the bathroom door loudly, leaning my back on it, breathing heavily.

  Over one month into our relationship and nothing had changed. We lived together, we spent every spare minute with each other, but essentially nothing changed. He still kept me at a distance, and because of it, I couldn't trust this happily ever after.

  Or maybe you just acted stupid, getting pissed about his past when you weren't even in the picture.

  Okay, that might be true. But honestly… who wanted to hear their man went down on women, and they never complained, unlike me? I preferred to never have to imagine him with anyone else.

  “Krasavica,” he called from the other side. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean it like that.” Turning around and pressing my forehead on the wood, I wondered if he even understood what he did right now.

  Apologized.

  Whenever he did something sweet, my mind and body rebelled against it, because he just wasn't that man.

  Sweet, caring, understanding. The pakhan of the Bratva… and I had yet to see a bad thing from him. Damian, aka Sociopath, was dark and twisted with a singular desire for revenge while falling in love with his woman. She meant the world to him, but he never changed for her. He stayed the same ruthless man, the one he was before her. Sapphire accepted all his faults and, because of it, their love only grew stronger.

  Dominic, based on everything I’d heard so far from various gang members, Connor, even Damian, had no mercy for anyone either and ruled the house with an iron fist.

  But I just didn't see it. Where was this man? Why did he hide himself from me? Why instead of barging in here and claiming me, did he stand outside and beg?

  This wasn't the Dominic Konstantinov I’d met in the park all those months ago, and deep down I worried I’d never see that Dominic again.

  I stepped into the shower stall, expecting him to do something.

  Nothing.

  Sliding down the cold tile to the floor, I covered my face with my hands and wept, without really understanding what upset me.

  Dominic

  Papers, penholders, wooden figurines, a vase with fresh roses, all scattered as I smashed them away with my hands, breathing heavily from the rage boiling inside me. Plastering my palms on the table, I leaned on it, hanging my head low, and struggling for the control that seemed to be nonexistent when I dealt with my woman. The bottle of whiskey along with a porcelain glass already lay on the floor, tiny, shiny pieces glistening in the sun while the office smelled like a fucking bar.

  Intimate moments with her were the best I’d ever had in my life, yet whenever it was done, I couldn't help but feel like shit for disappointing her and refusing to let her touch me. But how was I supposed to explain to her my inability to do so?

  After losing my virginity with Olga, all other encounters pretty much stayed the same. A hard, quick
fuck with the woman’s back to me. Looking in their eyes, having an intimate moment, allowing them to use their hands… just the idea made my skin crawl like tiny little ants nipping at me. Once the relief was achieved, the woman could disappear for all I cared.

  I never went down on them, never showered their bodies with attention. The only contact, besides fucking, was me fingering them to get them ready, because I didn't want anyone to be in pain.

  I had my haunting memories to last me a lifetime.

  “Well, good morning to you too, man,” Michael cheered, as he scanned the disaster that my office had become. “I brought coffee.” Passing by the mess, he placed the steaming mug right under my nose. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “I’m not in the mood for any jokes, Michael.”

  He shrugged. “Okay. Want to talk about it?” I opened my mouth to tell him that no one could help me with this, when it hit me that if anyone could understand my problem, it would only be one person in this world.

  My brother.

  “No.” Picking up my phone, I dialed his number, but got interrupted when Michael cursed and looked at me worriedly after seeing something on the iPad he held in his hands. “What is it?”

  “We have a problem, boss.” He handed the device to me, and the picture of Kiril, one of our shesterka, a person who supplied the mafia with different information, shoving his dick down the throat of a woman on her knees. Her hands were cuffed and tears slid down her cheeks as she almost chocked on the thing. She couldn't be older than sixteen.

  Rage unlike no other built inside me, smoldering everything in its wake with one desire: to destroy the man and end his life in the most painful of ways.

  “Call Vitya, Yuri, Dima. Everyone. Cancel all the other meetings.” He nodded and rushed from the office as I opened the cupboard, took out my gun, flipped the safety off, and walked to the exit.