by Tia Siren
“Be we don't know where she is,” Milan said desperately.
“Do you think they'll kill her?”
“I don't know,” Milan said.
“They are greedy bastards. If, as you say, he knows you two are an item, he'll ask for a ransom rather than kill her. If he kills her, he gets nothing.”
“I hope you're right.
The next morning, the doctor’s son came rushing up the drive to Milan's house. “I've got another note,” he said, shoving it under Milan's nose.
“One p.m., Seven Mile End. Only you need come,” it read. Milan stared into space and forgot the boy who was waiting eagerly for a tip. He gave him a hundred-dollar bill, and the boy walked away looking as if he'd just won the lottery.
“We can surround the place and take him out,” Vladimir said when they met in Milan's office.
“But he expressly asked me to come alone,” Milan replied.
“Seven Mile End is an exposed spot. There's nowhere to hide a sniper,” Limonov said.
Milan was standing with his father's top men, the same guys who had welcomed him after he’d returned from college. “I don't see what we can do, other than I go there,” Milan said.
“I want you to go with him and hide wherever you can,” Limonov said, pointing at Dima and Valentin.
At twelve thirty the three set off for Seven Mile End. It used to be a freeway interchange, but since the city administration had implemented their new traffic plan for South Las Vegas, the interchange had become redundant and was now a large area of disused tarmac with weeds growing through it.
Milan told the others to get out and find a place wherever they could to watch. He drove onto the waste ground and parked in the middle of it. At 1 p.m. a van appeared and stopped opposite him. He got out and waited.
Jessie stumbled out of the back of the van and turned to Milan. She had a wire in the form of a lasso around her neck. Nobody else appeared, but someone did speak via a megaphone.
“If you want to see her alive tomorrow, the price is five million dollars in cash.”
Milan clenched his fists and began to walk toward Jessie. He'd made a decision. There was no way she was going to suffer at the hands of this fool anymore. He walked slowly but purposefully toward her.
“Stop. Stop now or she gets it.”
“You won't shoot her. If you do, you'll get nothing,” Milan shouted back as he continued his walk. A bullet hit the ground just in front of him, but he didn't stop walking.
“Stop, Milan. They will kill you,” Jessie shouted.
“They won't. They are too yellow. They know what my father will do to them if they kill me.”
He continued until he reached Jessie. Two men jumped out of the back of the van. They were confused. They didn't seem to have considered that Milan would act so unpredictably, and they certainly didn't want the death of one of Russia's top mafia sons on their hands. One of them pointed his gun at Milan.
“I'm unarmed. Let her go and take me. Do you know how much more money you'll get for me?”
They were both jittery and confused, and Milan didn't want to be shot just because some guy's hand was shaking too much. “Calm down, guys. I'm gonna swap myself for her. She can go. Take me instead.”
He reached up and took the wire from around Jessie's neck.
“Run to the car,” he said.
“What are you doing? They will kill you.”
“They won't. Now go to the car,” he said. Jessie looked at him and saw the determination in his eyes. Milan jumped into the back of their van and sat down. “Come on. Let's go.”
*****
“You fucking idiots. You complete fuckups,” Dritan shouted. “What the fuck were you thinking? I'm surrounded by imbeciles.”
“But he just kept walking and jumped in the van,” one of the men said. “There was no way we were going to shoot him. He's too valuable.”
“Do you know what his father will do to us if he finds us?” Dritan asked.
“Then kill the fucker and let's get the hell out of here,” the other said.
Dritan looked at them both. They had worked for him for a couple of years. They were his enforcers, the men he used to break peoples' fingers when they decided not to pay. But Milan had outfoxed them. Now Dritan had a hostage who was almost too hot to handle. He would soon have the whole Russian mafia down on him like a ton of bricks unless he did something.
He'd been extremely upset when he'd found out that Jessie was seeing Milan. He'd only taken her hostage to get Milan to pay him a few million for the inconvenience of losing his girlfriend. In his estimation, there had been a good chance Milan would have paid for her and left it at that. But he knew, even if he returned Milan, that now Milan's father would come after him with a vengeance. He had to decide what to do, and fast.
“Okay, here's what we are going to do. Got to the bank in the morning and withdraw the maximum you can. Book three tickets on the next available flight to Tirana.”
“But what are we going to do with him?”
“We're going to kill him,” Dritan said.
“Okay. I'll do it now,” one of them said.
“No, you fool. Don't you know anything? He's still of value to us until we're out of here. We'll kill him just before we leave.”
Milan, who was tied to an iron bed and gagged, heard all of this.
*****
“Jessie, think,” Limonov said. “Think what happened. How long did you drive from here to the place where they held you?”
“Er...about twenty minutes.”
“Did you hear anything close by? Trains, a school, airplanes, anything that could point to where they kept you.”
Jessie was desperate. Milan had been such a fool. What was he doing swapping himself for her? She would much rather have sat tied up, worrying about her own life, rather than worrying about Milan's.
“I can't think of anything. There was no discernible noise of any kind.”
Limonov slammed his fist onto the table. “I'll kill the asshole. I'll cut off his balls and stuff him with them. How's the wound?” he asked.
Jessie put her hand to her throat. “Okay, I suppose.” She'd been cut when they'd pulled her from the toilet. It had bled profusely, but it wasn't serious.
“I'm gonna call this asshole's bluff,” Limonov said. “Toni, call every TV news channel in Vegas and tell them I am giving a press conference.”
Toni did as he was asked. The TV channels were very interested in a story from such a prominent man, and all agreed to come. For them, Mafia meant viewers.
They chose a corner of the casino as a makeshift studio, and when the TV people arrived, they set up their cameras and microphones. At six in the evening, Limonov sat at a table and spoke to the world.
“I am addressing a man named Dritan Polyakov. He is an Albanian citizen, and I know he has been active in the underworld in Las Vegas. Mr. Polyakov, you have my son in captivity. I have the following to say to you. I assume you are probably going to kill him. That's what I would do in your situation. However, you must think carefully, because I'm going to make you an offer.
“You may think you will be safe in your native Albania, but do you know how many of my Russian friends live and work in your country? If you let my son go, you will have right of passage to Albania and a quiet life. If, however, my son is harmed, you will be hunted down. Your photo will be in every newspaper and on every TV station in Europe. The bounty on your head will be so high, you will have the worst kind of people looking for you. Also, my son is very popular in Russia. Every Russian will feel it is his duty to hunt you down like a rabid dog and finish you. If you want to kill my son, go ahead, but that will be the consequence. The decision is yours.”
Limonov stumbled as he got up. His heart was racing, and his blood pressure was through the roof. Jessie, who was standing behind the news cameras, looked at him and wondered what he had just done. He had taken a massive gamble with his son's life, the life of the man she loved.
*****
“Fucking half-wit,” Dritan said as he glared at the TV. He looked across at Milan. “Your father doesn't give a fuck if we kill you or not.”
“He does care. If we kill him, we will be killed. I'm sure of that now. His father is right. If the bounty is high enough, someone will get us,” one of Dritan's two henchmen said.
*****
The following morning, while Dritan and his accomplices were on the way to the airport, Milan managed to struggle free from the bed he'd been tied to and stagger out of the building, his legs still tied together. He tripped on the sidewalk and staggered into oncoming traffic. A lady driving a VW Beetle slammed her brakes on and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was an inch away from Milan, who was lying in front of her bumper.
The young man told her a remarkable story. When he described how he'd swapped himself for the woman he loved, in such a dangerous situation, he almost made her cry. She was only too happy to give him a lift and so curious to see what the young woman he spoke of so highly looked like.
“Oh my God,” Jessie shouted as she ran to him. The lady in the VW Beetle beamed. Milan didn't say anything, just held her to him. “I'm cross with you, very cross,” Jessie said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Doing what you did was foolish. You could have been killed.”
“So could you, and that would have been much worse. Do you think I like seeing you in captivity? Being held by that asshole? Any man would have done what I did.”
“I don't think that's true. Not all men are so foolish.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have paid the ransom and have done with it,” Jessie said.
He laughed. “It's a lot of money. Do you think you are worth so much?”
“She's worth more than that,” Limonov said as he entered the room. “Welcome back, Son.” He put his arm around him. “But if you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll kill you myself. You should learn from this. The sensible thing to do would have been to pay the ransom and take revenge later. You put yourself in a lot of danger.”
“Okay. A lesson learned. You handled it very well, Pops.”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. What I said was only partly true. It was a bluff, because once they are in Albania, it won't be easy to find them.”
“Well, it's over,” Milan said as he put his arm around Jessie.
Limonov's cell rang and he looked at the display. It was a number he didn't recognize.
“Mr. Igorevich?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Kasparov, Dmitri, US Customs. I work at the airport in Las Vegas. I have something I would like to discuss with you.”
Limonov wondered what he'd done wrong. “Go ahead,” he said.
“I saw you on TV last evening. You were talking to a man called Dritan Polyakov.”
“Yes, I was.”
“Do you still want to talk to him?”
Limonov looked at Jessie and Milan. “Yes. I would very much like to speak to him.”
“He is here. I will gladly introduce you to him if you care to come to the airport.”
“Yes. I think that would be a very nice thing to do. What about the police?”
“I don't think there is any need for them, do you?”
“Tell me,” Limonov said, “are you of Russian decent?”
“Yes, sir, I am. Pleased to be of service.”
“Thank you. You have been very helpful. I will send someone to fetch Mr. Polyakov.”
Limonov laughed out loud. Milan looked at him quizzically. “Russians, we are everywhere,” Limonov said.
******
“So you don't think I'm worth five million dollars?” Jessie said as Milan came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him.
“Who said that?”
“You said as much. You weren't prepared to pay for me. Not a cent.” Jessie was very good at acting, and Milan looked puzzled.
“I would have paid for you. I just though what I did was better. That's all.”
“But it wasn't, was it? You almost got killed just because you didn't want to pay for me. Well, if I'm not worth anything to you, I think I'll have to increase my value.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.
“Sex. It's going to cost you from now on.”
“You're joking, right?”
“No. If you think I'm worthless, I need to show you I'm not.”
He looked at her, lying next to him in the sexiest nightie he'd ever seen, her breasts gently falling and rising. “How much?”
“Five hundred a time.”
“Jesus. It would have been cheaper to pay the ransom.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her. “That’s ten bucks already,” he said.
“What did your father do with Dritan?” she asked.
“He put him on his private jet and had him flown to St. Petersburg.”
“And what will happen to him there?” she asked.
“The river is deep, and concrete doesn't float in Russia.”
She pulled him on top of her and wrapped her legs around him. “Take off that towel and show me what you've got,” she said.
He reached down and threw the material onto the floor. He entered her in one movement. She flung her head back on the pillow and let out a sigh of deep satisfaction.
As he made love to her, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth.
His body felt better than ever on top of her. It was wonderful to have him inside her again. She met his thrusts with the movement of her hips, taking him into her hungrily. She ran her hands over the smooth skin on his back and down to his tight buttocks.
“You are darn handsome, Milan,” she said.
“And you are more beautiful than a man can bear,” he replied. He looked deep into her eyes as he picked up the pace. She began to gasp. He knew her well enough now to know what that meant. Any moment he would be rewarded by watching her come. When she did, he stopped and held her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead gently.
When her release came, she relaxed and luxuriated in the movement of his body. She was painfully aware of what had happened, and she felt guilty. Guilty for ever becoming involved with a man as bad as Dritan. It had nearly cost her life, and the life of the man who was so deliciously pounding her now.
He was close, and she knew it. She wanted to come at the same time as him. “Tell me. Tell me when,” she whispered. She began to touch herself.
When he nodded, she rubbed herself furiously and cried out as they came together, kissing and pawing at each other.
*****
On the day Dritan was dropped into the Neva River, Jessie and Milan were married. It was a wedding attended by everyone who was anyone in Las Vegas society. The press turned out to photograph the rich and famous and those who were more infamous than famous.
Jessie and Milan went to the Seychelles on honeymoon in Limonov's private jet. When they arrived back in Las Vegas, Jessie found out she was pregnant. Nine months later she had a boy named Milan the second.
*****
THE END
MAFIA Romance – Dangerously His
1
David Carr was used to getting his way. He liked it like that. And he knew he deserved it. He had crawled up from nothing. He ran the drug business in Chicago, and he had done it on his own. He didn’t have family in it before him; he didn’t have friends. He just knew he wanted it, so he took it.
Being the big man at the top had a lot of good and a lot of bad. He went anywhere, spent a ton of money, owned homes across the world, but he had to always keep one eye open. He knew that. Someone was always coming for him, coming for his position.
David worked hard so he could play hard. He loved the clubs. He loved to drink. He didn’t do drugs; he just sold them. Doing them made you stupid, slow. Being slow made you dead. He loved women, and they loved him. Most of them, at least.
There was one girl. She worked as a waitress at a club he went to a lot. The club was called Fire House, and the girl was named Cherry. Well, he was pretty sure that wasn’t her real name, but it was the one on the name tag she wore next to her luscious bosom.
It was a Saturday night when David arrived at Fire House and was led back to his usual table, a small wooden circle with a booth-like bench around three-fourths of the surface. It was up a couple of stairs, kept away from the public by a velvet rope that stretched across the top of the small staircase. The woman, who led David and two men in his employ, was attractive, young, and blond, with a short skirt. But David didn’t return her smile as he sat down. Usually he had women with him at the club, but this time he hadn’t brought any. He wanted Cherry.
She always waited on him, at his request. As soon as David and his men sat down, she was there, making her way up the three stairs on sky-high black pumps. She was wearing a black dress, the neckline cut low to show off the tops of her large, pale breasts. The hem was short, so short you could get a glimpse of the bottom of her butt cheeks if she spun too fast, which she often did to get good tips. Her skin was lily white, and her hair was red. David was pretty sure that was why she was called Cherry. Her lips were even redder, her makeup impeccable. She was beautiful. Sexy. Never trashy, like the other girls who worked at Fire House, or the ones who went there hoping to fuck men like David.
The lights in the place were red, just like Cherry’s lips.
“Hey,” the woman said as she stopped to stand next to the table. David looked her over. She continued. “The usual?”
“Sure,” David said. The usual was three bottles of the most expensive champagne in America, at least to start with.
“No girls tonight?” Cherry asked.
“I came to see you,” David said. Cherry smiled and then rolled her eyes.
“You’re just saying that.”
Of course she knew the man wanted to fuck her. Most men did. And David was handsome, about to turn forty, with a thick head of coal black hair and dark eyes. He was tanned and tall, and his chest was wide and muscular. He was sexy. She wanted him to fuck her. But she knew who he was, in two senses of the word. For one, he fucked chicks, and that was it. She didn’t want to waste time with that. For another, he dealt drugs. Massively. He was rich and successful, but the business he was in was dangerous, and she didn’t want to get caught up in it.