Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  He poured what amounted to a double shot of Russian Standard into my glass. “Then why cut you off? It’s the weekend.” He topped off my drink with a splash of soda water, swirled the straw toward my mouth, and lifted it to my lips.

  I sipped the fruity drink and stared into his sexy blue eyes. Dad would fall into a tailspin if he found out his boss was serving me alcohol and treating me like a woman.

  Holding on to the straw, he lowered the glass, rested his chin on his fist, and waited for me to answer.

  “I’m trying to stay out of trouble.”

  “What did you do that you must stay out of trouble?”

  Underage drinking, getting escorted home in a police cruiser, sneaking out of my bedroom window at night to meet my friends…“Um,” I laughed.

  He lifted his shoulders and waited for me to answer.

  I exhaled. “Nothing. No big deal.” I waved my hand.

  He lifted the drink back up to my mouth.

  I sipped. “Mm.” It was strong, but refreshing.

  “Finish it and I will make you something special—only for princesses.”

  I giggled. How could I resist? After I slurped it down, I followed him, propped my elbows on the bar, and watched him work. He unfastened his cuff links, rolled back his sleeves, and took off his Rolex. He had an ink watch under his real one and tattoos of Russian words and weird images all up and down his forearms.

  I kicked off my furry house slippers, climbed onto a barstool, and sat on my knees to get a better view of what he was doing. His gaze moved from the cocktail shaker to my chest. By how far I leaned over, he had a perfect view down my shirt. I placed my hand over my heart, giggled, and buttoned my shirt up to my collarbone. “How tall are you?”

  “One hundred and ninety centimeters.”

  My brain was temporarily out of order. “How tall is that in English?”

  He poured several different kinds of liquor into a shaker. “Six feet and three inches. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering.”

  Note to wasted self: never hand the keys to your sobriety over to a foxy Russian gangster.

  “How tall are you, angel?” He poured my special drink into a tall hurricane glass and garnished it with an orange slice, a pineapple wedge, and lots of cherries.

  Angel? “Five-seven.” Is that my pet name? “When do you work out?”

  He sat the glass in front of me, but didn’t answer. I slouched over and traced his ring tattoos with my finger. I peeked up at him. “Do you have tattoos all over?”

  He tapped his fingers on the bar, then dumped my special princess drink down the drain. “Boris was right. You can’t handle your liquor.” He sneered, repulsed by my skanky behavior.

  Lightning come…strike me down.

  Vladimir scooped a big mound of white rice out of the cooker, dropped it into a bowl, and set it down in front of me. He shook his head in disgust like I was a pile of recycled garbage writhing with maggots on his spotless kitchen floor.

  I curled my legs up and shielded my eyes with my hands. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You know Boris is my sovietnik—my trusted advisor. He was concerned for your safety around boys. I had to see with my own eyes, understand?”

  Kill me.

  “Do you have many partners?”

  I choked. “Oh no, Mr. Ivanov. I’m not usually like this. No, no, no. I don’t even have a boyfriend. I’ve never had a boyfriend. Seriously, let’s forget this ever happened.”

  “You’re a good girl?”

  “Of course, I’m a good girl. Boris was right. I don’t handle my liquor well. That’s why I, um, never drink in public. If my dad found out I partied around guys he’d lock me in my bedroom, dig a moat around the house, and stock it with meathead-eating crocodiles.”

  “Your papa is a good man. Maybe he should lock you away. Yesh.” He motioned to my plate.

  I tossed the rice around with my fork. “I spend the night on campus with my best friend Kiki every Friday. Her dorm is girls only. We drink, but it’s just us—no boys allowed. Are you still going to take me to the game? I promise I will not have one drop of liquor around the guys. I can see the error of my ways.”

  He dragged his fingers through his hair and contemplated his answer.

  Boris had bullshit detectors built into his corneas. If I had tried that “error of my ways” crap on him, I would have been on lockdown until the day Russia outlawed the consumption of vodka. The boss, on the other hand, had a soft spot for me. I could wear him down.

  “All my friends are going.” I blinked innocently.

  “Oh, Carter. How you bend my good judgment. Finish your rice and brush your teeth. I’ll take you to your hockey game.”

  Victory!

  Chapter 11

  Lies And Disobedience

  On the way to the stadium, I played with the fringe on my tall brown boots.

  Vladimir stole glances at me. “You’re staying with Kiki in the dormitory after the game? Not going anywhere else?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  The truth: Kiki and I were going to a house party to celebrate the end of football season with Ryan and his friends. If I’d told Vladimir the real plan, he would’ve never taken me to the game. It wasn’t like I was lying, more like protecting him from worrying about me. He was better off not knowing about my wild side.

  ***

  After the hockey game, Ryan drove Kiki and me to Clifton. I had control of the tunes and played a country music playlist I put together for Ryan. He patted my leg and told me he liked my boots. I played air drums and sang the lyrics to his favorite song. From the backseat, Kiki reached up and pinched my arm to acknowledge the vibes reverberating between Ryan and me.

  By the time we got to the house, the party was rocking. In a matter of seconds, Kiki and I had beers in hand and Ryan sipped on a Coke. We headed out to the patio and danced with our friends. I was a sweaty mess in no time. Ryan christened me with his Bearcat jersey—my “punishment” for losing our bet—and shadowed me all night.

  I had the sense he wanted to be more than just good buddies. It felt awkward making the transition, but the alcohol helped loosen me up. Kiki spied me plopped on his lap on a dilapidated couch, snapped a pic, and gave me a thumbs up. I could get accustomed to having his big strong arms wrapped around me like that.

  When the party started getting crowded and beer bottles were breaking, Ryan rounded up Kiki and loaded us into the truck just after one o’clock. He drove us back to Kiki’s dorm and walked us to the door. He gave me a hug goodbye and told me to call him when I woke up so he could take us to breakfast. He was so nice. I felt comfortable around him. And damn, his body rocked. Still in his arms, I stood on my toes and planted a smooch on his lips.

  Gently, he cupped my chin and backed away. “Not tonight, Cookie.”

  Ouch.

  Once inside, Kiki set out her alcohol stash and helped me drown my sorrows with gin and juice. Her roommate stayed with her boyfriend on Friday nights, so I was free to crash. “Ryan is such an asshole,” Kiki said, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder. “I mean, why was he all over you at the party and then why did he, like, body slam you WWE style when you kissed him goodnight?”

  “I know, right? What the hell is this?” I tugged on Ryan’s jersey.

  “Bastard. You’re ten times hotter than that fucking Jessica whore he was with last month. She probably ruined him with her skank.”

  I laughed so hard I snorted. We cranked up the jams and danced until Kiki’s RA shut down our party around four-ish. We turned off the lights and got into bed. Kiki had told me how her roommate and her boyfriend shamelessly “fucked like rabbits” in that bed—while Kiki was in the room. I kept all my clothes on and lay down on top of the covers. I closed my eyes but couldn’t fall asleep.

  What was wrong with me? First I threw myself at Vladimir, and then I struck out with Ryan. Was I seriously that repulsive, not to mention desperate? At five-t
hirty, I gave up on sleep. Without waking Kiki, I headed out to get some coffee from the twenty-four hour place on Calhoun.

  Just as I began my journey down the sidewalk, a car rolled up next to me. Instinctively, I fumbled with the wad o’ crap around my neck to locate my rape whistle.

  The car window hummed down. “Get in,” Boris ordered.

  I jumped at the sound of his voice and put my hand over my heart. “What the hell, man?”

  He glared at me. “Get in.” His tone was louder and more threatening the second time.

  I held my hands up in surrender, opened the door, and slid into the car.

  “This is what you do on your free time, sneaky little weasel? Party with boys, drink yourself stupid, and hang around on dangerous street corners waiting to be attacked?”

  “Easy, kick it down a notch.” I winced. “You followed me all night?”

  Boris took a deep breath, probably to stop himself from slamming my face into the glove box. “You lied to boss. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  How insulting. “I don’t have to answer to you. You can’t tell me what to do on my free time.” I put my hand on the door handle—

  Boris grabbed my arm and glared at me like he wanted to chomp me in half. “Lies and disobedience will not be tolerated. On the clock or off. Now you must answer to the pakhan.”

  I suspected the word pakhan translated to ‘pissed off boss’ in English.

  This was not going to end well.

  Chapter 12

  Filthy

  Back at the lair, Vladimir was not in the kitchen waiting for me as I’d anticipated. I seriously needed some caffeine before I faced the boss. “Want some tea?” I asked Boris. “You must be exhausted from prowling around all night.”

  “Is it possible for you to speak without slurring your speech?”

  I cracked up—it wasn’t funny. Ugh. I drank too much. “Tea? Da? Nyet?”

  No response.

  “Is Mr. Ivanov still asleep? I need a shower.” I sniffed Ryan’s jersey. “Gag. I reek.”

  “Da. I followed your scent. That’s how I found you.”

  “Let’s see, what scent attracts a man to follow around college girls?” I sniffed Ryan’s party-seasoned jersey. “Mm. Cigarette smoke, stale beer, Calvin Klein.” I inhaled again. “Tanqueray, wet dog—no wait.” I sniffed again. “That’s Ryan’s sweat.” I caught a glimpse of Boris’s face and snorted.

  “The boss is waiting in the study, party girl.” He held the swinging door open and scooted me out of the kitchen.

  Shit. “Just wondering, on a scale of one to ten, how much trouble am I in?” Gustav and Anastasia danced at my feet, and I marched the walk of shame to the boss’s office, escorted by a big bad dude three times my size.

  Boris glared at me before he answered. “Depends on how well you handle yourself. Could be two, could be ten.”

  “Great. No pressure then.” Facing a tenth-degree-ticked-off Vladimir would be about as survivable as skipping up to a ravenous polar bear with an armload of barking seal pups. But, what I did on my free time was none of his business, and I was going to tell him so.

  The office door was closed when I approached the study. I could hear Vladimir clicking away on a keyboard, so I stood there, not sure if I should knock or wait until he opened it. Boris huffed, tapped on the door, and—with his big hand on the small of my back—ushered me inside.

  Vladimir was seated in a leather chair with a steaming cup of tea in front of him on the desk. There was a map of Russia behind him, and a big, black box with wires and blinking lights connected to six computer monitors. I squinted to see if I could make sense of the information scrolling across the screen, but there were no words. Just a bunch of undecipherable programmer jargon and useless keyboard characters. His office was more high-tech than the cockpit of the International Space Station.

  Even at an early hour, the boss had on a suit and looked fabulous, but he reeked of alcohol. He shook his head when he caught sight of my jersey-wearing ungodliness. “What’s this?” He held up his hand to Boris questioning my disheveled condition. Boris updated him in Russian and handed him his cell. Vladimir slid on a pair of glasses and thumbed through photos—of me, I presumed—on Boris’s phone. “You had a nice evening with the boys?” He leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk.

  “Um—” I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. Seriously? These super-badasses have nothing better to do than worry about what I’m up to on Friday night?

  The boss waited for me to respond, but I didn’t know what to say.

  Boris clamped his heavy hand down on my shoulder. “The pakhan is talking to you. The answer is yes or no.”

  “Yes?” I said, although I was sure it was the wrong answer.

  Vladimir leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, looking sexy smart in his dark-rimmed glasses. “When I agreed to let you go to the game, you made a promise, remember?”

  I straightened my shoulders and swallowed. “I promised not to have one drop of liquor around the guys.” My words came out slurry.

  “So, you lied to me, in my house, in front of my face?”

  My ability to twist a story was epic. With the Russians, however, I had to be careful. I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I pissed either of them off too much. “Mr. Ivanov, I kept my promise. I waited to have cocktails until I got back to Kiki’s. I just had a few beers at the party to be social.”

  Boris needled his fingers into my collarbone. “Don’t you dare pull this shit—”

  I squirmed to get him off me.

  The boss raised his hand to silence him. “I made myself clear about drinking around boys. Want to learn your lesson with my patsani out back? Want to find out what happens when you lose your inhibitions around those animals?”

  Vladimir was threatening to sic his attack dogs on me? “They don’t scare me.”

  “Did she do drugs?” Vladimir asked Boris.

  “Nyet.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mr. Ivanov. You taught me a valuable lesson last night. Honestly, though, I don’t know why you’re so mad. What I do in my free time is not your concern, and it’s definitely not cool to have me tailed all night. I can take care of myself.”

  “Have you no sense?” Boris jumped in. “My boys out back would love to find a girl like you walking the streets at five in the morning, drunk on her own stupidity—”

  “Give me a break.” I shook my lanyard at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t unleash on you.”

  “Dear, you are lucky one. If a bad guy had found you stumbling down the street, you would have been bound, gagged, and locked in the trunk of a car before you could even scream ‘rape whistle.’ ” He tugged on my lanyard until it was snug across my neck to prove his point. “You make it too easy.”

  I pushed his hand away. “What do you mean if a bad guy had found me?” I jammed my finger in his chest. “You’re pissed because you waited all night for me to screw up and have nothing to show for it.”

  Boris caught my pointy finger, turned my hand around, and poked me in the chest with my own finger, like, ten times. “Ouch! Stop it, you big bully.” I grabbed him with my other hand and tried to pry him off me. Nice try. My effort to protect myself against him was as productive as a scrawny little monkey battling it out with a giant silver back freaking gorilla.

  “Blow your whistle, tough girl.”

  “Get off me.”

  “Enough,” the boss said.

  Boris let go of my finger and turned me around to face the pakhan. “When I hired you, Miss Cook, you became part of my brand. Your actions—on the clock and off—are a reflection on me. Perhaps I had a rare lapse in judgment when I hired you and your papa.”

  I understood the underlying threat in his words. I had pushed him too far. Fucking up and getting myself fired was one thing, but I couldn’t risk sending Dad back to financial hell. “No, you didn’t have a lapse in judgment. I’m sorry.”

  Vladimir s
tared me down. “For?”

  “Lying to you about where I was going.”

  “And?”

  “And for drinking around boys.”

  “And?”

  I cocked my head as I thought. “And? No and. That’s it.” I peeked over my shoulder and looked up to Boris for guidance. “What else did I do?”

  He tugged on Ryan’s jersey.

  I turned back around to face the boss. “Oh.” I shook my head. “It’s not what you think. We’re just friends. Really, really good friends. Not friends with benefits, you know, just the regular kind of friends.” I made a flat line motion with my hand to drive the point home.

  Vladimir glanced up at Boris.

  Boris responded in Russian and tugged on his belt. I imagined the boss needed clarification on the friends with benefits colloquialism, but Boris looked angry enough to kill someone.

  Vladimir exhaled and pinched the bridge of his pointy nose. “This is exhausting.” He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Remember the rules of our arrangement?”

  “Good grades, keep up the sporty, and stay out of trouble?”

  He rested his elbows on the desk and tapped his fingers together.

  “Two out of three?” I lifted my shoulders and grinned.

  “She has proven to be untrustworthy. I want to see her schoolwork from now on,” he said to Boris, then finished his orders in Russian. Then the pakhan set his sights on me. “I’m out of patience. I’ll deal with you on Monday.” He eyed me like I was yesterday’s garbage and flicked his hand at me. “Get this filthy shlyukha out of my office.”

  Chapter 13

  Down

  I used an app on my phone to translate the word shlyukha: whore.

  I sequestered myself in my bedroom instead of going out with my friends Saturday night and stayed home all day Sunday. Weak and humiliated, I wrapped myself in a blanket and camped out on the floor beside my bed. The wind howled and a wintery mix of hail and freezing rain pelted the windows, providing a dismal soundtrack for my self-loathing mood.