Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  Boris snatched Leonardo’s bag out of my arms and unzipped it. Homicidal rage burned in his eyes as he scrutinized the contraband. “Starting a little side business of your own?”

  “No, no, no—”

  The heat emanating from his eyes could’ve melted plutonium. “On a scale of one to ten, lapsha, how well do you think the pakhan is going to take this?” He yanked me to my feet and dragged me back to the Cadillac.

  Chapter 30

  Unpleasant Business

  The whipping wind blew the snow sideways and covered up the double yellow lines on the road. It looked like we would get the full foot of snow the weatherman had predicted. As we sat in silence, I focused on the windshield wipers swiping the fresh snowflakes away, erasing the evidence they had ever been there.

  I was terrified of what would happen to Leonardo. I glanced over at Boris. His knuckles were white, body stiff, jaw clinched.

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Fine. Totally fine.”

  He made that menacing, dismissive humph noise.

  I knew he wanted to hunt Leonardo down and run over him a hundred times. I tried to think of something to lighten the mood, but anything out of my mouth would have irked him.

  “Working out a lie to tell the boss?”

  “I twisted my ankle on the court. Tennis is a competitive sport.”

  “I see.” His tone sounded uncharacteristically placid.

  Is he calming down?

  When we got to the house, Boris opened the garage door and parked in the vacant spot normally reserved for the Rover. I convinced myself I could walk no matter how bad it hurt, but before I took one step, Boris picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me into the kitchen like a sack of beets.

  He set me down on a stool, headed straight for the bar, and pulled Old Faithful out of the fridge. He poured a long shot and drank it down. He refreshed his glass and filled one up for me. He threw back another, with his other hand resting on the bottle. My clothes and hair were wet from my trek through the snow, and I felt dirty from having Leonardo’s hands all over me. I took off my soggy shoe and sock from my good foot. I needed to take a hot shower to chase away the chills, but I didn’t want to ask.

  Boris ordered me to drink up. I did. Then he poured me another one.

  There was a knock on the kitchen door. I jumped. Boris opened it and let in a hunched-over gray-haired man holding a black bag. They seemed to be having a serious talk. They must be business associates. I sat there nursing my drink, oblivious to their conversation.

  “This man is a doctor, Carter. He’s going to examine you.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t expect that.

  The door opened again, and the wolves that hung around out back slunk in through the kitchen door. Playboy, and the other two that rounded out the pack, shook the snow off their coats and stomped their boots on the floor, but didn’t remove them. How un-Russian of them to drag that mess into the house. Vladimir wouldn’t have approved. Animals.

  Boris picked me up and carried me past the living room into the guest bedroom where he lay me down on the bed. He had his wet boots on, too. The doctor sat next to me. The goons slid into the bedroom and shut and locked the door behind them.

  Five bad dudes surrounded me, as I lay defenseless on the bed.

  My heart pounded. “What’s going on?” Did this have something to do with the lesson the pakhan thought I needed to learn after the Friday night fiasco? Where was he, anyway?

  The doctor felt my ankle and then moved it up and down.

  “Ouch!” I sucked in a mouthful of air.

  “Not broken. You will wear air cast for week or two,” he said in a thick accent.

  As the doctor wrapped a bandage around my ankle, the goons were looking away—not at me—like they were trying to act casual. Something was very, very wrong.

  When the doctor finished, I turned to Boris. “Is Mr. Ivanov home yet?” My words caught in my throat. I felt so tiny and fragile in the midst of the Bratva. There was only one reason I could think of all those dangerous men had closed themselves in the bedroom with me.

  I sat up to get away, but the doctor held up his hand. “Need to check one more thing.”

  Boris snapped his fingers at the goons. Playboy jumped on top of me and pinned down my wrists. I tried to scream, but the weight of his body pushed the air out of my lungs. In between gasps, I pleaded for help, but Boris just stood there with his arms crossed, watching his patsani terrorize me.

  When I felt the other two trying to rip off my sweats, I wrapped my good ankle around the injured one to keep my legs together. “Get off me.” My pants slid down my hips to my thighs. I gave up on defense, switched over to offense, and tried to kick them. The big grimacing dude along with the wiry skinhead with tats trailing down his neck tugged off my pants with ease; they probably had a lot of experience violating girls in their line of work.

  I can’t let them take off my underwear. I held my knees together and screamed, “No! Nyet, nyet, nyet.” Playboy lifted his hips and scooted forward. Grimace slid his hands across my bikini line and yanked off my panties.

  When my clothes were on the floor, the goons each took a leg and spread me apart. I thrashed and kicked to defend myself, but I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off.

  “I’m sorry, Boris. Tell them to stop,” I screamed. “Izvinite! Izvinite!”

  The doctor closed in beside me and ran his fingers along my V. I clinched my body tight to keep him out, but he brought in his other hand and spread me apart. Then, he thrust his filthy fingers inside me and felt around. I cried out to Boris once more, but Playboy grasped both of my wrists in one hand and covered my mouth with his free hand to silence my screams. While the doctor violated me, he taunted me in Russian.

  Why did I think it was perfectly fine to play around with gangsters? I was naïve just like the boss said I was. My reward for being an idiot? I was about to be gang raped. Did the pakhan order them to do it, or was this all Boris’s sick idea?

  I don’t know if it was the shock, fear, or lack of oxygen, but my body stiffened up as if rigor mortis had already set in. There was no way I would be going home after these monsters were done with me. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for a miracle.

  “She’s clean—and pure,” the doctor announced. He withdrew his nasty fingers, wiped his hands on the sheet, and left the room.

  Boris dismissed the goons, leaving just the two of us alone in the room. No, no, no. I needed to make a run for it, but my muscles were shredded, I could barely breathe, let alone move. Boris sat beside me and tapped my cheek. “Next time, tell the truth, so we can avoid this unpleasant business.”

  Gently, he sat me up, slid my arms into a plush pink robe, and tied it around my waist to cover my naked body. “I had to be certain. Everything out of your mouth is a lie.”

  I struggled to fill my lungs with air.

  “Take a deep breath.” Boris patted me on the back. “Calm down. Breathe.”

  I flinched away from him, and then managed a few short breaths. My heart was thumping so violently, it felt like I was about to burst.

  “You need to bathe before dinner. Need any help?”

  I shook my head.

  “I sent a runner out for your cast. It will make getting around easier.”

  Where is Vladimir? He wouldn’t have let this happen. He protects me. He always protects me.

  “That vile drug dealer is lucky the big boy showed up. If I found out he’d touched you—”

  I wrapped my arms around my legs to stop from shaking.

  He softened his demeanor. “I will send my men to clean up mess at your house.” He moved to the bathroom and turned on the water to draw a bath. He came back, scooped me up off the bed, and set me down on the edge of the tub. I couldn’t look at him. “I will set some clean clothes out for you. Want me to stay?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not a word about this to
boss.”

  Chapter 31

  Houseguest

  I sank into the tub and corralled the bubbles to shield my nakedness. How could I face Boris? He warned me not to rat him out to Vladimir, but there was no way I could shake off the assault and act like everything was okay. Everything was not okay.

  After I cleaned up, I hopped to the bedroom, dressed in fresh clothes, and strapped on the air cast left out for me on the bed. Still in shock, I sat on the floor, crossed my legs, and practiced an Ujjayi breathing technique I’d learned in yoga to calm my nerves. I had to stop shaking; I was stuck there. I had no choice.

  Dad wouldn’t be home with the family for three more days. In that time, I had to play it cool and hopefully things would go back to the way they were before I had been violated.

  I willed myself to open the bedroom door and make my way to the kitchen, but I didn’t have enough energy to pick myself up off the ground. I felt like every muscle in my body had been removed, and what was left was a fleshy pile of shlyukha matter. I curled myself up into a ball on the floor, breathing as deeply as I could manage between gasps to fuel my body with oxygen. Someone knocked on the door.

  “How is my poor, injured girl?” Vladimir knelt beside me and rubbed my back.

  “I’m fine. Just trying to get my blood flowing.” My voice cracked.

  He sat next to me on the floor, cradled me in his arms, and rocked me gently to calm me down. If Vladimir had been home when we got back, he would’ve protected me. Absolutely.

  “What can I do, angel?” He kissed my cheek and stroked my hair. He hadn’t been affectionate with me since our special moment in my bedroom. I melted on his chest and welcomed his soothing embrace. In his arms, no one could hurt me—not even Boris.

  “You’re light as a feather. Let’s get you some nourishment.” Vladimir helped me to my feet and guided me into the kitchen. Instead of eating at the bar, we sat at the breakfast nook by the balcony to watch the snow fall. I picked at the butter-laden potatoes, zucchini in cream sauce, and pickled beets loaded on my plate while Boris lurked around the kitchen, probably to make sure I wasn’t going to nark on him. Since the boss wasn’t crazy eyed, I doubted he had knowledge of the Leonardo stuff or what Boris had ordered that dirty old man to do to me.

  If my instincts were correct, Boris had given Vladimir a revised version of The Incident to protect himself. When he came to my house he’d said, “I take my eye off you for one hour.” Hence, the big guy screwed up.

  Vladimir eyed my plate. I choked down a few bites to stay off the emotional wreck radar, but I was traumatized and freaked out about sleeping at the house. Boris had the entire lower level all to himself. He could threaten me, spread my legs apart, but if he tried anything in front of the boss, the pakhan would kill him.

  Did I want him dead?

  I shook off the thought. I was turning as crazy as these Russians. Murder wasn’t a problem-solver.

  “Change of plans this weekend? Last we spoke, you were going to visit relatives.”

  Shit. “Yes, totally a last minute thing. My friend scored tickets to the Bengals game and invited me to go. It’s on Christmas Eve.”

  “Kiki?”

  I shook my head. “My other friend, Ryan.” I snuck a peek up at the boss as I smashed my potatoes down with the back of my fork. He still seemed in good spirits. I thought he would be pissed at me for trying to pull a fast one on him, but the fact I would be his houseguest for the next three days probably made up for my bullshit.

  Vladimir set down his fork and patted his mouth with a napkin. “You’re exhausted. Let’s get you settled in the living room.”

  “Perfect.” I picked up our plates, but Vladimir took them out of my hands and insisted I rest. He rolled up his sleeves, loaded the dishwasher, wiped off the countertops, and took out the trash. The way he was there for me…I wished I could tell him the truth about what had happened, but if he knew what Leonardo tried to do or about my examination, he would have a Chernobyl-sized meltdown.

  “You left this in my car.” Boris handed me my phone. “Your papa is trying to reach you.”

  I checked my missed calls. It wasn’t Dad. Ryan had called eight times and sent about twenty texts. “I better call him back. I’ll be quick. Can you get a fire started?” I asked Vladimir.

  “Anything for you, angel.”

  Once the boss left the kitchen, I got up from my chair, turned my back to Boris, and tapped out a text.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “If I don’t get back to Ryan, he’ll call my dad,” I snapped. I felt empowered knowing Vladimir was home to protect me.

  Angry at my disrespectful tone, he whirled me around, clamped onto my shoulders, and jammed his thumbs into my collarbone. My ankle exploded in pain. “Be careful. It takes seven pounds of pressure to break the clavicle bone. I’m at five and half.”

  I squirmed to slip out of his lethal grip. He didn’t let up. I dropped the phone and tried to pry him off me, but me trying to defend myself against Boris was as productive as trying to yank a brick out of a house with my bare hands. “You’re hurting me. Let me go or I’ll scream. The boss will be pissed when he finds out what you did to me.”

  He loosened his grip. I made a run for the swinging door to dive into the safe arms of the boss, but before I hobbled a foot, Boris grabbed my ponytail and slammed me back against the pantry door. He towered over me and covered my mouth with his hand.

  “If you ever threaten me again or breathe one word to anyone about your examination, I will hurt you in ways that will haunt you the rest of your life. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with, little girl. I am not a man to cross.” He pointed to my phone and snapped his fingers.

  Panting, I picked it up off the floor and handed it to him.

  He motioned to the door. “Don’t keep boss waiting.”

  I skittered back to the living room, picked up the remote, and browsed the movie channels. I stopped when I found my favorite movie of all time: Moonstruck.

  I snuggled up with a throw blanket on my side of the couch. The poodles joined the party and curled up on the rug. Vladimir caressed Anastasia with his foot.

  “Will there be anything else tonight, Vladimir?” Boris towered over us holding two glasses of red wine.

  My body started to shake. I lifted the blanket up to my neck.

  “No, we’ll be fine.” Vladimir took the vino from Boris and handed a glass to me.

  “Have a wonderful evening with boss, Carter.”

  Something in Boris’s suggestive tone freaked me out. In the last twenty-four hours, I had sprained my ankle and almost been date-raped. Ryan and Leonardo beat the shit out of each other in my house, where drug-dealing Leonardo was never supposed to be, and Boris and his thugs had done the unthinkable. I would love to have a wonderful fucking evening, Boris.

  A half hour into the movie, I gave up. “I don’t think I can make it to the end, boss.” I let out a big yawn.

  “You’re a tough girl. You can make it.” He lifted his glass. “Za tebya.”

  “Za tebya.” We clinked and sipped.

  At the point in the movie when Ronny enters the story, I blinked to stay awake. My body felt so heavy. Vladimir pulled me over to his side of the couch and nestled my head on his chest. He tipped the glass to my mouth, encouraging me to take another sip. As Loretta and Ronny argued onscreen, he stroked my hair and sipped his wine.

  I yawned again. He removed the glass from my hand and set it on the coffee table. He lowered my head to rest on a pillow and brushed my hair off my face. I fought to keep my eyes open, but before Johnny Cammareri came back from Sicily, I blacked out.

  Chapter 32

  Filthy Animals

  It was almost noon the next day when I regained consciousness. I had no memory of how I got tucked into bed in the guestroom—or how I ended up in crisp, clean pajamas. I felt like a steamroller had mowed over me. I groaned as I sat up. When I leaned over to snag my cast, vertigo set in. I ti
pped off the bed and crash landed on the floor with a thud.

  I don’t remember drinking that much.

  My body needed more sleep, but my brain urged me to get moving. I slid on my cast and made my way to the bathroom. I undressed and checked my body for damage. I had deep purple and red marks on my collarbone, a bounty of finger bruises dotted my arms and legs thanks to Playboy and his crew, and I was sore down there from my examination.

  I replayed what had happened over and over in my mind. I understood—in Bratva terms—why Boris wanted to know if Leonardo had forced himself on me, but why did he want to know if I was pure?

  As I considered the thought, I got down on my knees and hovered over the toilet in the morning after ready position. The last thing I remembered was dozing off on the couch. Then the realization hit me—

  They drugged me.

  I shuddered to think what they’d done to me while I was unconscious. Once again, only one reason came to mind. I dry heaved into the toilet. I had to keep it together. I was trapped there. If I didn’t emerge soon, they would come get me. I had two and half more days there, and it wasn’t in my best interest to conjure up the pakhan.

  Live to fight another day.

  I got dressed in one of my home-away-from-home outfits, plastered on my game face, and limped to the kitchen. Vladimir was seated at the bar sipping a cup of tea next to a box of pastries and a fresh fruit and cheese display. “Good morning, angel.”

  I couldn’t look him in the eye. “Sorry I got up so late. I don’t usually sleep in.” I motioned to the food. “You didn’t have to do that. It’s my job.” My voice sounded hoarse.