Dynasty: A Mafia Collection

by Jen Davis

  He acted stunned. “You think I—” He shook his head and didn’t finish.

  “I know you’ve done it before. When you rolled up your sleeves, I saw your snaky chain tattoo. Each link represents someone you…whacked.”

  “You found this out on the Internet?”

  “You ink it, you own it,” I said.

  Instead of being pissed, he chuckled. “You don’t know anything, stupid girl.”

  I guess humping the boss was good for our relationship. Ugh. What a sick thought. “Please tell me where you’re taking me.”

  “It’s nice. You’ll have good time.”

  If Vladimir told him not to tell, that was the end of it.

  Boris stopped at the gas station to fill up. Pushing my luck, I asked if I could go inside to grab some snacks for the road. He flipped me a hundred dollar bill and told me to get him a Coke. Subconsciously, I must have asked myself W.W.W.D.? What Would a Weasel Do?

  I snagged some Corn Nuts, a sleeve of peanuts, an orange juice, a Coke, and a pack of condoms. At the checkout counter, the grandma-aged clerk raised her eyebrows when she scanned the dirty stuff. Her gaze drifted outside, and she sized up Boris pumping gas.

  Her face blanched as she counted back change from a hundred. I wanted to say something snarky like, “Not unless he put a gun to my head,” but I kept my mouth shut, slid the condoms into my back pocket, and then marched back to the car.

  When we got on the road, I sipped the OJ and ate my peanuts. Boris glanced in the rearview mirror and then veered off to the median. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” I peeked behind and saw the blue lights of a police car flashing behind us. “I swear I have no idea.” I recognized the officer as she walked toward the Cadillac. “Oh shit, it’s Officer Montgomery.”

  Boris slid on a pair of gloves and gave me the low-down on our agenda so we had our stories straight. “If I find out you pulled something—”

  Officer Montgomery leaned in the car and smirked when she recognized me.

  “Hello again, officer. What’s the problem?” I asked.

  “May I see your license, sir?” Boris handed it to her.

  She shook her head. “I would say I’m surprised to see you, but, sadly, I’m not. Out of the car, Miss Cook. You and I need to talk.” The officer walked me back to her cruiser and told me to get in the front seat. As she ran Boris’s license—which I assumed would show a spotless record—she took off her sunglasses. “Know why I pulled the car over?”

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeggings. “No idea, ma’am.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I gave her a puzzled look. “He’s taking me to my cousin’s house. He bought us concert tickets for Christmas. Why?”

  The officer scanned her screen. “Mr. Chuchin is your grandfather, right?”

  I was sure Gramps was an upstanding citizen. “Yeah, by marriage. He’s my stepmom’s dad.”

  “A concerned citizen called in worried about an older gentleman and a pretty young girl buying condoms at the gas station.”

  I put my hands over my face and slid down in the seat. “Oh, my God. That old lady narked me out? Please don’t say anything to him. I’m begging you. He’ll die of embarrassment.”

  She held her hand up to stop my rambling. “If there is anything you want to tell me, now is the time. I can help you. You’re safe with me. Is this man hurting you in any way?”

  I shook my head. “I took to heart what you said the other day about alcohol and boys. I was trying to be prepared—just in case.”

  “Let me go talk to your grandfather. You’ll need to get into the back until I can corroborate your story.”

  I got out of the car and let her shut me into the back of the patrol car. Will Boris kill her if he thinks she’s busted us?

  She leaned over and questioned the Russian mobster pretending to be my grandfather. I prayed for her. Boris reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out. The officer held out her hand and inspected what appeared to be a pair of concert tickets.

  She smiled and tapped the tickets in her hand.

  I exhaled. The officer came back to the car and released me from the backseat. “You are lucky to have such a sweet grandpa. Have a nice time.”

  “Did you say anything to him about the you know whats?”

  “No, I didn’t. You’re an adult. No crime has been committed.” She patted me on the back. “Make good choices, Carter, and stay out of trouble for a couple days.”

  “Thanks.” I slunk back to the car, mentally preparing for the bullshit storm. We got back on the road. Boris didn’t talk. I didn’t either. The silence was terrifying.

  Is he mad? Happy he didn’t have to shoot the cop? Is he mad?

  I turned on my side and closed my eyes. He plucked the condom pack out of my back pocket, shoved me down in the seat, and bore down on my chest. The car swerved over the double yellow line, then back in the right lane. “You know what I would’ve done if she suspected anything?”

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He was pushing down on me so hard I thought I would snap. I gasped for air, and he let me go. I turned over and curled into a ball.

  He rolled down the window and tossed the contraband in the median. “Get your rest, weasel. You’ll be up late tonight.”

  Asking for another punishment in my own special way, I asked, “Will you warn me before you pull the trigger? I don’t want it to be a surprise.”

  I thought he was ignoring me, but before I fell asleep he answered, “Da.”

  Chapter 44

  Swinging

  Boris opened my car door and woke me up. As I blinked my eyes open, I saw an airplane. We were at a goddamn airport. “What the hell, man? I thought we were going to a concert. Where are you taking me?” My blabbering questions went unanswered.

  Boris popped the trunk, lifted out a Louis Vuitton suitcase, and escorted me down the runway. I had to get my game face on. Like before a match, I cleared my mind of distractions and shut out everything except my Coach’s words of wisdom:

  Come out strong. Make them play your game. Be aggressive. Even if you make a mistake, they’ll be afraid of what you’ll do next time. Go for high percentage shots, and keep the ball in play until you can put away a clean winner. And most important of all: Don’t back off if you’re losing. Make your opponent beat you. If you’re going down, go down swinging.

  Boris ushered me to the airplane, and I clutched Vladimir’s wager inside my jacket pocket. As we stood at the bottom of the stairs, Boris put his big hands on my shoulders. “Don’t mess this up. I’m going back to the house now. You’re on your own, understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good girl.” Before he handed me over, he issued a warning. “Do yourself a favor and don’t bring up alcohol—I mean it.” He patted my cheek and waited for the boss to collect me.

  Vladimir padded down the stairs wearing a short-sleeved, blue silk shirt, casual pants, and leather loafers. It was about thirty degrees outside. He greeted me with kisses. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”

  I was down, and it was time to start swinging.

  ***

  As the plane headed south, Vladimir popped a bottle of champagne and poured two glasses of Cristal. He picked up my hand, kissed it, and wrapped my fingers around the champagne flute. “To you, my angel.” We clinked and sipped.

  The plane cut through the clouds. Vladimir set down our drinks, swept my hair off my shoulders, and kissed my neck. He unzipped my jacket and tried to slide it off.

  I held my arms at my sides not allowing him to undress me. I wondered how he would react when he saw my bruises. Did he even remember he had hurt me over the weekend?

  “What’s wrong?”

  Summoning all the courage I had left, I said, “Last night was a mistake. It was a blessing Dad came to the house when he did.”

  The boss didn’t look happy. I could see the crazy bubbling up in his eyes so I spoke my mind q
uickly. “What I mean is, I want you. Your bod makes me hot.” I reached up and rested my hands around his neck and twisted one of his blonde waves around my finger. “No one has ever made me feel so—if we hadn’t been interrupted, I would’ve been yours.”

  “We have tonight, beautiful. No interruptions.”

  I lifted his hand up to my chest to feel my pounding heartbeat. “See what you do to me? I’ve never been with a man before.”

  “I celebrate your choices.”

  I slipped his wager out of my pocket and pressed it into his palm.

  He unfolded the paper. “Ready to cash in your wager?”

  “Can I talk to you about something?”

  He led me to a seat by the window and sat me down on his lap. With the reflection of the sky behind him, his vibrant blue eyes glowed in the sunlight.

  “If I’m being honest, I’ve thought about us…together.” I turned away, embarrassed.

  He stroked my hair. “Really? I had no idea,” he teased.

  I shoved him in the chest. “Surprise.” I laughed with him, and then I tried to get back to the point. “But I want my first time to be special.”

  “Making love is an expression of our commitment to one another. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure it’s a night we’ll never forget.”

  I knew he wanted me right then and there. I had to swing higher. “By special I mean I’m saving myself for my wedding night. I know I led you on last night. I’m sorry.”

  “Just when I think I have you figured out, you blow my mind once again. Your future husband is the luckiest man in the world.”

  Under his spell, and totally turned on, I wanted to take all my words back and pick up where we’d left off last night.

  Vladimir peeled me off his lap, leaned over, and snagged the suitcase. “Let’s see if we can find something for you to wear this evening.” He turned it around so I couldn’t see. “Ah, this is perfect.” He revealed a sexy little red dress.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Dancing…in South Beach.”

  “Ah, that’s sweet, boss.” I was honestly touched by his thoughtfulness.

  Vladimir may have had his share of faults, but one thing about him was undeniable: he loved to make me happy. And at that moment, he was checking every box on my sexiest-man-alive score sheet.

  When we arrived at the hotel, I took a solid hour and fifteen minutes to get ready for our hot date. Boris had packed everything I needed: a strapless bra, a clean ace bandage for my ankle, open-back pumps, and a long-sleeved shrug to cover up the thumb bruises on my collarbone, the hoof mark on my back, and the plethora of imprints up and down my arms.

  When I emerged from the bathroom ready to rock it, Vladimir was waiting for me with a single red and pink rose in his hand. He had on slick black pants, Bally shoes, and a red shirt unbuttoned a few notches. His devil tat peeked at me from behind the fabric.

  Vladimir was a bad guy in some respects, but he wasn’t all bad. He would move heaven to hell if it would make me happy. And I knew he would never order his sovietnik to coerce me into having sex with him. That was all Boris’s fucked-up idea. If it was just my body Vladimir wanted, he had plenty of chances; the boss was after my heart.

  “What are you doing to me?” I giggled at my sophomoric reaction to his hotness. “Buenmozo.” I fanned my face.

  He spun me around and admired my body. “You are the most beautiful young woman in the world, Carter. You take my breath away.”

  I bit my lip and looked away, embarrassed by his unjust flattery. “Oh, please.”

  “I mean it, angel. I cherish every moment we spend together.” He lifted my chin, trailed kisses down my neck, and teased me in Russian.

  Breathe, breathe, breathe…

  Chapter 45

  An Imaginary Line

  On the rooftop of our hotel, which served double duty as one of Miami’s top nightclubs, I could barely stomach more than a couple of bites of the amazing Cuban appetizers we shared for dinner. The scene the boss had set up was ground zero for my erogenous zone: live Latin music, a packed dance floor, and a devilishly romantic companion.

  I rocked my shoulders to the beat of the bongos and sipped my mojito. I’d ordered one for both of us, to thwart a bottle of vodka from joining the party.

  “Ready to dance?” Vladimir asked.

  “Sí, estoy lista para divertirme contigo, mi amor.”

  He licked his lips. “What does it mean?”

  “Something good.”

  Vladimir guided me to the dance floor and planted his hands on my hips. I curved my body around the beat of the drums, snaked my body around my host, and snuffed out my brain under a pile of humidified, beachy blonde waves.

  As I shook it, I leaned my back against Vladimir’s chest and wrapped his arms around my waist to incorporate him into my forbidden dance. I sang along en español. He clung to me and swayed to the beat. His skin felt warm and moist from the humid evening air, and his masculine scent, coupled with his wandering hands, made it impossible for me to think about anything except—us.

  After hours on the dance floor, I was a hot and sweaty mess. I’d only had one drink all night, but my energy was zapped. I rested my cheek on his chest and yawned.

  He lifted my hair and blew on my neck. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  When we got back to our suite, the room was filled with dozens of Vladimir’s trademark roses. Trays of chocolates, cheeses, and breads were spread out on the dining table, and there was a bottle of vodka in an ice bucket on the bar.

  “You’re too good to me, boss.”

  “You deserve it all and more.” Vladimir held my hand and guided me to the bar. He turned over two shot glasses and picked up the vodka bottle.

  I flipped one of the shot glasses upside down. “None for me tonight. I’m exhausted.”

  “You don’t expect me to drink alone, do you?”

  I lifted my shoulders. If he got angry, and Boris wasn’t here to help me, I would be at his mercy. Sober, Vladimir would never hurt me, but an intoxicated pakhan was merciless. My hands trembled. I balled them up into fists and hid them behind my back.

  Vladimir set down the bottle and flipped over his glass, too. “Then we won’t drink.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be.” Vladimir picked up a mini key lime cheesecake and fed it to me. As we noshed on sweets and savories, Vladimir unpacked the suitcase and laid out all the stuff I needed to get ready for bed. Instead of my usual cotton jammies, I got upgraded to a silky white nightie with matching lace panties.

  “Need any help?” he asked.

  I bit my lip and shook my head, sizing up the king-sized elephant in the room.

  His gaze followed mine to the bed. “Don’t worry, angel. A Russian never goes back on a deal. I gave you my word, right?”

  The fine upstanding crime boss was going to honor my purity plan? Even after I was all over him for, like, the last six hours? Not to mention, his body had been ready for me since we boarded the plane. He’d also nixed the vodka, which had to be difficult. He honestly and truly was trying his best to make me happy—and he respected me, too.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.” I twisted my lips and peeked up at him.

  “Don’t worry. I can fight off your advances.”

  “That’s big talk. Sure you can take me?” I tugged on his belt playfully, but I flinched when the touch of a man’s belt forced back memories of Boris’s Christmas Eve coaching session.

  “You’re a naughty girl, Carter.” He steered me into the bathroom and gave me some privacy.

  After I washed up, I emerged in my sexy gown, sporting fresh breath and a clean face. Vladimir was waiting for me on top of the covers. He had changed into a white tank and black silk pajama bottoms. He always wore long pants, never shorts—even when he played tennis. Maybe he was worried his weird tats would freak me out. Wrong.

  He rested his chin on his fist and admired my upgraded nightie. I had s
trategically placed my hair over my bruised arms in an effort to avoid an issue—if there even was one. I got the sense, though, that in the Russian Criminal Code of Ethics, the lying little weasel in me probably deserved the lessons imprinted on my skin.

  He drew back the covers and smoothed his hand over the crisp white cotton sheets. “Come to bed.”

  I snuggled in, and he adjusted the pillows under my head in the perfect comfy spot. His sexy bedroom eyes melted my resolve. I had zero faith in my ability to resist his charms.

  He held up his finger and drew an imaginary line down the center of the bed. “We have a deal, Miss Cook. No crossing the line,” he teased. “Get some rest.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” I said before he had a chance to turn off the light.

  He sighed and rested his head on the pillow on the edge of our boundary. I imagined how awesome it would be to cross the border and cruise into enemy territory. Skin on skin, soft lips kissing my neck, wrapped in his strong embrace…

  I scooted to the line and snuggled the sheet up to my neck. “Why are you the boss? Why not Boris?”

  “My papa was the pakhan. In my world, it’s like being born into royalty.” He studied my expression. “Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

  “Part of you is bad, but you have a brilliant mind and a generous heart.” I eyed the watch tattoo on his wrist. “So why be bad? Why not be good?”

  “That’s it? Good or bad, black or white? I grew up in Soviet Russia. My grandfather, papa, brothers—my family was no worse, no less ruthless, than the government that controlled us. My babushka served three years of hard labor in the gulag for simply speaking her mind.”

  “That’s awful. Does your family still live in Russia?”

  He crossed the line and smoothed my hair out of my eyes. “My blood relatives are all gone. Boris and the Bratva are my only family.”