Realization dawned in his eyes before brightening to amusement. "You want to know if I am forcing them to pay off some sort of debt or holding their Visas hostage, like something you see on the news?"
She couldn’t tell if he was serious or offended. She nodded her head stiffly.
"No," he smiled softly, the hand that toyed with the hair at her back pressed itself against her bare back just above her naked backside. "The women we get are from all over. Most from Russia, some from the Ukraine, some are from other parts of the US, and all want to work there."
He laughed at her quizzical look, and his hand moved in soothing, reassuring circles on her back. "Trust me, the women I employ, which is a little under forty of them, make obscene amounts of money. Each one of them drives luxury cars, a few even live in Alexei's building. Some have houses, a couple have families, and put their kids through elite private school. From what I am told by the woman I pay to manage them, they more than like their work. And it is the same for the few strip clubs that Mikhail owns. A contact overseas offers the women the opportunity, and they are brought over to us. Now," he lifted a hand to her chin, capturing her full attention as he gave her a serious look. "That is only how we run things. I cannot speak for the other men in the other states. I will not lie to you and tell you that the others that work under Vladimir are as progressive as we are when it comes to the sex trade."
"But how do you know Mikhail treats the women at his clubs nicely," she pressed, thinking of the silent, bald stocky man with the young wife. He seemed gentle enough, but Rahina hardly knew the man.
Leaning back against the headboard, Roman regarded her for a couple of moments as if mentally debating something of great value.
"I know Mikhail treats the women he has working for him well because I sent my sister to him."
Rahina's mind and body froze.
Roman continued with a sigh. "My sister is an idiot, first of all. She is older than me by eight years. Technically, we are half siblings, but I always looked to her as a mother figure when I was a kid since she took care of me when our mother was out. When I went to the military, she told me she went to work in a factory, I found out years later she had actually followed in our mother's footsteps and started working as a bartender and sleeping with random men. When I joined the bratva, I realized very quickly having an idiotic sister, that I did not wish harmed, would be a liability. I knew I was going to make enemies, lots of them, and I had no time to worry about her, so I changed my name."
"Your name isn't Roman?" she asked, startled.
"Yes, my name is Roman, but my surname is Domeshev, not Mashir."
"Oh," she looked away towards the window in thought for a moment before turning back to him. "Why, Mashir?"
"Because supposedly that was the surname of my real father, or so my mother claimed," Roman added with a shrug. "It didn't matter to me; I just needed a name that would put distance between me and my sister."
"So, what happened to your sister?"
He grinned widely. "I became really good at my new life and made a lot more enemies than I expected," she rolled her eyes at his bragging tone. "At that time Mikhail had been sent over to work with the guy running things down here at that time, but we all knew Mikhail was going to take over and I knew I could trust Mikhail. He was not like the rest of the guys, I never heard anything about him treating women badly. So, I took a chance, I forced my sister to go with Mikhail. I assumed she would work as a bartender or something; what I did not expect was to find the idiot stripping in his clubs."
Rahina's eyes went wide.
"Yeah," he scratched at the stubble on his chin as he looked beyond her, lost in his memories. "You can imagine my anger. I trusted Mikhail with my only secret, and he had her dancing in one of his fucking clubs."
"Did you get into a fight with him too?"
"Nearly, but my idiot sister intervened and explained she liked working there and had asked Mikhail to do it."
"Wow," Rahina didn't know what to say. "Where is your sister now?"
"Still working for Mikhail, as the manager to his clubs now. If you ever meet Misha again, you will most likely see my sister, Vera. She is like a mother to Misha."
"Well, I hope I get to meet her one day," she admitted. "I didn't think you had any siblings."
"That was exactly what I wanted the world to think," he winked.
"And now? I know you don't want people knowing about her now, is it still dangerous for you to have people you care for around you?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She didn't want him to think she was trying to subtly lump herself in with people he loved. If Roman ever told her he cared for her, she wanted it to be because he truly felt that way not because she coaxed it out of him.
He didn't say anything for a long moment. The muscle in jaw flexed as he stared past her and out the window to the large backyard. "A lot of my enemies are dead and the rest—would rather not be. Besides," his tone lightened as a smirk returned to his lips, softening his expression. "I would not care if anyone found out about my sister.”
Nodding, she ran her hand down the length of his arm, watching as her fingers glided over the hard rising flesh of his bicep and down to elbow and back up the wide expanse of his forearm. The tattoos on his arm varied from words written in Cyrillic, an image of a gun surrounded by knives and ivy, and four sets of tally marks totaling to twenty. Every time Rahina looked at the obvious scoring system, and her breath shallowed a little. Was this how many people he killed? She wanted to ask him, but she felt childish, even thinking of asking him such a question. She supposed she was really curious about what he felt when he looked at the numbers. When he glanced at them, was he reminded of these people's faces before they died or did the extensive unnamed list invigorate him at the sight? Or was it even a list of his kills, she thought?
"Does it bother you?" His voice was quiet and intense.
"Is it pathetic of me if I told you I am bothered by the thought of these being marks of your female conquests in the past?"
The bark of laughter was unexpected.
"Rahina, baby, there isn't enough room on my arm for those types of numbers.” The honest answer stung at her heart.
"That does not make me feel any better," she huffed, trying to scoot away.
"Sex with other women had only ever been about the release. With you, it is different,” he assured her, his deep voice coaxing her anger away.
"How?" she whispered.
"With you, I want to watch your fear fight against your trust, I want to hear you scream and shake in my arms,” she shivered at his words. “I like hearing you whisper my name as I clean you and pull you close. I could never grow tired of you."
She prayed he never would.
The phone rang on the nightstand next to her, the shrill sound startling the silent sanctity of their room. Reaching over she grabbed the phone and tilted it upward to see the caller ID—it was Rubina. Hitting the ignore button, she turned back over to see Roman's curious expression.
“That will make it the third time in two days I have seen you ignore your sister’s call.”
Looking away, she focused on a loose string at the edge of her pillow. "Yes, well, I am not in the mood to talk to her now," she mumbled.
Roman didn’t respond. After a few long awkward moments, she looked up with a sigh to see him staring at her.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she breathed.
“Then let me guess,” he said, propping himself up onto his elbow. “Your plan to make Dev Gorshal your messenger that night backfired when I arrived, and now Dev has done exactly what you wanted, he ran back and told your parents everything. And for the past week since then your mother, father, brother, and now your sister, most likely pressured by your mother, are calling you and demanding for you to come home and explain yourself.”
Sitting up, she held the blanket to her chest with one arm and turned to him with an accusing glare. "I am so glad you get it
now because this is all your fault!"
"My fault for coming home to find you laying a seductive trap of revenge, no sweetheart that was your fault. I played my role, and so did your spineless fiancé,” he made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat.
“Well, I’m glad you’re not too worried,” she spat, flipping the sheet back from her legs with all intention of getting up and storming off. “Because if I do go home, my parents will want me to stop seeing you, you do know that, right?"
“My beautiful Rahina," he purred as he wrapped a securing arm around her waist, stopping her from going any further. Pulling her back, he forced her to lay down next to him until she was glaring up at his propped-up position above her. “You could not stop seeing me even if you wanted to,” he continued. “No, sweetheart what you are going to have to do is face the music and just deal with your parents’ anger and tell them you are with me now whether they like it or not.”
Crossing her arms, she stifled a huff. “What if they disown me or something?”
“That will not happen,” his deep, reassuring voice wrapped around her working to calm her against her will.
“How can you know that?” she demanded, hating the pout in her voice.
“Because your mother’s sole purpose in her life is her children and from what you have told me about your father, he could never survive it,” he informed her easily.
That was true. Knowing she probably shouldn't, she looked up and groaned at the smug look on his face as he stared back at her. Reaching over she pinched his firm pectoral muscle in retaliation, though he didn't even flinch. "You think you're always right, don't you?"
Slowly, he pushed himself up onto both arms, one on either side of her head. “It sounds as if I should make a believer out of you,” he said, his voice deep and seductive.
Smiling, she opened her arms to let him try his best.
~*~
The next day, Rahina sat at the bar stool with her chin resting on top of her folded hands as Mosca made them both scrambled eggs.
“How exactly do you burn eggs?” Mosca shot her a judgmental look over his shoulder as he slid the freshly scrambled eggs onto two plates.
Earlier, he walked in as she tried and failed to make herself breakfast.
“I don’t know what happened,” she protested, holding her hands out excitedly for the offered plate of eggs and fruit. “I thought I copied what Roman did in the past—but they ended up all dark and crispy.”
"Burnt," Mosca corrected dryly, as he leaned a hip on the counter, not bothering with a stool. “They were burnt not dark, just burnt.”
Normally, Roman made her breakfast, but this morning, he had to leave for some meeting before she got up.
"Yes, yes, I know I'm a shameful woman," she waved her fork at him before taking another bite. "So, have you seen my billboard on eighth avenue?”
With an all black background and with Jason to her right dressed in a dark shimmering blue and Yuri dressed in stark white, the two men pulled at each of her arms as she stood in the middle posed in glittering crystals. Her face was upturned and staring at the sky as if resigned to her fate as the men fought over her. The simplicity of their outfits, the plain black background, and the glimmering beauty of her outfit made the picture stunning. It took her breath away each time she looked at it. After this performance, she was going to be a legend.
“The one where you are naked? Yes.” Mosca said between mouthfuls. His practiced expressionless eyes betrayed him today and held a glimmer of provocation.
Offended, she sat up straighter and gave him a haughty look of disdain. "I wasn't naked, I was covered in silver body paint and Swarovski crystals. My outfit for the performance will look similar to that. That was a magnificent photo, and you know it.”
“I know Roman hasn’t seen it yet,” he replied coolly.
“He has, well, he has seen the picture of it on my phone and the same image is being used for a few internet ads as well, so there,” she threw back at him. “It’s completely tasteful, and Roman loved it."
That wasn't entirely true when she did show him the photo last night, he stared at it for a good long moment before giving her that insane smile of his that only meant danger. He used the chair on her again, this time not letting her out for what felt like an hour. Just thinking of his “punishment” for the revealing photo sent shivers down her body.
“And your family?" He inquired, taking the last bite of a strawberry from his plate.
Rahina looked away. Ever since her talk with Roman last night, the guilt from avoiding her family’s calls and their most likely appalled reaction to seeing the clear outline of their daughter’s breasts plastered across the city was growing out of proportion.
Grabbing her plate, she slid off the stool and walked past the two lounging dogs at her feet towards the sink. “Are you trying to make feel bad?” she asked.
“Maybe,” Mosca admitted with a cold smile.
“Do you still think Roman is mad at you?” She gave him an exasperated sigh; he was convinced Roman was still hung up on the night Mosca carried her to the bedroom.
“He left, didn’t he?” Raising a hand towards the garage door, Mosca gave her a wide-eyed look of anger. “He is supposed to have me drive him?”
“Look, I told him how you dropped on the bed like a sack of laundry, and he knows nothing would ever happen between you and me in a million years," she said slowly and evenly hoping it will penetrate the man's paranoia over the topic.
Groaning, Mosca scrubbed his face before running a hand through his hair. “I wish he would have just punched me or something, not saying anything about it is a whole lot worse and unlike him.”
Petting Genghis, who came up to rub his face on her thighs, she gave Mosca a curious look. “Roman told me that his boss made the decision to move Dimitri to Las Vegas.”
Mosca’s shoulder stiffened as he stared out the window towards the pool with his back towards her. “Yeah, I know that.”
“Are you worried that Roman won’t pick you to replace Dimitri?”
Turning around so fast, Mosca grabbed her by both shoulders, making her jump. "Why? What did he tell you?"
“He didn’t say anything I just asked what that meant for you, and he didn’t respond he just smiled all creepy like.”
His grip on her shoulder tightened as he scowled at her. “I should shake you,” he threatened.
“I didn’t do anything, now unhand me,” pushing out of his hold, she brushed some imaginary dirt off her shoulder before walking towards the stairs. “Now if you don’t mind, I must get ready to go face the music, as they say.”
Knowing what she was going to do Mosca smiled evilly at her. “I hope your mother yells at you.”
~*~
Glancing at his watch for the tenth time, Roman felt the familiar tingling feeling of dread run along his instincts. Something was wrong. Rahina should have been home by now. The last text he got from her that morning was her recommendation to make Mosca his maid instead of his captain, and then nothing. Normally on average, he received about six texts a day from the chipper dancer, and if she wasn't texting, she was posting to social media. Her constant use of her phone was better than any security detail he could place on the girl. Meaning, that hours of no texts and no social media uploads gave him pause.
“She could be in a late rehearsal,” Mosca offered quietly from the kitchen where he stood.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Roman tapped the screen on his phone and called her number for the fourth time. Each previous attempt rang and eventually went to voicemail, each time pissing him off a little further. This was why he didn’t want to care about people, the thought whispered in his head. This hollow angry feeling he felt as he tried to maintain his calm and locate her was exactly what he never wanted to experience.
The ringing stopped.
“Hello,” the small whisper sounded on the other end through the speakerphone, causing both him and Mosca to stand up straig
ht.
That was not Rahina’s voice.
“Who is this?” he said carefully.
“This is Safina,” the girl whispered. “Are you Roman?”
The tingling feeling of dread coiled tighter in his stomach. “Yes, where is Rahina?”
"I took her phone before they could," her whisper lowered almost to an inaudible level, but both men heard her. "She is in big trouble. Mom and dad won't let her leave, they took her keys, and they're all in the room yelling. I think…I think she is crying."
The feeling of dread ebbed away replaced by the familiar thumping in his veins as adrenaline and anger took over.
“Safina, darling,” he said with a smile. “Do me a favor and unlock the front door for me.”
His Smile: A Mafia Romance Page 24