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I know better than to trust them to watch all of my shit. My tip jar would strangely disappear if I left it sitting around. I gather my small bag, placing a few of my paints in it, but I have too many to take everything with me. I give her a nod. “If nothing disappears, I’ll give you a tip.”
I head out back, and two girls I painted earlier are coming back inside at the same time I go to open the door. The night’s air is crisp. It has my skin pebbling, but I can’t rub my arms to stay warm, since I painted a design down the length of them that would smear.
A groan catches my attention. Fucking against a garbage dumpster can’t possibly be worth it. I can’t imagine the appeal. At the idea, I picture a specific, tattooed Bratva man railing me against it… but I shut down the thought by reminding myself it would dig into my back, be smelly, and I probably wouldn’t be able to orgasm. Making it a waste of time.
I cautiously walk toward the sound, planning to show the couple my annoyance, when I see the guy I painted earlier beaten to a pulp, lying on the ground.
“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself. My anxiety picks up, and I turn in a circle. I’m not sure if I’m hoping to see the person responsible or for darkness.
“How is it you always find yourself in situations like this?” I jump at my sister’s voice, Luna stepping up beside me. I hadn’t seenanyonea second before.
“I was just taking a break and….” My words die off as I look at the man.
“Were you smoking?” Judgment laces her tone.
“No. I wanted some silence.” My family’s need to check up on me is stifling. First, my brother, and now her. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“Sorry.” She touches my arm. “I’ll deal with this. Do you know the guy?” she asks, stepping closer to him and checking out my colorful strokes on his torso.
“Before now, I would have never been able to pick him out of a lineup. I obviously painted him, but I have no idea who he is.”
“Okay. Head inside. And if you can, keep anyone from coming back out here for about ten minutes.”
“Thank you.” I sigh in relief, and my sister hugs me before I run back inside.
Chapter 6: Demetri
Iwalkintomynew club and immediately see her. It takes every ounce of my discipline to not go up to her and toss her over my shoulder. Instead, I head for the back and go up the stairs to the locked door. I push in the code and see my appointment is already sitting up here. He stands, and I ignore him by going to the bar and pouring myself a drink, staring atherthrough the two-way mirror. I can see all of my club from here. There’s no bartender or waitress who’s out of sight.
In the faint reflection of the glass, I watch as Levi sits back down, looking unsure of himself.
“Do you think you’re funny?” I ask, turning away from the window. He hasn’t been able to find anything on this girl, and now she’s here, working at my club. His lips split into a smile before he realizes I’m not happy. He clears his throat, and that stupid fucking smirk disappears. “Tell me everything about her.”
He brings out his phone and starts reading. “You’re going to love this. Her name is—”
I cut him off. “I’m not paying you for your commentary. Just tell me the facts.”
“She owns an art gallery. All high-end paintings. Her own typically go for the most. She also does body art on the side. She must enjoy it, because she doesn’t need the money. She has four siblings. An older brother and three sisters. She is the middle child. Her name is…” He pauses, I guess expecting me to interrupt him again, but honestly, I just need her name and address. That’s all I fucking care about.
Levi is pushing my patience with his elongated pause. My brows rise, and my lips flatten as I wait.
He begins again. “Her name is Katrina Rossi, daughter of the Italian mafia boss Nicoli Rossi.”
I look down at her, and my cock jumps, remembering what she felt like. I want to be in her tight pussy again.
My hand sweeps down over my beard. I don’t have time for a spoiled mafia princess. I’m thirty-three years old and run the Russian mob. I didn’t get here because my father raised me right. I got here because my father was murdered, and I was next in line. I just happen to be more ruthless than he was. No one at my age brags about being made leader—unless they had a thing for murdering their own family. I lost almost every single member of mine. I’m the lone branch of my family tree. Well… almost.
“Katrina Rossi,” I try her name out. I like the way it rolls off my tongue. “Tell me everything about this art gallery.”
I can’t decide if I want to watch her a while or get her attention, as my guy rambles off the facts. I only hear half of them. Most of this information, he can send me later, when I have time to go over each detail with no one around, captivating my attention.
“How legal is the art?” I finally ask, curious.
“From what I can tell, seventy-five percent legit. I’m not sure if her paintings aren’t her own, or if she’s actually that good.”
“Find me someone who does know. I don’t want to hear any more of your guesses.” My hands itch to go downstairs and feel her under my fingertips once again. Looks like we both got more than we bargained for when we picked each other that night.
I watch as seemingly every man in the building eyes her. I would kill each and every one if it wouldn’t interfere with my business. My tumbler cracks, and I realize I’m squeezing it with all my might. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. Just as I’m about to turn my back to the window, I watch as some punk tries to flirt with her, handing her a card.
