AllFreeNovel
Share Us
SASHA
I’m in a pissy mood today. Sienna’s stupid, smug face showed up last night. It took everything in me not to go postal when I found out Ren was at that strip club somewhere off Bourbon Street interviewing new staff after he fired every person except one of the bartenders, so when his sister strolled through the front door rolling her luggage, the goddamn green monster reared its ugly head again.
I must be close to my period coming on because my shit is getting out of control where Lorenzo is concerned. Finding out he’s the owner of Headliners where I used to dance in a private booth was a kick to the gut. He never once mentioned having a problem with me dancing. When I was offered a booth instead of the stage out in the open, I was thrilled. That meant I didn’t have to see the person watching me. I could pretend I was dancing for me, which I was, in a way.
It started out as a way to tick my father off. A final fuck you when I walked out of his house, out from under his rules. He couldn’t control me any longer. No one could. I’ve loved dancing for as long as I can remember. It was an interest my mother and I shared. I didn’t start taking mixed martial arts classes until she left my father and moved to Florida right before I started middle school.
I was angry when my parents split up. It was Dad’s fault. I still don’t know if it was over the endless string of women that comes along with being the boss or all the blood staining his hands that’ll never wash off, so I sought an outlet to release all the pent-up hatred that festers inside of me.
Eventually, I discovered a love for Muay Thai and kickboxing. It annoys me that Sienna and I favor the same sport. Back in high school, I forced myself to take Brazilian jiu-jitsu, because I knew she didn’t like grappling and because I got to pair up with Ren on occasion. Those were the only times I enjoyed being tangled up with another person; otherwise, it was too much having other people in my personal space.
I got it in my head that I could go pro, which I have, but the reality is, it’ll never pay the bills or afford me the lifestyle I grew up living. I wasn’t spoiled, but I also know I grew up more privileged than most. That privilege came with a cage I wasn’t willing to stay inside, so I put my love of dancing to use in a way that pays well.
But was that all a lie? An illusion?
That’s why I’m mad at Ren, but also at myself too. I know if he’d told me he had a problem with me stripping, it would have made me do it more. I probably would have requested dancing on the main stage, and if they wouldn’t have allowed me since Ren owns the place, then I would have gone to another adult entertainment venue.
I’m a brat like that. I can admit it to myself or anyone else. I’m not ashamed of that fact like I am my jealousy. That I’ll blame on my forthcoming menstrual cycle and lack of sex in the past four days. Even though we don’t have a conventional relationship, I’m still used to getting it on the regular from the fine-as-fuck man I’m married to. He has a key to my apartment back in New York, but we don’t talk about it, or how he obtained it since I didn’t give it to him.
“Did the pakhan really send you down here or was it your idea so you could keep getting your dick wet?” I question my brother to get my mind off my fucked-up life.
We’re in the Garden District of New Orleans, and the homes here look like they’re straight out of a movie. They have an old but updated and upscale feel to them, or at least the one I’m in now does. My brother told me to take a drive with him and this is where we ended up. I knew the minute we pulled up this was business and here I’m not his sister, I’m his backup.
Ten minutes ago, a housekeeper answered the door and ushered us into a sitting room. I say housekeeper, but for all I know, she could be the wife or girlfriend of the person Krishna is here to see. She wasn’t old by any means, but her attire looked too much like a uniform, and not something I’d think someone in their mid-to-late twenties would wear. She had a thick Russian accent but spoke perfect English too.
“Yep,” he says in that bored tone I’ve come to despise since we all arrived and he showed up behind us. The bastard took Dad’s jet instead of flying commercial like Dom, Ren, and me did. He could have offered us a fucking lift. I’m still upset over that too. Dad’s plane would have been a hell of a lot more comfortable than any first-class accommodations.
“Are you going to keep giving me the cold shoulder?” I finally ask my brother. I’m tired of his one-word replies to every conversation I start.
“Be glad I haven’t put your face through a glass window.” He shuts his phone off, pocketing it, and then looks my way. “And for the record, sister, I can get my dick wet whenever, wherever, and by whomever I fuckin’ want. I don’t follow a piece of ass across the country because I’m hard up like other weak bitches I know. Worry about your own piece of meat and stay the fuck off the topic of my dick.”
He stands, but before I can fire back at him, someone walks in, pulling both of our gazes their way. I lift my butt off the sofa to stand next to Krishna as Alexey Kozlov extends his hand toward my brother in greeting.
“Krishna Nikolayev,” he says. “What a surprise to have you darken my doorstep.”
Alexey is part of my father’s network. He’s what I’ve heard referred to as an avtoritet, which means authority. They’re similar to captains in the Italian American families. I’d forgotten Kozlov was even in the States. He’s originally from Russia but has lived here longer than I’ve been alive. I think Krishna told me once he runs casinos but prostitution is where he makes his real bank.
“I should never be a surprise, Kozlov. It makes me question your loyalty when you say stupid shit like that.” My eyes flick to where Krishna’s grip on Alexey’s hand tightens.
“Comrade.” There is a strain in Alexey’s voice but his facial expression hasn’t changed once since walking up to us. “I can assure you I am Mischa’s most loyal avtoritet. Yours too, Krishna.”
K releases Alexey’s hand, then crosses his arms. I swear, every time he does this it makes him seem so much taller than his already giant six-six stature. Hell, even with me wearing five-inch booted heels, I’m taller than Alexey, but my brother towers over the both of us.
“What about her?” K says, his head jerking to the side in my direction. “Does she have your loyalty?”
Alexey’s brows furrow, confusion marring his worn face. He has to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties, but I doubt he’s my father’s age of fifty-five, soon to be fifty-six.
“I don’t understand. Isn’t she . . .” He glances in my direction for the first time, as if just now noticing me in the room.
“A Nikolayev? Yes, she is. For the purpose of my time in New Orleans, she is part of my security detail. Anyone that answers to me also answers to her. Understand me, comrade?” Krishna states more than asks using Alexey’s use of the Russian word for friend.
“Of course, Krishna.” He nods in rapid succession, but his words strike me as false. It’s not uncommon for the men that run organized crime rings to see women as beneath them rather than equal and therein lies my problem with men like my father. I can’t respect someone that doesn’t respect me in return, or doesn’t see my value the same as they do their own.
“She has a name. Use it,” my brother continues, and I haven’t the slightest idea where this is coming from. Make no mistake, I have K’s back. Always. But he’s never brought me to business meetings before today. So why now? Why here?
“Sasha, isn’t it?” Kozlov says and I nod. He extends his hand in front of me the same as he did to my brother. “I’m Alexey Kozlov.”
“I know,” I deadpan, and because I don’t have a shred of respect for him, I don’t extend the same greeting he’s offering me.
