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I check my watch, again. Milos says what I’m thinking.
“Richie isn’t coming.”
Sighing, I nod. “He’s never been more than five minutes late. It’s now almost a half hour and no call from him to tell us he’s on his way.”
He studies me. “Are you going to tell her the truth?”
I don’t hesitate. “No. It would destroy her. She’s a mess. The next few weeks—maybe even months are going to be hell for the both of us.”
His question is clear.
“I don’t think she ever truly dealt with what she went through.” The saved stories fuck with me all over again.
“I was talking with Tony Sabatini. His new daughter-in-law was forced to marry and raped almost daily for an heir. Tony looked for and found a therapist who could help her and is willing to not write down or report the crimes that might come up, as it’s in the interest of helping the patient.”
“Something to be considered.” As much as I hate the idea of anyone hearing anything about family business, if it will help Phoenix then I have to consider it. I’m grateful Milos is telling me he’s fine with it—not just fine with it, he’s urging me to. I call Boris and tell him I’m ready to go, that I need to go to the brothel.
I’ve managed to surprise Milos. “The brothel?” Before I can answer he nods. “Ah, it might not take months.”
“I can hope. But damn she’s a stubborn, argumentative little thing.” Phoenix arguing with me before I left has me smiling.
His laughter fills the air. “I remember the first day I met Celia. I had the exact expression on my face.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that. We owe her—I owe her. Marrying her and giving her a life where she wants and needs for nothing is the least she deserves.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Milos taunts me as I receive the text from Boris that he’s waiting in front of the restaurant.
Fuck him. I know what I’m doing. And it’s not what he thinks. She’s my wife now. Whatever happened in the past is just that. All that matters is now. Now means I protect and treat what’s mine with care—that’s all.
Entering the brothel, my employees behind the front desk stand at attention. I’m only here three days a week to check in with the women and listen to any issues they may have. I’ve missed the last two visits and today isn’t one of the days. I’m sure they’re wondering why I’m here.
There are ten of my men working in the building at any time, two at the front desk, two watching the cameras in the common area, two in the owner’s lounge where the women working are available for men to choose from, and four men roam the halls and building to keep an eye on everything. The building is also where our men can live if they choose, almost all of them do.
My father purchased the building in the River North Area, only a block off Michigan Avenue when he first arrived in Chicago and was the one to turn it into the brothel. The building is twenty-two floors, three of the floors are devoted to amenities, the rest of the building is filled with women who pay us in a monthly rate as a safe place to work. This is also where our coke is brought to be measured and cut up, taking up one floor to keep it secure.
In the remaining condos there were more made men from the Outfit, mafia, to even a few yakuza, living here than any other building in the city. No citizens at all, ever. If you didn’t get referred, you didn’t get through the door. We asked all men living at the building to maintain an agreement of no business other than Levin business happening on the premises. In the years since we took over from our father, we’ve only had two men who had to be removed from the building.
I call up to her, she hesitates before agreeing. As one of the original women who stayed when Milos freed them, Karina has an apartment on the top floor. She’s waiting when I get off the elevator, holding her door open.
“Aleksander, it’s been a while.” She tightens the silk robe around her.
“How many times do I have to say it? This is your home. You don’t want to leave, you don’t have to. Whether you take clients or not.”
Her sigh is loud as she presses her lips to my cheek. “One of the girls got catty. I got to thinking.”
“Don’t think beyond what I tell you to.” I sit down on the end of the leather sofa.
“What a very Levin thing to say,” she mocks as she pours a vodka without asking, then brings it to me.
Accepting the glass, I sip. “Have we ever failed you in a promise we made you?”
Lighting the cigarette between her lips, she inhales deeply. “For better or worse I can only say no. Tell me, my dear, why are you here?”
“Why did you stay?”
Exhaling the smoke of the cigarette, she considers the question. “Because I liked it. In the end I liked it. Even when I was used and forced. An orgasm is a powerful thing. I came to realize the power shifted when it came to sex. So when Milos said it was up to me to stay or go, I stayed.” Electric blue eyes roam over me. “That must be some woman.”
I’m not in the least bit surprised she knows why I’m here. The woman read people better than a lawyer reading the fine print. “My wife. I’m afraid to touch her. When she’s thinking she’s afraid of being touched.”
