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He answers on the third ring, his deep voice vibrating deep into the pit of my stomach as he teases, “Well,moya feya, that didn’t take you very long.”
He doesn’t sound at all surprised to be hearing from me, even this late at night, and from the music playing in the background, I would guess I didn’t wake him.
“This isn’t a yes,” I state bluntly, wanting to get that out there before he gets any ideas.
“Then what is this?” he asks, his Russian accent making the words almost roll across the line.
“I was… well, I would like to discuss your offer further,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, attempting to think of it as a general business transaction rather than a conversation about losing my virginity.
Ilya hums thoughtfully, as if contemplating my suggestion. “Very well. But perhaps instead of a conversation, I could show you what a night with me might be like. I think words might not fully do it justice.”
My stomach jumps into my throat at the meaning behind his words, and my heart starts to pound at the thought of giving myself up to him for just a night. Though losing my virginity to a test run seems anything but romantic, I haven’t ever really given much thought to how I would like my first time with someone to go. I haven’t considered sex with anyone much at all, when I get right down to it.I don’t believe in love, so why should it matter so much if I lose my virginity to a complete stranger?
Still, the prospect is daunting. I hesitate long enough that anyone in their right mind might think I’d hung up, but Ilya waits patiently for me, not uttering a word as the muted music thrums across the line.
“Okay,” I breathe finally, my heart stuttering in my chest as my palm starts to sweat against the back of my phone.
“Good,” Ilya says. “Tomorrow then? I will pick you up at five o’clock.”
“I work tomorrow night,” I say quickly as my shoulders tense. Fortunately, my excuse is true, but I’m not ready to commit so soon.
Ilya pauses momentarily. “Well then, what night works for you?”
I can hear in his tone that he isn’t normally put off. From the mild irritation tinging his deep voice, I would guess that it’s taking a good amount of hard-fought patience to accept my answer.
“This Sunday?” I suggest. I only have a morning shift at Denny’s, so I’ll be off before five.
“Sunday it is. Be ready at five.” Ilya ends the call without another word.
I stare dumbly down at my phone for several minutes, baffled by the entire exchange. I really don’t know that this is my wisest decision, but I can’t back out now. I’m sure of that. Only then does it dawn on me that he never asked for my address. I shiver runs down my spine as I realize that might mean he doesn’t need me to give it to him. He can probably find it. By what means, I don’t know, but it lifts the hair on the back of my neck to think he can find me so easily.
Whitney, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?
4
ILYA
“Fyodor got word that the Temkin will be moving again this week. They plan to move shop while we’re distracted during our meeting with the Yaakovi,” Artem, one of my most trusted captains, states as he stands formally in my office, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back.
He delivers his report with a straight back, his tone respectful and even, though a tinge of anger trickles in at the end. The emotion is directed at our rivals, the Temkin, who have been the bane of my existence since the day they shot my father in one of their first of many acts of war. Since that day, they have continued to infringe upon our well-established territory, poaching our product, disrupting our sales, and challenging my rule as they try to take over what is rightfully mine.
It hasn’t been easy, ripping out their operation by the roots, cutting them from my turf like one might extract a weed from a prolific flower garden. Especially considering I had to take over my father’s position at such a young age. No one becomespakhanat twenty-five, not successfully that is. And while I battled the Bratva that murdered my father in cold blood, I simultaneously had to crush any thoughts of rebellion, any hints of unrest within my own ranks that came from me taking charge before I’d been given a real opportunity to earn my men’s respect.
But earn it I did. Inch by inch, battle by battle, as we cut down the Temkin Bratva and exorcized them from our territory, my men have come to respect me. Amidst an impressive amount of upheaval, I have managed to bring my men to heel, and now, as Artem stands before me, I know he would readily lay down his life for me because I have gained his trust. And he knows that any sacrifice I might ask him to make would not only be necessary but nothing short of vital to our Bratva’s survival. We are a brotherhood, and I would not ask anything of my men that I would not be willing to do myself. They know that now, though my leadership has been hard-won.
In truth, our territory war with the Temkin is not only what put me in such an impossible situation but also the only reason I’ve been able to earn my men’s respect in such a short span of time. But in the year and a half since my father died, we have wiped the floor with our Bratva rivals, and now, we have them running for their lives.
But I won’t stop until every last one of them is dead at my feet. We’ve been hunting this last faction for months now, determined to get our vengeance while we avoid calling attention to our actions. It won’t do us any good to have law enforcement breathing down our necks.
And now we’ve finally got them cornered. By this time next week, the Temkin Bratva will cease to exist.
“Good,” I state coldly, eyeing my right-hand captain as his gaze remains focused on the middle distance like a proper soldier’s. “While I negotiate with the Yaakovi, you and your soldiers will follow the Temkin to their new location. I want you to wait until you’re confident you have them all. Then take them. Kill any you must to get them under your control. I will speak with them once I conclude our business with the Yaakovi. I want to see the light drain from our enemies’ eyes as they and their Bratva die a slow, painful death.”
“Gospodin,” Artem agrees with a curt nod.
Someone raps lightly on the door, and my eyes shift to it, though Artem remains frozen at attention.
“Enter,” I command, switching to English to accommodate any of my household employees. All my Bratva business is only ever spoken in Russian to ensure prying ears don’t pick up valuable information. I intentionally hire staff who only speak English to care for my estate to keep my business private, and so far, that has worked greatly in my favor.
