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Shouldn't do this.Fuck it.
I shuffle close and tuck myself under Vlad's arm. His eyes fly open, and he looks down at me.
"Damn, you're beautiful," he says. "Tell me you hate me. I need to hear it."
"I hate you, Vladi." I slip my fingertips between his shirt buttons and touch his chest. "I really fucking hate you."
Vlad's hand darts in front of me and cradles my throat. He pushes me onto my back, and he's on top of me, his lips crushing mine. I gasp as his tongue delves into my mouth, his hand sliding under the hem of my shirt.
"Tell me not to fuck you." He pins me with his weight, his lips close to my ear. "Tell me not to, and I won't."
My clit presses against the seam of my jeans, and I feel his hardness as he moves his hips. I should say something, but I can't. My panties are so wet, and all I want is for Vlad to pull down my jeans and fill my pussy with his cock.
"Come on,lisichka," he murmurs against my shoulder. "You don't want me? Then stop me."
This isn't right.I'm supposed to hate him.
I break our kiss and push at Vlad's chest. "No, I don't want you. Please stop."
Vlad sits back on his heels. "I don't believe you," he says, "but a promise is a promise."
How did he make me forget myself like that? I could blame the alcohol and say he took advantage of me, but it'd be a lie. I wanted to get close to him—it was my stupid fault. Honestly, I thought he would push it, and I could pretend to myself that I never had a choice.
I sit up, smoothing my hair. "Let's get out of here," I say. "I don't want to play these games with you."
Vlad points at the tent in his pants. "Okay. But you'll have to give me a minute."
20
Cassius
Serra's car is outside his house, but he doesn't answer the doorbell. Time to hang back. A talk with Trusov is overdue—he's called me four times already.
Until recently, Trusov kept his dealings concentrated around Chicago. Hektor went to NYC as our emissary to do favors and make friends. Learn who the important people are. But someone murdered him before he'd gotten anywhere. Luckily, I have a few acquaintances in the city.
Niko the Flea was a no-mark when I saw him last, but now he manages loans and collections for various mob clients. He was happy to direct me to Serra and give me some helpful information about the more prominent players.
I find a coffee place and order an espresso. It's late for coffee, but I have a job to do, and I don't intend to rest until I get a handle on it.
Trusov answers after two rings. "You'd better have some good news for me," he says, sounding irritable.
"I'm gonna talk to this guy Serra when he gets home. He has some modest connections, but he's nobody. If he killed Hektor, he's got some gall. What do you want me to do?"
Trusov chuckles. "There's a reason I got you out of prison and installed you in my bratva. You made my life a ton easier. So go do what you do best, my boy."
My father always said I'd amount to fuck all. He used to call me a little bitch, a weakling. One who would always follow and never lead. What did he know? I have what I always wanted—a prominent role in a crime syndicate. The money is useful, but it's not why I'm here. I want to befeared.Respected.
Did I do some horrible shit to get this far?Sure.That's why I'm a good fit in the culture.
"I put the word out amongst the scumbags I ran with in the old days," I say, sipping my coffee. "They'll let me know if anyone mentions Hektor. When I've finished with Serra, we'll better understand the state of play."
"I want this dealt with quickly." Trusov's tone is sharp. "Swift, severe, and without mercy. Is that clear?"
"I understand, Boss."
* * *
Serra's doorbell echoes inside, but I hear no footsteps.
