Chapter 25
KIR
I can still taste her on my tongue. Still feel the way her body bucked against my mouth, still hear her moans echoing in my ears.
I deliberately avoid washing my hands or taking another sip of anything. Now, I sit in my study and wait for Dimitri’s call, knowing whatever he wants to talk about, he’ll do it with me relishing the taste of Brooklyn’s pussy on my lips.
I’ve also just gotten off the phone with her stepfather’s lawyer, Diego Padilla, letting him know that I’ll be taking over any and all legal expenses.
My phone rings at the scheduled time. It’s a name I don’t recognize, but nobody but people I know have this number, so I answer with a scowl.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Nikolayev,” a Russian-accented man’s voice says brusquely. “My name is Andrei. I’m Mr. Moskovic’s second.”
I cock a brow. “Will Dimitri himself be joining us?”
“I’m afraid not.”
My jaw clenches, thinking about the superhuman strength it took to pull away from Brooklyn’s lovely cunt to take this fucking phone call.
I saw the confusion in her eyes when I pulled her hand away before she could touch my cock. Obviously, it’s not that I don’t want her.
Again, she’s just not ready for me .
For my kind of intimacy. For my style of fucking, involving restraints, blindfolds, gags…
Punishment .
Maybe she thinks she is. But after everything she’s been through, I’m erring on the side of caution.
Andrei clears his throat. “I sincerely apologize, Mr. Nikolayev. Mr. Moskovic has unfortunately been pulled into some unexpected, but important business.”
My mouth sours. “More important than our discussion?” I growl. “Which I blocked off time from my busy morning schedule to take?”
Okay, my busy morning schedule involved devouring Brooklyn’s pussy and weighing if she’s ready to swallow my cock yet.
But still .
“I really do apologize, Mr. Nikolayev. It’s not more important , but more…pressing.” Andrei sighs. “One off Mr. Moskovic’s money laundering businesses was hit hard last night.”
“Oh. How unfortunate.”
I know he means The Mirage.
“Yes. Someone roughed up the manager of the place, who’s his primary cleaner. Mr. Moskovic is quite understandably angered.”
That cleaner is a predatory piece of human shit.
“Dimitri is aware, though, that when our deal goes through, whatever businesses he has here in New York will need to be closed?”
“Of course,” Andrei says quickly. “I think given your deal will be completed soon, he’s been trying to push through as much cleaning as possible.”
“I see,” I growl. “And what does Dimitri plan to do about the attack?”
Andrei clears his throat. “With our operations pulling out of the city shortly, I believe Mr. Moskovic might be looking for one last ‘adventure’ here, if you will.”
I scowl. “Meaning?”
“I believe he’s hoping to make an example out of whoever’s responsible.”
That might complicate things.
“Any leads?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Andrei grunts. “But he’s looking into it.”
“I see.”
Movement through the office windows pulls my attention to Brooklyn’s old car, sitting in the driveway.
…And to Brooklyn pulling something ratty-looking out of the trunk and shaking the dust off it.
“My sympathies to Dimitri, Andrei,” I growl. “But I’m afraid I need to?—”
“One last thing, Mr. Nikolayev,” Andrei says. “Mr. Moskovic wanted me to touch base on how the other part of your arrangement is going. Have you contacted Ivan Yelchin yet concerning Inessa’s acceptance into the company?”
My jaw tightens as my eyes focus on Brooklyn outside. Fuck, she looks so beautiful. So happy right now, like there’s a weight off her shoulders.
“Top of my list,” I growl to Andrei.
“Excellent,” he says. “I appreciate your time this morning, Mr. Nikolayev.”
I’m already halfway out the back door when I hang up, slipping the phone into my pocket.
“I thought you might have a sentimental attachment to it.”
She smiles as she turns to me. “ Thank you ,” she beams. “Really. I know Pearl is a wreck, but?—”
“Pearl?”
She grins and jerks a thumb at the old Accord. “The car.”
Looks like I was spot on with the sentiment attachment idea.
Then my brow furrows as I look at the old dance bag in her hands.
“What are you doing?”
“I have rehearsals,” she shrugs.
“You also have a brand-new Hermes bag upstairs in your room.”
Brooklyn’s lip catches between her teeth as she glances down and then back up at me. “It’s gorgeous …”
“But?”
She smiles wryly. “What am I supposed to say when my friends ask how I afforded a bag that costs a couple thousand dollars?”
My brow furrows. “The truth, maybe.”
Her face twists. “I…” She looks down.
“What is it,” I ask, stepping closer and lifting her face with a fingertip under her chin. Christ , it takes everything I've got not to kiss this woman every fucking time I touch her.
“This is going to sound terrible,” she says quietly. “And unappreciative, and like I'm such a bitch?—”
“You’re wondering what they’ll say if you tell them you’re living with me, accepting my gifts.”
She nods slowly.
“I'm sorry, that sounds awful?—”
“No, it sounds like reality,” I growl.
She’s right, and I’m pissed at myself that I didn’t even consider that angle.
“It’s just…” She sighs helplessly. “It'll look like I’m screwing the owner of the ballet for gifts, maybe special treatment…”
I arch a brow. “But you’re not screwing the owner of the ballet.”
“I’m apparently not even allowed to touch him,” she snaps, a clear edge in her tone that I don’t miss.
“I should have thought of that,” I frown. “The optics, I mean.”
She smiles sadly. “It’s a gorgeous bag. I just…”
“Can’t bring it to work without people asking questions.”
She nods.
“Well, you’re bringing some of the things,” I murmur with a glint of satisfaction.
She has to wear a few of the gifts I got her. She doesn’t have a choice.
I checked her car last night, which is how I realized the Hermes bag and everything I’d bought for her were gone. Part of me wondered if she’d sold them, but the state of the rest of her wardrobe painted the picture: she was robbed.
All the more reason I’m keeping her here, safe with me .
But that also means she doesn’t really have anything to wear to rehearsal today other than the dance gear I bought her.
Good. I want her in the finery and elegance I've chosen to drape her in.
When she’s packed up for work, Brooklyn insists on taking the subway. Obviously, that isn’t going to happen. One of my men will drive her. But when I tell her that, she argues with me in a way that makes me want to take her over my knee and then fuck her while she's tied to my desk.
I restrain myself on that last part. But I do spank her ass while she's bent over my lap before I finger her greedy pussy into another orgasm.
In the end, I tell her I’ve called her an Uber Black, which I promise will drop her off a few blocks from the Mercury Theater so no one asks any awkward questions.
In reality, the Range Rover that drives her into the city is driven by one of my men, pretending to be an Uber.
It’s also worth mentioning that the upgraded new phone I gave her to use instead of the shitty, cracked one she had before has a tracking chip in it.
Sorry-not-sorry. I won’t apologize for my protective feelings for this woman.
When she’s gone, I smile widely as I take a seat at my desk and click on the email I’ve purposefully delayed opening.
I had a private detective hunt down this fucking James shithead . Now comes the fun part: finding out who he is, dragging him into a hole somewhere, and inflicting every single thing he did to her on him before I cut his throat.
When I open the email, though, my whole mood shifts.
Shit.
Son of a fucking BITCH .
James Lucareli started today as a dead man walking. But that sentence has just been put on hold. Apparently James is the nephew of Giovani Lucareli.
AKA, the president of the longshoremen’s union.
AKA, the man who facilitates all my imports and exports through New York harbor.
It doesn’t change the fact that James is a dead man. He will be answering for what he did to Brooklyn. His death sentence has just been… delayed , while I find a tactful way of telling Giovani I’m going to be dismembering his nephew.
No one fucks with what’s mine.
No one.