9. Roman
CHAPTER 9
Roman
I have been shot eight times. I have been waterboarded. Beaten within an inch of my life. Once, while being held in captivity by a fierce rival, I was tortured so severely, I lost a toe.
My pinky toe. However, still excruciatingly painful to have severed.
Death, torture, attempts on my life. None of it is new.
But no situation has caught my interest more than when two amateurs tried to capture me outside my father’s office. One of these amateurs was a woman with curly purple hair and honey brown skin that I could crush with absolute ease, yet she acted as if she were in charge.
Who was this woman committing crimes alongside men, as though she was formidable?
I was intrigued.
I went along with the kidnapping at first.
As her cowardly associates left her— the only woman in their group —alone with a man who once held a record in Russia for an 1,876 psi punch strength. I was more distracted by their weakness. How could they so easily abandon their operation? Where was the fucking pride? Why were they leaving a little kitty cat to guard a monster?
A man who’s known as Zver— or beast in English—by his allies and enemies alike.
It was the ultimate sign of weakness.
Katerina had more guts than those puny men she associated with. They ran while she stood her ground.
For that reason, I was impressed. I decided not to hurt her.
I decided… she was cute like a kitten.
But the charade was over. It was time to return to the important business the sovietnik had tasked me with.
Our family was deep in talks with the other organized crime syndicates in the city known as the Five Families. As the fifth family, and the only bratva, we were at a disadvantage. Tensions were mounting.
I was not only representing my father, the sovietnik, I was representing the pakhan.
I had no time for childish games, even with the kitty cat who had caught my attention.
It was only temporary. It was for a few days until I was able to return and collect my pet.
Her eyes widened at the sight of me. She had been in the middle of escaping like the sly little kitty she was when I showed up and she fell to the ground.
Her future was settled.
She was mine.
I pour myself a drink to end the long day. Though much progress has been made, we are not finished fulfilling the pakhan’s wishes. Negotiations will continue, which means tensions will rise.
The vodka slides down my throat, quenching my thirst like water. I slam down the empty glass and reach for the bottle to pour more.
The door to the den opens and in waddles Uncle Leonid. He leads with his round gut, his shoulders sloped and pushed back, his eyes small and shifty. The gold chain around his neck glints in the light, matching the gold cap he shows off when he grins.
“Zver? * ,” he croaks in his guttural voice. “Naley mne vypit? * .”
“You’ve been drinking. Your eyes are red.”
He grinds his teeth together. “Nu i chto? Zamolchi? * .”
“This is America,” I say, pouring the drink he’s requested. I nudge it toward him on the countertop. “You need to speak English.”
“Says who, durak? * ? I make my own rules.”
“Says Vladimir. If you are to ever conduct business on his behalf.”
“With the Italian bitches… or the Japanese?” He grunts, unimpressed as he curls fat fingers around the glass I’ve poured him and swallows it whole. “I will speak to them how I wish. They will listen to me. I am… I am…”
I cock a brow at him as he struggles to find the word. “Yes, Uncle? You are what?”
“Imitating,” he says. “I am very imitating.”
“Intimidating,” I correct, stepping toward him, demonstrating how easily I tower over him. I steal the glass out of his hold and slam it down on the table. My face has gone blank. My eyes cold. It’s the same look that terrifies men. Even Uncle gives an audible swallow. I turn away, having proven my point. “You are not intimidating, Uncle. I am intimidating. You are fat and greasy.”
He laughs as if I’ve told a joke. “Shut up, Zver. We are not all shallow pretty boys like you. Women like big and fat muzhchiny like me.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” I give a throaty laugh like he’s told the joke this time.
“What of this other woman? This woman you brought here,” he says. “Where is she?”
“She is still asleep in a room. She is subdued.”
He grunts. “We can have her first. Both of us together, Zver. Then pass her to some boyeviks? * before selling her. Much money will be made.”
“She won’t be sold.”
“We have too many whores for the family. We do not need any more.”
“She won’t be a whore for the men.”
“But for me? I get her sometimes?”
I give him a severe look of warning. “You won’t have her either.”
His bushy unibrow lifts higher. “Oh? Explain, Zver. How will you not sell her? She is not a whore? What use will she have? You will keep her… for yourself?”
His laugh that follows makes me scowl. I’m tempted to snatch the glass I took from him and shatter it over his lumpy, bald head.
The only reason I hold back is because Father would likely bitch at me. He won’t like his younger brother being hit over the head, even if it’s by his son. I’d be lectured for days.
I’d rather not deal with the dramatics.
Uncle Leonid’s laugh turns into a cough. His eyes bubble out of their sockets as he almost chokes on his own spittle.
I would not save him if he did. He must know this, because he huffs out a breath and calms his laughter.
“If you keep her, why her?” he asks. “There are other women, Zver. Prettier, more… you know, feminine.”
He makes an hourglass shape with his hands to emphasize his ideal female body shape.
I clench my jaw. “Ona krasivaya dlya menya? * .”
“Ah, now who’s speaking Russian? Is my nephew in love? Does this mean she’s not a whore?”
“You mock me again, Uncle, and I will give you a concussion. You will be lying here on the floor. Bleeding out.” I point at the Kazak wool rug at our feet, authentically imported from Russia for several thousand. He glances down at the spot I’ve pointed out and gulps .
Suddenly, he is less mocking. His tone lightens.
“But she is… how do Americans say…” He pauses in search of the words. “Scruffy… like stray dog.”
“She is a stray,” I admit. “I like strays. I was once a stray.”
Uncle Leonid tosses both hands up as if he doesn’t understand. It’s beyond his comprehension.
I don’t give a fuck that it is.
Katerina has been brought to our base for one reason only.
To be my pet. No one else’s.
Whereas most women in our world try very hard to be perfect, their makeup done at all times and their pussies wax-stripped bare, my little kitty cat is different. She is like a stray brought in from the street, with her fingernail polish chipped and the roots of her lavender curls growing in dark. She wears a hoodie and jeans that hug her plump fat ass and walks in dirty tennis shoes that seem to be falling apart.
In a way, my little kitty cat reminds me of myself many years ago.
Before I was brought in from the harsh wilderness and taught how to be civilized (or how to put on the act of being so).
I leave Uncle Leonid to the rest of the bottle of vodka.
It is time to check on my new pet.
Katerina is curled up like the kitten she’s named after. I shut the door to the room and approach the bed she’s been placed on. We used chloroform when transporting her from the streets to our turf. It prevented any tantrums from being thrown and allowed us to move her where we wanted her.
The men who helped me are inconsequential. Boyeviks at my command and disposal.
But I intend on withholding her presence from any other high-ranking members in the family. As sovietnik, if my father found out one of the people who sought to kidnap him was in our possession, he would call for revenge.
He would demand swift torture and death. Katerina would meet an even worse fate than what Uncle Leonid had suggested.
He won’t be finding out about who she is or why she is here. He won’t even know she’s here at all.
“Kitty cat.” I whistle at the side of the bed. “Time to wake up.”
Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first. A little moan escapes her throat. Delicate skin that I imagine grazing my teeth against. Sinking my teeth in for a rough bite.
That will come. Soon.
She will learn to take it. She will learn to enjoy it.
“ You ,” she gasps when she looks up at me. “What’re you—where am I—how did you?—?”
“Shhh, devochka. Behave yourself. I have brought you home,” I explain. “Obey or you will suffer. Get up.”
She moves to push the blanket she’s covered with off her, then gasps even louder and wrenches it back up.
“Why am I naked? Why the fuck am I naked!?”
“I had my servant take your clothes. They were filthy and worn out. They belonged in the garbage.”
“Servant? You threw away my clothes!?”
I sigh, agitated by her overreaction. “It was Polina. And yes—throw away. In the trash. Where they belonged. I will provide you new, better clothes, devochka.”
“I don’t want new clothes. I want my old clothes and I want to leave right now!”
“That will not be happening. Get up. Time for your bath.”
“My… my bath?” she chokes, double blinking.
“Yes. Bath. You take them, don’t you?”
“Bath with who?”
“I will bathe you. I will be doing much to you. You are mine now.”
“I’m dreaming. That’s the only explanation.”
“Get up. It is the last time I’m telling you. Then I’m putting you over my shoulder and carrying you into the bathroom myself.”
“I’ll take a bath. But not with you,” she grits out through her teeth.
I grin at how mad she’s become. “Ne stesnyaysya, devochka? * . I have already seen your tits and your pussy. Beautiful.”
Out of patience, I grab a fistful of the blanket covering her and rip it away. Her arms instinctively fly up to cover her chest while she presses her thighs together. Her attempts to protect her modesty make my grin spread.
“Kitty cat, you should know better. There is no modesty here. You are my pet and I will do with you as I wish.” My hand is massive compared to her wrist as I wrap my fingers around it and pull her toward me. “Don’t worry, you will adjust.”
* ? Zver - Beast (Roman’s nickname)
* ? Naley mne vypit - Pour me a drink
* ? Nu i chto? Zamolchi - So what? Shut up.
* ? Durak - asshole
* ? Boyeviks - soldiers
* ? Ona krasivaya dlya menya - She’s beautiful to me
* ? Ne stesnyaysya, devochka - don’t be shy, girl.