20. Roman
CHAPTER 20
Roman
Katerina stirs to find that I’m already awake. I have been for the past hour. I’m lying in bed beside her with the same phone she’d hacked into hours before in hand, firing off texts to my men about today’s plans. She’s drowsy as she watches me do so, her eyelashes fluttering with each slow blink.
She’s very enthralling like this—in her natural state of bare-faced, sleepy curiosity, bundled up under the covers. She’s concealed her vivid lavender curls under a satin accessory she calls a bonnet. A special request of hers that I sent Polina out to purchase. But the bonnet is intriguing and uniquely her just like her curly hair is.
Just like every detail about my kitty cat is.
If I wasn’t already obsessed with her, last night would have taken me there. Katerina misbehaved like she was warned against, but she also confessed within minutes about what she had done. I still had to punish her as a lesson.
Punishment that we both enjoyed. Her mouth felt so fucking good sealed around my cock, and she was flushed and wet by the time she was through pleasuring me. I knew that look on a woman—her dark, delicious nipples were pinched by the clamps, but noticeably erect even after I removed the pair.
Her pupils were larger, the look in her brown eyes telling me all I needed to know.
Telling me she liked a little roughness. She liked being punished in her own way.
Soon I will feel her pussy like I felt her mouth wrapped around my cock; soon I will make her understand that no other man will ever touch my pet like I do.
“More business?” she yawns finally, her voice still hoarse from sleep.
“Yes, devochka. I’ve told you it never stops.”
“Is there anything I can do? Any way I can help?”
I grunt out a lone laugh. “Helping would mean you are part of the bratva. Are you ready for that commitment, devochka?”
“Probably not,” she admits. She’s curled her arm under the pillow yet still stares over at me as if engaged in our conversation. “But I still feel… I don’t know… weird about being here. Free food, free roof, free everything. All I have to do is hang out in your million-dollar penthouse and suck your dick. A lot of people would say it’s a decent deal. A lot of people who come from the streets like me.”
“And what would you say?”
She thinks on it a second. “I think I’m still not sure why you’ve saved me. I’m not even sure why you weren’t more angry with me last night when you found out about the phone. I hacked into your personal device, Roman.”
“Yes, and?”
“And… most people would be pissed. Most people would consider it a dealbreaker.”
“You have been punished.”
“Nipple clamps and a blowjob aren’t what I had in mind when I thought of bratva punishment.”
“That’s because our usual means of punishment is a lot more… gruesome.”
“Then,” she says, her brows connecting in confusion, “why am I any different? Why didn’t you hurt me?”
“Do you want me to hurt you, devochka?”
“I imagine most men in this world are like your Uncle Leonid. Yet you’re letting me sleep in your bed. You’re treating me like I’m your…” She trails off there, biting her bottom lip as if to censor herself.
I heave a deep breath and then set aside my phone. The same hand extends to stroke her cheek, my gaze linking with hers. “You are a thief. I know this about you. I understand this about you. You are used to doing what you need to in order to survive. That kind of instinct does not disappear overnight. I know from experience.”
“Are you saying… you… you understand why I…?”
“It was tempting, da?” I ask. “With your skills, you hacked in very easily. A security weakness I berated my men for. I need a more secure phone.”
She laughs. “Um… I actually can hack into most phones. So I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Impressive. Tell me. What else can my kitty cat do?”
“Pick locks. And pockets. Disable alarms. Forgery. Among other things.”
“And hacking. You can hack into other things?”
“I’m not the best. Finch was our brains for that. But I know some stuff. I can probably bypass most basic computer systems.”
“You are smart. Clever. All things I like. All survivalist tactics I understand.”
“Have you…” she pauses to reconsider her question. “You’ve stolen things before?”
“Yes, often. I’ve told you, I’m from a small village. It was not easy for me and my mother. I had to engage in petty crime.”
She smirks, her eyes lighting up. “Were you any good?”
“Yes… and no. Unlike you, I’m not much of a thief. I was a broad and tall child. Too big to pass under the radar in most places. I drew too much attention.”
“That was why Finch and the others recruited me,” she confesses. “I’m a woman and most people are more suspicious of men. I was the most unassuming. They used to send me in first to scope out a place and learn all the details.”
“Men who use women as buffers for their criminal activities are cowards.”
“Does that mean you have no women in your crew?”
I laugh at her statement that’s surely a joke. “No, devochka. Women are not allowed in the bratva. Nor should they be. It is a violent lifestyle not suited for women. Neither is being a street thief.”
She makes a face as if she disagrees, though she doesn’t push back any further on it. I go from stroking her face to sliding my hand down the column of her throat. She may not like being tamed or taken from her life on the streets, but it’s what’s best for her.
“So, if you weren’t a good thief, what did you do?”
“We did what is known as vstryakhnut? * . In American English, you call it shake down.”
“You mean to tell me, Roman,” she says slowly, arching an eyebrow. “You were the guy who was bullying people into giving you their money?”
“We provided a service. Protection. Security. Peace of mind. None of that is free, devochka.”
“I’d hate to live in your village,” she giggles.
“We were not unreasonable. We did not take advantage. We kept other criminals from wreaking havoc.”
“You know, that’s true. Some say organized crime actually helps deter other kinds of crime. The street crime and petty crime… like me and my crew. I guess it’s a case of pick your poison.”
My fingers slide under the strap of her slinky nightgown, righting it on her shoulder from where it had fallen. “I already have, kitty cat. It’s you. Ty moy yad.? * ”
“I won’t do it again. I promise,” she murmurs, the guilt laced in her tone. “I won’t break your trust.”
“Yes, I know.”
And it’s true—I have always possessed a great judgment of character. If I had any reason to suspect that my kitty cat was not worth the trouble, I would never have saved her. I would not be bothering to hide her from the sovietnik.
But she is worth that trouble and more.
I get out of bed and start toward the bathroom. Katerina sits up to watch me, the air between us lighter than maybe it’s ever been. Her eyes rove over my naked form—I sleep in the nude—and she cracks a little smile.
“Are you aware your big-ass dick is liable to poke someone’s eye out one of these days? You can’t just have it swinging and slanging everywhere! And by someone’s eye out, I mean mine.”
“Why, kitty cat?” I ask. “You managed just fine last night. Come. Shower.”
Days pass where operations in the family take precedence. I wake early and am gone until late in the night. Katerina is left on her own in the penthouse with only my staff to oversee her and provide anything she needs. Despite this, we find small moments with each other.
We develop a routine between us.
Showers in the morning. Dinners later than most would say is reasonable. Conversations in bed where Katerina’s yawning and drifting off to sleep and I’m amused by how she struggles to keep awake.
But she does—she waits up for me each and every night.
Polina and the others report that she refuses dinner until I have returned. She prefers sitting down to eat with me.
When a week passes like this, I realize that I have to be fair. Katerina deserves a night out in the city. I should take her somewhere, though the logistics pose a serious problem. If anyone outside my crew of men were to catch on, there could be trouble.
Questions would arise. Answers would be sought.
I could no longer pretend she’s just a pet like the other women in the family. I would have to explain who she is and why she is with me.
And figure out a way to prevent the sovietnik from discovering the truth about the abduction attempt.
These complications and more are still swirling in my head when I’m called in for a meeting. It’s evening time when I arrive, fully aware that it will be another late night before I make it back to the penthouse and see Katerina.
My men flank me as we approach the sovietnik’s twenty-million-dollar mansion. My father’s men nod respectfully at us and stand aside to allow us entry. Familiar with the long, cavernous halls of the large house, I’m able to navigate myself to my father’s private office.
I step into the room expecting him to be behind his desk with his usual glass of vodka. Instead he’s by the window holding onto the gold-encased cane he uses to move around.
But he’s not alone.
Seated on the couch is none other than Uncle Leonid. His stump of a left arm wrapped up in bandages. The rest of his face still swollen and discolored from the severe beating he took.
I stop short, my jaw clenching. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to charge at him like a wild beast. Not to continue the attack from the night he had hurt my kitty cat.
“Zakroy dver? * ,” says my father.
One of his guards follows his orders and shuts the door.
“What is this?” I ask. “Why is he here?”
“He is here because I asked him,” answers my father in his gravelly Russian accent. “He is here because he has very interesting information. Information it seems you have been keeping from me.”
* ? vstryakhnut - shakedown
* ? Ty moy yad - you are my poison
* ? Zakroy dver - close the door