2. Milo
MILO
“Fuck this!” I shout, stomping my foot on the floor and running up the stairs of my duplex apartment. “Uncle Paolo thinks he can make me do whatever he wants? No. He doesn’t know me well enough!”
“Milo! Language!” my mother shouts, her footsteps not long following mine before she enters my bedroom. “This is business. This is how the family works. It is how it has always worked. How do you think I met and then married your father? God rest his soul.”
“Argh. I don’t care,” I protest. “That was a hundred years ago. I’m twenty-three. I don’t want to live with a fucking stranger.”
“I won’t warn you again, Milo,” my mother says, her voice suddenly cold and full of intent.
“Mind your language. I am your mother, you do not speak to me like that. This is happening. There is no way to change it. You know what your uncle is like. He is a very different man to your father. They might have been brothers, but where your father was wild and reckless, Paolo is not. He is calm, with ice in his veins. And he doesn’t give warnings or second chances, no matter who crosses him. Do you understand?”
I can see from the look in my mother’s eyes that she isn’t kidding around.
I’ve heard the stories about my father from so many of his old associates and soldiers.
Poppa was a maverick. As ruthless as he could be with his enemies, he was full of love and warmth for his friends, even when they let him down.
And in the end, it was this kind of trust and forgiveness that got him killed.
Uncle Paolo? He is a whole other thing. From the moment he took over the family after my father’s murder, everything was different.
Within weeks, any dissenting voices against Paolo were silenced.
And after that, Paolo set about eliminating the kind of men who my father favored too.
Anyone who wasn’t ultra disciplined or had any kind of heart was disposed of, and sometimes in the most horrible of ways too.
I miss my father.
I miss how the fun the family was with him in charge.
And I miss how my mother used to be so full of life and laughter too.
Since uncle Paolo took control, my mother has stopped voicing her opinion about business, especially when Paolo or his closest allies are nearby.
All she does is agree with everything that Paolo says and then puts it down to family loyalty.
But I can see that she’s not kidding about this situation right now.
There’s an anger in her eyes. And maybe it’s an anger laced with fear too. I might be young, and I know that people see me as some innocent party boy, but I’m a good judge of character. I can sense what people are feeling, and I know how to read a room too.
My mother is scared.
This so-called deal everyone has been talking about hinges on me going over to the Kovalev family.
I can protest all I want, but that won’t change anything.
And it might even be the case that if I protest too much, Uncle Paolo decides to do to me what he has done to so many others.
The fact that I’m his dead brother’s daughter won’t stop him either. That’s not how my uncle operates.
“Fine,” I say, exhaling. “Just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
“Good boy,” my mother says, a sweeping look of relief coming over her face as she steps close to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders. “I know this is difficult. But this is the life we were born into. We cannot change that. All we can do is play the hand that we are dealt.”
I nod.
But inside, something is stirring. I barely know anything about Maxim Kovalev. I know he is the pakhan of his family. I know that they’re one of the biggest Russian families. And I know too that he’s some old dude in his forties.
Pffft.
Maybe I should have stayed in Harvard, finished my degree, and gone for that Masters too? If I was working in high finance now I don’t think this would be happening to me. In fact, I’m almost certain that it wouldn’t.
Fuck.
I’ve only got myself to blame.
However that doesn’t mean that I can’t use this situation to my advantage.
Truces don’t last forever. Family politics can change at a second’s notice.
From my position over on Maxim’s side, I might be able to pick up the kind of information that Uncle Paolo would love to know and then use against the Kovalev clan.
“What’s that look in your eyes for?” my mother asks, arching her eyebrow. “You know that this isn’t a game. This is serious. You are going to be Kovalev property now.”
“Right,” I answer, running my hand through my chestnut brown hair. “I know. I know. You can rely on me, mother.”
“Good!” my mother replies. “I’ll leave you to pack your things.”
I smile and watch as my mother turns and leaves my bedroom.
She’s moving more like an older lady these days.
For one so young, it’s like the death of my father aged her in ways that no one could have predicted.
I know that she can be strict with me sometimes, and even come over as uncaring or cruel from time to time.
But deep down she has my best interests at heart.
My mother is a survivor.
To live long in our world, you have no choice but to fight for your survival.
And I’m no different. If I want any kind of future for myself, I’m going to have to play my part in this deal. But if Maxim Kovalev thinks I’m going to be some kind of pushover, he’s got another thing coming.
I’ve got one day of freedom left, and I’m going to make the most of it…
“Woah, woah, woah, are you being serious?” Charles asks, his green eyes sparking with intrigue and a dose of shock too. “I mean, I knew you were from… that world… but this is crazy.”
“Hey, we weren’t all born with Senators as fathers,” I laugh, sipping on my milkshake.
“Stepfather, actually,” Charles replies. “But I get your point. So… will we still be able to hang out?”
“Yeah, for sure,” I reply. “I mean, nothing is changing that much. I’ll need to live with the Kovalev family. I’ll have their security detail on me, have to attend their events or whatever. I’m basically a little trophy. Or a trinket to show proof of the two families working together.”
“Jeez. Talk about old school,” Charles says. “But it’s not like that doesn’t happen in my world either. My stepfather is trying to set me up with a frickin’ Kennedy.”
We both take a moment and bust out laughing.
Life can be stranger than fiction sometimes.
I’ve known Charles ever since we met in the first week at Harvard.
But while I dropped out, Charles went on to finish his degree and now works as a documentary maker.
They’re not exactly the kind of films that I’d personally choose to watch, but there’s no doubting the fact that he’s got real talent—and works his ass off too.
“How will this side of your life work though?” Charles asks, looking around the diner before opening his backpack and nodding to his stuffy. “I mean… does this new guy know about the whole Little thing?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I answer, reaching down into my tote bag and taking out Zoop, my zebra stuffie. “But if anyone tries to get in the way of me and Zoop, they’ve got a whole army of fresh hell coming their way!”
“Ha! Don’t ever change,” Charles says. “I mean that too. You’ve got too much about you to end up locked away under some mafia boss’s control.”
“Hey, don’t use the M-word,” I say, reaching across the table and playfully smacking Charles’s hand. “I thought I taught you better than that.”
The pair of us chuckle once more.
“Come on, let’s finish these milkshakes and go for a walk around the park,” I say. “We can feed the ducks, grab an ice cream, gossip and bullshit just like we always do. And maybe later we can grab a cocktail and see about hitting a special party?”
“You’re incorrigible,” Charles laughs. “On the eve of being handed over to a notorious crime family, you’re thinking about hitting a kink club?”
“You know me,” I say, a mischievous glint in my dark brown eyes. “I’m going to tease those thirsty Daddies one more time at least. After today, who knows when I’ll get another chance!”
“I guess I really didn’t need to bother telling you not to change!” Charles laughs. “You’ve clearly got that covered already.”
With that, the pair of us high five and set about finishing off our milkshakes.
I’ve still got a few hours left of my freedom and I’m going to pack in as much fun and frolics as I can alongside my best friend.
“Oh no-no-no, look but don’t touch, Daddy,” I say, a seductive smile on my face as I pull my very feminine panties down and prowl over toward the bench in middle of the room.
As I walk, I make sure to flex and wiggle my ass cheeks with each step.
The private fun room at the club might be dimly lit, but I know that the Daddy Dom in the chair has got a perfect view as I bend myself over and present my naked ass to him, my hard cock bobbing up in front of me and out of sight for him.
“How hard shall I spank myself?” I ask, my dick suddenly throbbing as I imagine the Daddy—I don’t even know his name—boil up with arousal and frustration. “I’ve been a bad boy, so I guess pretty hard, right?”
I chuckle to myself as I crane my neck around and see the very visible bulge at the front of the Daddy’s smart pinstriped suit trousers. And with that image in my mind, I waste no more time. After setting myself in position, I start to spank my ass hard and fast.
“Owww. Tell me how bad I’ve been,” I demand, the stinging sensation in my cheeks rising as I bring my hand down first on my left and then on my right. “Tell me what a dirty little slut-boy I am for wearing panties.”
When the Daddy doesn’t answer me, I simply imagine that he does and continue spanking myself until I can feel an orgasm building inside me. But I need something to get me over the edge, to truly push myself to my limits.
“Come on, tell me that I deserve every spank,” I holler, angrily arching my head back and repeating myself once more.
“You’re a naughty boy, you deserve the hardest spanking the city has ever seen,” the Daddy replies, his hard cock now in his hand as he pumps his fist up and down, barely able to get his words out.
Fuck. He’s not a real Daddy Dom.
Not even close.
Just some handsome but casual tourist playing at being a Daddy…
Still bent over, I spank myself four more times and reach down to my swollen, cock and bring myself off to thoughts of a true Daddy.
When I’m all done, I stand and pull my panties up over my semi-erect dick.
“That was quite something,” the man says, breathless from his own orgasm. “Should we swap numbers?”
“I think we’re good,” I reply. “But thanks.”
“Any plans for the rest of the night?”
“I have an appointment with the most dangerous man in the city,” I say, watching as the pretend Daddy’s face turns ashen. “I’m his property now. Apparently.”
“O-o-o-okay, I’ll be seeing you around,” the man says, panic coming over his face. “Or maybe not.”
“Have a good evening,” I laugh, watching as the private room’s door shuts behind the departing Daddy.
Then suddenly it hits me.
The fear in the man’s eyes, the way he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of the room. Maybe I should be taking this more seriously than I am?
Nah.
Russian Bratva or not, the Kovalev family won’t ever stop me doing as I please. Not now, not ever.
But just as I’m about to get myself ready to leave the room and go and find Charles amongst the club’s many playroom’s, I see my phone flash up with a message…
UNCLE PAOLO: It’s time, Milo. There is a car waiting for you outside. You’ve got ten minutes.
“Fuck. The sonofabitch had me followed here,” I grumble.
The reality is that Paolo maybe thought I would try and run to get out of this arrangement. I wasn’t planning on it, but I don’t blame him for thinking like that.
But did he really need to follow me to a damn kink club?
And why the hell is the meeting happening sooner than we arranged?
Whatever. There’s no point putting off the inevitable. Well, not until I’ve got my lips around one last espresso martini…