Chapter 18 Nadir #2
I came to the US to shit on my father’s grave. I stole his money and used it to create my own Bratva—one more powerful than anything he ever made. I was so angry at my father, so determined to become more successful, that I never once considered how we were chasing the same things.
These kids are mine, which means they have a duty to fulfill. They should be holding guns, not fucking snails. But they’re so innocent and happy, and I don’t know if I have what it takes to turn them into what I need. I’m too weak.
“Over here, guys,” Jess says, intervening. She guides them to their rooms, same as last night, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I’d rather not deal with those for the time being, or ever, ideally.
Time for some wine. My body and mind both need a break.
I pop the cork of one of my most expensive wines—vintage, all the way from New Zealand. Fine stuff. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Fuck that.
I pour some into a glass and walk over to the couch, drinking, admiring the view. I haven’t admired anything for a while, and that’s because I feel myself falling again, slipping back into the roots I used to feel so far away from.
Tonight I feel like I’m being pulled back to the ground.
“Wine?” Jess calls from the kitchen.
I turn over my shoulder as she reads the label, her eyes flaring wide when she sees the date.
“Holy…”
“Have some.”
“I think we both know I can’t hold my drink very well.”
“Okay. Don’t have some.”
I don’t want her joining me on the couch. I don’t want her in my sight—that includes her being in the same room as me.
I didn’t tell Leon the full truth earlier about Jess, how I’m the father of her children, how I can’t stop thinking about her. Something is there. I don’t know what. But the same places that ached when Anastasia was shot are aching again.
Jess is a problem, but when I ignore problems, they usually go away on their own.
And if they don’t…
Blyat. I was never planning to kill Jess before. I certainly can’t now, especially after she gave me some context, showed me how much those kids mean to her.
Women use emotion to manipulate. That’s how they get ahead.
I’m falling into a trap, therefore I must pretend the trap doesn’t exist.
The couch dips slightly as Jess joins me, a glass of wine in her hand.
Terrific. It’s hard to ignore the problem when she’s sitting all but a few centimeters away.
Her clothes aren’t revealing, but they feel that way as I accidentally take a look at her.
Her collarbone shimmers in the gold lighting, her face too as she stares out the window.
There’s even something special about her fingers.
They glide over my stem glass so sensually, and now I can’t look away.
Her fucking fingers.
What the devil is wrong with me?
Leon was right about that charisma. It feeds into her movements. Jess doesn’t have to speak to get my attention. She just has it by being her effortless self.
Women normally try so hard to win over my affection.
Jess isn’t trying at all, and she has it. And she doesn’t even fucking realize. She’s too focused on the window, admiring the view. By the sounds of it, she hasn’t really had the opportunity to do that before.
“You’re good with them,” she says, breaking the tense silence.
Just what I need to hear. I’m on the fence between duty and desire, and she’s teetering me over the edge.
I hope she’s not trying to plant a seed.
I glance at her. I haven’t told her anything about my future plans for the Bratva, my need for heirs. None of it.
But like Leon says, she’s a smart girl. Jess does more than scratch the surface. She goes above and beyond. In finance, only smart people know how to do that.
She took one single course and is bringing more money to the table than associates who’ve been at Sterling for years. I studied her reports myself today just to make sure Leon was right.
“They’re bright kids,” I say.
“Yes.” She laughs. “When they’re not holding snails.” She takes a long sip of wine and says, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner.”
“No need to apologize. I know now, which is all that matters.”
Her eyes linger on me even though we’re no longer speaking. I see her in the corner of my eye as she drags her gaze up and down, taking me in.
This is her fault. She came and sat next to me. Now she’s drinking my wine. What is her goal here? To try and take me down? To take me away from my business and see me fail?
My penthouse is big enough for us to maintain distance. I don’t see why she’s not avoiding me anymore.
Why is she telling me I’m the father of her children now? Why wait until now when she’s had lots of opportunity before?
I stretch my legs out beneath me and take more sips of wine.
Could this be a strategy? A way to throw me off course?
Jess, as I keep establishing, is a very smart girl, especially for her age.
She has a gift. Not many people are capable of getting into top private equity firms like mine.
Not without college degrees and substantial prior experience.
She didn’t tell me the truth because she wants me to think twice about my actions. She told me about the kids to throw me off.
I glance at her again as she sips wine, her eyes back on the Boston skyline.
Clever girl. Very clever girl.
She wants me away from the mafia. She hates people like me with a burning passion. She made that very clear when we first met six years ago on the plane, and she made her opinions even clearer when we reunited outside of my office just recently.
She found out about the Bratva and looked terrified. When she finally told me the truth yesterday, she admitted she’d held back because running a mafia isn’t exactly “very child friendly.”
This has been her plan from the start. To overthrow me. It all makes sense, and the pieces are starting to come together.
And she’s targeting me from two different angles.
She’s softening me up with the kids, telling me about herself through emotional manipulation, and asking me questions about my family to get closer.
She wants me as close as possible, because as we all know, the closer you are, the more damage you can cause.
She’s also trying to overthrow me at work by exceeding expectations, bringing in more income. She’s going above what I pay her to do, and there’s a reason for all of it.
That’s why she’s no longer avoiding me. She’s dragging her eyes up and down my body sensually, trying to seduce.
If that’s the game she wants to play…
I finish my wine and take a long look at her. “You look fuckable tonight.”
She bites her lip and blushes.
All part of the act to get me closer, I imagine.
“Is that so?”
“You handled me very well last time, printsessa. Maybe we should see how well you can handle me tied up.”
Her breath catches, and her breasts bounce under the white T-shirt she’s wearing.
Yes. The minx knows what she’s doing. Funny how she’s not wearing a bra tonight. I can make out the outline of her nipples perfectly. They press against the fabric, rendered hard.
“Come here,” I command.
She does as she’s told. Jess always does as she’s told, especially when it comes to taking off her clothes. I like to watch her strip herself. It makes my cock extra hard seeing her follow my instructions.
“Good girl,” I sigh as she comes and sits on my lap.
She straddles me the same way she did in the back of the cab.
And now the pretty thing is dry humping me through our clothes, already pushing her hips into mine, needing action.
“You don’t have much patience, do you?”
“Stop talking.”
“Up.” I snap my fingers to signal her off my lap. She climbs off very obediently and stands up.
Blyat, I feel like I’m admiring a painting as she stands in front of the windows. The Boston skyline twinkles, but her eyes twinkle more, coming alive with desire.
I feel how much she needs me. The air around us is charged, making it difficult to breathe, but not impossible. Nothing is impossible, except her features, particularly when she’s in this state.
Her red lips are parted, her eyes fully blown. My eyes return to her breasts, and her nipples are begging for my attention. They’ll be cutting through the fabric any minute.
I drop my eyes and peer between her legs. She’s wearing black sweatpants. I want those off.
“Take off your pants. But I want you to leave your panties on. Can you do that for me, printsessa?”
Jess nods, breathless. She drags the waistband down, steps out of the pants when she has them fully off, and looks back at my face to capture my reaction.
“Purple.” I raise an eyebrow. “You know I like you best in red.”
“I wanted a change.”
Of course she did.
I drag my eyes back up to her breasts. “Now your shirt.”
She lifts the hem, and I watch intently as she shows me her breasts. They knock together as she lifts her arms high into the air, removing the rest of the shirt.
Fuck. She stands in front of me wearing nothing but purple lace. My balls clench as I take my time admiring her. It’s a bold statement to make, but she might hold more beauty than the Boston skyline.
“Sit.” I tap my lap, and she sits back down.
I reach under her and slide a hand over her smooth buttock. I pinch the skin and she whimpers.
I’m not giving her what she wants yet, which is why she starts humping my leg, hips moving back and forward in a hypnotizing rhythm. I’m slipping away again, falling into her trap. I can’t let myself get carried away.
Jess is playing a game. She’s to blame for the constant tightness I keep feeling in my chest. I’m aching, yearning for something I don’t even want. The emotional side of me died with Anastasia, and I haven’t looked back.
For twenty-seven years, I’ve had no issues. My heart has been beating steadily in my chest. The only time it spiked was when I met Jess on the airplane, but I forgive myself for that. I disembarked the plane, enjoyed Miami, and I’ve been working fine up until this moment without any issues.