Chapter Thirty-Four
Maro n
"What do you mean no alcohol?" I roar, my voice echoing through the dimly lit lab hidden in the bowels of Moscow's industrial wasteland.
After that motherfucker Oleg sank my entire Tramoxine shipment to the bottom of the ocean, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. So, I flew here on my own under the darkness of the night, only sending a cryptic text to Pavel about my whereabouts.
I'll fill Mindy in later. I have no clue where she left and why, but I had no time to look for her. I’m sure she’s still in the mansion somewhere. I’ll go talk to her as soon as I’m back. I’m only spending a few hours in Moscow anyway before I’ll fly back to NYC.
"How am I supposed to sell this shit then?" I bark at Igor, my main chemist. "My buyers won't touch it if they can’t drink while using it. They're not looking for some pansy-ass pill, they want their booze!"
Igor stares back at me, seemingly unfazed by my anger. "Then they will miss out on the perks of Tramoxine," he says coolly. "Sacrifices must be made for success. Even if it means giving up alcohol during the treatment." He pauses. Igor knows better than to bullshit me. "Look, boss. I’m only sharing the results of our tests with you," he explains. "Alcohol interacts with the active ingredients of Tramoxine. It throws everything off balance, no matter how much we tweak the formula."
"Bullshit, Igor. You know the rules. I pay you handsomely for a reason."
"And I am grateful for the opportunity you gave me, every day, pakhan . But I can't mess with biology. No matter how much you pay me. It's the two main components and their chemical reactions to alcohol. The only solution would be to change the main components, but that would also mean we are taking away everything that makes the medicine effective. The patients simply cannot drink alcohol while they’re taking Tramoxine. We can’t risk any accidents because that would immediately ruin the reputation of the drug. You know that, boss!"
Blyad!
I suppress my anger and rub my eyes as I take in Igor’s words. He makes a good point, but this is still a problem. A big one. If my clients can’t drink their booze while undergoing Tramoxine treatment, it means they simply won’t buy the medicine. They will choose their vodka instead of healing their fucking PTSD, their trauma, or whatever the fuck is plaguing their mind.
"And what happens if some dumbass decides to take a pill with a shot of vodka?" I ask Igor, my eyes narrowing.
"They'll be dead before they hit the ground," Igor replies bluntly. "That’s it, boss. Even a small amount of alcohol mixed with Tramoxine can be lethal. Saw it myself during the trials. Every mouse we tested with booze died."
"Cher Vozmi, Igor!" I curse. "That's bad fucking news.” I sigh and stop, in an attempt to regain my composure. “What if you take it without booze? Does it work as promised?" I ask.
An enthusiastic smile spreads across Igor's face, pride glinting in his eyes. "Better than we ever dreamed, pakhan ," he says, gesturing to the data on the screen behind him. "The latest trials blew our minds, boss."
"Give me the details, then."
"Lots of improvement since our last conversation," Igor says, plunging into a long rant about various forms of data, numbers, and scientific jargon I don’t fully understand. I’m no scientist, but lucky for me, I don’t need to be. That’s why I pay Igor and his team as well as I do. By the time he gets to the end of his rant, my head is reeling from the information he dumped on me.
Alright, alright…” I gesture for him to stop his never-ending lecture. “Can you give me a summary of your findings in a few simple sentences?”
“Uh, sure. Sorry, boss, I’ll keep it short,” he says, holding up his hand defensively. “So, we ran a series of tests on people who have been suffering from severe insomnia for years. And believe it or not, they slept like babies after just a week’s treatment. What’s even better is that their symptoms have not come back since. This was two weeks ago."
"Perfect," I sneer. "I know a horde of desperate bastards who would sell their soul for a good night of sleep."
"You haven’t even heard the best part, boss," Igor continues. "We also tested Tramoxine on a group of war veterans, struggling with PTSD and alcoholism for years. After ten days on Tramoxine, they were completely sober and their PTSD symptoms started to fade away."
“That’s something.” I pat him on the shoulder. My previous frustration about the alcohol issue is finally starting to dissipate. The results are better than I expected. Not just better, they’re great! "Have you tried Tramoxine on yourself, Igor?" I ask.
"Not yet," he answers then pauses. "But I did on my son, Misha. He's autistic. It's been a struggle since he was two years old, and now he's thirteen."
I look at Igor expectantly. "And?"
"The results are remarkable, boss. After taking the first pill, Misha slept through the night. No more shouting and jumping on the couch or waking up his siblings. Just peaceful sleep." My eyes widen in amazement as I listen to my chief scientist talk. This is indeed truly remarkable. "After less than a week, Misha made eye contact with us,” he continues. “It’s something he hadn’t done since birth. He’s been on the pill for less than two months...” he stops, and I see something glistening in the corner of his eyes. “And since then, his social skills have improved drastically. He plays with his siblings and is learning to be cooperative. It is safe to say that Tramoxine has rewired his brain."
Igor sniffs and pauses as if he’s contemplating his next words. "Sorry boss,” he says. “I don’t mean to make this personal but ever since Misha was born, my entire life has been about finding a treatment for autism," he says, his voice cracking. "And I want to thank you, for giving me an opportunity to do so."
I nod and his face quickly returns to its emotionless state. "As long as the dosage is correct and no alcohol is consumed with it, Tramoxine will change everything. This is a game-changer, boss. A panacea drug that can heal the world. I can guarantee you that."
Excitement courses through my veins. This is fucking incredible. And not just because of the money I’m going to make. This is a chance to cement my legacy, to prove that the Pakhan is more than just a ruthless criminal. With this substance, I can heal the world. Change lives. I can offer hope to the hopeless, all while making billions and ensuring my empire flourishes for generations ahead.
"We'll need airtight warnings, Igor," I muse, my mind already crafting the distribution plan. "Alcohol interactions, side effects, the whole nine yards. We cannot afford any accidental deaths."
Igor nods, his expression hardening with resolve. "I agree, boss. Safety is our top priority."
"Good," I tell him. "Great fucking job, Igor. Keep up the good work."
***
Sitting in a taxi on my way to the hotel, I dial Maurice's number. My fingers drum impatiently on the seat as I wait for him to pick up.
"Maron?" Maurice sounds kind of frazzled. Probably the hangover from the night before. "Look… I know we need to talk. But before you kick me out of the business and tell me to go fuck myself, I want to say that I’m not proud of what happened last night. As for Mindy, I-”
“Save it,” I interrupt. “We’ll talk about that later.”
“Okay, but I-” he starts, but I cut him off again. I know exactly what he wants to say and I’m not interested in hearing it right now. It would only be a circular conversation that doesn’t lead anywhere. As for Mindy, it wouldn’t be any different. The whole discussion would be completely pointless and it would only add fuel to the fire. Besides, I have much more pressing matters on my mind right now.
“Stop, Maurice. This is not the time. I have something more urgent to talk to you about," I growl, my tone brooking no argument.
“More urgent? What is it?” He sounds surprised.
"I need your help with the Tramoxine launch. We're going live in three months, and I need everything to be perfect. You do this well and there will be a hefty salary for you at the end of it."
There's a pause on the other end of the line. I can practically hear the gears turning in Maurice's head. “How much?” He finally asks. I was expecting the question. Maurice was always easy to manipulate with money. His addicted brain is probably already thinking about stuffing it into a slot machine in Marble Monkey.
“Three hundred.”
“Thousand?”
“Do I look like a guy who plays small?” I ask. Three hundred thousand dollars should be more than enough to take his mind off Mindy for now and get him to focus on the job. I know he’s going to bite.
And just as I expected, he does. “Alright, Maron,” he says. "I’m in. Is three months going to be enough to set this up?"
"No, it won’t. Which is why I need you to help me get things going," I counter, my voice firm. "First things first, book a luxury hotel in New York. Something with plenty of space for press conferences and interviews. We need to make a statement and show the world that Tramoxine is the next generation of medicine."
"Right. Remind me, what's it good for again?" Maurice asks.
"It's a fucking miracle drug, Maurice," I tell him, my voice full of pride. "Mental health conditions, trauma, PTSD, insomnia – all the shit people suffer from. It could even heal your addiction, dear brother."
“You think?” he seems to hesitate. “Are you sure?”
“Hundred percent, bratok .”
"Well, about that…" Maurice sighs and goes silent for a few seconds. "You think you can save me some? You know... for my troubles."
My brother's unexpected comment throws me slightly off balance. I furrow my brow. He wants to take Tramoxine? All this time he refused to admit that he’s got issues. Can it be possible that he’s finally starting to take responsibility for his shit?
“I know we said we’re not going to talk about this, but…” he continues. I can hear him fidgeting with something, probably a pen. Maurice does that when he’s nervous. “Listen, Maron, I know I’ve not been easy to deal with. Especially last night. So, if this medicine can help me, I’m all in.”
I can barely believe what I’m hearing. I was only calling him to give him a task, hoping that we could avoid talking about last night. But this? This is completely unlike him.
“Hey, am I talking to Maurice here?” I ask, feigning curiosity. “Because if not, I’ll happily trade you for him, whoever you are.”
“Very funny, Maron,” Maurice says. “Listen, after I screwed up your birthday party yesterday, I stayed up all night thinking.” He sighs. “I know I can’t keep doing this to you and my family. I can’t keep doing this to myself. Because if I do, I’m just going to end up on the street, or even worse, dead in a ditch. I want to change, Maron. And as for Mindy, I know I can only blame myself for losing her. She deserves to be with someone who treats her well.”
What the fuck?
I’m still struggling to comprehend that I’m talking to Maurice. He sounds like a completely different person. Has he really come to his senses? Is it possible that the scene he caused sobered him out? Or is he simply using a different tactic to manipulate me? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
"I’m glad you see it that way,” I tell him, my voice a lot less strained than before. “You'll be the first in my circles to try Tramoxine, brother. But you absolutely cannot drink alcohol while you’re on the pill, you understand? It’s a lethal combo."
"Don't worry about it, Maron," he says. "I'm dead set on kicking this drinking habit, anyway. I know I acted like a major asshole at your party."
"Alright, let's just move past it, bratok ," I say. "Let’s focus on the job, instead. Speaking of which, have you got an update on Shirkov’s kidney?"
"Oh, that? It’s sorted," Maurice says, a hint of pride in his voice. "They are shipping it in a few days. Will be in New York days before the deadline."
I can’t help but be a little impressed. This is not the conversation I was expecting at all. Far from it.
"Good job, Maurice.” I give a nod of recognition. “Who is the donor?"
"Twenty-year-old woman in Bangladesh, who recently passed away from a terminal illness. She agreed for her organs to be used after her death. For money, of course. It will go towards caring for her nieces. Food, school fees, bus fares… that kind of stuff."
Jesus Christ.
I can't stop myself from thinking about the desperation poverty can drive people to. I should be used to it by now, but whenever I encounter it, it never truly leaves me unfazed. For a brief moment, I'm grateful for being born into a privileged part of the world.
"Fine," I say, my tone softening just a fraction. "Good job, Maurice. Proud of you, brother. Keep this up and we can talk about a pay rise. The kidney will be the first milestone of your progress."
"Thanks, Maron," he says. I can almost see his smug smile through the telephone line.
I nod, even though he can't see me. "Keep me posted on the kidney. And in the meantime, let's focus on making this launch party as big as we can. I want the press to talk about it for months."
"You got it," Maurice replies. "I won’t let you down again, brother. Just wait and see."
I put the phone down and allow myself a smile, feeling a rush of anticipation. I know I mustn’t judge too quickly. Maurice still needs to prove himself, but this is a good start. And perhaps with the help of Tramoxine, I will be able to put him on the road to recovery.
The taxi comes to a screeching halt outside the grand hotel, and I toss the driver a wad of cash without even bothering to count. I shut the car door behind me and stride into the hotel lobby to take the lift to my penthouse suite. My head is still reeling from everything that happened today. The success of the Tramoxine trials and the promising conversation with Maurice are making me feel positive about the future.
I enter the suite and throw my jacket on the kitchen counter. Sinking into the plush couch in the living room, I feel a surge of satisfaction wash over me. For years, we've poured blood, sweat, and billions of dollars into Tramoxine, and now, it's finally on the brink of its launch. Sure, there's the alcohol issue, but we’ll deal with that. Nothing is ever perfect. All we need to do is put a giant fucking disclaimer on the label and we have our asses saved.
As for Maurice, I don’t know what to think. His attitude seems better than ever. A few weeks ago, he couldn’t even take responsibility for his fuckups. Now, he sounds like an adult who owns his shit. He even agreed to take Tramoxine to treat his addiction. But I guess we’ll have to see. Either way, he’ll be in my ass in the next three months, working alongside me on the launch. That way I can keep a close eye on him.
And most importantly, there’s Mindy. Finally, a woman I genuinely enjoy being with. Unlike my past relationships which were just temporary pussies to fuck and forget. Just thinking about her makes me feel lightheaded and rock-hard at the same time. It’s like my heart is pumping all the blood into my cock, bringing it to the brink of explosion.
Mindy is mine.
Only mine.
Life is good right now.
A flicker of unease runs through me. Where could she be? I've called her multiple times before I left for Moscow, but she still hasn’t called me back. It's not like her to disappear without a word. For a moment, I consider sending Pavel to look for her, but I push the thought aside. I've had enough of today. Besides, she's probably just thinking about the conversation we had last night and needs some space. She'll turn up eventually.
“Korolev, you need a fucking shower,” I tell myself. I’ve been in the same outfit since I left New York. I push myself up from the couch and take off my clothes. Naked, I walk to the drink cabinet. I grab a bottle of whiskey and take a swig, feeling the intense burn as I swallow it down. My thoughts drift to Mindy again. I wish she was here right now to join me in the shower. My erection is nearly painful as I think of her.
I take another sip of whiskey. The coolness of the bottle against my hand, the burning sensation of the alcohol in my mouth, and the heat inside me all come together as I stand there naked in the dim lighting of my room. My heart races; I can't stop my mind from imagining what Mindy might be doing right now. I picture her soft curves, her supple skin, and ache for her touch. As I swallow another mouthful of whiskey, its smoothness burns all the way down, igniting something deep and primal inside me.
Dammit, Korolev.
I set the bottle down on the counter and reach between my legs, finding myself as hard as steel. My fingers brush against the sensitive skin at the tip of my shaft as I begin to stroke up and down, savoring the feel of my dick growing bigger under my touch. The sound of skin smacking against skin echoes in my ears each time I thrust into my palm. The scent of whiskey fills my nostrils while my cock grows harder and harder - a heady mix that ignites deeper desires within me.
Suddenly, memories flood back: our first kiss, her sweet moans when we made love... Everything about her feels so fucking right, too right for my world. Because my world is full of pain, blood, and chaos. All I know is that I have to find a way to keep her in it.
My thumb finds its way to the tiny slit at the tip of my cock; I begin circling it gently, imagining it's her tongue doing the work. My other hand runs across my chest to pull on one of my nipples while I continue stroking myself faster, growling softly as pleasure builds.
My hand moves up and down at an increasingly rapid pace now; soon enough pre-cum starts leaking from the tip onto my bare hands.I let out a low, guttural groan as I stroke myself faster and faster, my hips bucking involuntarily with each thrust. I lean against the counter for support, panting heavily as I lose myself in the feeling.
My breath hitches as I get closer to the edge, even my vision goes blurry. Every single one of my muscles strain as my pleasure reaches its peak until it finally comes crashing down on me with an overpowering force.
Lisichka.
With one last thrust, I cry out her name and release myself completely into the void. Hot liquid spurts between my fingers, mixing with the smell of sweat and whiskey.
It takes me longer than usual to come down from my high and regain my composure. Even minutes after my solitary release, my breathing is still heavy. It’s still hard to believe how much Mindy has gotten under my skin. There are thousands of miles between us and she still has a hold over me.
I finally walk into the bathroom and take a refreshing shower before heading back to the comfort of the main suite. The combination of jet lag, whiskey, and post-orgasmic haze leaves me feeling pleasantly drowsy. I collapse onto the bed, eagerly anticipating a good rest. Just three more hours and I will be back on the jet, flying back to New York City. But first, I’m going to get some sleep.
However, old habits die hard. I can't shake the compulsion to check my email one last time before I surrender to sleep. With a weary sigh, I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The bright screen momentarily blinds me in the dimness of the room. I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden impulse. That’s when I see the email notification in the top corner of the screen.
It's a message from Mindy.
My drowsiness evaporates instantly as I tap to open the message. And what I see there, almost makes me jump up from bed and smash my phone against the wall.
"Maron,
I have reconsidered your offer and have decided to decline. Please consider the contract null and void. I am sure you will find someone better suited to your needs. I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise, but my decision is final.
Please do not attempt to find me.
Mindy."