54. Arsen
54
ARSEN
“Oh my God!” Laila white-knuckles the door handle and screams. I pump the brakes, already scanning the road and the sidewalk for danger, when she turns to me. “I forgot to tell Polina that Bugsy is in the laundry room.”
“For fuck’s sake, Laila.” I relax back into the seat with a sigh. “I thought something was wrong.”
She’s too busy fumbling inside her purse to care that I almost rear-ended the poor bastard in front of us. “Something is wrong. Nina isn’t going to go to sleep if she doesn’t have Bugsy.”
“Nina didn’t need that damned beetle to fall asleep last night.”
“He’s a ladybug, not a beetle,” she snaps, as though I’ve committed some egregious sin. “And that was because you were there to rock her to sleep. Tonight, neither of us is there. She’s all alone.”
My attention is strained between the road, Laila frantically searching for her phone, and the tantalizing cleavage I can see beneath the neckline of her sexy little black dress. But if I want even a slim chance of seeing more of what’s beneath that dress, I need to solve the crisis at hand.
“She’s not alone . Polina and Marie are with her.”
“But—”
“Dominik and Kira are also spending the night. I wanted all hands on deck because I foresaw this exact scenario.”
“Which scenario is that?”
“The one where you call off the night early because you can’t stand to be away from Nina for even a few hours.” She opens her mouth to argue, but I continue on. “I get it. Really. It’s not easy for me to leave her, either.”
“Is that why you ripped me out of the house and almost tossed me into the passenger seat? You seemed excited enough to me.”
“Only after I saw you in that dress.” I don’t miss the blush dusting its way across her cheekbones. “Did I tell you how ravishing you look in it?”
She fiddles with her neckline, trying—for fuck knows what reason—to pull it up a little higher. “You don’t think it’s too much? I’ve been whipping out boobs for nursing for so long that I don’t know how to gauge how much exposure is too much.”
“I think it’s perfect. And if I ever start to think you’re showing too much skin, I’m more than happy to pull you into a dark, private corner and outline exactly which parts of you are for my eyes only.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
I take her hand and rub my thumb slowly over her knuckles. “Call me selfish, but I want a little alone time with you before the Pobeda launch. Once we hit the ground running, I might be busy. I’m taking the opportunity while I have it.”
She bites back a smile. “I wouldn’t say wanting to spend time with me is selfish , per se…”
“Does that mean you’re going to try to enjoy this evening?”
“I’ll try, but only if you let me tell Polina about Bugsy.”
I sigh and signal for her to proceed. She drops my hand and grabs her phone, typing out a hurried message to Polina before I can chuck her phone out the window.
True to her word, once the message is sent, Laila does her best to enjoy the evening.
We’re shown to our table, a spacious alcove set apart from the rest of the restaurant, and before drinks can even arrive, her hand is sliding up my thigh, dangerously close to my crotch.
“Awfully forward of you, Mrs. Adamov.”
She winks at me as she strokes her fingers over the seam of my pants. I was semi-hard in the car, so it isn’t going to take much to push me over the edge. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, bud.”
“I should bring you out more often.”
She palms me under the table, and I’m feeling my way up her thigh and towards the promised land when the waiter approaches. Judging by the look on his face, he’s very aware of the fact that there’s something inappropriate going on under the table.
Laila rips her hand away and sits up tall and proper like the lady I know she isn’t.
His eyes shift from me to Laila and then to something suddenly fascinating on the ceiling as he takes our drink orders.
“I’d like to try the pineapple mockt aaa —” Laila breaks off with a whimper as I circle my finger over her panties. The waiter winces and backs away, instantly earning himself a forty-percent tip for knowing how to read the room. Laila clears her throat and squeezes her legs together, crushing my hand with her yoga-toned thighs. “You know what, I think we actually need another minute to look at the menu.”
The waiter hightails it out of the alcove, almost knocking into another server carrying a tray of flaming desserts.
“Arsen!” Laila swats at my chest when he’s gone. “He saw us!”
I grab the offending hand and drop it back in my lap where it belongs. “You started it.”
Suddenly, she squeezes hard until she literally has me by the balls. Her dark-rimmed eyes promise payback. “And I’ll finish it if you aren’t careful.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” I tease.
The pressure on my balls releases and then she’s massaging slowly, her lips curling into a seductive smile. “You’re lucky you look so hot in that suit.”
“You’re lucky the waiter left when he did. Because I’m about to?—”
“Well, well, if it isn’t Arsen Adamov?” The nasally voice drains the heat out of the moment. I fold Laila’s hand in mine and turn to one of the last people I care to see right now.
“Alessandro Calcagno,” I growl.
The head of the Calcagno mafia is wearing an obnoxiously gaudy, crushed velvet suit and a smile that doesn’t hide the disdain in his eyes. He aims that disdain at Laila. “You look awfully grumpy for a man sitting next to such a beautiful woman.” He places his hand on the back of Laila’s chair and leans in too close for comfort. “I’d kiss your hand, my dear, but I just saw where it’s been.”
A blush crawls up her chest and neck, but Laila maintains her composure as she turns to me. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Arsen?”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I grit. “In fact, I wonder why you came over here at all, Alessandro.”
The snake turns to Laila. “I’m Alessandro Calcagno. Arsen and I have a bit of a friendly rivalry. It’s all in good fun, of course.”
His gaze lingers on her cleavage, and I find myself rising from my seat. “That’s a matter of opinion. Go back to your table, Alessandro.”
“Such poor manners,” he chuckles as he assesses us together. “Your grandfather must be rolling in his grave.”
He’s trying to goad me, but I could care less what Alessandro or my grandfather would think about anything.
“Wrong on two counts. I didn’t give him the honor of a grave, and there’s nothing left of him to roll.”
Alessandro arches a thick eyebrow. “I’m very glad I came here tonight. Otherwise, I would have missed the chance to meet your lovely wife. And since your grandfather isn’t around to dispense advice, I’ll leave you with the advice he would have given you if he was alive to give it?—”
“—spare me from?—”
“Pussy is for procreation and fun. Not feelings.” His smile vanishes. “She’s going to get you killed one day, boy.”
I grab the lapels of his stupid velvet suit, reeling him towards me until we’re practically nose to nose.
“Arsen!” Laila grabs my arm. “Not tonight. Please.”
My gaze flickers to my wife, who is silently pleading with me. In her eyes, I see all the plans I had for this evening. I refuse to let Alessandro ruin them.
So instead of beating his sneer into Bolognese the way he deserves, I shove him away from the table. “Get the fuck out of here, Calcagno.”
He straightens his lapels. “This is what I’m talking about. No one would have been able to stop you before—let alone a woman.”
“Will you just shut the fuck up and leave?” Laila barks.
Alessandro whips around to face her, his jaw dropping. “How dare you?—”
“She dares because she’s my wife, Alessandro. She has a mind of her own.”
Alessandro inhales in preparation to spew out what is guaranteed to be more nonsense when a figure appears from the right and places a hand on the old man’s arm. “Everyone is watching you, Papa. Let it be.”
Enzo Calcagno pulls his father away. A short, dark-haired woman lingers at his side. It’s been so long since I laid eyes on Enzo’s wife, Guilia, that I hardly recognize her.
Alessandro tries to brush his son off, but Enzo keeps a clamp on his father’s elbow. “This isn’t the place for an out-and-out brawl. I told you not to come over here.”
Enzo’s gaze flickers only momentarily over Laila. He seems far more concerned with his father right now.
“And who are you to command me, boy?”
Enzo grimaces before he turns to Laila. “I apologize for our intrusion. We were just?—”
“Do not apologize for me!” Alessandro says, frothing at the mouth.
“We were just leaving.” Enzo looks directly at his father, his arms tight with tension. “Papa, let’s go. We have an important meeting to attend.”
Alessandro scowls at his son before looking once more in our direction. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other soon, Arsen.” His eyes sweep over Laila. “I look forward to seeing you again, lovely Laila.”
Enzo gives me a pointed look, a cross between apology and frustration. Then he grabs his wife’s hand and drags her off behind Alessandro. Guilia leaves with a backwards glance at Laila, a tight smile painting her face for a moment before they’re all gone.
“ Blyat’ .” I sweep a hand through my hair. “I need a shower after that shit.”
“So those were the infamous Calcagnos?”
I nod, not taking my eyes off the spot where the family disappeared around the corner. Then I feel Laila’s soft, fluttering touch at my chin.
“Fuck them.” She pulls my face to hers. “Tonight, it’s just you and me.”
“We should leave.”
Her forehead creases. “If we leave, then he’ll think he has power over us. Which he doesn’t.”
“Hm. Fair enough.” I graze the back of my hand across her cheek. “You are quite something, Laila Adamov.”
She leans onto her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “Meet me in the ladies’ room in two minutes.”
She gives my crotch another squeeze before she strides away from me and makes for the restroom. I manage to wait an astounding sixty seconds before I’m tearing after her.
It’s been too long. Forty-five minutes spent fucking my wife relentlessly in the bathroom went by in the blink of an eye. But after I straightened myself up, I gave her the room to do the same for herself while I stood guard outside to make sure no one intruded.
But now, it’s been too long. Seven minutes and counting, by my watch.
I frown, check both ways to make sure no Italians or wait staff have ventured back here, then shoulder back into the bathroom.
“Lai…?”
The sound of a muffled cry stops me in my tracks.
Laila is standing at the sink, her face pale and her hands shaking. “Laila, what is it? What’s wrong?”
When I touch her, her phone clatters from her grasp. I catch it in mid-air, holding her against my chest so she can’t sag to the floor, as well.
On the screen is a live feed from the security app I installed on her phone. It links to every room in the manor—and, crucially, to a permanent camera affixed on her mother’s house. That last one is what’s currently playing.
It’s dark. I can barely make out the corners of the roof, the pointed eaves, the swoop of the gutter.
But one thing is blindingly clear: the red-orange of flames, licking their way greedily up one side.
Someone set the place on fire.