Chapter 16 Ava
SIXTEEN
ava
I rub my wrist where the long-gone fake tattoo was. The one I wore to stake out St. Jane’s Church. And for some reason, a tiny dart of guilt pierces me. I don’t know why.
For someone like me, if I’d wanted to give everything up, run away, and start fresh somewhere, it would have been the way out.
I run a brush through my hair.
But running isn’t in me, not really, and while I might have considered it, I knew I couldn’t leave Tatiana. I want her to know who I am. I want a relationship with my sister.
Besides, I’m part of the system. It’s in my blood. And I know I could do great things with Volkov.
Just like I’m aware that certain parties, like Romanov, like the Murphys, know what it really is, a gem that would enhance any family.
To me, it’s the small, perfect pink diamond I saw inset on that ring. And I think I could expand, clean up some of the routes, make it stricter, cleaner, and bring in more money.
Human trafficking is something I don’t think Dad dealt with. He didn’t want to. More than that, my mother wouldn’t have let him. But all it would take is for one member of the current list of clients to move unwilling human cargo, and the bratva’s reputation would go down the drain.
But it’s so damn protected that I don’t know. I won’t know, until we’re in there. Whenever that might be.
Things can move at glacier-like speed. If I were a man, or if Seamus was Russian? Things would be lightning quick. But not for a female, even the direct firstborn descendent of the last real Pakhan.
And the idea of a half-Italian female Pakhan is laughable.
But now I’m back, following the rules with a husband, and an Irish one at that.
It’ll still be slow, and we’ll have to prove we’re really married. They just might demand more than a year of marriage, maybe two. But that’s a hurdle I’ll deal with when I come to it.
I’m so close to it all I can almost taste the power and victory.
I also know that I should be polishing knives and loading guns for the moment Seamus turns on me when this is all over.
“Easy, Ava,” I mutter.
Maybe he’ll back off or even help me and I can call it even, leave him with nothing but a tiny part of the bratva. Maybe I can negotiate the Murphys down into being clients, of letting them use the routes for free.
Maybe—I should shut the fuck up.
With a sigh, I stand up and walk over to the dress. It really is gorgeous. His sister-in-law has good taste.
That’s another thing. These Murphy wives remind me of my mother, what little I’ve seen of them. They seem happy, in love, and adored by their husbands.
They’re worlds away from Seamus and me.
But I’m comparing apples and oranges. Ours is a marriage based on mutual hate, mutual agendas that have very different wants at the end. Our marriage comes stamped with an expiration date.
It’s all smoke, fake mirrors, and hot sex.
I pull on the dress, which fits perfectly. And when I put on the shoes…
Even I have to admit I look good. I know I’m pretty. I use it to my advantage. Some have called me beautiful, and maybe I am. But it’s just a tool. One I’ll use against Seamus.
It doesn’t take long to apply lipstick, and when Seamus enters the room, he doesn’t say a word, just leads me outside the brownstone. We’re driven to a restaurant I know but haven’t been to in years. It’s Italian, a mix of old-school and modern dishes.
It’s exclusive, slightly stodgy, but we’re here, I assume, for a reason.
I look around as we’re led through the place, and I spot some Italian mafia guys, a few bratva. I get it. We’re here to be seen.
We’re seated near the back in a booth, where he can see out. A mafia move, one my father would have made and used frequently. Seamus drops his hand to my thigh.
He leans in. “This reservation costs, sweet thing. But I hear it’s a place the mafia comes to. Italian, Irish. Even Americans and some Russians.”
“And you want to show me off?”
“Gotta get the whole sham thing rolling, don’t you think? C’mon, it’ll be some real craic.”
“By crack, do you mean fun? Because it’s never fun with you.” I look at him, trying to ignore the circles he’s drawing on my thigh. “You think someone’s going to be here, don’t you?”
He doesn’t answer, and I reach under the table and trace the hardening curve of his cock in his pants which makes little thrills jump in my blood.
“Someone from Volkov?”
I stroke the head, and he moves his hand, pushing mine against his dick. “Careful now, or I’ll think you like me.”
“Never.” I pull my hand away and put it on the table, annoyed at the smile playing over his lips as he goes back to his erotic little patterns that make my panties wet. “Or maybe you want to see this Hank guy.”
“I don’t know who Hank is. But he was at Romanov’s the night of the wedding.”
“You know more. You’re a callous bastard, but you’re smart, I’ll give you that.”
He buries his face in my hair right at my ear. “Right back at you, sweet thing. Fucked-up, a cold, greedy thing, but smart.”
I try to keep my thoughts straight. “Okay, so… back to Hank?”
“There’s a deal going down, small, but someone from the Lev group and someone named Henry are meeting. I thought you might be able to help me spot them.”
“But I won’t recognize them,” I say.
His hand slides up farther, brushes my clit, and I gasp. “You probably won’t, but you might. And each time you lie to me this evening, I’ll do something sexual.” He looks away, not stopping the stroke against my clit, light and almost not there and designed to drive me to the edge.
I’m aware the waiter stands over us. I’m aware Seamus is ordering, but I have no idea what he says as he pushes a finger into me, making me rock on the edge of orgasmic relief.
Seamus keeps stopping, holding me on that edge, asking me about each person who comes in.
And he only stops completely when our food arrives.
I try and scoot away, but he hooks my legs under the table, holding me. “Eat. It’s lamb pasta. I’ve heard it’s amazing.”
He has a steak.
Of course he has a steak. I’m shocked he didn’t order me a salad.
I have a bite, but I can’t taste a thing. I reach for my wine when my hand freezes.
Seamus eats his steak, and it looks good, but he’s eating it how I’m eating my pasta. And as the haze of his touch dissipates, my mind starts working.
“If you know there’s a deal, why are we here?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps eating.
“Or maybe you don’t know a thing about it.”
“Maybe I’m waiting to see if you recognize someone…” He trails off.
And I follow his gaze.
There’s a man I don’t know standing at the bar with a scar across his cheek. He’s tall, not as tall as Seamus, but tall enough, and lanky. His gray hair’s slicked back and his gaze is locked on us.
“Seamus. Who’s that man?”
“I think I’ll go find out. Wait here.”
He gets up, and a nasty smile crosses the man’s face as he speaks to his companion.
But Seamus stops short of him, where the scarred guy stands at the bar, and talks to the bartender instead. And my stomach is knotted with anger, this time aimed at myself.
I need a few minutes to think. I get up from the table and walk toward the bathroom. It’s empty when I step inside, lit with flickering candles. It smells sweet and clean as I slide down to the floor in the opulent room.
He’s playing games with me. But for what reason, I can’t figure out, at least not beyond wanting at least some, if not all, of my bratva. One I’m still not allowed near. Maybe this outing was meant to scare me or fuck with—
“Open this fucking door, Ava, or I’ll fucking kick it in.”
I straighten up and open it, mainly because I believe him. “Always the brute.”
“Always the spoiled Russian princess pretending to be noble when you’re as greedy as every other fuck out there.”
“I thought you were going to talk to them?”
He laughs. “I ordered us champagne and a dessert for our wedding, bumped up against one Lev Grant, which isn’t much of a Russian name but hey, look at our dead friend Paddy.”
I shove him and the door slams shut. He reaches behind and locks it. Then he marches me over to the chaise lounge that sits in one corner and pushes me onto it so I’m on my back. He shoves the dress up to my hips, exposing all my nakedness, my hard nipples. My aching pussy.
“Just how I like a cunt, wet, soft, and willing.” He goes down on his knees and licks me, making me whimper.
Hate crackles in the air. Lust, too.
“The bombs, Ava.”
“Not your business.”
He pushes three fingers into me and one in my ass. I pant. He doesn’t move, just leans down and bites my clit. It’s a soft bite, but there’s an edge to it, and all I want is for him to lose his mind and go in on me, hard.
I need to come.
I’ve needed it since the moment I saw him in nothing but those boxer briefs.
“We’re getting somewhere,” he says, blowing on my clit, then sinking his teeth—hard—into my outer thigh. “We both agree you made them.”
“Yes,” I hiss. “But I didn’t do the Semtex one. I’ve never touched the stuff.”
“I know that. Or you’d have done them all the same. Different bombers, different tells.” He smiles. “Why, sweet thing?”
“Distraction. I wanted to get the crest. I needed the jewels. I wanted—” To see my little sister I don’t even know. But I keep that part to myself.
His fingers start to move. “Wanted what?”
“To cause some havoc.”
“Hmm.” He bites me again, harder. Then he looks at me. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but I’m not sure I believe you have no idea about the first bomb. Lev Grant and the other man he was talking to—Hank?—looked at you.”
“Could have been looking at you,” I rasp, gripping the sides of the chaise.
He pulls his fingers out. “On your knees, leave the dress up.”
I scramble down, desperate, a pathetic creature ready to lick the floor for him. Which shocks me, because I’m not the least bit subservient. But to have him make me come? I’d crawl bare ass naked through a crowd.
He unzips and pulls his erection out. “Suck.”
I dive on him, sucking him deep, but he grabs my hair and pulls me off slowly so each rung of his piercings pulls against my mouth.
“It’s my business,” he says, going back to what I said earlier, “if my family gets hurt.”
“Fuck your family,” I sputter with my mouth full of him.
He pushes me back down, forcing his cock down into my throat and he holds me there, just long enough for me to struggle and start to choke. Then he pulls me up and off him so he can look me in the eye. “Those words get you killed.”
“But you’re keeping me alive, aren’t you?”
He smiles and pulls me up farther, toppling me on him, spreading my thighs so he can thrust deep within me. I cry out.
Seamus moves my hips so I’m riding him. “I’m greedy,” he says. “And curious. You had a sister, didn’t you?”
I force myself to ride him like nothing’s wrong and I throw myself into it, undulating on him so his cock and piercings pull and stroke me, and I say, “I did. They all died in the car crash.”
“Are you sure?”
“That’s what I was told.” I was told to say that by Iosif, so it’s sort of true. And I shudder because he’s grabbing me now, bouncing me harder, deeper, faster.
“And the crest?”
“I stole it,” I say, gasping as he bites a nipple, sucking it, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me and I slam myself down on him with each bounce.
“And lost it again. I hate power-hungry, twisted men. And Iosif took the crest. It’s mine.
My father gave it to me, told me whoever has it owns the bratva. ”
I’m slipping, sliding into an orgasm and, as I come, he fills me, cock pulsating inside me. “That finally sounds like the truth, sweet thing.”