Chapter 5 #2
So why the hell am I going through all this trouble just to make everyone happy?
Oh, that’s right. Because Stella, with her fire-red hair and that maddening mouth, somehow managed to awaken my fucking conscience.
To remind me that people with power have a duty to protect those without it.
And I should know just how important that belief is since I spent most of my youth feeling absolutely powerless.
Sure, the Petrov name carries weight now. But back then? It meant nothing. Misha clawed his way into the Bratva, tooth and nail, just to put food on the table, all while planning his revenge. One by one, he opened the door for us to follow.
However, now that our stomachs are full, it’s our souls that are starving. But that’s a problem for another day. Since it’s obvious I’m out of practice because all this do-gooder bullshit today has given me a migraine.
Without saying a word to anyone, I get up from my booth and walk out of the club, needing fresh air to clear my head.
Ratimir, our in-house bouncer who’s still limping from the time Stella rearranged his face, straightens up when he sees me.
“Boss,” he greets.
I give him a curt nod and step further outside into the parking lot.
The cold December wind hits my face like a slap, but I welcome it.
Snow falls softly, clinging to my coat and my lashes.
For a moment, the weight of responsibility on my shoulders eases.
It almost feels like I’m being transported home.
Not the fortress Misha’s holed up in now, but the slums of Moscow where we grew up. Where we learned to survive.
I can almost hear Kostya’s laughter echoing down the lane, his tiny hands clinging to Sasha’s shoulders as he guards the goal between two small rocks on the cobblestones.
Misha and I are messing around with a football we stole earlier, kicking it back and forth across the icy ground.
Katya and Babushka are leaning out the window, teasing us every time we miss a shot.
At the same time, little Elena sits bundled up on the cold pavement, pretending to keep score and doing a piss-poor job of it since she can’t stop ogling Misha instead.
It was the dead of winter. Most of our clothes were hand-me-downs, frayed at the seams and patched in places that never held them together. My boots flopped around my feet, two sizes too big, while my brothers’ pinched their toes raw.
We had nothing. Absolutely nothing. And yet… It felt like we had everything that mattered. We had each other.
Then Katya got her new job. A job that meant having enough food to eat and keeping the lights on. We didn’t want for much, but back then, a bowl of hot soup and a loaf of warm bread were more than any of us could dream of. For a time, Katya’s job was our saving grace.
I even got to go to school, while Sasha and Misha worked odd jobs to ease our beloved sister’s burden.
I was only six then, but I’d never known happiness like that before.
That happiness lasted two years. Two measly years before life turned cruel and heartless, snatching any semblance of true joy from us.
Because that’s when Katya did the unthinkable and ran from the monster that kept her captive.
Not that it mattered. Vasily Fedorov found her anyway.
Found our Katya. After that, we were doomed.
I would’ve traded the new clothes and the full refrigerator for Katya’s freedom in a heartbeat. Unlike the strippers in my club, they have a choice. They’re not forced to be here.
My sister wasn’t as lucky. Our sweet, brave Katya. She was our North Star. Our beacon of light in the dark. And when she was gone, we lost our way.
Now look at us. Each one of us is crueler and more apathetic than the last.
Ah, Kira… I wish you could’ve met her. Your mother was one in a million. She was the mother to all of us.
As thoughts of my niece and sister swirl together in my mind, my chest grows heavy again. I’ve spent the whole damn day trying to prove to Stella that I deserve loyalty, when the only one who ever truly earned mine was my sister. That’s the only loyalty worth living up to.
“Ratimir,” I call out, without turning. “Go inside and bring me Lev.”
“Yes, boss,” he says, limping off.
A few minutes later, both men appear side by side, ready and waiting.
“What do you need, boss?”
“Who’s following Romano’s daughter right now?”
“That would be Oleg, boss.”
“Call him. I want to know where she is at this very second.”
Lev doesn’t argue. He pulls out his phone and makes the call, getting an answer within seconds.
“She’s at the college, sir.”
Right. Stella’s finishing her degree at UChicago. Well then. Since she clearly has no problem showing up at my workplace uninvited, let’s see how well she handles it when I return the favor.
Snow crunches under my boots as I cut across campus, following Oleg’s directions to the letter.
The place is too clean. Too quiet. Nothing but glass, polished stone, and spoiled kids in designer coats pretending they’ve got real problems. I weave through them in the hall, ignoring the stares, eager to find who I came for.
Stella’s in her last class of the day, tucked somewhere inside this maze of civility.
When I finally find the auditorium in question, I don’t bother knocking. Instead, I shove the doors open and let them slam shut behind me, the sound cracking through the hall like a gunshot.
Every head in the room turns my way, faces twisted with the same thought.
Who the hell would dare walk in late like that?
At the front of the hall, the professor squints up at me, all tweed jacket and Harry Potter glasses. “Can I help you?”
“No, you can’t,” I say, my gaze sweeping the rows until I catch a flash of flame-red hair ducking low in her seat—like she’s praying I wouldn’t notice her.
As if I could ever miss her in a crowd. The thought almost makes me laugh.
“But she can,” I finish, moving down the steps, row by row, until I’m standing three seats away from her.
I can tell we’ve garnered everyone’s attention, but I couldn’t give a shit. Not when some pissant is in my seat.
“Move.”
He blinks at me. “The fuck?” he says, laughing, but his laugh wavers under my scrutinizing stare.
“I won’t repeat myself.”
The cold, dead look in my eyes, paired with the ominous smile curling at my lips, is all the warning he needs. He bolts out of his seat as if it caught fire, stumbling out of the row.
I settle into the seat beside Stella, shoulders loose, one arm resting behind her chair, the other thrown lazily over the one next to me. It’s only when I hear her professor clearing his throat, visibly annoyed with the disruption, that I even remember his existence.
“May I proceed?”
“Be my guest,” I smirk back.
He launches back into whatever lecture he was giving, something about postmodern moral collapse or Western ideology or whatever.
I tune him out, since paying attention to his lecture isn’t the reason why I’m here. She is. And by she, I mean Kira. I think.
Unlike me and my cavalier attitude, Stella is radiating pure rage beside me. Rigid spine. Clenched jaw. Even the green in her eyes looks like it’s about to go nuclear.
“You’re an ass, you know that?” she hisses under her breath when she’s sure no one is looking at us anymore.
“I’ve been called worse, milaya,” I let a smug smile tug at my lips.
She grits her teeth, fingers twitching toward the pencil on top of her laptop. She picks it up and holds it like a weapon, squeezing so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two.
“There, there, Stella. Don’t get any ideas,” I taunt, leaning in a little closer. “Something tells me your classmates might be squeamish when it comes to the sight of blood.”
She continues to silently stare forward before storing the pencil away. Smart girl.
If Stella had her way, I’d be limping out of here with that fucking pencil jammed in my thigh, or worse, bleeding out from an artery in my neck.
“What are you doing here, Kirill?” she asks, still not looking at me.
“It’s Kill,” I remind her. “And do I need a reason? You never seem to have one when you show up unannounced at my place of business,” I all but whisper in her ear, running my fingers through the strands of her hair.
She turns just enough to slap my hand away, then immediately puts on a fake smile when the professor glances over.
“Play nice, Stella. Wouldn’t want your teacher docking your grade just because you made a scene in his classroom.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she hisses through gritted teeth.
“What would be the fun in that, when there are so many more pleasurable things you could do to me instead?”
“Believe me, imagining slicing you open right now would give me immense pleasure.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her attempts at foreplay. She thinks her fury scares me. But all it does is make me want to get closer and see just how hot she really burns. Her mouth says hate, but the heat in her eyes says something else.
“So aggressive. You really know the way into a man’s heart, don’t you?”
She keeps her gaze locked on the professor, but I know her focus is entirely on me.
“God, I hate you,” she mutters. “I must’ve done something awful in a past life to end up with you stalking me.”
“Stalking?” I let out a loud laugh, which earns me a hand on my thigh. Not a gentle one, but a hard squeeze.
“A little more to the right, milaya,” I tease, but to my surprise, the temptress doesn’t hold back.
Stella’s hand moves, sudden and deliberate, and for a heartbeat, I forget to breathe.
The surprise burns out fast, replaced by the sharp edge of panic when I realize her intention.
I suck in a sharp breath when she takes a firm grip over the edges of my cock, terrified she might somehow manage to rip it clean off.
“What was that again? Cat got your tongue, Kill?” She smiles overtly sweetly, this time having no qualms in looking me dead in the eye.
“Baby, that’s not a toy,” I manage to grit out. “If you want to play with it, I won’t stop you. Just… not… so… rough.”
She presses even harder. Blyad. I grip the armrest with both hands, grounding myself against the intense sting and holding back an undignified sound.
“I thought a man like you would like it rough,” she mocks, leaning in close until our noses almost touch.
“I like a great many things,” I whisper in pain. “And I’d be happy to show you every last one of them. But for that, I’ll need my cock in one piece, milaya.”
She lets go with a scoff, muttering something Italian under her breath and backing her face away from mine. “Stop calling me darling. I’m no man’s darling.”
I take a second to confirm everything’s still intact before grabbing her chin to look at me once more, making sure our faces are only a breath apart.
“Then what should I call you? Lapochka? Zayka?” I laugh softly when her eyes flash with unfiltered venom. But then something shifts inside me… an ache I feel before the next word leaves my mouth. “Moya dusha.”
Her brows furrow in clear confusion.
Well, that makes two of us.
I clear my throat and lean back, my cool mask back in place. “Milaya fits for now.”
“Whatever,” she mutters, brushing the startling remark aside. “If pet names are your kink, I’ve got a few for you, too. Asshole comes to mind.”
“You’re just sore I decided to play in your playground for once.”
“This isn’t a playground. It’s my future, you big idiot. And this little prank of yours is sure to trickle down to my father’s ears.” She groans, eyeing the few classmates who still can’t keep their eyes off us.
“Now, now, Stella. We both know you don’t give two flying fucks what these people think of you.
And going against Daddy’s wishes? Well, isn’t that exactly what you’ve been doing all week, by showing up at my club without his knowledge?
” When she doesn’t reply, I press further.
“Tell me, Stella, just what would the great Vincent Romano say if he found out his daughter is willingly keeping company with a bad man like me?”
“How would I know? It’s not like I’m rushing to tell him. Are you?” she challenges, arching a brow.
“I might be persuaded to keep my mouth shut,” I say with a shrug. “The alliance between the Pakhan and the Capo dei Capi is fragile as it is. News of us could fracture it completely.”
“There is no us, jackass. There’s another pet name for you.”
Not yet.
“I’m sure you can do better than that.” I let a slow smile creep in, burying the previous thought into the crevices of my mind before it takes root. “But in the meantime, I’m more than happy to keep our little secret. For a price, that is.”
“What do you want?” Her voice goes guarded.
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I thread my fingers through hers. Her face flickers with confusion once more before her guard snaps back into place again.
“Come, sweet Stella. I’ll show you exactly how I can be bought.”
Without another word, I pack her things into her backpack and take her hand, guiding her out of the row, up the stairs, and out of the auditorium.
I don’t care about the eyes watching us. Let them look. Stella’s hand in mine is exactly where it should be.