4. Dimitri
4
Dimitri
I t was never my intention to interfere, but to only watch from a distance. Having a DiAngelo in my club is nothing new. The brothers, Michael and Raphael, their cousin Dominic, and that walking Viking, Enzo, frequent the club. But never Gabriella, the youngest child and only daughter of Dante DiAngelo, the current head of the High Table and Italian mafia in the city.
Gabriella is a mafia princess by birth and, before I met her, I mistakenly assumed she was like Sophia, Sergei’s only child—a stubborn, stuck-up, spoiled rotten princess. I was wrong.
It’s my first official event as Sergei’s head Brigadier and I imagine my last. I’ve handed over the evidence I collected about the High Table members to Jacob, my FBI handler, and suspect to be home by the end of the month. The details on my extraction haven’t yet been finalized, but it’ll probably involve faking my death or something final like that. So for now, I’ll shake hands with the men responsible for the crime in Miami and force a smile while I drink their ridiculously expensive champagne and dine on tiny little appetizers.
I study the list of items up for silent auction, the reason for tonight’s events, to help pass the time. To raise money for some foundation or another, which is mostly true, but it’s also a way to hide and move funds without suspicion. A common tactic that even politicians do, but because they’re not considered criminals, they get a mere slap on the wrist and a hefty fine instead of jail time. It’s all rather unfair when I look at it from an outside perspective. These people may be criminals, but they follow a code, a set of principles that, funnily enough, make them more trustworthy than the men and women you vote for. And it’s this set of rules that will demand my death if my identity is discovered.
Picking up a pen, I scribble my name and bid under a week’s stay at some lodge in the Alps. I’ll never use it if I win, but I have to keep up appearances.
“Are you really going to outbid me by one dollar?”
I turn to see a young woman standing behind me, and my first thought is that she’s stunning. Her brunette hair is styled in a perfectly done messy bun high on her head, with tendrils left down to frame her high cheekbones and expressive face. Her large hazel eyes seem to have been kissed by the sun with flecks of gold sparkling in their depths. The contrast is exotic and intoxicating. She has the kind of effortless beauty that can't be bought but is born with instead. Her silver dress is long, gathering in a small pool at her feet, adorned with gems and crystals that catch the light when she moves. And what a figure she cuts in it. Curves for days that I’d kill to sink my teeth into. An ample chest that fills out the top of her dress with a tease of cleavage. I’d love to see what she looks like walking away, but only if it includes me following after her. My second thought is, who is this angelic and sinful creature? She looks familiar, but I can’t place where I may have seen her.
“Because now I’m forced to bid once again.” Her voice is feminine but deeper than the usual high pitch of a woman’s and pulls me from my thoughts.
“My apologies, Miss?” My eyes flick to her left hand and don’t spy a ring.
“DiAngelo. Gabriella DiAngelo.” She holds her hand out. “And you are?”
Fucked. That's who.
This is Gabriella DiAngelo? The youngest child and daughter of Dante and Alice DiAngelo? The surveillance photos I’d seen did not do her justice in the slightest. She cleans up rather nicely when not dressed in scrubs. As I slip my hand into hers, I can’t help but notice how mine engulfs hers. “Dimitri Volkov. It’s nice to meet you.”
She cocks her head and studies me curiously, like I’m also not what she expected before she smiles and drops my hand. “You too.”
Gabriella won the auction for the Alp trip that night and went on it with some girlfriends because, yes, I followed up. Call it curiosity, but if she took a guy, I wanted to make sure they were worthy of such a beautiful woman. But from what I can tell, her studies keep her too occupied to allow much time for dating.?
She’s in school to be a Nurse Practitioner. A noble profession, considering what her family does for a living, but Gabriella isn’t involved in any of that, as far as I can tell. She moved out at twenty-one years old to live in a cute two-story bungalow on a beach nestled in a private, secure neighborhood between the university and her family estate. The more I observed her from afar, the more I became convinced that Gabriella was anything but a spoiled, arrogant mafia princess like Sophia. I wish our circumstances weren’t what they are, but the truth is, she’s still a mafia princess and is as off limits as they come.
Sill, I never expected to see her here in my club, captivated by the performance happening in front of her, but I’m secretly pleased she is. Her eyes never left the show and mine never left her. So, when Boris laid his greasy paws on her, I immediately stood. When he twisted her wrist after she said no to his invite, I stepped in. It took every bit of my control to keep my mask in place, especially when she bumped back into me. My hand shooting out to steady her was automatic but felt…right.
I convinced myself that tending to her arm was the gentlemanly thing to do, telling myself that story over and over the entire way up to my office. That my kindness had nothing to do with the intense desire to have her near me, but that, given who her father is, it’s the most diplomatic thing to do. If Daddy dearest found out she was here and not only got hurt by one of my men, but that I then did nothing to make sure she was okay, my head would likely roll. And I rather like my head where it is.
But then she had to argue with me, which only stroked the devil inside me awake, and I saw no fear in her eyes when she did. No, the sinful little angel liked what she saw. The lust was clear as day across her face.
Which is why I had to put a stop to it right away. It’s one thing for me to watch her from afar, knowing there is no future between us. It’s another thing entirely when the temptation is there on both sides.
I hope she takes my warning to heart. She needs to because I spoke the truth. The Playground is no place for a woman like her. It's bad enough she's in as deep as she is because of her family. I won’t be responsible for tainting her soul even more.
Alexei’s phone beeps and I raise my eyes from the computer screen to look at him. “Gabriella and her friends are safe and sound back home.”
I nod. “Good.”
His face scrunches. “But Ivan says the car will need a detailed cleaning before he can use it again. That’s gross. Anyway, I’m going to assume you want to keep tonight’s special guest quiet?”
The ease with which he can switch conversations is a gift. I meet his knowing eyes and answer without elaborating, “Yes.” Sergei may be the Pakhan, but Alexei listens only to me.
“You got it, boss.”
The sound of a knock echoes through the room. Alexei opens the door to reveal two soldiers standing outside, escorting a visibly pale and scared Boris.
“Do come in, Boris.”
Alexei reaches out and grabs the frightened man, dragging him inside. Boris trips and falls to his knees in the center of the room. His eyes meet mine with a blend of confusion and fear in his expression. The sight of his apparent lack of awareness about why he's here leaves me irritated, He knows exactly why he’s here. He has to know that what he was doing would somehow make its way back to me. And the bastard is going to try and lie, try to bargain, beg even, but nothing he says will matter in the end. I just need to know one thing before things get bloody.
“Boss?” His voice wavers. “Is this because of the DiAngelo girl? I swear I didn’t know who she was.” I believe him on that point. “And I didn’t mean to break the rule. My mind slipped. I’m so sorry, boss. It won’t happen again.”
I stand up and remove my suit jacket, draping the expensive material over the back of my chair. As I come around my desk, I undo my cuff links and roll each sleeve up to my elbows. Once done, I lean back against my desk and study the shaking man in front of me. “You’re right, Boris. It won’t happen again.”
He mistakes my words for forgiveness. “Thank you, boss.”
“However, that’s not why you’re here,” I continue, enjoying how he visibly cringes at my words. “Tell me, could there be another reason why you’re here in front of me?”
“No-no, sir, I haven’t…” Boris glances over his shoulder, as if looking for help or a way to escape. He won't find either. Alexei stands guard in front of the closed door, seemingly relaxed, but I know better. The man is agile and quick like lightning. He can have his gun drawn and a bullet in the heart and head faster than you can blink.
“Let me refresh your memory, then.” Boris looks back at me with a sweaty brow and his face turning a sick gray color. He’s close to fainting and we can’t have that. Not yet. “A shipment of drugs and guns came in last week from Columbia. But when the buyer came for delivery, some product was missing. So, Alexei starts digging and do you know what he finds?”
Boris shakes and sobs, quickly becoming a blubbery mess.
“Answer me, Boris.” My tone is sharp, like the blade of a knife.
“I’m so sorry, boss. I’m so sorry.” He repeats the words over and over because he’s been caught and he knows it.
“Do we not pay you enough, Boris? Was it that what drove you to steal product? Did you think we wouldn’t notice? Did you think you wouldn’t be caught?” I fire off the questions in rapid succession on purpose. It’s a tactic I learned in the FBI during interrogation training: overwhelm the person being interrogated by firing questions at them quickly, and they’ll end up admitting to just about anything.
“No, boss. I didn’t mean to. I had to! I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me.”
I lean back and exhale hard through my nose. “What did you do with the product, Boris?”
The man drops his head, defeat dragging his shoulders down. “I sold it to the Triads.”
Motherfucker.
“What did they offer?”
“Double.”
Double? That’s it?
“You fucking betrayed the Bratva for double?” Alexei growls out our shared inner thoughts.
Boris sobs into his hands. “I regretted it right away. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“You know the punishment for stealing, Boris.” I swallow hard against the cruel consequence. It's Bratva law and Boris knew that when he made the decision to steal. It has to be done, but I hate ordering it just as much as I hate the hidden part of myself deep down for liking it, too. “Alexei.”
My second steps forward, pulling a very frightening looking blade free from its sheath. The two guards that escorted Boris upstairs step in. One holds a shaking Boris still while the other ties a tourniquet tightly above Boris’s elbow before holding his arm out on the floor. He sobs and thrashes against the men's hold but they're stronger. Alexei approaches, and in one clean swing, severs the thefts left hand clean from his wrist. Boris’s screams echo through the office before he passes out from the pain. The tourniquet helps prevent Boris from bleeding out all over my office floor, but blood still pools from the wound.
I eye the blood with disdain. “Get him the fuck out of my sight.”
The guards gather his limp body and drag him from my office. Alexei follows, wiping the blood from the blade with a rag but then pauses at the open door. He smiles at someone before glancing over his shoulder at me. “Ana’s here.”
“Come in, Ana.”
The petite blonde enters, her eyes glancing at the pool of blood before meeting mine with a sultry smile. She knows better than to question what she sees. One reason I like her more than the other girls.
“Find me afterward, Ana,” Alexei teases. “I’m in the mood for a little fun.”
I couldn't care less about sharing the girl. I rarely fuck her anyway. Hell, I rarely fuck anyone nowadays. And maybe that’s my problem. The root of my insane addiction with Gabriella. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe I just need one good fuck to get the girl out of my system.
Alexei closes the door as Ana approaches. She’s wearing a black leather piece with heels that defy gravity and a face done up with more makeup than necessary. “Kneel, Ana.”
She glances down at the floor and the pool of blood where she’ll have to kneel. “But sir, the blood.”
I have no intention of moving from the front of my desk. “Kneel.” Finally, she does as told. Good. “Now take my cock out and suck on it until you choke. I want to see this makeup ruined by your tears.”?
I reach down and place a finger under her chin. When she looks up at me, a flash of Gabriella’s beauty replaces her face. My cock stirs in my pants, and I grit my teeth.
Ana notices and smiles, breaking the vision of Gabriella on her knees in front of me. She thinks it’s because of her, for her even, but it’s not. A dark-haired angel with bright eyes is to blame. An angel who might as well be a devil in disguise for making me feel this way. “And Ana. Next time, wear a brunette wig.”