6. Dimitri
6
Dimitri
I 've just started pouring a glass of vodka soda when I hear shouting come from the hall. The voices grow louder until the office door bursts open and Igor storms in, followed by Sergei.
I raise my eyes to the pair of brothers, noticing the vomit decorating the front of Igor’s suit seconds before the rancid smell of fish and stomach acid reaches my nostrils. I bury my nose in my glass and take a deep sip to combat the sick stench.
“That little bitch! She threw up all over me like a fucking child,” Igor hisses as he shrugs his soiled jacket off and tosses it to the floor. He won’t even bother having it dry cleaned because to him, it’s as good as trash now. Wasteful, but when you have the amount of money the Mikailhov’s do, it won’t even make a dent in the bank account.
“You need to get on the phone with that O’Leary bastard right now and make sure the girl is healthy. I don’t need a sick wife.”
“You also don’t need a wife who’s three times younger than you,” I voice, knowing I’m very well poking an angry bear, but I’m in a foul enough mood as it is over this marriage, and I haven’t exactly been silent about it either.
Igor swings at me, his face quickly growing red in anger. He knows better than to lay a hand on me, so he points a fat finger at me instead. “Watch yourself, Volkov.”
I catch Sergei’s disapproving look and raise a brow sarcastically in Igor’s direction before I take another long sip of my drink, having had my fun.
“I’ll speak with Patrick, brother. But I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Dinner must not have agreed with her,” Sergei says, trying to reason with his irate brother.
Good luck with that. Sergei may be the Pakhan and leader of the Bratva, but Igor is the more dangerous of the two brothers. The man lives in a constant state of anger. He’s like a bomb, ready to go off at any time.
“Well, she’ll need to get used to it.” Igor huffs. “Perhaps you should tell Patrick to have his cooks prepare only Russian cuisine for the girl from here on out.”
The girl has a name. Rosaleen O’Leary. The youngest daughter of Patrick O’Leary, boss of Miami’s Irish mob, and the third and last member of the High Table. From my research, he lost his wife and only son in a car accident a little over ten years ago. Rosaleen was the only survivor. The rumor is that he couldn’t bear the sight of his daughter, whose resemblance to his late wife was striking, so he sent Rosaleen overseas to live with his brother. That’s where she’s been for the last ten years until he struck up an alliance with Sergei to marry the girl to Igor. From what I know of the arrangement, Patrick is getting a large amount of money from the deal. It seems the Irish have some debts to settle. Most likely because of the Triads interfering with their import business. No product coming in means no product to sell, which means no money. All of which is bad for business.
“If I’m to get the girl pregnant with a Mikailhov heir, she’ll need to be on a proper Russian diet.”
Poor girl. I wish there was something I could do for her, but my hands are tied. Just like how they are with every innocent man and woman we hire to work off their debts in our sex clubs. And just like they are when I’m forced to sentence a man to death for going against the Bratva. I’m confident that one day, when I stand before God to answer for my life choices, my path won’t end at the pearly gates, but a fiery pit instead.
As if my night could not get any worse.
Now I’m being forced to listen to Julio Reyes, the new cartel leader, ramble on about the advantages of distributing our new product in his clubs and why he’s a better choice than the local motorcycle gang. To be honest, I don’t plan on using either. It’s bad enough I’m responsible for the drugs coming in, the least I can do is control its distribution in the city.
“We can guarantee an increase of demand by twenty percent within the first three months and another five percent each month thereafter,” Julio continues.
Oh, will you look here. It seems someone went to business school. “And what will you put up as collateral for your guarantee if you fail to meet it?” I counter, reminding him I’m not some fool that numbers and big words can persuade.
Julio pales a shade and visibly swallows against his nerves. “Collateral?”
I cock my head and study the man. Behind him, Alexei fights back a smile. He knows I’m playing a game and, like a hound on the trail of a fox, I’m dedicated to the hunt now. “Yes, collateral. Defined as something pledged as security for repayment of a loan, to be forfeited in the event of a default. In this case, the loan is our drugs, and the repayment is your guarantee of an increase in demand.” I stand, buttoning my suit jacket like it’s an act in the show, and then shove my hands in the pockets of my pants. “So, I’ll ask you again, Mr. Reyes. If you fail to meet your end of the deal, what will you forfeit?”
Julio’s mouth flounders as he stammers, “I–I–I’m not sure what…Is there something you want? Maybe one of our clubs?”
I snort, the abrupt sound making the man jump. “Your clubs? Please don’t insult me. They’re nothing more than drinking holes that serve low grade beer and bottom shelf alcohol. What could I possibly want with that?”
“Maybe Mr. Mikailhov—”
“I speak for Sergei,” I interrupt in a harsh tone.
Julio lowers his head. “Yes, of course. Lo siento , Se?or Dimitri.”
“It’s Mr. Volkov to you,” Alexei reminds him.
“Yes, yes, sorry…Mr. Volkov.”
The man is quickly becoming flustered and I’m growing bored with the game. “You’re a businessman, Mr. Reyes, somewhere underneath all of—” I gesture to his entire body, “that. So, here’s what I’ll do, Mr. Reyes. Write up a proposal outlining the terms, including collateral, and I’ll take another look.”
“Thank you, Mr. Volkov.” He bows his head several times before a pair of my men escort him and his guard out of my office.
“That was fun,” Alexei announces the moment we’re alone. “But you could have made the man sweat a little more. It was just getting good.”
“He was about to vomit, and I’ve seen enough of that tonight.”
Alexei pounces on that detail like a cat on a feather. “Oh yeah, that dinner was tonight. How did it go?”
I didn’t stay for dinner, but I do share with him the aftermath.
“Damn,” Alexei says wistfully after I share with him the events of the Mikailhov dinner with Rosaleen O’Leary. “I wish I could have been a fly on a wall for that.”
“I need a drink,” I tell him, already moving in the direction of the door.
Alexei follows like a little puppy dog with excessive tattoos and a psycho attitude. “Want me to get Ana?”
I pause at the name. It’s been some time since I’ve asked for her. Even after she did as I asked and wore a brown wig when she came to me next, I felt nothing and I blame a specific brown-haired woman with sun-kissed eyes for the cock blocking.
“Not tonight,” I answer.
“Your loss, brother. More for me then.”
Although there’s no show tonight, the private rooms are still occupied and the main club is packed. From my perch above, I survey the crowd, my eyes catching on every dark-haired girl, envisioning the one I want to see on each face, only to be disappointed each time. I don’t understand my fixation with the girl, but damn it, I am. I’m about ready to stalk her, just so I can get a glimpse of her. Which I know is borderline crazy, but that’s how she makes me feel. And she doesn’t even fucking know it.
The familiar sensation of being watched washes over me. It’s nothing new—when you sit like a king high above everyone else, you tend to draw attention. But this feels different, as if I’m being studied rather than merely glanced at or envied from afar. I search for the culprit and my heart stops when our eyes meet…the same golden hued eyes that have haunted my dreams.
Gabriella.
The devilish angel leans against a stone pillar across the club. The neon lights highlight the striking figure she makes in the black mini dress and catch on her rich chocolate locks that cascade over her shoulders in thick, gorgeous waves. She’s dressed to kill, and she knows it.
A flurry of emotions rush through me. Anger. Frustration. Excitement. Lust. They all swirl together until there’s a storm raging inside me. She’s not supposed to be here. She promised me she would never return. And yet, there she stands, with a fucking smirk on her lips like a temptress. Yes…she knows exactly what she’s doing. It makes me want to punish her and in the same breath bring her to the very edge of pleasure before denying her the release.
She expects me to come to her, but I won’t give her the satisfaction. No. If she wants something, she’ll need to come to me and ask for it. Two can play this game.
“And who has snagged your attention, Dimitri?” Alexei asks before he follows my train of sight. “Ah. Is that little Gabriella DiAngelo I see?”
I don’t bother responding. The truth is obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain.
“Would you like me to send for her?”
“No,” I answer right away. “She’ll come to me.” I can feel Alexei’s eyes on me. The smug bastard. “What?” I snap after a long second, my eyes never leaving Gabriella.
“Nothing,” he says back. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
His warning is not a threat, but a reminder to simply be careful. As one friend looking out for the other.
“I hope so too.”
Ana brings us our drinks a few minutes later and when she passes by me, an idea springs to mind. I reach for her and pull her straight down on my lap, all the while, keeping my eyes on Gabriella. Only when I catch the flash of anger and jealousy overtake her face do I shift my attention to Ana, pleased to have made my point.
Ana takes full advantage of it and cozies up, pressing small kisses up my neck as her hands roam across my chest, up and around my shoulders before caressing the nape of my neck. Normally I wouldn’t allow this kind of freedom from Ana or any other girl for that matter, but I’m tolerating it now only because I know what it’s doing to the little angel down below. Before too long, she’s going to fall right into my trap like an unknowing fly gets caught in a spider’s web. To her credit, it takes Gabriella longer than I thought, but she eventually does as I knew she would.
“Boss, you have a guest.”
I peer over Ana to rest my eyes on my little angel, come to be caught in my web.
Without looking away, I place a kiss on Ana’s cheek and then hand her over to Alexei. She falls into his lap with a giggle, having no idea that she’s simply being used in this little game I’m playing.
“May I help you, Miss DiAngelo?” I ask politely.
She straightens her spine and takes a deep breath as if to steady her nerves. “I’d like to speak with you. In private.”
I tilt my head, pursing my lips just slightly, as if I’m actually considering her words, though I already know my answer. Rising to my feet, I tower over her, even with those ridiculous heels she wears. She looks up at me, a challenge simmering in those golden depths, ready to ignite. It would only take one spark and I’m about to strike the match.
“Follow me then.”