18. Daniil
Daniil
“Do you remember our plan?” Mikhail asks while staring out the front window.
I bite my lip and look at the house where we grew up after moving from Russia.
I’ve got so many memories tied to this place.
Us sneaking onto the roof to get high and laugh about stupid things as teenagers, racing into the woods to our tree when we were little kids, escaping from everyone else.
Plenty of bad memories too.
Our family looks normal from the outside because we have to maintain that image.
You don’t run what we run by looking like a mess.
But inside these walls it’s a disaster. Growing up here sucked most of the time, everyone fighting and yelling, constantly at each other’s throats over everything and nothing.
Nothing’s really different from when we were kids. Nobody outside knows how dysfunctional we actually are, how close we come to killing each other at every family dinner.
We worked out a plan for today. We’ll show up for lunch acting like dutiful sons, then Mikhail will keep them distracted downstairs while I slip away. I’ll head upstairs to Father’s office after disabling all the cameras in that wing remotely from my phone.
“I remember,” I say, still staring at the house. “You sure you can keep them busy long enough?”
He glances at me. “I’ll start a fight with someone. That always works.”
“Just bring up the club or ask about business.”
“I know how to distract them.”
I finally look at him. “We need this to go smooth.”
He smirks. “I’m going to mention the vase.”
A breath slips out of me. The vase. Yeah, that’ll get them going. That thing’s been shattered for years, and it’s still causing arguments because nobody will admit they broke it. Mikhail didn’t do it, I’m certain of that much. But someone knows what happened that day, and they’re not talking.
“Good idea.”
We walk together into the house, side by side, and my lungs tighten with each step closer to the dining hall. The walls are covered in pictures of Avrorin heirs going back to when the family started.
Our mother rushes up to me the second she spots us and pulls me into a tight hug. “Daniil, I’m so happy you two came,” she says.
I’m happy to see you too.
She pats Mikhail on his cheeks before he walks off to sit down.
Her black hair is braided up in an elegant bun today, and she’s wearing a dark green dress. Yulian sits at the table, looking very pissed off. Lev is already deep in conversation with our father, both glancing our way before returning to business.
“Will you take a look at my computer before you leave? It’s doing something funny again.”
I can. I’ll fix it.
I know exactly where this is going. Every time I’m here, she’s managed to do something to her laptop that requires my help. Last time it was because she didn’t know how to turn off caps lock. Before that, she accidentally changed to touch-only mode on her screen and thought the laptop was broken.
I squeeze her hand, then walk off and sit down next to Mikhail, reaching for my fork.
“So, how’s the club coming along?” Father asks Mikhail while cutting into his food.
“Good. Everything is ready for the event.”
Our father doesn’t look up from his plate. “Define good.”
“Numbers are up, regulars are coming back more often, and—”
“I didn’t ask for a sales pitch. I asked what good means. Are you hitting targets or not?”
Mikhail shifts in his seat. “We’re close. Point five percent under projections but—”
“Point five percent under is not acceptable. Point five percent under is failing.” Father finally looks up, those cold eyes fixed on him.
Mikhail’s jaw tightens. “I’ve been handling other things, like the event.”
“Other things.” Father sets down his fork. “You mean your drug problem.”
The table goes quiet except for the sound of Lev clearing his throat uncomfortably.
He’s the biggest asshole alive. Point five percent. Ridiculous.
Rolling my eyes, I slip my hand under the table onto his thigh. He turns to me, confused, but then I reach his crotch and squeeze. He groans low in his throat and leans back in the chair.
“I assume you’re also responsible for the shipment and security issue at the dock.”
Mikhail’s eyes flick to Lev for a split second before he answers. “Da. My bad.”
I stare at him. Why does he keep doing this? Why does he keep taking the blame for things he didn’t do?
The table stretches out enormous and dark between us all, dim overhead lighting making it harder to see beneath the surface. Our mother sits at one end, our father at the other, with Lev and Yulian positioned directly opposite us on the far side.
It could seat fifteen easily. The low light from the chandelier casts everything in shadow, perfect cover. My hand stays below where no one can see, where I can touch and grip and work him over however I want. No one ever watches me anyway. I’m the one they overlook, who blends into the background.
He’s already half-hard under my hand, and I squeeze, feeling him swell against my palm.
Then I unbutton him, and slide down his zipper, slowly dragging it down.
His eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t stop me.
I reach into his pants and wrap my hand around his cock, pulling him out under the table.
He’s hot and hard, already leaking, and the weight of him in my palm makes my own cock throb.
“We have operations set in place now, after the attack,” Lev cuts in. “Triple security everywhere.”
“Like that will stop anything,” Yulian says flatly.
I stroke him slowly, base to tip, spreading the precum down his length with my thumb. His jaw clenches and his breathing goes shallow, chest rising and falling just a fraction faster. My own cock is already rock-hard in my pants, straining against the zipper.
“Triple security means nothing if we look incompetent,” Roman says coldly. “The Nozares see weakness, they push harder.”
“We don’t look incompetent. We responded immediately—” Lev argues.
“You reinforced after an attack already happened,” Yulian interrupts. “That’s reactive. Makes us look like we’re scrambling.”
Tightening my grip, I stroke faster, twisting my wrist over his crown the way I know drives him insane. Mikhail’s hand shoots to my thigh under the table, gripping so hard it hurts, nails digging in through my pants. His knuckles go white on the edge of the table with his other hand.
This is exhilarating. Jerking him off right here at the table while everyone argues like nothing’s happening. Years of wanting this and never being able to touch him, and now I’m making him fall apart in front of all of them without them even knowing it’s happening.
“What would you suggest then?” Lev snaps at Yulian. “Since you clearly have all the answers.”
“Handle it quietly,” Yulian shoots back. “Don’t broadcast every security upgrade like you’re asking for approval.”
Father’s hand comes down on the table hard enough to rattle plates. “Enough. Both of you.” Then his eyes cut to Mikhail. “And what’s your assessment of the port security? You were there when it happened.”
Mikhail opens his mouth to answer, and I stroke him faster, harder, twisting my wrist over the head of his cock. His breath hitches for a fraction of a second before he controls it.
“Security was—” He clears his throat. “Adequate for normal operations. Not for a coordinated hit.”
Working him relentlessly, I rub my thumb in circles over his slit and spread the precum that’s leaking steadily. His hand tightens on my thigh, nails digging in hard enough to hurt.
“Adequate isn’t acceptable.”
“No,” Mikhail manages, jaw clenched. “It’s not.”
I pump him harder, faster, feeling him pulse and throb in my hand. He’s close.
His thigh tenses under my arm, muscles coiled tight, and his breathing stutters before he forces it back under control.
“The point,” our father continues, “is that we cannot afford another incident. Not with Santiago’s condition making the Nozares unpredictable.”
“Santiago’s losing his mind,” Yulian says flatly. “Dementia makes him dangerous, not strategic.”
“Dangerous is worse. We need to do something,” Lev counters.
Twisting my wrist, I squeeze hard right over the head, and Mikhail’s hand flies to his mouth. He sinks his teeth into the meat of his palm, biting down hard as his cock jerks violently in my grip.
He comes, thick hot ropes shooting out, hitting the underside of the table with a soft splatter before dripping down onto the floor.
Pulse after pulse, so much cum spilling from him that it coats my hand, drips between my fingers, pools on the hardwood beneath our chairs.
His whole body locks up, muscles rigid, and his chest heaves once before he forces it still.
Watching him come silently while fighting to stay perfectly still while his cock pulses and spills in my hand is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My own cock throbs so hard it’s painful, precum soaking through my boxers.
I keep stroking him, slowly now, drawing it out until he’s shaking slightly, oversensitive and twitching in my grip. His breath comes out shaky, and he has to swallow hard, throat working. Then I tuck him back into his pants carefully, fingers brushing against heated skin, and zip him up.
My hand is slick with his cum, sticky between my fingers. I grab my napkin from the table and bring it up to my mouth, holding it there like I’m wiping my lips.
Behind the cover of the paper, I slip my fingers into my mouth one by one, licking and sucking his cum off them slowly. The salty taste floods my tongue, and I have to suppress a groan. I clean each finger thoroughly, savoring it, before lowering the napkin.
When I glance at Mikhail, his nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches hard, eyes going dark and heated from watching me.
“Hard to get eyes on them when they’re scattered,” Yulian mutters. “Mateo runs West Coast, but Omar controls Mexico and Cuba. And Cuba’s untouchable because Santiago was born there. They’ve got massive operations running out of Havana.”
“Then we find another way in,” our father says flatly.