Chapter 18 - Joseph
It’s been a few days since I had sex with her.
A few days ago, I held her in my arms and pushed myself into her beautiful, sweet little pussy.
A few days since I kissed her lips and touched her skin…
and I can’t stop obsessing over it. No matter what I’m doing, where I am, or who I’m with, I’m thinking about her.
A woman has never had this effect on me before.
Not as gripping as this, where my entire mind is consumed by thoughts of her.
Fuck. I need to focus on work and meetings and conversation, and I can’t.
There’s something wrong with me.
Even watching the other guys take her has me desperately wanting more.
I can’t believe that happened. I’ve never experienced anything like that. And she loved it. We all did. It felt so right.
Walking into the mansion after a long day of meetings, my head is tired, and I can’t wait to see her.
Unfortunately, the first person I come across is Artur.
“Hello,” he mumbles gruffly.
“Hello,” I snap back at him.
Nothing has changed between us. It sucks that we can both be married to and intimate with the same beautiful girl and not be able to resolve our differences.
And it makes the alliance that much harder to navigate.
Artur is already walking away when I groan to myself and dump my work things on the small foyer table.
“Wait…” I call out with a reluctant sigh.
“What?” he snaps, turning to look at me.
“We need to talk. We can’t keep going on like this,” I suggest.
He shrugs, pulling his mouth tight. “Fine. Talk.”
“Let’s get a drink,” I sigh.
Artur follows me to the living room bar, where I pour us each a vodka on the rocks. He watches me with his arms folded across his chest as he stands near the sofas.
“Do you want to sit?” I ask, handing him his drink.
“No,” he huffs.
I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m sitting,” I say, lowering into one of the sofas and leaning forward with my elbows resting on my knees.
Artur gives in and sits as well, but in the furthest possible seat from me.
All of these little gestures make it obvious that this isn’t going to be easy.
“Artur, the bottom line is that we don’t have much choice. We need to meet with Misha. And I know—”
“Not a chance,” he blurts out, interrupting me.
I clench my jaw, stopping myself from impatiently lashing out at him.
“Can you give me a chance to speak at least?” I say quietly.
He takes a big sip of his drink and presses his lips tightly together.
“I know it’s not something you want to do, but the bottom line is that Misha has already messed with one of my operations.
He knows we have her, and he will come and find her.
We need to stay one step ahead of him, and we’re already two steps behind.
Unless you want him bursting in here and taking her away, we need to do this.
Besides, man, you already won. You got her. You married her.”
He scoffs.
“That’s not good enough?” I ask.
“Why am I suddenly into making agreements with you?” he asks coldly.
“Since we’re allies. Or did you forget? I assume you entered the alliance because of some personal issue between you and Misha?
And now that personal issue is affecting everyone, and you’re pretending it’s still just about you.
Whatever is going on, we need to set aside our differences…
between you and me… and we need to sort this out for the alliance’s sake,” I try to explain without provoking him further.
He is the most infuriating man. Never in my life have I struggled to communicate with someone so much before. Perhaps that isn’t true. There is, after all, still my father.
And my father is still out there, waiting in silence until he sees the right opportunity to come after me. I need the alliance to work. I’d better not forget that in all the chaos of trying to deal with Artur and his persistent ability to drive me crazy.
“Misha isn’t the only enemy we have,” I sigh.
“What does that mean?” Artur mutters.
“We are all Pakhans, Artur. We all came into this with enemies, with history. The whole point is that we work together to get rid of them. This has to end. This has to come to a resolution somehow,” I say.
He pulls one side of his mouth tight and ponders what I’ve said.
“Fine,” he shrugs, then drains the last of his drink. “Set up the meeting,” he groans.
Artur stands up and leaves the living room, and I realize that is the most I am going to get out of him. I guess that’s his version of setting aside our differences. And I guess it’ll have to be acceptable even though I still want to punch the guy in the face.
***
It’s a popular beach bar in neutral territory.
Without any idea of what to expect from the meet-up, Artur and I walk into the bar and out onto the back terrace facing the ocean.
There are a lot of people around, most of them wearing ghastly bright palm tree shirts and board shorts.
Or no shirts at all, as they laugh too loudly and sip cocktails with umbrellas hooked onto the side of the glass.
Music plays as background noise. Jazz. I never particularly understood or enjoyed jazz. It seems messy and unpredictable. I like things to be predictable. Things should have a set path that makes sense. And why would you play jazz in a beach bar?
“Misha?” I ask, walking toward the tall man in a pale gray shirt and black slacks. He turns toward us with a wide grin.
“Guys, isn’t it a beautiful day? But damn, it’s hot out here,” he laughs, holding out his hand to shake mine. “Joseph? It’s good to meet you in person.” His face is friendly and relaxed. It’s a stark contrast to the tension behind this meeting.
“Misha, it’s good to meet you too,” I say, taking his hand with a firm grip.
Artur nods his head in greeting and opts not to shake Misha’s hand. Misha chuckles and shrugs. “You haven’t changed, Artur,” he muses as his eyes drift over his old friend.
“Can I get you boys a drink?” Misha asks, gesturing toward the bar.
“We’ve ordered, thanks,” I say, standing next to him at the tall round table. He leans against it with one elbow resting on the surface as he gazes out at the lake.
“Beautiful place to live,” he says.
“It is,” I agree, wanting to get on with the important aspect of this meeting, but understanding that this small talk is part of the process.
Artur hasn’t said a word, but his eyes are tightly locked onto Misha. Both of us have noticed the giveaway sign of a gun tucked at his left ankle.
“Misha, I think it’s important for us to talk about…” I begin.
“Artur, why did you pick Chicago?” Misha asks, turning to the man next to me, cutting me off.
“What difference does it make to you? As long as I was no longer in your city? Right?”
“Right,” Misha nods, amused. “You were bringing down the properly value with your presence,” he scoffs sarcastically.
Artur’s mouth pulls tight, and he flexes his jaw.
“Misha, can we discuss…” I try again, but the man interrupts a second time.
“So, my old friend, you fled out here to try and make a name for yourself? A little orphan boy like you in the big city? Now, why do you think people would want you around? You never were anything special, you know,” he says coldly.
What the fuck? This guy is being a dickhead. What the fuck is his problem?
Artur sneers. “You have a problem with the fact that my parents died when I was young? Does that offend you, Misha?” he growls. Emotion flickers darkly across his face.
“Can we please take it down a notch?” I say, in an attempt to defuse the escalating tension.
Misha shoots me a glare. “You like hanging out with the commoners, Joe?” he asks me.
Misha continues to taunt Artur, and I listen, not interrupting, waiting for him to slip up and say something telling. The longer he talks, the more obvious it becomes. This man is dangerous. He’s underhanded and fake. And there is something disturbing about his coldness.
Artur is doing his best to stay in control, but the hurt I see in his eyes tells me that something from the past sits unresolved in his mind. Something Misha did broke him.
After five more minutes of bullshit from him, I shake my head and snarl, “Are we ever going to get to the point? You’re acting like a fucking grade school kid with these insults.
Why don’t you just spit out whatever your problem is?
What the fuck happened between you two? You were friends.
How did it come to this?” I snarl at Misha, unable to take another second of this.
Misha snorts with laughter. “Friends? Please. Don’t insult me. This man was never worthy of being my friend. Poor little orphan came under my wing. I gave him everything. I gave him every opportunity he could dream of…”
“No, you didn’t,” Artur snaps. “Your uncle was the one who took me in, not you. He was the one who helped me and taught me. He brought me up to your level so that I could work in his company. That was what he wanted all along. But you didn’t, did you?
You didn’t want me to do as well as you?
” Artur growls, dangerously close to losing it.
“Pfft,” Misha scoffs. “You didn’t deserve to be at my level.
I have no idea why my uncle dragged you into our family.
And then…and then, you stupid arrogant asshole, you started getting on with my sister a little too well.
I could see exactly what you were doing.
You wanted to marry into the family. You were gunning for our surname.
You thought that getting together with Maria would give you the key to the Baburin name? ” he snaps.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I really liked your sister, Misha. We were growing closer because we got along. There was no hidden agenda. You were my best friend, and she was a sweet, beautiful girl who treated me like she enjoyed having me around,” Artur blurts out, hidden emotion bubbling closer to the surface.
“Ha! My sister, with you? I would never allow it!”
“So what? You got rid of me?” Artur narrows his eyes in disbelief.
“Exactly, you stupid fuck. I got rid of you because I own that city and everyone in it. I made sure you lost everything…even came close to getting rid of you for good,” he mutters angrily.
“You should be happy our uncle passed away and can’t see the disgusting man you became, Misha. He would be ashamed of you,” Artur growls.
“I saved our family name by forcing you out of it,” he huffs in return. “Our name had to stay pure. We couldn’t have a street rat like you infiltrating our bloodline,” he huffs, snubbing his nose at Artur.
Around us, I watch as suspicious-looking men slowly creep closer.
“Give my sister back to me, Artur,” Misha warns him.
“I don’t think you deserve her. I don’t think you ever did,” Artur spits.
“Give her the fuck back to me,” Misha snarls again.
“Good luck with your miserable life, Misha. But you aren’t getting Maria back,” Artur responds.
I reach out and grab his arm. “Art,” I warn him. He looks up to follow my gaze and notices the men crowding us.
“We’ve got to go,” I mutter.
He nods and slips his hand beneath his shirt to rest his hand on his Glock. I do the same, flicking the safety off my gun.
Misha laughs coldly as he watches us backing off the wooden platform of the beach bar and onto the sand. Art stays close to me, ready and alert.
“Go around the side,” he says.
“On it, let’s hurry,” I reply.
We managed to escape without incident despite it getting very close to becoming an explosive situation. On the drive home, Artur is silent and staring out of the window.
At least I know what happened now.
The truth had to come out at some point, and a lot of how Artur feels toward Misha makes sense. But why does he hate Maria?