CHAPTER 2
Rodian
As the curtains close, the applause dies and people get up from their seats.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, drawing a sigh from me.
No rest for the wicked.
At least I got to enjoy the play, which is something I don’t get to do as often as I’d like.
Pulling the device out of my pocket, I look at the screen and see a bunch of notifications.
Yegor’s blowing up my damn phone, throwing a fucking tantrum because I’m in England for a business deal and not in Russia.
Yegor Fedorov’s been the head of the Bratva for way too fucking long, and once I have enough manpower behind me, I’m taking him down.
He’s old-school and refuses to move forward.
Before I took over from my uncle as underboss, he thought convincing Yegor to have his daughter, Yelena, marry into the Irish mafia would finally drag the old bastard into the twenty-first century.
Yelena gave birth to a girl, though, and because of complications, she couldn’t have more children. To Yegor, that meant the Irish could never give him a male heir, so he slammed the door shut on the alliance.
After that, Yelena and her kid disappeared from Bratva life, and my uncle was taken out by pneumonia. His son, Artem, suffers from a severe anxiety disorder and has had some developmental issues growing up. He isn’t built for the violence and pressure of our world, so I took over in his stead.
In the three years I’ve been underboss, the Bratva has started taking heat from every corner of the world. If we don’t form solid alliances with other organized crime groups, we won’t survive.
I read a few of the messages, then type out my reply.
Rodian: I’ll be back in a couple of days. Just got the deal with Sharma signed, giving us a foothold in India.
As I lock my phone screen, someone says, “Sorry to b-bother you, sir.”
My eyes flick up, and in a split second I take in everything about the young guy. He’s probably in his mid-twenties, scrawny build, and doesn’t come across as a threat at all.
The guy bristles under my stare and shifts his feet while clearing his throat. With a squeaky voice, he stutters, “The l-l-lead actress, Sofia, h-h-has invited you b-b-b-backstage to spend t-t-time with h-her.”
The actress isn’t my type at all. I’ve always preferred women with more meat on their bones, and I’m not into fucking around just to get off.
“Not interested.” When I rise to my feet, the guy quickly takes a few steps to the side, then his eyes widen slightly because he has to tilt his head way back to look up at me.
I adjust my jacket, and as I fasten the button, the damn thing pops loose and falls on the floor.
“Dammit!”
I’m going to kill the tailor. Not only is the jacket too tight, but it’s falling apart.
The guy darts forward, picks up the button, and holds it out to me. “We h-have a seamstress b-backstage who can sew it b-b-back on for you.”
I think about it for a second or two before nodding. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
He gives me a nervous smile as he begins to walk toward the side door. “I’m Oliver.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he reminds me a lot of Artem.
Softening my tone so I don’t make him more anxious, I say, “Lead the way.”
As he walks ahead of me, he keeps glancing back, and when we head down a corridor, a man sees me coming and steps back into an open doorway.
Coming around a corner, I notice a group of people, then a woman makes a beeline for me.
Fuck. Sofia.
The lead actress flashes me a flirty smile as if I’m some fucking prize she’s won. She reaches for my arm, but I step away before she can touch me.
Her features tighten for a second, then she says, “I’m so glad you accepted my invite.”
With a cold tone, I reply, “I didn’t.”
This time her smile drops completely, and she frowns at me. “Then why are you backstage?” She flips her hair over her shoulder and tries again. “Join me for a couple of drinks.” Then her expression turns seductive, and her voice is annoyingly husky. “I promise I’ll make it worth your time.”
Wanting to get this over with, I adjust my wristwatch while saying, “You’re not my type.”
Her expression quickly morphs into one of pure indignation.
Before Sofia can think of a reply, I indicate for Oliver to continue walking and follow him to an open doorway. I glance into the room, which is filled with costumes and rolls of fabric, then my eyes lock on a woman.
She’s standing by one of the rails, checking a dress and other pieces that were used for the play.
I watch as she writes something on a scrap of paper before pinning it to the fabric. Her blond hair spills over her shoulders as she reaches for a pair of gloves.
My gaze burns over every curve of her body, loving how the dress cups her full breasts, giving me an eye-full of the most perfect cleavage I’ve ever seen.
God damn.
Just one look at the woman has my cock twitching because she’s fucking beautiful and exactly my type.
“Anastasia?” Oliver clears his throat when she glances at us.
While I’m entranced by her stunning features, he says, “There’s a gentleman w-who needs a b-button sewn b-b-back onto his jacket. I t-told him you w-won’t mind helping.” His face turns beet red, then he mutters, “I-I need to get b-back to work.”
He hurries down the hallway, leaving me alone with the woman.
Anastasia. The name suits her.
When I step into the room, our eyes meet for the first time. Her green irises remind me of moss, and I feel another strong pull of attraction.
Anastasia’s hand pauses on the hanger she’s about to slide to the side as her gaze drifts over me, then her body tenses enough for me to notice, and caution creeps over her face.
I’m used to people reacting like this around me. Someone in my line of work, who deals with the most sadistic fuckers in the world on a daily basis, tends to make normal people’s fight-or-flight instinct kick in. Danger hangs around me like a cloak, and most of them can sense it.
But as I look at the beautiful blond, the last thing I want to do is scare her.
Stepping closer, I keep my tone soft as I say, “I can see you’re busy.” The corner of my mouth lifts slightly. “Would you mind helping?”
Anastasia swallows before nodding. “Not at all.” Her voice is sweet as she comes closer. “Can I see the button?”
I hand it to her before shrugging my jacket off, my eyes not leaving her. Taking the jacket, her gaze darts to mine before she quickly looks away and walks to a table that’s situated against the wall on the other side of the room.
Wanting to come across as less threatening, I pull out one of the chairs by another table and sit down.
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I quickly send Andrei a text telling him I won’t be out soon so he and Sergei don’t come in guns blazing, thinking something has happened to me.
Both men have been with me for close to a decade and tend to be overprotective.
I hear people laughing, and it sounds like someone is giving a speech.
“Sorry for keeping you,” I say, my eyes drinking in every inch of her.
Christ, no woman has ever caught my attention the way this one has.
She’s young, though. Probably early twenties.
Anastasia shakes her head while sewing the button on way too fucking fast for my liking. “You’re not keeping me.”
Once she’s done, she hesitates for a moment before meeting my gaze and holding it for a little longer this time. “I can fix the fit too. If that’s okay with you. I won’t take long.”
Interesting.
“You noticed?” When her cheeks begin to turn pink, a smile tugs at my mouth, and I relax back in the chair. “I don’t mind at all. There’s no rush.”
She stares at me for a second before turning the jacket inside out. I love how her fingers move over the fabric as she checks something near the collar. I have no idea what she does after that because I’m too busy eye-fucking every voluptuous inch of her body.
A few strands of hair fall into her face as she leans forward, but she tucks them behind her ear, and I find the way she moves damn-near hypnotic.
She seems to enjoy what she’s doing, which is a rare thing. Most people hate their jobs.
Once again, I take in the full swell of her breasts, and knowing they’ll be more than a handful makes my cock harden fucking fast. Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on my thighs to hide my hard-on and tell myself to stop eye-fucking her before she notices.
Iisus Khristos, she’s fucking beautiful.
Too soon, Anastasia cuts the loose threads and inspects her work while she gets up from the chair. When she brings the jacket over, I have to suppress the urge to rip the damn thing apart so she’ll have more to fix.
Her eyes only touch on mine for a second as she asks, “Can you try it on?”
Climbing to my feet, I tower over her even though she’s not as short as most women, the top of her head reaching to my upper chest.
After I slide my arms into the sleeves, she moves around me, and when her hands brush over my shoulders as she checks the fit, a shiver runs through me from how fucking good it feels to be touched by her.
“It’s not perfect, but it should feel more comfortable,” she murmurs, picking a piece of lint off my bicep.
My tone is on the rougher side from the intense attraction I feel toward her. “Thank you.”
A smile curves her full lips, stunning me once more. “I’m glad I could help.”
I can’t stop staring at her, and when her eyes meet mine again, I capture them and refuse to let go. Sexual tension explodes between us, and I swear it makes the air tremble.
The other people cheer, ripping us out of the moment, and I glance at the door. “You probably want to join your co-workers.”
Anastasia shakes her head. “I still have some work to do.”
Unable to make myself leave, I ask, “I love the smell and how peaceful it feels in here. Would you mind if I stayed?”
Surprise flashes over her face, her eyes widening. “You want to sit here? In my workshop? Didn’t Sofia invite you backstage?”
“She did, but I’m not interested in her.” Not wanting to miss any chance I might have with Anastasia, I don’t beat around the bush and admit, “I would much rather spend time with you.”
She blinks as if I just told her pigs fly, then her lips part, and she sounds a little breathless as she replies, “Oh. Ah… sure.” Looking frazzled, she walks toward the costumes but then stops and asks, “Can I get you anything to drink or eat?” She gestures at the door. “From the party.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I sit down again, my gaze following the woman I intend to get to know a hell of a lot better as she rushes out of the room.
Shrugging off the jacket again, I rest it over the back of the chair before pulling my phone out and sending Andrei another text.
Rodian: I won’t be out anytime soon. I met a woman and will stay as long as she lets me.
Andrei: I’m leaving to get food. Sergei will be stationed outside.
Yeah, I’m definitely not letting this chance slip through my fingers. I still have a week in London, and with a little luck I’ll be able to get Anastasia to go on a few dates with me.