Chapter Fifteen
Dima was making himself busy with the pretty, petite stewardess at the back of the plane. The bedroom at the back was nearly soundproof, but her porn star-worthy moans managed to seep through the carefully crafted walls.
Blyad.
Her moans sounded practiced, not authentic. Images of my sweet wife writhing and moaning beneath me had my body tightening and cock hardening. Groaning, I released my belt and freed my hard cock. My eyes closed as I conjured up a vision of Ava before me on her knees, her emerald eyes shining up at me innocently as she took my cock in her hot, wet mouth.
I fisted myself, pumping it slowly as I let the fantasy take over.
Fuck.
Ava kissed my cock, swirling her tongue along the smooth, wet head. I let out a throaty groan, relishing in the soft feel of her tongue as she flattened it at the base of the tip before her hot, delicious mouth engulfed my length.
She sucked, and I moaned, my eyes closing, my hand burying itself in her ginger curls.
I bucked into her mouth as she dropped down farther, taking more of me into her warm, wet hole. It took everything I had not to take control and force her head down until her nose touched my stomach. Instead, I massaged my fingers along her scalp, reveling in the way she preened against my steady action.
Rough, feral sounds escaped my throat as she lapped at my cock. It wasn’t long before she added her delicate hand to the mix. She squeezed the base of my cock roughly, the pressure causing my hips to jerk the tip farther into her mouth as she worked the two in tandem.
Pleasure built, my balls tightening the more aggressive she sucked and stroked. On her knees before me, Ava held all the power. My hand grasped her hair tighter as I chased the euphoria she was creating inside me.
Fuck.
Wrenching her hair back, I pulled her mouth from my cock. My free hand squeezed her cheeks, forcing her mouth open.
“Stroke me hard until I come,” I growled, her obedience nearly sending me over the edge as she reached her hand out and stroked my painfully hard member. It took just a few strokes to send me barreling over the edge. I cursed, groaning her name as my release spurted over her mouth and cheeks.
Ava was perfect.
A high-pitched scream sent me careening from my fantasy and back to the hellish nightmare of reality. I let my hand fall from my softening cock and took a deep breath. Then I cleaned up and tucked myself away.
When I got my hands on her again, there would be no saving her. I’d fuck her until we were both too exhausted to go on, and the moment she thought she was free, I’d do it all over again. She would remember who owned her.
Me.
Ava was mine, and the minute I returned, I would remind her of that fact.
Hinges squeaked. The woosh of a door opening alerted me that Dima was finished with his business. He had been only sixteen when he came to me, begging me for a job and a way out of the toilet he called a life. He came to me as a junkie with only the clothes on his back. His girlfriend packed up her shit and ran, and his crew got wasted after a raid gone wrong. Dima was left with nothing, and I helped build him into the man he was today.
Strong. Resilient. But a coward when it came to confronting the woman who’d sold his crew down the river. Instead of finding her, he buried his dick in easy, disposable pussy. Not the best way to deal with trauma, but I wasn’t going to judge him for it.
“I really wish you would stop fucking the stewardesses.” I shook my head and sighed. “Do you know how hard it is to find good ones who keep their mouths shut after the ones you fuck get their heart broken and quit?”
Dima shrugged.
“If it helps, I’ll hire the next one,” he volunteered.
“After this one quits, I’m hiring men,” I threatened lightly. “Beefy men.”
Dima crowed with laughter, his head thrown back at the absurd threat. “Those are always the most fun to dominate.” The fucker winked at me. The gall of this kid.
“You could just confront her,” I told him. “We know where she is.”
Dima sneered. “I have nothing to say to that traitorous bitch.”
The urge to roll my eyes had never been greater. So was the urge to choke this motherfucker. “You may not. But your dick surely does.”
Dima growled.
“Shut it.”
I chuckled. “Did I hit a nerve?”
The glare my enforcer sent me was enough to reduce a grown man to tears. Luckily, I happened to be immune to his charms.
“We should be landing in half an hour, sir.” Stephanie, the stewardess, smiled coyly, batting her fake eyelashes at me. Any appeal she might have held washed away with her desperation. “If you need anything before we land, please let me know. I’m happy to assist.” Another bat of her fake lashes, another teasing grin as her eyes roamed my body.
“Your resignation will do.”
Dima coughed, the vodka he just sipped spewing over his lap.
“I’m…sorry?” Stephanie’s face twisted into a state of confusion and panic, her eyes widening as her drawn-on eyebrows buried themselves in her hairline.
“This will be your last flight with us,” I snapped, handing Dima my handkerchief. “I employed you as a stewardess. Not a whore. Fucking Dima was one thing. Blatantly hitting on a man you know is married is another. Seek employment elsewhere, Miss Wise. It’ll be in your best interest.”
Her red lips wobbled uncertainly, her pleading eyes darting to Dima, hoping he would save her.
He wouldn’t.
With a subtle shake of his head, he turned his attention away from his latest conquest and onto the screen in front of him.
“You were shitty lay, anyway,” she sneered at Dima and stalked toward the front of the plane, her heels stomping against the lush carpet.
Dima cackled delightedly once she was out of sight. I ran a hand down my face and gave a frustrated sigh. “Male fucking stewards,” I mumbled, which just caused Dima to crow louder. “Stop fucking laughing, Svoloch’ and tell me what the fuck we’re looking at when we land.”
“Okay. Okay.” Dima’s laugh settled, and he straightened his shoulders as he scrolled through the data Mark had sent over about Kirill. “Looks like he took over the old Pakhan’s house on Old Queen Street. It’s a luxury townhome, built in 1775. Georgian style architecture, five bed—”
“Dima,” I snapped. “You’re not the house’s real estate agent.”
“Right.” Dima’s cheeks took on an uncharacteristic blush. I was trying to be patient with him since he rarely got to be point man on anything like this. He was an enforcer, not an intelligence gatherer. This situation was new to him, and I tried my best to remind myself of that.
“What’s his schedule like?” I asked. He was frozen, searching through the information Mark had provided, his confidence wavering as he tried to find the exact information I wanted.
“Creature of habit,” Dima informed me. “He rarely deviates from his routines. Leaves for the warehouse every morning at seven in a black Mercedes G-Class with two guards and one driver. No decoy car and no extra security.”
“Bold,” I murmured. Dima nodded in agreement.
“It’s like he thinks he’s untouchable.”
Kirill would. His ego rivaled the greatest cities. Even as a meager mafia runner, he always walked and talked as if he was a king among men. A Caesar among the Romans. Learning about my father’s heritage explained why he always thought himself better than the men he worked alongside. How he would puff out his chest and crow at them, flaunting authority he didn’t have.
Only, he did. It was that no one knew of it, and if they did, they didn’t care. It was one thing that constantly made him angry when I was growing up. He would take his anger and aggression out on my mother.
“You were right,” Dima admitted. “The moment he heard you were dead, he dropped all the extra security measures.”
I smirked. Kirill was anything if not predictable. It was no surprise that my death would lessen his hold on the strenuous security protocols he had in place. Satisfaction bloomed in my chest, knowing I’d caused all his fear. How many times had he jumped at the surrounding shadows, believing I hid behind them, ready to strike? Had his life been fraught with nightmares of his death, just as mine had been?
No matter.
Soon the bastard would be dead, and I would be free. Justice for my mother and brother would be served, and I could rush home to bury my cock in my wife’s tight cunt.
“What are we going to do about Archer?” Dima asked. “He’s here in the city. Could be coincidence, but I’m thinking we aren’t the only ones who know about Kirill’s dirty laundry.”
Jonathan Archer.
A.k.a. Ivan Tkachenko, my cousin.
Who I thought to be my brother before Mark had hit me with Kirill’s true parentage. I winced at the implication. It meant that Roman was not my cousin by blood. Kasyanov was the surname of the man I knew as my uncle. There were only a handful of times I had seen him before Kirill kicked me to the curb. It wasn’t until I began fighting in the underground that we reconnected.
It was a weary connection, full of distrust, and then later filled with disgust when Roman came begging for me to take him in. I was working as Tomas’s enforcer by then. My uncle hadn’t wanted an Italian-Russian hybrid for a son. Said his Italian side would make him too soft.
Now he was one of my most ruthless killers.
If his father wasn’t already dead, I would have brought him along to do the honors.
“We might be able to use him,” I surmised as I leaned back more comfortably in my seat, crossing an ankle over my knee. “If Kirill really is cheating Andrei out of money, he isn’t going to take it lightly. There’s a chance we could use Ivan’s connection to his father while exploiting mine.”
“You gonna tell him you’re related?”
I blew out an amused breath. “I’m pretty sure he already knows from his research. There was no way he would have missed it.”
“True, but looking back, nothing he’s done makes sense,” Dima contemplated as he too got comfortable. We’d be landing soon. “He took on the guise of a deceased FBI agent for years and never once went after you. Then he suddenly teams up with the Wards? For what?”
“He wanted to use Ava to get the video.” The statement wasn’t as confident as I wanted it to be. “Frame me for Elias’s murder.”
Dima shot me a skeptical look.
“Really?” he questioned. “Because from where I’m sitting, that makes no sense. Christian’s betrayal of his father was spontaneous. He didn’t plan it out. Not to mention, he had Mark involved long before he solicited Ava. Using her was just an excuse. He didn’t need to. He wanted to. Nothing he had Ava do was necessary. Mark could have easily slipped him that information via a secure server without any of us being the wiser. He chose to use her. The question is—why?”
I reflected on what he said as Stephanie’s broken voice announced that we were descending into London. I stared out the window, a sneer painting my lips at the sight of the city below me. London was a cesspool of the worst crime families. Boys playing at men. They were reckless here, and most of the underground was run by dirty corporations instead of blue-blooded mafia families.
Despicable.
George landed the plane with the same finesse as always, the jolt barely detectable as we hit the runway and coasted toward the hangar. When he powered down the engines and Stephanie released the staircase, we were off like a shot in the Ferrari F12 Berlinetta I had procured several years ago when I was still traveling back and forth from this hellhole.
The Ferrari weaved through London traffic, handling like a wet dream. I thought about having it shipped to the states just so I could fuck Ava in it. The machine had power, and I had customized the interior from Ferrari’s standard nude leather to black, adding in hand-stitched red thread to compliment the exterior.
This Ferrari wasn’t just built for speed, it was made to be street legal until the city limits faded away and you could let loose. I bought it for the aerodynamic design. The engineers structured the car so well that air seemed to slip right down the flanks of the car, making for smoother turns and transitions.
The yellow-coated attendants outside the car whistled as we pulled up to the valet of the Savoy hotel. A place, I’m told, where Guccio Gucci once worked as a baggage porter. I tossed my keys to the one attendant who hadn’t been vying to get to my car and handed him a two-hundred-dollar tip.
“Not a scratch,” I threatened. “Or I break fingers.”
The boy audibly gulped, his carotid pulsing as he nodded emphatically. I patted his cheek and then made my way through the hotel doors with my bag in hand.
“Welcome.” The woman at the front desk smiled broadly at us, her eyes shining as she took in our expensive suits and polished demeanor. “Can I get your name for the reservation?”
“Pavel Kasyanov.” I gave her my dead uncle’s name. Using my own meant showing my hand, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
“Oh, yes.” The woman’s smile brightened even further. “You’re in our River View Suite. Here are your cards.” She handed me the small envelope containing our room keys. “I can show you to your room if you like.”
Jesus.
The woman’s eyes were hooded, pupils blown open with lust as she gazed up at me from underneath her lashes. It was bold and brazen. At one point, I would have taken her up on her offer and brought her up, fucked her, and dismissed her. But not anymore. The only woman who made my cock twitch was currently mourning my death on the other side of the world.
“Well…” Dima smirked and moved to push past me, but I wasn’t having it.
“You just fucked our stewardess,” I reminded him, watching the woman’s face fall in disgust. “I think your dick needs some recovery time first.”
“But…”
“Nyet,” I hissed before dragging him along after me. “Stop acting like a boy and thinking with your damn dick before I castrate you to solve the problem.”
Dima didn’t say anything, but it was hard to miss the pull of his lips.
Fucker was messing with me.
“Come.” My voice was less harsh as we stepped into the elevator. “We have work to do.”