Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(6)
“She is the daughter of Manuel Valentini.”
“I’m aware,” Viktor muses. “He has requested several meetings with me already. What I want to know is why she is with you.”
“Her father owes us a great deal of money. I am merely motivating him to pay it back in a timely fashion.”
Viktor’s dark eyes move to mine, lancing right through the half-truth. “Do not trifle with me, Kol’ka.”
My eyes move over the room and land on Sergei, who has finally made an appearance. His head is still bandaged where his ear used to be, and he is absent of the smug expression he typically wears. It’s safe to say he has come back with his tail between his legs.
“Does this have any relation to your father’s business dealings in the past?”
I return my attention to Viktor, affronted by the observation. Discretion is a quality I take great pride in possessing, and it never crossed my mind that he would so clearly guess my intentions.
“There have been many rumors over the years.” Viktor retrieves a cigar from his front pocket, pursing it between his lips as he speaks. “He once said himself that your mother ran off with an Italian.”
“That isn’t true.” My tone is careful and deliberate, but it makes little difference. The fact that I am defending my mother at all is the answer to his question. When she disappeared from my life at the age of ten, the only explanation I was given was that she was a liar and a whore, and I was never to speak her name again.
Viktor gestures for my lighter, and I hand it to him. He lights up and takes a few puffs of the cigar while he settles on the right words. “The truth is, I’m not certain what happened to your mother. She was a good girl. Too sweet to be caught up with the likes of your father. If you do discover the truth, Kol’ka, I would like to know myself.”
His words ground me. I did not ask for his blessing, but in his own way, Viktor has given it. He is aware of my true intentions, and I can do what is necessary now that we have come to an understanding.
Viktor checks his watch and abruptly decides this conversation is over. He announces that the meeting is about to start, and social hour is finished. The brothers file into the meeting room, and I walk beside the pakhan. Before we reach the door, one last thought occurs to him, and he halts me.
“There is just one thing I must insist on.”
“Yes?”
His nose wrinkles in distaste. “The girl is not Russian.”
“I’m aware.”
He flicks a piece of lint off his jacket, the gesture symbolic of a warning. “So don’t get attached to her.”
“Do you like?”
The Russian dancer leans forward to show off her new pair of tits while I smoke a cigarette. Her name is Mara, and I fuck her on Tuesdays. Lately, she’s been out of commission on account of the surgery. I haven’t seen her around for a while, and now I know why. Beneath her tiny bikini top, the implants look like grapefruits. They don’t move at all. I know because it came to my attention when I fucked her ten minutes ago.
Mara’s wondering why I didn’t touch them. She’s pursing her lips, and those look a little swollen too, if I’m not mistaken.
A wisp of smoke coils out from the corner of my mouth. “They’re lovely.”
Sometimes it’s better to lie. I’m a man who prefers sins of the flesh, not silicone. This will be the last time Mara and I meet. But while she’s here and it’s easy, I gesture to my dick, which is hard again.
The beautiful thing about a woman like Mara is that’s all it takes. We are both too jaded to believe in love. She uses me for the void that Daddy left her, and I use her because it’s uncomplicated. She does her best work on her knees, and there’s no shame in that.
Long red fingernails scrape up my thighs. When she sucks my dick into her mouth, I lean back on a sigh and finish off my cigarette while she bounces up and down between my legs.
I like a room with a view, which is why I requested her presence in the gym today. Around us, her work is broadcast and reflected by mirrors on all four sides. But my eyes aren’t on the mirrors or even her. They are on the door. And when it opens at exactly three o clock, I am not disappointed.
Honeyed eyes rake over me with contempt before settling on Mara’s head in my lap. Tanaka makes a point to look at my dick, and then she makes it a point to appear unimpressed. She is a liar and a snob. When my eyes dip to her chest, two hard nipples scrape against the thin fabric of her white leotard. Pure like her virgin pussy. I’d be willing to bet my left nut that she is soaked for me, but she does well to hide it behind her disdain.
Frustration drives me to fist Mara’s hair and shove my cock as deep as she can take me. I fuck her mouth while my eyes fuck the uptight ballerina across the room. The release is violent, and it happens sooner than I would have liked. Tanaka lost interest in my games before I could even get started.
My head falls back against the chair while my dick convulses in Mara’s mouth. She tries to draw it out, but I am well and truly done.
Across the room, Tanaka sets up camp with her water bottle and tote bag, making it apparent she has no plans to evacuate anytime soon. For such an obedient Italian girl, she seems to have no trouble defying me. Her ankle is immobilized with a brace, and she is still hobbling around on crutches, yet she attempts to maintain an exercise regime worthy of a concentration camp.