by Shandi Boyes
Even with my body refusing to play the game well, I ride my orgasm out, shuddering and shivering while screaming Dimitri’s name on repeat. His wondrously fat cock and multiple orgasms have created the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. I’m sore, delirious, and certain I’m on the brink of a coma, yet my body still craves more.
Defying legs that feel like Jell-O, I return to a kneeling position, roll my shoulders back, then meet Dimitri’s pumps grind for grind. We go at it for several long minutes, pounding, grunting, and fucking like our intimate act isn’t being shared with Dimitri’s neighbors. I’m moaning loud enough for all of Hopeton to hear, but I don’t care. This is too glorious for a half-assed response.
Dimitri demands my eyes to his when another orgasm creeps up on me. When he gets them, his hips still a mere second before his cock pulsates inside of me. The heat of his cum spurting out of his cock sends me spiraling again.
His name falls from my lips over and over as my orgasm zaps the last of my energy.
When I collapse into a heap, this time around, Dimitri comes with me. His large frame almost crushes me to death, but the rhythmic beat of his heart and the exhaustion overwhelming every inch of me soon lulls me to sleep.
I’m dead on my feet—figuratively.
Thank God.
Nine
Dimitri
My eyes lift to Smith when he has the audacity to snicker at me for the third time tonight. He isn’t laughing because sleeping for seventy-two hours straight didn’t stop me from catching a couple of hours of shut-eye with Roxanne after our romp. He’s amused about the shock on my face.
He was as honest as a saint when he said Roxanne was smart. Not only did she keep my operation afloat when I was flat on my back, she improved it. She tidied up the books, found a discrepancy that will cost someone their life, then made a handful of tweaks to the Arabian events that will improve my profit margin by six percent if not more.
I’m fucking astonished, and my surprise has nothing to do with how well she fucks. I killed her boyfriend, taunted her father until he blew his brains out, then tortured her mother, yet instead of plotting my demise when I was at my weakest, she made me stronger.
The knowledge has my cock thickening like I’m not sitting across from key members of my crew, strategizing our next move. Rules were broken, and although most of the rule-breakers have been brought before the court, the main players are still roaming free—most notably, Dr. Bates.
After adjusting my cock so my zipper stops biting it, I ask, “When is the good doctor expected back at the office?”
Even with him only returning from New York an hour ago, Rocco jumps into the conversation like he’s kept tabs on proceedings while busting noses. “He was originally scheduled to return last Tuesday. However, Princess P piqued his interest too much for him to consider leaving.”
He smirks when my teeth grit over his nickname. I don’t need him to spell out who he’s referencing. We’ve been friends for two decades, but we’ve been rivals even longer than that. It started with a video game every kid on our block played, and it continued long after Mario saved Princess Peach from the Mushroom Kingdom.
Rocco, along with nearly every other Super Mario fan, doesn’t understand Bowser’s character. He doesn’t constantly attack the Mushroom Kingdom because he’s evil. He wants to show Princess Peach she isn’t a damsel in distress. She can kick ass as much as the rest of the characters. You’ve just got to push her buttons right.
Kind of like Roxanne.
My scowl switches to a smirk before I get back to business. “Now he’s been told his bid was unsuccessful, did he readjust his schedule?”
I scrape my hand across my cropped beard when silence falls over the room. I didn’t fully shave because even with my mouth going nowhere near Roxanne’s intoxicating cunt, I can still smell it on my skin. It made showering before my meeting really fucking hard—both mentally and physically.
“We agreed to announce the failed bids within twenty-four hours of the auction, stating the winner wished to remain anonymous.” The shit I’m spurting isn’t unusual. Almost every man at the auction last week was married. They don’t want their spouses knowing they’re bidding for a virgin any more than I want to consider what would have happened if I had lost my cool a few hours earlier. I wouldn’t have covered Roxanne with a bedspread before sneaking out of our room an hour ago. I would have been tossing dirt on her.
“That was the plan—”
“Was? What do you mean was?” I stray my eyes to Smith, the deserver of my wrath. “I gave an order. It should have been followed.”
“Jesus, for a man who’s blown his load more the past week than he has the past year, you’ve certainly got your panties in a twist. Calm down, D. We’re not your enemy.”
As my eyes shoot to Rocco, my nostrils flare. “If we haven’t announced that the bids have ended, Roxanne’s virginity is still up for sale. If her virginity is for sale, she’s for sale. Point fucking blank. Can I explain it any simpler for you, Rocco?”
I balk like the bruises on his knuckles are from punching me in the gut when he replies, “That’s the point. She wants her sale to remain open.”
“That’s what I was referencing earlier.” Smith scoots closer to the table before balancing his elbows on a stack of paperwork he brings to every meeting. “Roxanne is willing to take our ruse one step further—”
“No.”
“At least hear the man out, D.”
“No!” I repeat more forcefully this time. “Bates didn’t bid three times that of his competitors for no reason. He wants Roxanne for more than her virginity.” Before Rocco can interject again, I continue talking, foiling his endeavors. “Furthermore, the ruse will no longer be effective.”
I’m not peacocking that I pinched Roxanne’s virginity, I am being straight-up honest. Roxanne said it herself. No one would believe our connection is fake because it’s never been made up. She fooled them last week because she was innocent. It won’t work this time around.
I stop considering a workaround when Smith says, “That’s why she wants to go in as a patient instead of a purchase. If the farmers are picking up clients from Dr. Bates’s office, we have another way of infiltrating their operation. Faking a pregnancy will delay things by a couple of weeks considering Roxanne was just auctioned as a virgin, but the hold-up will give me plenty of time to make sure we won’t face any hiccups.”
I want to immediately say no again, but for the life of me, I can’t. Although her plan is dangerous, it’s also smart. I’ve been chasing Rimi for over twenty months. The closest I’ve come to catching him was the night I stopped to help Roxanne. This type of ruse could increase the odds of finding him, but something isn’t sitting right with my stomach.
This kills me to admit, but I’m not sure I can guarantee Roxanne’s safety. If she had suggested this before she proved she’s on my side by offering to switch places with Fien, I wouldn’t have cared she was at risk. Now… now I don’t know which way is up.
A collective sigh bounces around my downstairs office when I mutter, “Let me think about it.” To the men who know me, that’s a straight-up no. To those still out of the loop, it’s a possibility. “But for now, I want eyes on Dr. Bates at all hours of the day and night. His name wasn’t mentioned during interrogations…” —by interrogations, I mean torture— “… but that doesn’t mean anything. People only keep quiet when they have something to hide.” When another joint hum trickles into my ears, I stand to my feet, eager to get our meeting over. I loathe the political side of my job as much as I hate my father. “Is there anything else?”
I’m halfway out the door when Rocco’s deep timbre stops me. “One last thing.”
I work my jaw through a tight grind when he requests for everyone but Smith to leave. I understand his distrust. The longer Fien’s captivity continues, the more certain I become that I have a rat in my crew. Furthermore, the tension on Rocco’s face tells me I won’t like what he ha
s to say next.
Once only three bodies remain in my office, Rocco joins me partway to the door. “Theresa Veneto has made numerous requests to meet with you the past week. I assured her as derogatively as I could that you’re not interested in anything she’s selling, then she gave me this.” He digs out a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. Although the image is dated, I’m relatively sure it’s the brunette who was on Isaac’s arm last week.
My eyes lift from the college snapshot when Smith says, “Roxie was right. She did see Isabelle in a documentary. Well, kind of.” He swivels his laptop around to face me. It has a poorly made video playing on the screen. It’s amateur at best, even with Smith cleaning it up. “She thought this lady was Isabelle.” He points to a brunette at the side of the footage that has an uncanny resemblance to the photograph of the woman I’m clutching. “Where in reality, this is Isabelle.” He highlights a toddler just left of the woman he pointed out. “The documentary was filmed years ago, but the doco remembered the female. Her name was Felicia. She was Vladimir Popov’s favorite whore.”
I don’t know which fact to work first, so I go for the easiest. “Was?”
Smith jerks up his chin. “Coroner said she overdosed. The head doco had a different recollection of events. He swears she was murdered.”
“By Vladimir?”
Smith shrugs. “Rumors circulated that he choked her in a jealous rage, but that never held much credit. Felicia was never seen with anyone, and strangulation isn’t Vladimir’s kink. He prefers—”
“Long, painful deaths,” I fill in. “Unlike my father. He loves nothing more than to see the light fade from a woman’s eyes.”
Could that be the cause of the rift between the Petrettis and the Popovs? There’s never comradery between opposing cartel groups, but things have been strained between the above-mentioned families for decades. Vladimir has the power my father wants but will never have. Like a spoiled child, instead of striving to outdo Vladimir, he set out to destroy him. His tactics the past few years have barely created a ripple in Vladimir’s armor, although the same can’t be said for his offspring.
Rico, Vladimir’s eldest son, is a hothead, but he’s got nothing on his younger brother, Nikolai. Nikolai has a massive chip on his shoulder and a beef with everyone. I’ll be shocked if he makes it to his thirties. I’ve been tempted to order his hit numerous times, and I’ve never met the guy. He rubs me the wrong way. I have no clue why. It could be jealousy, but it feels more than that. His family’s name might be more powerful than mine and his pockets lined with more money, but I'd rather suffer the injustice of being born into my family than have my fire-breathing father breathing down my neck for every hour of every day like Vladimir does to Nikolai.
Perhaps that’s it? Maybe I feel sorry for the guy? I’m also the youngest of my family, but I don’t have to knock down my siblings to reach the top rung. Their knighthood fell long before I picked up my sword.
I freeze when snippets of the clues Smith handed me slowly slot into place. “If Felicia was Vladimir’s favorite whore, who’s Isabelle’s father?” Smith doesn’t need to answer me. The truth is all over his face. “Isabelle is Vladimir’s daughter, and now she’s working for the Feds. How the fuck did that happen?”
Naysayers say I’m working for the Feds as well, but only you and I know that isn’t true. Those fuckers work for me more than I work for them.
“Felicia died when Isabelle was a child. She was sold a couple of months later.”
I shouldn’t smile at Rocco’s admission, but I can’t help it. I often forget I’m not the only mafia kid with an asshole for a father. In a way, depending on who purchased her, Isabelle could have gotten lucky.
Seeing an array of questions in my eyes, Rocco says, “She was bought by none other than Mr. Fed himself.”
“Tobias?” I query, certain Rocco is mixing up his nicknames. Most of my exchanges with Tobias occurred while Rocco was in jail, so a slip-up is understandable.
When Rocco lifts his chin, air whizzes out of my mouth. Tobias was a little shady, but he usually still followed protocol by the book. This isn’t close to any legislations I’ve seen in the Feds’ handbook for agents.
Although I’m somewhat shocked, and a smidge proud of Tobias’s bend of the rules, I don’t understand what any of this has to do with Theresa’s request to meet with me.
When I say that to Rocco, his grin turns blinding. “Maybe it isn’t just you and Roxie that have a sixth sense around each other. Perhaps we have one, too?” Smith coughs to cover his chuckle when Rocco puckers up his lips for an air kiss. “Who said Mario was chasing Princess P? He might have liked hairy Italians.”
His words become as windless as Smith’s chuckles when I sock him in the stomach. I understand the reason for his riling, it’s how he handles things when he feels out of his element, but I’ve got too many theories swirling around in my head to add his antics into the mix.
“What was Theresa’s response to your question?”
Rocco rubs his stomach, feigning injury while replying, “That you’ll lose more than a couple of bricks of coke if you don’t meet with her.”
My brow cocks, shocked she had the audacity to threaten me. If my thoughts hadn’t shifted to Fien after she stole from me, she’d be lying on the bottom of the ocean with Eduardo, feeding the fish.
Rocco’s grin reveals he responded to Theresa’s threat with the same malice tracing through my veins. “My gun got real friendly with her head, but you know bitches, they don’t lay down even when they’re in heat.”
I take a moment to deliberate a response. Although it could be a waste of my time, discovering the reason Theresa met with my father last week should swallow the injustice. Theresa is like India. She only sniffs around when there’s a carcass ready to be boned. If my family is carving it up, I want to know about it.
“Set up a meeting for the AM.” Smith appears shocked about my offer, but his lips remain locked. “But warn her if she wastes my time, she’ll need to clear her schedule for the remainder of her life.”
Believing all is said and done, Smith grabs his paperwork and laptop off the desk and makes a beeline for the door. He doubles back when I add, “Also announce that Roxanne’s auction was finalized and that her winning bidder was me.” When a fretful mask slips over Rocco’s face, I do my best to shut it down. “The auction was conducted under my father’s branch of our entity. I could have been in attendance as a bidder. Furthermore, if you want the people Dr. Bates is working for to be tempted by the lure we’re considering dangling in front of them, we need to make it as appetizing as possible. If this is personal, as we believe it is, making the mark associated with me will work in our favor.” Before relief can cross Smith’s features, pleased I’m considering his tactic, I continue, “If I go through with this, there will be no holds barred. I won’t be fucked in the ass by Rimi for another two years.”
“I agree with what you’re saying.” Rocco’s words are more at ease than his facial expression. “But by going down this road, you’ll place Roxie on your father’s radar.”
He looks torn between wanting to pat me on the back and punch me in the face when I reply, “Isn’t that the point?”
Ten
Roxanne
I stretch out lazily, loving that a solid few hours of sleep hasn’t fully unwound my tired muscles. I slept through dinner, dessert, and the midnight cap Smith forced on me every night the past three days to encourage me to sleep, but I feel refreshed. Calm, even.
It’s amazing what back-to-back orgasms can do. My hang-ups from the past week have vanished, and nothing but optimism appears on the horizon. It’s a nice feeling after years of worry.
“You better quit moaning before I come over and take care of them.”
The bedding falls away from my naked chest when I prop myself on my elbows so I can stray my eyes in the direction the voice came from. If it were twanged with anything but an Italian accent, I’d cover up, but since I wa
nt to entice my greeter into following through with his threat, I don’t bother.
“Good morning.”
My eyes shift to the only window in the room, truly unsure if it’s morning or not. I feel like I’ve been asleep for weeks but am untrusting of my delirious head.
My lips twist when not a ray of sun shines through the pleats of the drapes. It’s early enough for the slightest bit of gray to mottle the sky, but it isn’t close to the time I usually wake up.
A hunger unlike anything I’ve ever felt before smacks into me when Dimitri says, “Rosa left a club sandwich on the nightstand. You should eat. You’ll need the energy.”
His voice is as seductive as the lust roaring through my veins, however I can’t act on it. He isn’t seated behind his desk at this late hour for no reason. He’s working through the files Smith and I collated while endeavoring not to make it seem as if we were holding a candlelight vigil at his bedside.
After placing on my dressing gown Rosa must have gathered from the floor, I snatch up the sandwich Dimitri mentioned before pacing to his half of the room. I won’t lie, lust thickens my veins when I notice his inconspicuous watch. He stares at me through hooded eyelids, acting as if my frumpy dressing gown is made from the finest silk.
The indecent swing of my hips tapers when I notice which articles he’s perusing. He has 3D printouts of my grandparents’ farm spread across his desk. Smith took my knowledge of burial sites up a notch when he showed me how ground-penetrating radars and electromagnetic tests can narrow down the search area when seeking unmarked graves. It was fascinating to watch, but the circumstances for our search sucked.
Once I’ve swallowed down my unease, I say, “No significant increase in conductivity was found during electromagnetic testing, leading us to believe there were no bodies buried on-site.”
