The King: Bratva Blood: (A dark mafia romance)
Page 5
She taught me a new English word that day, petrichor: the scent produced when rain falls onto the earth. Now, when it rains and I catch that scent, I always think of her.
Then there’s that wildness I saw in her from the very start. The very same wildness she tries to hide, to bury. I was so disappointed in her when I learned that she was going to marry a boring jobs worth who shared none of her passions. I might not be the man for her, but Dim Tim certainly isn’t.
She’s a good girl, a nice girl, but one who loves Heathcliff—who let’s face it is a sociopath—and tragic Russian literature. A girl who soaks herself in the rain instead of hiding from it, dances with abandon, and who wants to travel the world, try new foods and see new things. Yet, she stamps that down and tries to wedge herself into a hole she doesn’t fit. Why is she so scared of that side of herself? I’d love to know.
It shows itself, though, in her flashes of temper, and the moments when she does crazy things, like hacking the British government as part of a college project.
When she climbed out of my car only the other day and leaned in to deliver what I imagine she believed was a cutting denouement, I wanted to eat her up. She had the wildness then. Kicking my car door! I’ve shot people for less. Literally, it’s not a figure of speech.
She was fucking resplendent in her anger, with her tits hanging in my face, and her pouty mouth set in a livid line. It took massive amounts of willpower not to cancel my meeting and follow her wherever she was going, push her through her own front door and fuck her brains out on her hallway floor, whether she welcomed me or not.
Coming back into the moment, I notice one of the men at the front of the room looking as if he’s about to burst into tears.
He manages to gather himself, and I make a note to investigate him. My next in line, Margaret, better not have noticed because she’d cut him loose as one of the chaff for daring to have a lip tremble. She’s one cold bitch and a killer when it comes to business. She doesn’t revel in cruelty, but she doesn’t allow emotions to get the better of her; she hates weakness in others.
I don’t… I exploit it.
“Now, I’ll let Mr. Silvanov say a few words,” Alistair finishes his speech.
I step forward and give a smile. “Thank you.”
A ripple of indefinable energy flies around the room. That moment when people relax a touch because you smile and don’t shoot lightning bolts out of your eyes or point at them shouting, “You’re fired.”
My reputation proceeds me, and it helps to be thought of as an utter bastard, so I let it stand, then disarm them completely when they meet me. Not because I care what they think of me, but because if people warm to you, they tend to open up, and I like to talk to the employees of the companies I’m buying and find out the truth.
I’m not a sociopath. I have the tests to prove it, carried out by the Russian army. I am, however, high on the scale. As is Andrius, my friend, fellow ex-Spetsnaz fighter, and now, an ex-hitman for the Bratva. Our scores were uncannily similar, which might be why we always fought so well together. The Russian army liked their special forces to have a slice of sociopath in them, but full sociopaths? Those without any empathy at all? They were weeded out. The trick with emotions is being able to control them, and that includes anger.
My view is that those who bluster, brag, and shout the most are empty suits when it comes right down to it. If you need to scream and shout at people to get them in line, you’re doing something wrong. I can bring someone to their fucking knees if I really want to with a few well-placed words and a look. I don’t need to raise my voice.
In my early days of pushing my way up through the ranks, I’m sure it helped that I look like a boxer not a businessman. Being tall, broad, and having a face that I’ve been told is downright unfriendly when I’m not smiling, helps intimidate people before I open my mouth.
I always make sure that, unlike many of my competitors, I know my stuff. I head into every meeting prepared to the hilt, which makes this morning an anomaly because I’ve been distracted.
By a girl with a mouth like sin and the eyes of an angel. A girl I want to take and mold from the wannabe sinner she looked like at the weekend, into the real thing. God, the things I’d do with her.
Dragging my mind from the gutter, I look around the room and begin to talk. I go through the usual shit. Telling them not to worry, that yes, there will be some job losses but nothing major, and that most people in this room are protected.
“Those who aren’t protected,” I finish, “are the mid-level and team managers amongst you, but the severance package is generous enough to keep you going for many months, and none of you will struggle to get a job having this place on your resume.”
What I say is true—they will be fine, and can easily get a job somewhere they can put their astonishing mediocrity to work.
Nervous laughter rings around the room at my words.
I smile again. It’s fake, a muscle reflex. Most of the time I feel as if I’m wearing a mask and going through the motions of pretending to be someone who gives a remote shit. Maybe after Yulia died, I went from being a part-time sociopath to the real thing? Who knows? Maybe, if the military tested me now, they’d run a mile. “I know this is all a shock, but I’d rather be upfront and honest,” I say, trying to put extra sincerity into my tone. “It’s the only way to be fair. After this meeting, Margaret and I will start talking to the game designers and IT consultants one-on-one. We need to get a feel of how things are from your end. After all, you are the ones in the trenches, correct? The ones who know the ins and outs of the day-to-day issues with the company.”
A murmur of voices starts. Alistair holds his hands in the air, and they quieten.
I won’t only be talking to the hot shots; no, I’ll talk to everyone, right down to the cleaners. Always do. It always amazes me how fucked our society is. Cleaners are the most important people in any organization. Without them the workplace is filthy, dirty, and dangerous. Yet they are paid fuck all and talked about as if they’re nobodies. But often the cleaners, the people on the front desks, the canteen staff, these are the people who know things. They see things and hear things, precisely because they’re invisible to so many.
Cassie moves, clicks her pen on and off, then, as if she’s realized she’s drawn attention to herself, shrinks farther into the wall.
I’ve never seen this Cassie before. This is a new Cassie for me to watch and learn about. She’s different to the sunshine girl from the coffee shop, and different again to the jailbait wannabe from the other night. This Cassie looks like a young woman trying on the mantel of an older professional. She’s wearing a tight black skirt that grips her hips like sin itself. She’s curvy and lush, and I want to take that ponytail of hers and wrap it around my fist as I bend her to my will.
My dick twitches, and I will it down. I don’t need to be standing in front of this room full of people with a boner. Although, that really would cement my reputation as a bastard. I bite back a smile and focus on wrapping things up. I’m bored.
“I think Alistair would like to say a few more words before we finish,” I lie smoothly. Let him wrap this shit up.
Alistair looks at me, back to the room, clears his throat and begins to waffle. I don’t care that I’ve just put him on the spot. I wanted a moment to look at my sexy new employee.
She’s wearing makeup, again, but nothing like what she worn the other morning. Then she was all smudgy, smoky eyes and rock chick sexiness. Now, she wears nothing but some subtle stuff on her face and shocking pink lipstick. The lipstick matches her blouse, tucked into that tight black skirt.
Fuck, give her glasses and she could be a secretary in a porn film. A walking cliché of hotness, but one that makes my dick hungry.
She studiously continues to stare at that patch of floor she’s been focused on, not looking up once as Alistair finishes, the door opens, and people begin to file out of the room.
Cassie’s friend stalks past m
e, as people exit the room, shooting me a hot look. One I read as, you can fuck me anytime so long as I keep my job, and I’ll enjoy the hell out of it too.
Most of the other people keep their eyes averted as they file past, except for two of the male managers whose jobs are on the line. They give me confident nods and the sort of alpha-male eyeballing that I’m sure they believe signals, I’m confident and capable. Instead it says, I’m full of bullshit and think I can fool you. I don’t smile or nod back. In fact, I make a mental note to fire them if they are the weak links I bet they will turn out to be when I re-examine their files.
Cassie, little miss jailbait, hugs the wall, looking at the pen and notepad in her hand as if reading something of extreme importance.
Christ, I could honestly come simply from watching her.
“Jonathon and Cassie, can you two hang behind, please?” Alistair says. He addresses Cassie and one of only three men left in the room. Jonathon Barbor. Shit-hot game designer with a gambling habit, one that Alistair probably doesn’t know about, but I do, thanks to Margaret. Not that I’ll be getting rid of him because of it. He’s one of the stars of the company, and he’ll be needed moving forward. The last couple of games haven’t done as well as the others, and I think I know the reason. The artwork is tired; it’s not new. I’m not a gamer, I’d rather work and earn money than play games, but I asked Michael who is, and he said the artwork isn’t fresh; it’s too much like their previous hit games.
Cassie’s head jerks up, and she drops her pen. I want to break down her defenses further before I strike with my offer. I want her accept it and come work exclusively for me as a hacker not an IT consultant, and I’m not above more forceful persuasion if needed. I need a small, very small, team of people I can trust to hack for me. Both on the legitimate and not-so legitimate sides of my business. I had a deal a year ago, which I needed insider information to make a decision on. I hired a hacker, and the stupid fuck messed it up, didn’t get me the info, and took the payment. He’s paid me back since, with interest, and realized just how painful a broken hand is.
It won’t do to keep hiring such important jobs out to stoners and losers who still live in their parents’ basements. There are a couple people here who could do what I want with the right training, and Cassie can do it now, as she proved whilst at university.
I could ask Damen, a Greek acquaintance, cartel member, and expert hacker, to look into Popov for me, but I don’t trust him enough to do so. Andrius does, but I’m not Andrius. You might say I have trust issues. Your father killing your wife will do that to you.
Jonathon walks over to Cassie, bends and picks the pen up, and hands it to her.
She takes it, fumbles it and drops it again.
“What’s got into you, butterfingers?” Jonathon asks as he passes her the pen, and she finally manages to keep hold of it.
“Nothing, just tired,” she mumbles, not looking at me.
“Well, get a coffee and wake up,” Alistair says with a touch of impatience. “I thought you two would be great choices to sit and talk with Konstantin today. You’re new, Cassie, but you’ve done some stellar work, and you can give a newer perspective on working here. You’re our best games designer bar none, Jonathon, and because you’ve been here since the outset, you can provide a longer-term staff members point of view.”
Jonathon and Cassie walk to the front of the room. Jonathon holds his hand out to me, so we shake, and he nods. “Good to meet you, Mr. Silvanov.” He smiles at me, and I give him a brief smile back and a nod.
“We’ll talk in an hour or so,” I tell him. “Can you grab me files for anything you’re working on that you think will be of interest; although you might have to talk me through stuff. Come to the boardroom.”
“Of course,” he says.
Cassie comes to stand directly in front of me. She’s flushed, and her full hot pink lips are parted.
“Nice to meet you, Cassie.” I hold my hand out and relish the moment her small, clammy palm touches mine.
“Hello,” she says in that breathy, husky voice of hers. Fuck me, this is like some sort of role play.
Neither of us are letting on we already know one another, and it’s making me harder than ever. An illicit game between the two of us.
“Why don’t you grab a coffee like Alistair suggested and wake yourself up properly,” I tell her. “I’ll send for you when I’m ready.”
She nods, and then she does it.
She lights the match and throws alcohol on the fire of my attraction to her.
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, and her cheeks flush a deep pink.
Yes, sir? Oh, it’s not the words, hot as they are; it’s the way she says it. The way she realizes what she’s said and flushes. Those words said to me mean something to her. No artifice, no playing, but a deep submissiveness I didn't remotely guess at. I saw the wildness, I saw the craving for adventure and more from life, but I didn’t see this. And I’m normally good at reading people. Cassie, though, she’s like an onion, you peel one layer away only for another to reveal itself.
Fuck me, I’m screwed. So is she because she’s made me hungry?
Jonathon mouths sir at her with raised eyebrows, and she gives a tiny shrug of her shoulders, her face still flushed. Christ, I love her calling me that. None of my staff call me it, and in the office, I want her to call me Konstantin, but that word… I need to hear it from her lips again. Only, next time, she’ll be on her knees for me, hands tied behind her back in a pretty bow.
Maybe I’ll make her call me sir in my office at home, before I bend her over my desk and take her hard from behind, using her ponytail for leverage all while she’s hacking into Popov’s information for me. How poetic would that be? I’ll fuck her, while she helps me fuck Popov.
I almost laugh out loud at the idea but keep it in check. How did I think I could ever keep things platonic between us while I use her to hack for me? Why not use her twice? As my hacker, and as my fuck toy? I’ll make sure she enjoys it too.
I’m a gentleman like that.
She coughs and fiddles with the pen, clicking the end of it again. I bet in about three minutes flat, my little miss sunshine is going to have a complete meltdown.
“Go grab coffees,” I tell them both, letting her off the hook she’s dangling on so fetchingly. “I’ll call you in later, Cassie.”
“Do you mind if we talk now?” Jonathon asks. “I have a dentist appointment at eleven and had booked a long lunch.”
I glance at my watch. “Not at all, grab a seat.”
He takes the seat in front of me and smiles. “Thank you, Mr. Silvanov.”
I smile at him, trying to put him at ease. “Call me Konstantin,” I say. “Not Mr. Silvanov, and definitely not sir.” I chuckle, making a joke of the moment.
“Yeah, she’s not herself these days.” He nods out the door after Cassie.
“Oh?” Normally I’d have shut down such an avenue of conversation straightaway and moved onto general matters of his job, but this is my little miss sunshine, he’s talking about, and I want to know more.
“Yeah, don’t say anything, but she’s had a bad time of it. She was engaged to one of the managers here. They were supposedly getting married in six months, but he finished things with her. Normally, she’s cool and levelheaded.”
“Okay, I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you. Now tell me, what would make your job easier?” I move things back onto a more professional footing.
I sit back as he talks and make notes on what he tells me, but half the time my mind drifts back to Cassie, and the fact she keeps finding herself being treated like shit by the men in her life.
Cassie has been playing around with boys, and she needs a man. I might not be all about the hearts and flowers and a future, but my women always enjoy their time with me, and why not? They get great sex on tap, a lot of gifts, and treated like princesses, until I grow bored.
Still, mixing business with pleasure is always a risky move.
Now, though, I want this girl so bad I know I’m going to break every rule I have. Every line in the sand is about to be kicked over and covered up just so I can have a taste of her.
It’s immoral because she works for me. It’s immoral because I’m about to push her into doing something highly illegal. It’s immoral because I’m so much older than her. She’s naïve. She isn’t tough and hardened like the supermodels I fuck around with who have had to deal with shit you wouldn’t believe since they were first discovered at fifteen-years-old. Those women know how the world works. Cassie still thinks it’s a good place, full of good people.
I’m a billionaire, and she’s working her ass off for thirty-k a year.
I mix with presidents and prime ministers and have shaped the affairs of whole nations. Cassie can’t get help sorting out her student debt.
Talk about a power differential that shouldn’t be exploited. Luckily for me, I’m not a moral man, or even one who follows the legalities. I don’t care if I must break every rule and burn my own code of conduct to ashes; I need to have her call me sir again.
Seems like plan A is back on the table. Make Cassie hack Popov by whatever means necessary, and get Cassie under me by whatever means necessary.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cassie
“What the fuck is going on with you today?” Suzy watches me as I try to control my rapid breathing and imminent panic attack.
“You can’t say anything,” I whisper. I shouldn’t tell Suzy a word of what happened, but if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to explode.
“No, of course not. I swear,” she says as her eyes widen and take on that gleam people get when they’re expecting good gossip.
“You know the man who is our new boss?”
“The super hot, built like a tank, Russian that everyone woman here wants to fuck? That new boss?” She giggles.