Prince of the Brotherhood: A Mafia Romance

by K. Alex Walker

  His long legs had to stretch only twice before he was in front of her. He bent, both hands gripping her ass as he picked her up and walked to the bedroom, their mouths colliding.

  Eija went through a series of practiced moans, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist. The primary objective had been to confirm the identity of the mysterious Bratva prince, but the quicker they brought him in, the quicker they could use him as leverage against Yuri. What would be the point in knowing who he was if she was only going to walk away? With a man like this, returning later to finish the job was unlikely.

  Dominik lowered her onto the bed and climbed over her, trailing kisses from her neck down the middle of her chest. He started to pull aside the bikini top, but she pushed at his chest and coaxed him until he was on his back.

  “Oh, you like to be in control?” he asked.

  She straddled his middle. “Are you surprised?”

  “Surprised and pleased.”

  She reached back and tugged at the straps holding the top up around her neck. It fell, and his eyes went almost as dark as her areolas and nipples. The number of men who’d seen her breasts for the sake of the job…if there’d been an easier way, she would have taken it, but if she’d had a brand, it would be efficiency. They were just breasts, anyhow.

  “Fuck.” He massaged her breasts. “You have the most beautiful color, lapushka.”

  Darling.

  It was actually kind of sweet and unexpected of him to choose that endearment, especially when he had no idea she’d understand it.

  “What was that you called me?” she asked.

  “My darling.”

  “Oh.” She covered her face. “You’re sweet.”

  He pulled her hands apart. “No, lapushka. Let me see your beautiful face.”

  She nodded and let her hands fall.

  He sat up, cupped her left breast, and bent, leading with his mouth. When his lips were inches away from her deceptively taut nipple, she flipped the latch on her bracelet and pressed the point against his neck.

  He slapped his neck. “Fuck! What was…” His eyelids drooped. “What did you…”

  He slumped.

  Target acquired.

  Eija left Dominik’s lap, retied her bikini top, and picked up the phone in the room. “Hello, Mr. Redd? This is Miss Brown. Can you send a maid to Mr. Arbenin’s suite, please?”

  She waited for the affirmative, hung up, and sprinted to the suite’s front door. When she opened it, the companion with the head tattoos and scars stumbled through, his eyes hazy. With the amount of drugs she’d dropped in his drink, the man had to have the metabolism of a horse to have burned through any part of it that quickly.

  “W-what’s this?” he asked in Russian, his words slurred. “Why are you here?”

  Eija glanced back at the bedroom. If Head Tatts stumbled even a few feet to the left, he’d spot his unconscious friend.

  “For fun,” she said.

  “Fun?” Head Tatts looked around the room. “Oh, I see. So, you don’t have time for me, but you have time for my friend and the pretty boy at the bar. What, am I not your type? Am I too Russian for you?”

  He lunged for her, stumbling, and the momentum from his lunge forced his thighs into a small table next to the front door. The porcelain vase that had sat atop it crashed to the floor but remained intact.

  “You will not leave this room without sucking my cock,” Head Tatts said. “Is this understood?”

  Eija waited until he’d scrambled and struggled back onto his feet. She then picked up the vase and swiped it across his head. His body dropped to the floor and twitched for a few seconds before going still.

  Red hair appeared in the doorway.

  Colin Favreau, her partner of four years, stepped into the suite. His matching brows were low on his forehead, and his hand hovered near the service weapon he kept tucked on the right side of his hip.

  “E, what happened?” He crouched and pressed two fingers to Head Tatts’ neck. “What the hell happened in here?”

  “I got them both.” She slipped past him to the doorway. “That one’s probably got a bit of head trauma. Sokolov’s in the other room, drugged.”

  “That wasn’t the objective, E. Randy is going to foam at the mouth when he finds out. And where are you going?”

  She raced down the hallway.

  Now, she had forty minutes to meet Andrei.

  Their organization would handle the rest, silently retrieving both men to transport them back to headquarters in Lyon, France. Once everything was wrapped up here, she would head out, debrief with the team, and take the lead on interrogating Dominik and his companion. With any luck, they’d have access to Yuri before the end of the year.

  Tonight, however, she would drink, have fun, most likely have sex, and then get on a flight in the morning. Being back on the island after so long had been nice, but she missed her life.

  She was only eight minutes late meeting up with Andrei, and she found him sitting by the resort’s indoor swimming pool at the edge of a lounge chair. He sported a denim jacket with the sleeves pulled back, a black shirt, and white jeans. A silver necklace hung around his neck. His dark hair, which he'd worn in a ponytail at the bar, graced the tops of his shoulders in gentle waves, and even before she smelled him, she knew he'd be spicy and sweet. The only thing she didn't like was the cigar he put out as she drew nearer, but the smoky-cherry scent didn't linger.

  "You clean up nice," she said, leaning up to hug him around the neck.

  "I would say the same about you,” he bit his bottom lip, and his head gave a slight shake, “but you looked good earlier too."

  They released, but he let his hands rest at her hips and smoothed his palms over the fabric of her mustard-yellow, high-slit, spaghetti-strap dress. She’d paired the dress with flat sandals to add more inches to their height difference. If she could get him to feel like either her champion, warrior, protector, or all three, she could get him to do the things she needed to be done to her tonight.

  "Can you spin for me?" he asked.

  She obliged him.

  "This color on you is amazing." He spun her himself. "You look gorgeous, Eija."

  Somehow, he'd seen her write her name somewhere. She only used it when exchanging notes with Colin, aka Mr. Redd, but it wasn't like Andrei could look her up anywhere and see what she truly did for a living. She had fake social media profiles and fake listed phone numbers. Still, she would have to do better in the future not to be observed, even by mercurial eyes.

  "Ready?" she asked.

  He scanned her face.

  "Andrei?"

  "Yeah." He ran his fingers through his hair, and it fell perfectly back into place. "Yeah, I'm ready. Where's our first stop?"

  She took him to her favorite restaurant in St. Georges, one of the few eating spots where she was certain no family would recognize her. It was mostly extended family left on the island as she’d taken her grandparents with her when she moved to the U.S. and again when she moved to Lyon for the INTERPOL job. Many of those extended family members wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a lineup anyhow. Those who she had seen thought she was “home” taking a break from her teaching job in France.

  Stars scattered the dark sky.

  Steel pan music hummed around them from the restaurant’s live band.

  Green, red, and yellow triangle flags hung from the restaurant’s ceiling, and aromas she'd miss once she left filled the air.

  She and Andrei had been seated on the dock, and the patio lights above them picked up on the more chocolate notes of his hair. The sound of trade winds stirring the waves fused with the music, the ocean and the band playing in tandem.

  He'd suggested she order for him, so they had codfish and green fig salad for their appetizer. His main entrée was braised lamb with macaroni pie, and she had fresh mussels with linguini pasta. They shared a bottle of white wine, held long gazes, and she touched him with every chance she got.

  "So, you
had really strict parents, then," she said, twirling her pasta with her fork. "Or, you were so bad, they had to send you away?"

  "I wasn't that bad, now." He craned his neck to show off a scar and extended his hand so she could see the ones on his fingers lightly visible around a skull tattoo that started above his wrist. "I might have gotten into a few fights. A few scuffles."

  "I got into a few fights too. Nobody sent me anywhere."

  "You grew up with your grandparents. They probably spoiled you rotten.”

  She grinned. "Well, yeah."

  "Hey, at least you're repaying the favor by taking care of them. I respect that."

  Her grandmother, Rose, would eventually need around-the-clock care, her condition deteriorating even quicker than her doctor had initially speculated. Her grandfather, Hensley, was the picture of good health, even for his age, but she suspected Nana would still outlive him.

  Andrei swirled the wine in his glass, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "You don't seem like the type to get into a lot of fights. I can't imagine anybody trying to bruise or scar any part of your beautiful body."

  She'd been playing roles for so long, it surprised her when there was an actual tug in her stomach.

  "Cocoa butter," she said. "I put it on every night."

  "You've already put some on tonight?"

  "Yep."

  "Damn." He took a sip of his wine, eyes never leaving hers. "Missed my chance."

  "If you're good," she leaned forward and lowered her voice, "I'll let you put it on for me tomorrow morning."

  The way his expression changed, for a split second, she wondered if she'd forgotten and told him she was leaving. Dominik and his companion had already been "cleaned up." She hadn't received the all-clear yet to leave, but it was coming. It wasn't unusual to receive a plane ticket in the middle of the night after everything had been confirmed.

  The steel pans drowned out, giving way to a live band. Tourists flocked to the open area in front of the performers, beers in hand, dancing and swaying beneath the lights. The band started with a song she vaguely remembered from her childhood, warming up the crowd, but they would eventually segue into Caribbean versions of pop songs.

  "What made you change your mind?" he asked. "About having drinks with me."

  Eija swallowed a bite of pasta. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who wasn't interested in anything."

  "You knew I was lying."

  "How was I supposed to know that?"

  "Look at you."

  "I noticed you first." She twirled pasta around her fork and held it up toward his mouth. "Here. Eat some of mine."

  He looked from the fork to her face. "You are such a fucking flirt."

  She burst out laughing, nearly dropping the fork.

  "How many men have you brought here to seduce?" He finished his wine and refilled the glass. "Are all their bones out back?"

  "What do you mean?" She batted her lashes. "You're the first."

  "Uh, huh. Sure. That dress, those red lips, your hair, the way you look at me and touch on my sleeve." He softened his voice and actually did a pretty convincing accent. "'Andrei, you're so funny.' 'Oh, Andrei.' God, Eija, you're terrible for my ego."

  "I thought that would be great for your ego!”

  "Not when I'm supposed to be convincingly wooing you. I brought out the expensive cologne, the designer jeans, the hair. I've been waiting all night for you to mention my hair, but no. Nothing."

  "Aww, boo-boo." She stroked his middle finger with her thumb. "Your hair is gorgeous."

  "I even planned to discreetly drop my black card," he mimed the motion, "on the table."

  She stopped laughing. "Like an Amex Black card? Well, you didn't say all that, now."

  He rolled his eyes, a wide grin on his face. She wasn't sure if he normally had facial hair, but the way the shadow of a beard outlined his face, it would be nice to see him with some. It would be prickly underneath her fingers, against her palm, and along the insides of her thighs.

  She held out her glass for him to top off. “So, does Andrei have a last name?"

  "Falcone. Why?"

  Italian. That dark hair and olive skin now made sense.

  "I have a thing about sleeping with men without at least knowing their last names.”

  "You're..." He set the bottle back inside its ice bowl. "I like how direct you are, but you're assuming we're going to sleep together tonight."

  "You don't want to?"

  "Maybe I want to take you out for breakfast. Lunch. Dinner again. See if you have any more dresses in colors that kiss your skin. Underneath these lights," he glanced up at the ceiling, "you are breathtaking, Eija."

  They finished the bottle, and he did end up trying some of her pasta. Eating from the same fork was a move she'd used many times before, but it usually never worked on her. Yet, watching her fork slip between Andrei's lips had made her pulse from head to toe, sending the wine quicker through her bloodstream.

  When their plates were empty, with nothing else to distract them, they stared at each other. Smiled at each other. There was no way she wouldn't be riding his dick later, and she could already tell it was going to be the perfect ending to close out her Sokolov case.

  "What about you?" He broke their stare and studied the tourists who'd flocked to the dance floor. "Is your last name as unique as your first?"

  "Nope. It's Brown."

  He blinked and was suddenly looking at her again, eyes creating a fiery path that started at the arch of her neck.

  "Brown," he echoed. "I like brown."

  The wait staff removed their plates from the table. Andrei asked her to choose their desserts, so she went with sweet potato pudding, which was more like a pone, and nutmeg ice cream. While they ate, the live band switched from contemporary music to older songs. The performer began a rendition of “Is This Love” by Bob Marley, and she swayed in her seat, eyes closed with her fork in her mouth.

  Fingers tapped her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to Andrei standing, his hand outstretched. She took it, and he pulled her up, flush against his body. The tourists had packed the dance floor, but they had their own little spot there near the water's edge. Underneath the lights, he was magnificent and definitely one of the best looking, if not the most good-looking man she'd ever spent an evening with.

  She tightened her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, drowning out the low buzz of chatter around them. There was only the music, the waves, his warmth, and his scent.

  The song ended, but he didn't release her.

  She didn't release him.

  "What time is it?" she asked.

  He tipped up the face of his watch. “A little past eleven."

  "Really?" She looked up at him, her chin pressed into his chest. "That went by kind of fast."

  "Do you have to get up early tomorrow? Considering you have a million jobs at the resort."

  "I have one main job, unlike some people with Amex Black cards and three month stays at expensive resorts."

  He brushed a curl aside. "You were just helping out today, then?"

  "Yes."

  "So, if I go back to the bar tomorrow, you might not be there?"

  "I don't know." She shrugged. "I could be. But it's not like you'll have to go looking for me. Not after tonight."

  "No?"

  She shook her head. "No, Andrei Falcone."

  His expression went neutral.

  Somber, almost.

  "I'm not ready to leave yet, though," she added. "We can go back to the resort and walk around."

  "You're not afraid of your coworkers seeing you with me?"

  "With you?" She blew air between her lips. "I want them to see me with you. They'll be so jealous."

  "I should probably hold your hand too, then."

  "You should."

  He paid the bill, and he actually did have a Black card, and they took a cab back to the resort.

  From his clothes, his hair, and the way he car
ried himself, it was obvious he'd come from money. He'd told her his mother died when he was young and he was estranged from his father. It sounded like the classic case of a wealthy man seducing a middle-class or lower woman who'd expected the wealthy man to give her things the man had never truly been capable of. But she wasn't looking for marriage, a long-term commitment, or kids, so she'd still take this wealthy man to bed, fuck him senseless, and return to her average, yet wonderful life.

  The resort was beautiful during the day, but at night, it breathed. There was still a sense of awe whenever she looked at it all lit up, tall palm trees billowing in the wind, the beach only a few paces away. Tiki candles cast their orange glow along the paved walkways, and there was something about the smell of the islands.

  She would miss it.

  Andrei slipped their hands together, and she took off her sandals, the ground warm beneath her feet.

  "Need me to hold them?" he asked. "Since you have your purse and everything."

  "Seriously?"

  He opened his hand, and she handed them over. As they walked, the straps of her sandals hung from his hooked fingers.

  At five-foot-seven, she wasn't the shortest person in the world, but he still had those long legs. Yet, he kept his gait slow as they shuffled along, flirtatiously bumping into each other. The wine had her head clear and her body warm. The breezes blowing through tossed her hair around, strands caressing the back of her neck like fingertips.

  "So, Andrei Falcone, what brings a man, with your means, to a resort on an island with a little over one-hundred thousand people? And for three months at that?"

  "Ah, I was waiting for that question." He glanced down at her. "I...had a hard year. The aunt I told you about? The one I went to live with when I was sixteen? She died last year."

  "Oh. I'm so sorry." She squeezed his hand. "That must have been hard."

  "I'm not close to my father so, for years, she was the only family I had. When I lost her, I lost a good chunk of my world."

  "Can I ask why you and your father are estranged, or is that too personal for a first date?"

  He grinned. “Hmm…first date?"

  She didn't realize it until the words left her mouth. Now, she had to run with it.