by D STEP
Sophie turned to him again and saw mockery in his eyes, eyes that were an even deeper shade of blue than Yuri’s. “We’re not engaged,” she said, more sharply than she meant to. “I was kidnapped at Sheremetyevo. They stole my passport, my visa, everything. I was not asked to be married. I was told. Surely you know all of this. Why are you making me repeat it?”
Valeri frowned in I-don’t-give-a-shit fashion. “I’m quite aware of what I know. I’m trying to determine what you know. Why do you suppose all of this happened to you?”
Something in Valeri’s polished, unhurried manner made Sophie relax. She had a gut feeling that she’d found someone sensible, someone civilized who would finally listen to her. Maybe even help her. Well-groomed and well-dressed, he oozed sex appeal; and his eerie resemblance to his brother notwithstanding, she could be very, very grateful for that help.
“Because I know what it is you do,” Sophie began. “I know that you are part of the Russka Mafiya, and that the new Trade Minister will do everything in his power to break you, shut you down. You are engaged in human trafficking—the kidnapping and sale of disadvantaged young women, and you’ve profited from it. For decades.”
Valeri watched her intently, without facial expression. “How do you know what the Minister wants?” he asked quietly. “Have you met him?”
Sophie glared at the man. Was he trying to trick her? Or tease her? His tone made her nervous; unsure of herself and what she knew to be the truth. “Not yet. But I would have if your brother hadn’t carried me off like a sack of flour. His people are still looking for me, I assure you.”
“Do tell. What makes you so important?”
“I’m an Austrian national,” she said with vehemence. “I am a trained diplomat, on assignment to the Ministry of Industry and Trade. I have diplomatic immunity, and detaining me will have very bad consequences for you and your family.”
Valeri looked amused. “Oh, but you are part of the family now, aren’t you? You’re going to marry Yuri.” he said. “Human trafficking, as you’ve called it, is merely one segment of our business that my bohemian sibling happens to be in charge of. For the moment. There are many others. Look around you. Life here could be so much more comfortable than a dreary government office. And I doubt the Minister is missing you.”
“Why not?” Her instincts were beginning to short-circuit. He was playing mind games with her.
“Because money can buy a lot of things. Including diplomacy. The Minister doesn’t want justice, as you so naively might think. He wants in on our business. A very big in, and he’s using you to up the stakes. Why do you think the military mounted an attack on Goragavan this morning?”
Sophie swallowed hard. She assumed her text message had tipped off the government, and subsequently the military, but Valeri’s tone suggested things weren’t as they seemed. “To rescue me. And threaten the Mafiya.”
Valeri smiled at her, the gesture transforming his face from handsome to breathtaking. A sensation of Déjà vu washed over her, and her knees went weak. A memory, a vision of succumbing to this strange yet familiar man played vividly in her mind. He would take her, force her into submission. And this time she might not fight it.
“To rescue you? How is it they knew you were there?” He looked at her in a quizzical, yet suspicious manner then gave a slight shrug. “In any case, the move was a proposition, not a rescue operation,” he explained. “Give you up, or risk the destruction of our family stronghold and exposure to the world media. Give them a bigger part of our business and they go away. Explain to the newswire that you…got lost. Died in an avalanche. Rescue? Not on their minds. Just money. And I have plenty of that.”
Sophie could hear her own blood rushing in her ears. She felt faint; unable to think through the labyrinth of possibilities he’d just posed. Were they lies, or truth? She couldn’t tell the difference any more. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice shaking. “What gives you the power to make such accusations?”
He rose from his position on the couch and towered over her. “I am the Kassir of the Kovalenko Bratva. I control the money. I collect it. I invest it. I bribe businessmen and pay off rat-faced bureaucrats like Marat Borovski. You must speak some Russian. Don’t you know what Kassir means?”
“No.”
In English, it translates to Cashier. And your sale has been rung up long ago, dear Sophie. Or is it Lara?” He snickered. “We’re just determining the final price.”
Chapter Two
“You needn’t have scared her to death,” Taras commented as he hung several of Valeri’s suits just back from the dry cleaners in his closet. “She’s not going anywhere. Why tell her all those stories?”
Valeri admired himself in the mirror, hoping his favorite charcoal gray suit was in the batch Taras had just brought. “Scared is good. It makes people more pliable. When they think they are out of options they tend to get complacent, accepting. And I enjoy storytelling, don’t you Taras?”
“You are a master storyteller, my friend. I think you’ve nearly convinced her that Borovski isn’t the scrupulous, arrow-straight character that he truly is. She’s questioning everything now. Maybe even that her capture was a set-up.”
“I know. Fascinating isn’t it? What a little doubt can do.”
Taras turned to leave. “I know you like to fuck women, Valeri. But mind-fucking them is surely your specialty. Enjoy the party tonight.”
Valeri chose his attire for the evening with less thought than usual. His mind was on something else. The idea that Yuri would marry some random stranger he’d picked up in an airport just to please their old man was ludicrous, yet troubling. Anatoly’s illness had elevated the importance of his succession plan, and had made it clear each of his sons should be married with families before he died.
Valeri had choices, many of them; women who obsequiously hung around him because of his wealth. He could never be certain of their real feelings, other than greed. But marrying them? That was trouble he didn’t need. He could get all the sex he wanted without committing a thing. Why take on that risk? The thought tired him. But if Yuri managed to get married before Valeri did, it just might tip the balance of Anatoly’s favor. That was simply unacceptable.
He finished dressing and called for his limousine that would take him to a dinner party thrown by a business colleague. And by that he meant another drug dealer whose tributes to the Bratva were due tonight. When he boarded his ride, Francesca was already in the spacious passenger cabin, looking as lovely and dangerous as ever in her flowing, poppy-red gown and lipstick to match.
“Valeri, darling. You look fantastic, as usual.”
He slid onto the wide padded seat next to her as the valet closed the car doors. “As do you, Cesca. Good enough to eat.”
Francesca’s eyes flashed and her smile widened. She raised a leg to brace her high-heeled shoe on the edge of the seat, the long slit in the front of her gown splitting open to reveal a creamy white thigh. “Why don’t you then?” she asked provocatively.
Valeri reached out with his index finger and traced the curve of skin she’d exposed. “I don’t want to spoil my appetite. Or my clean suit.” He threw her a devilish smile.
Her red lips swelled into a pout as a ringlet of her long brunette hair flopped against her cheek. “You torture me, Val. I’m already wet for you. Look and see,” she said, lifting the edge of the material higher. She wore nothing beneath the panels of red chiffon, and it made Valeri’s cock twitch. He saw the freshly-shaved skin of her pussy, and could smell her heat from where he sat.
“Fuck the suit,” he said, and dropped to his knees on the cabin floor in front of her. He pushed her other leg up onto the bench, displaying her pale, hairless cunt to full view. “An appetizer wouldn’t hurt.” He brought his face between her quivering thighs and licked her hot channel like a dog. Francesca squirmed and started to giggle. Her laughter quickly turned to moans as his tongue delved deeper, dipping into her vagina and then mercilessly paddling her
reddened clit. She screamed in ecstasy just as the limo cruised to a stop. He pulled his face away and wiped it with the handkerchief from his breast pocket.
“Don’t eat too much at dinner,” he told her. “I want your mouth full of me on the way home.”
*
To Sophie’s surprise, she was given private occupancy of the luxurious suite without restriction. She couldn’t exit outside, but freedom of the room was hers. Exploration revealed a full bath, a bar and a den with a Murphy bed that folded down from the wall. Irina had been dispatched to procure toiletries, cosmetics and clothing. Sophie felt like a captured princess locked in a tower.
She thought of Yuri and how he’d called her Princess. She wondered what was happening at Goragavan, surprised that she actually cared enough to wonder. The military had attacked the estate, but for reasons unclear. Valeri’s words had confused and upset her. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Did Yuri still plan to marry her, make her a virtual princess in his kingdom of organized crime?
Meeting Valeri had changed everything. His smooth talk and elegant personal style captivated her more than she let on. She’d felt a fundamental attraction to Yuri, but found his roughness and bad manners distasteful. Valeri on the other hand, presented everything that his brother was not. They were opposite sides of the same coin, and it had her seeing double. Like a double shot of vodka, the first taste was bitter, burning you raw. The second swallow went down smooth as silk, leaving you wanting more.
She hoped Valeri would pay her another visit soon. With a pang of shame, Andrew’s face popped into her head. What had she done to him? Made promises to him she could not keep. Betrayed him, been unfaithful to him. Put him in danger. She didn’t deserve him, and somehow felt glad they were apart now, giving him a fighting chance to make a new life without her. She was as good as dead to him, anyway.
Irina arrived with an obscene number of shopping bags from international designer stores, filled with exotic and expensive brand-name items Sophie could never have afforded on her own. After days of fear, sleeplessness, shame and desperation, it felt right to accept a few indulgences. Sophie unpacked her new things and made herself at home. She ran a bath, leaning her elbows on the marble surround and watching the hot water stream out of the stylish, uber-modern taps. No giant, selfish boor of a man hovered behind her this time, but Sophie found herself wishing a certain man’s naked body might share this bath with her very soon.
*
The dinner party had not gone well. Excellent food, but the host had come up short with his tribute money. Valeri had his byki, his security “bulls” persuade the man into coughing up the full amount by offering him some free dental work with a pair of vice-grips. A successful e-transfer of the agreed amount took place immediately thereafter.
Most annoying was Francesca’s behavior throughout the evening. She liked her alcohol, and consumed large amounts of champagne, red wine and vodka, in that order. She flirted with every man at the table, and now hung limp as a fish in Valeri’s arms as his men escorted them to the limo. She giggled and hiccupped as he folded her into the vehicle’s plush interior.
“Great party, wasn’t it?” she slurred, brushing aside a swath of her long dark tresses. “Is there any brandy in this car? I need a nightcap.”
“You need bed,” Valeri said, disgusted but faintly amused. She was still a beautiful woman despite her condition. Her face glistened with booze-induced sweat. She smiled drunkenly.
“Why wait for a bed?” she crooned, sliding off the seat and landing with a whump on the floor between Valeri’s knees. She grabbed at his belt, fumbling with the buckle and zipper. He helped her out by unfastening his pants, his cock hardening with anticipation. Her hands pulled away his underwear, and she let out a dreamy sigh as she fondled his swollen member. “I missed sausage at dinner,” she giggled, and Valeri felt her hot breath caress the head of his dick as she opened her mouth to take him in.
He grunted in satisfaction as her lips slid past his glans and down his shaft. This was more like it, he thought. The best kind of woman; silent and sucking. He was just starting to enjoy the blow job when he heard a choking noise from her throat as it tightened and convulsed. “Der'mo!” he hissed, and grabbed her brunette mane to yank her head free of him. Francesca tilted backward and twisted to face the floor just in time to vomit her evening’s libations all over it.
Valeri moved his foot out of reach of the spreading pool of puke. His frustrated cock stood at inconvenient attention. He stuffed it back in his pants as the limo cruised into the parking level of his office building. He clambered over his unconscious date as she lay enrobed in a puddle of red chiffon and partially digested effluent to exit the car. He signaled his driver that there was a problem in the back seat, then headed for the elevators.
More than an office, the top floor of the eight-storey brick building housed his lodgings. Smaller than a penthouse but larger than an apartment, the suite served as more than his home and refuge. It provided an esthetic barrier between him and his enemies, the Bratva’s enemies, and the violent enterprises they were engaged in. While the family business was ugly, he decided his environment would not be. The glittering city of St. Petersburg spread out in all directions; the one-time seat of the Empire and home of the Czars. It was beautiful, and he loved it. Crime bosses like himself were the new Czarist class. Democracy had only fueled their rise to power.
On a whim, Valeri punched a button on the elevator panel. He’d be a terrible jailer if he did not check up on his prisoner once in a while. His father and brother might ask about her condition. Besides, his cock still ached. He swiped his security fob at the door to the suite he’d assigned her and entered without knocking. If she wasn’t decent, so much the better.
He walked into the main room to find her cuddled on the couch with a blanket, watching TV with English subtitles. “Good evening,” he said, and she jumped in surprise. Her hair looked wet, and along with the soapy scents wafting in the air, concluded she’d been in the bath.
“What are you doing here,” she asked, her voice sounding startled but unafraid.
“I’m taking a head count of my prisoners,” he said, and pointed at her. “One. Check. They are all here.” He smiled at her. “Did Irina bring you everything you need?”
She relaxed enough to return a shy smile. “Yes. I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”
She looked so young and innocent, especially wrapped in her blanket with her lush lips forming a little smile that revealed a childishly adorable gap between her front teeth. “May I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the space beside her on the sofa.
“It’s your couch,” she replied, gathering the folds of her blanket around her to make room. One barefoot leg stuck out from underneath the fuzzy material. The straps of a sheer nightgown hung on her delicate shoulders.
“So it is.” He removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie and sat down on the cushion next to her. “Find anything good on television?”
Sophie chuckled. “Nothing I recognize. I’m just using it to brush up on my Russian.”
“Oh. Khorosho…” he said, accenting the word. “Means good.”
She glanced sideways at him. “Yeah, got that. And Kassir means cashier. I have no money to buy anything you’re selling at the moment. Just so you know.”
He nodded. “Maybe what I have for you is free.” He leaned over, letting his hand brush her exposed leg before closing his fingers over the TV remote in her lap. Her brown eyes followed his every move but she did not flinch or shy away.
He flipped to a streaming service channel and did a search. His selected program began to load on the screen, starring Omar Sharif and Julie Christie. Sophie chuckled as the main title appeared. Doctor Zhivago. She turned to look at Valeri. “No popcorn?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I could order some. But I think there’s wine in the bar. How about some of that?”
She stared into his eyes as though trying to figure him out. “Okay,” she s
aid with a slow nod. She was beginning to trust him. He went to the mini-bar and placed a bottle of Bulgarian red on the marble counter. The city lights twinkled in all their nightly glory through the big windows at his back.
“Where are we?” she asked. “The view is beautiful.”
He pulled the cork from the wine and poured two glasses. Like Taras had said, she wasn’t going anywhere. “It is beautiful,” he agreed, turning to appreciate the scene. “A city built for kings. St. Petersburg.” He brought their glasses to the sofa and offered one to Sophie.
“Spasibo,” she said as she took the glass from him.
“Otlichno,” he said, meaning ‘very good’. He sat down next to her, closer than before. She didn’t seem to mind. They watched the movie in silence. Filmed in English, it had Russian subtitles; no dubbing. Without any urging on his part, by the time Lara appeared on the screen Sophie had snuggled up next to him. He inhaled the fruity scent of her freshly shampooed hair.
“She’s so beautiful,” Sophie remarked as she sipped her wine. “I don’t look anything like her.”
“And my brother doesn’t look like Omar Sharif.”
She laughed and raised her face that had settled on his chest to glance up at him. “But he is named Yuri, just like the character. Does it bother you that you get mistaken for him? I don’t have any siblings. It must be nice to have a brother.”
Valeri shrugged. “It’s a fact. I cannot change it. We look alike, but are not alike. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
She nodded and turned back to the TV. The shoulder strap of her nightgown had slipped off, baring her shoulder. His hand stroked the skin there gently, awaiting a response from her. She shifted her legs and burrowed further into his ribs. The fallen strap drew attention to the curve of her breast below it. His feelings were very different than when he was in the company of women like Cesca. Moving slowly had an appeal he hadn’t fully appreciated before. Her knee poked out from beneath the blanket she still clutched. He reached for it and glided his palm slowly up her thigh, feeling the fabric of the blanket and the lace hem of her gown rise along with it.
