Three under the Mistletoe: A Christmas Menage Romance (Christmas Billionaire Menage Series Book 1)

by Tia Siren

  Every doubt was abolished when she heard him speak.

  “Tasia?”

  She could not get it wrong. His strong, but soft Russian accent was remarkable.

  “Anton?” She excitedly turned.

  Gems of precious tears began to roll down involuntarily from their eyes. They were both speechless – tamed with surprise and gladness that miracles really do happen. And a happy ending was possible.

  “How did you find us?” She asked with thankfulness in her voice.

  “I’d do everything to find you and our daughter.”

  He shifted his gaze at Alexis while she was crawling around, exploring her skills. She got her golden brown hair from her father. Her eyes were Hazel, a little bit lighter than her mother’s eyes. But her skin tone was mixed. A little lighter than Tasia’s. And a little darker than Anton’s.

  “She’s beautiful. She looks just like you, Tasia. Can I hold her?”

  “Yes, of course. She’s your daughter, you know. Our child.” Tasia blushed.

  Taking her up from the ground, she wiggled her hands as she played with her father’s nose and eyes. Her smile was priceless. Suddenly Anton felt that same sensation of love that his father must have felt when he had held Anton for the first time.

  Watching, Tasia was crying. The tears of pain and sorrow were replaced with tears of joy and thanksgiving. Finally, they could now live in peace and harmony without worrying about tomorrow.

  She stood up, and then approached them. As she did, Anton wrapped his arm around her while the other was holding Alexis – the chain that interlocked them together.

  ****

  THE END

  Mafia Romance Collection

  MAFIA Romance – Owned by the Mafia

  It was terrifying to have a pistol shoved in his mouth. More terrifying was the knowledge that he had no way of repaying his debt.

  “How dare you,” Grigori said. “How dare you sit at my table and gamble with me when you know you don't have the funds to cover your debts.”

  Grigori tightened his grip around Lenny's throat. Lenny looked up at him with saliva running from his open mouth and a great deal of fear in his eyes.

  “I ought to kill you now, you asshole. But I'm a benevolent man. I'm going to give you a chance.” Grigori looked at the photo on the mantelpiece. “She's very pretty, isn't she?” he said. Lenny growled at him and tried to break free. One of Grigori's henchmen stepped forward and assisted his boss in restraining Lenny. “What time will she be home?” Grigori asked, removing the gun from Lenny's mouth to allow him to speak.

  “You fucking bastard. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll kill you,” Lenny growled.

  “From where I'm standing, you don't seem to be in much of a position to carry out your threat,” Grigori said as he forced the gun back into Lenny's mouth.

  Lenny was forty-five, the son of an Irish immigrant father and a Hungarian dancer. His father had left them when he was two and his mother, struggling to find work as a dancer, had turned to prostitution. Neglected and alone, by the age of eight he was a master pickpocket, and by the age of thirteen he was one of the best lock pickers in New York. When his mother was murdered by a drunken client, he was fifteen. The authorities wanted to take him into care, but he'd already amassed enough money to look after himself, and he disappeared. When he came back to New York, it was as a heavily muscled strongman who lived from the proceeds of his criminal activities. In and out of jail, he managed to hide his ill-gotten gains and channel them into several pieces of real estate. Lenny was a rich man; he just didn't have any cash. In his opinion, he'd invested wisely, but he would have admitted to one very simple mistake: an evening of gambling with the Russians in Brighton Beach when he knew he didn't have the liquidity to pay if he incurred losses.

  “Dad, I'm home,” Lucy shouted. Funny, she thought when he didn't reply. Her dad always shouted to her when she got home. He loved asking her about her day at art college, sitting in the kitchen, drinking tea, and chatting with her. She hung her coat in the hall and put her satchel down on the black and white tiled floor. “Dad, where are you?” she shouted again.

  “Sit down and shut up,” Grigori shouted when she walked into the sitting room. She screamed and put her hand over her mouth.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” she shouted. She didn't sit down as asked; she walked to Grigori and began to throw punches at him.

  “Very spirited,” he said as he held her from him with one arm, the other still holding the pistol in Lenny's mouth. “Get her off me,” Grigori said to one of his men.

  A very large, very Russian-looking man took Lucy and lifted her from the floor. She tried to kick and bite him, but he threw her onto the sofa.

  “Quite a display of aggression, Lucy. I admire spirited women. In fact, it turns me on. Now, if you don't want to see your father's brains splattered all over this lovely room, sit still and fucking well listen to me,” Grigori snarled.

  “What are you doing to him? What has he done?” she asked, tears beginning to escape from her blue eyes.

  “He owes me money, a lot of money, and he can't pay. So, here's what we're going to do. You are going to come with me until he can pay.”

  “No way. You're not taking me hostage,” Lucy shouted as she got up from the sofa and made for the sideboard, where she knew Lenny kept a handgun. Again the large man picked her up and threw her onto the sofa.

  Grigori laughed. “I admire your fight, but it's useless,” he said. He took the gun from Lenny's mouth and wiped it on Lenny's shirt. “She's coming with us, Lenny, and there's not a thing you can do about it.”

  “You fucking asshole, I'll see you burn in hell. When I find you, I'll rip your eyes out and piss on—” Lenny didn't get to finish the rest of his tirade; Grigori pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness. Lucy screamed again and tried to get up, but the big man had learned his lesson and was holding her. “I didn't realize what a beautiful daughter he had. How old are you, Lucy?” Grigori asked. He looked horrified when Lucy's spit landed on his well-pressed trousers. “Take the bitch and put her in the trunk. I've had enough of her.”

  Lucy was thrown from side to side as the car dodged through the residential area her father lived in. She was relieved when they seemed to reach a long, straight piece of the freeway and it was a smoother ride. The tape over her mouth ripped at her skin whenever she moved her mouth, so she tried to stay as expressionless as possible. She had no idea who these men were or where she was being taken. All she knew was that her beloved father was lying unconscious in their home and she was in very grave danger.

  “Take her downstairs,” she heard Grigori say as she was hauled from the trunk. Her legs scraped along the ground as she was dragged along. The man held her in one arm, opened a door, and carried her down a set of stone steps into a basement.

  “Should I tie her up, boss?” he shouted upstairs.

  “Tie her to the roof support,” Grigori shouted back.

  The basement had four posts that supported the upper floor. Lucy found herself tied to one of them a few minutes later.

  “You're so pretty,” the man said as he put the finishing touches to the knot that held her in place. “How an ugly fucker like Lenny could produce a daughter like you, I have no idea. Your mother must have been Cleopatra,” he joked. Her mouth still covered by tape, Lucy wasn't able to reply.

  *****

  Lucy lost track of time. She knew it had been around half past four in the afternoon when they kidnapped her, but there were no windows in the basement, and she had no way of seeing if it was dark or light. After a time, she decided to close her eyes and try to sleep, but her mind was so active that she didn't manage to drop off. All she could think about was how her father was and what these despicable men were going to do to her. She could take a beating, but she was desperately worried by the big man's comments about how pretty she looked. Was he going to help himself to her?

  When the light came on she blinked uncontrolla
bly. She heard someone coming down the stairs and held her breath, wondering what was about to happen to her.

  “Here,” Grigori said as he handed her a cup of water. He tore the tape from her mouth and noticed it had caused a rash on her top lip and chin. Lucy guzzled the water, spilling some of it on her blouse.

  “What time is it?” she asked. For some reason time seemed important.

  “Half past ten. Do you want some food?”

  “How long do you propose to keep me here?” she asked.

  “For as long as it takes your father to come up with the money he owes me.”

  “And how much is that?”

  “Five hundred grand.” Grigori sat down on an old sofa in the corner of the room and looked at her. He too wondered how Lenny had managed to produce such a pretty daughter. He knew her mother couldn’t have been Irish, because Lucy had tanned skin and dark hair, and the Irish, he always joked, were ginger and pasty.

  “But he won't be able to find that kind of money,” she said.

  “How many houses does he own?”

  “Five.”

  “They are enormous places, each worth at least a million. All he has to do is sell one and pay me.”

  “But it's not a good time to sell real estate; it could take forever,” Lucy said.

  “Then you can look forward to growing old down here.”

  She fixed her eyes on him in a death stare. “You're heartless. I bet your mother didn't bring you up to treat women like you are treating me.”

  “What mother? I was given away when I was a baby. My mother didn't give a shit about me.”

  “Untie me, please. This rope is cutting me. I won't do anything stupid,” she pleaded.

  He got up, walked to her, and took out a knife. In one swift movement he cut through the rope and pulled it from her. Lucy rubbed her wrists, which were red and developing the same rash she had on her face. “Are you really going to keep me all that time?”

  “Yes. You'll stay here until he pays.”

  “The cops—”

  “Fuck the cops. Do you think the cops will do anything? I pay them to do what I want,” he snarled.

  If he hadn't been so brutal to her, she would have found him enormously attractive. He was tall and athletic looking. His dark hair was cropped and his Slavic features were fine. The most attractive thing about him were his eyes. When she looked at him, she was lost in a sea of green.

  “Let me go, please. What can I possibly do to you? I'm just a young woman trying to get an art degree.”

  “Where is your mother?” he asked.

  “Dead,” she replied.

  “How?” he asked, expressing no sympathy.

  “Car crash. She was Spanish. She went to see her mother in Madrid and never came back to us.” Lucy's mind flashed back to the day the policeman had called at their house and told them what had happened. The tormented look on her father's face had stayed with her ever since.

  “Too bad. I'm sorry to hear that. How long ago?”

  “Three years.”

  “I don't know what it's like to have parents. I was a Moscow street kid until I was fifteen, and then I came to the US.”

  Lucy got up and walked a few steps. She needed to stretch, and as she bent to touch her toes, Grigori looked at her. She was wearing tight jeans, and they stretched over her body when she bent over, showing the most perfect ass he'd ever seen. He liked to think of himself as a professional criminal, the kind of man who could kidnap a beautiful woman and ignore the treasures she had to offer. But in Lucy, he found out he was, after all, fallible.

  Lucy sat down on the sofa next to him and considered how quickly she could thrust her long nails into his eyes. Was it worth trying? Maybe, she thought, but she decided to see whether she was able to talk her way out of her predicament first.

  “Why did you come to the US?” she asked.

  “Opportunity. I wanted to get rich.”

  “And you are, but aren't you ashamed of yourself?”

  He looked shocked by her question. “No. Why would I be?”

  “Because you haven't become rich by hard work or ingenuity. You've bludgeoned your way to wealth by threatening people, scaring them, and who knows, probably even killing a few of them. That's a dishonorable way, a way that gains no respect.”

  His face darkened, and Lucy thought he was going to slap her. “What would you have done if you'd lived on the streets in Moscow, freezing to death? Nobody gave me a start in life like you have had. I had to fend for myself. Whacking people was all I knew, and it got me to where I am today.”

  *****

  “Where is the bitch?” Lucy heard a woman scream. The light went on, and Lucy sheltered her eyes. There was the sound of women's shoes on the stairs and then the sound of somebody following her.

  “Ah, so here she is,” the woman said. She was around thirty and thin. She was rather goth-like in her appearance. Her hair was jet black, and her eye shadow matched it. Her lipstick was very dark, and she wore a ring on each finger. Lucy took an instant dislike to her. “Why the fuck isn't she tied up?” she said in her Russian-American dialect.

  “Because she can't go anywhere and her wrists are hurt,” Grigori replied.

  “Who are you?” Lucy asked.

  The woman slapped Lucy's face, causing her to stagger backward. “Don't you dare ask me any questions. If I want you to know anything, I'll tell you. Understand?” Lucy nodded, her hand over her stinging face. “Pretty, isn't she?” she said.

  “Very attractive,” Grigori said.

  “Don't you go fucking her or I'll kill you.”

  Lucy flew into a rage. Who the hell did she think she was? She wrapped her arms around the woman and rolled her onto the floor in a perfect wrestler’s throw. The woman was stunned when she hit the ground hard. “Don't you talk like that. You may have the advantage over me now, but when this is over, I'll find you,” Lucy hissed, her knee across the woman's throat.

  “Get the bitch off me,” the woman shouted.

  Grigori pulled Lucy away and put her on the sofa. The woman got up gingerly and stretched her back. Without saying anything, she walked back up the stairs and slammed the door.

  “That was very brave,” Grigori said.

  “Who the fuck is she?”

  “That's my girlfriend, Natasha.”

  “You have a girlfriend like that? Jesus, Grigori, what the hell were you thinking when you hooked up with her? She's a bitch, and she's ugly.”

  Grigori remained silent, and Lucy got the impression she'd hit the nail on the head. He didn't appear to be very fond of her either. “She's dangerous,” he said.

  “What do you care? You're the most dangerous man in New York.”

  “No. There is one man more dangerous than me. That's her father, Iakov Sheludko.”

  “You Russians are so fucked up,” she said angrily. “Listen, Grigori, stop playing games. Let me go. It'll do you no good keeping me here.”

  “Not until your father has paid his debt. I told you.”

  Lucy had spent the time between Grigori's visits deliberating whether to offer herself to him in exchange for her freedom. He was a very handsome man, just her type, and although not the kind of thing she wanted to do, with him she thought it would be bearable. What her father would think of her if she did that, she didn't know.

  “Grigori, do you think I'm attractive?” she began. He looked at her quizzically.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I think you're hot. How about it? I'll let you fuck me if you set me free afterward.” She slid next to him on the sofa and put her hand on his leg. “Imagine how nice it would be to feel my firm ass and look at my pert breasts,” she said as her hand slid up toward his bulge.

  He took a sharp breath, and she could feel the material in his jeans moving. “No,” he said as his hand slammed onto hers. He pulled her arm away and stood up.

  “Look,” she said. She began to open the buttons on her blouse. He watched u
ntil she reached the fourth button. When her bra came into view, she noticed a considerable swelling in between his legs.

  “Stop,” he said.

  “You can have me all,” she added.

  He turned away and walked up the stairs. When the light went out, Lucy lay on the sofa and cried. What was she doing? she asked herself. But she was now more convinced than ever that it was the only way to get out of the mess she was in.

  An hour later Natasha came back downstairs. This time she was carrying a rope and a gun. “Stand against the pillar, over there,” she said, pointing the gun at Lucy. She obviously wasn't going to chance being overpowered again. Lucy did as she was asked. Natasha held the gun to Lucy's face and ripped open Lucy's blouse. “Ah, what secrets are you hiding under here?” she said as she rubbed the tip of the gun over her bra.

  “Fuck off, you moron,” Lucy said.

  “No need to be impolite,” Natasha said.

  “Take off your pants.”

  Lucy looked at her and wondered whether she was bisexual.

  “Do it,” she shouted when Lucy didn't move.

  Lucy reluctantly lowered her pants and stepped out of them. Natasha picked them up and took her blouse from her. She tied Lucy to the pillar and looked at her. “Now you won't be able to escape,” she said.

  Upstairs, Grigori was sitting at the kitchen table, unable to get the image of Lucy's bra from his mind. She was so beautiful, soft and gentle looking, yet she stood her corner and was tough. Just the thought of her lying naked under him as he thrust into her made him hard.

  “We'll kill her if her father hasn't paid before the end of the week,” Natasha said when she arrived in the kitchen.

  “Are you fucking mental? As far as I know you're not a retard, are you?” Grigori said. “We can't kill her.”

  “You asshole. You've thought nothing of killing people before, for much less. Just because she's beautiful, you don't want to shoot her. Well, I will.”

  Grigori got up from his chair and took her by the throat. “If you touch her, I'll kick your ass so hard you won't sit down for weeks.”