The Moscow Affair

by Taylor Lee

  Even though the little punk made him want to reach down his throat and rip his guts out, Boris admitted that Aiden was effective. Those All-American golden boy looks opened doors Boris could never open. Boris was suspect. Foreign. So much for the melting pot of America. He knew what those patrician assholes saw when they looked at him. A thick-jowled, fifty-year-old Russian immigrant. A guy with a heavy body and a heavier accent. No matter how expensive his clothes or how much he paid his barber, his harsh Slavic looks were getting harder and harder to tame. A telling contrast to the suave gym rat looks of an Aiden. Boris poured himself another shot of vodka and tossed it back glowering at the cocky kid in front of him.

  Aiden took a long drag on his cigarette and grinned. As much as Boris hated it, the kid scared him. Pure evil glowed in his obsidian eyes. Boris had watched him gut an adversary then sit down to his dinner without a backward glance at the screaming man writhing on the floor, his bloody entrails scattered across chipped linoleum. Christ, Aiden even used the same knife to cut his steak that he’d used to slice open the asshole’s gut. The men around him were just as perverse. Not a single one had stopped feeding his face as the unfortunate fucker had mercifully died just before they’d started on dessert. As it was, Boris hadn’t been able to eat meat since that fateful day. Christ, as if his stomach wasn’t bad enough, now he was a fucking vegetarian. Or hell, admit it, his diet was almost purely liquid.

  “You heard me. From now on we’re equal partners. Fifty-fifty, Boris, my man.” When Boris scowled and shook his head vehemently, the kid stopped grinning.

  “Look, you fat Slavic slob. It was one thing when we were picking up sluts in alleyways and raiding our buddies’ cribs. No one would pay to retrieve those skanky girls if we hung diamonds around their necks and sold them on Fifth Avenue as former Barney’s models. But thanks to me and my “associates”, we’re bringing you the cream of the crop. And don’t think I don’t know that your gig has changed. Uh uh Boris, my man. Selling sluts on the international market is one thing. Paying by the head for those pussies is business as usual. But ransom? Picking off the spoiled brats of people like Senator Bobbie Chambers? You don’t think we don’t know the game has changed? That we don’t know who you’re having us snag? What do you take us for, Volkov? A bunch of illiterate gangbangers?”

  Boris couldn’t hide his shock. Cold sweat ran down his spine. Gorge filled his throat. He could barely choke it down. How did they know? How could this little gutter rat know who he was, what he was doing? He called on every reserve he had to swallow the bile swamping his mouth. He should never have let Aiden and his crew attend the parties. What could he have been thinking? That was his mistake. But he knew why: His own men stood out. The way he did. It was one thing if the host was a Russian émigré. He was the accepted foreign dignitary, the international moneyman, who specialized in the import/export business and threw parties with the purest blow even these dissolute young people had sampled. But too many of his men, all foreign, all Russians, raised suspicions. Made people curious. The indulged offspring of American’s elite liked their foreigners in small doses with carefully constructed pedigrees that matched their own. He’d thought it would be useful to include a few of the golden boys who ran with Aiden, to keep the girls enticed until he lured them from the room. That had been only one of his major misjudgments.

  At the moment, what had Boris’s gut churning, had him fighting to keep from pissing his pants, was Aiden calling him Volkov. Only a handful of his most loyal followers, true Russian Mafiosa, knew the code name for their enterprise. They were men who’d followed him from Russia, their ties went back through generations. They’d all known Leonid. All been party to the great betrayal. The slaughter. The loss of face for his family that Boris had spent the last twenty-five years trying desperately to recoup.

  And now this precocious prick and his band of degenerate deviants with their arsenal of knives and weapons wanted in. Wanted in on the venture that was going to buy back his standing in the Mafiosa. Prove that the Kozar family was worthy. That no matter what Leonid had done, his nephew and the people who surrounded him were worthy of respect, of inclusion. For a quarter of a century Boris had fought to get back in the inner circles. But he always fell short. No matter what scheme he dreamed up, something went wrong. His big ideas fizzled, often embarrassingly so. Once again earning his reputation as a ne’er do well. A fuck up.

  But this time he was determined to get it right. He’d spent two years setting the stage, creating his persona, making contacts with high level American leaders. Spending a fortune to be accepted, to be sought after by the men who would ultimately be his victims. He planned to hit them where it hurt the most. In their bloated wallets. And he would take more than their money. He would take their second most prized possessions, their women. Better yet: their daughters.

  He knew how important the international sex trade was to the Russian-based mafia. How valuable, virginal-looking American girls were. But any run of the mill Mafioso could kidnap girls off the American streets. Americans were so careless with their women. Their women were brazen, sure of themselves, confident that they were as tough as their emasculated men. But he had convinced himself and his men that in order to redeem their honor they needed to do more than simply supply girls to the trade. They needed to be as bold as they were outrageous. That was the genius of the Volkov strategy. He would become an international superstar in the criminal underworld, known for his courage and cunning. By adding the fillip of ransom to the mix, he would be poised to buy back the respect the Wolf had stolen from his family twenty-five years ago, in a bloodbath that had gone down in the annals of Mafia internecine violence.

  Now after years of being dismissed, laughed at by his former peers, Boris’s master plan was threatened by the dregs of American society. Looking at Aiden’s men sloshing his imported vodka as if it were Bud Light, he was filled with righteous fury. Who did they think they were? This mangy bunch of lowlifes. They were every color from the darkest ebony to every shade of brown in between and finally to their golden boy leader. Most of them spoke like the sewer rats they were. But one look at the gleam in Aiden’s eyes as he sliced off one piece of apple after another with a blade so sharp it skinned the apple with one swipe, Boris acknowledged them for who they were: his new 50/50 partners.

  Chapter 8

  As though one bombshell weren’t enough, Rafe fired another one. This one ended up ripping her heart apart.

  Nicki was as shocked as the men, at the announcement there was yet another girl being ransomed by Volkov. Along with the others, Nicki worked until late in the evening ferreting out everything she could about Cindy Peterson, looking for connections with the other girls.

  Knowing that none of them could take off for dinner, Andre delivered sandwiches and soup to the Cave. To placate Caleb and get Rafe off her back, she forced herself to take several bites of her sandwich and a few spoonfuls of soup.

  Sitting at her desk, her eyes pinned to the computer screen, she ignored Caleb’s frown and shrugged motioning to her sandwich and soup daring him to report her to Rafe. Caleb shook his head and grimaced.

  “I repeat, hotstuff. I’m just looking out for you.”

  She relented and gave him a weary smile. How could she tell him that the lump in her throat was so big she couldn’t swallow if she wanted to? Fatigue mixed with anger and hurt was taking a huge toll on her ability to concentrate. Getting sick trying to eat would make it worse.

  Rafe and Grayson were standing off to the side when she heard Grayson ask, “When does she arrive? And how is she getting

  here?”

  “By private jet. We couldn’t take a chance on commercial. I need her now. She’ll be ready to work in the morning if jet lag doesn’t compromise her. Given her training, that is unlikely. Besides, I’ve never seen a more dedicated worker.”

  Caleb, who never let a question go unasked or unanswered, looked up, curious.

  “Are we getting reinforcements, bos
s? And don’t tell me it’s the female kind. Trying to give hotstuff a little competition?”

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed, then he gave an exasperated sigh.

  “Yes, Caleb. We do have reinforcements coming in. And a special one at that. Katya Yashim is a member of our Chechen team. Vlad agreed to send her to help us. She speaks five languages fluently, and who the hell knows how many dialects. One of her specialties is Russian. I’ve worked with Katya in the past. She is first rate. She’ll be here in the morning.”

  Rafe glanced at his watch.

  “Look, it’s nearly 0200 hours. Let’s reconvene at 0700. We’ll start our meeting over breakfast.”

  He threw Nicky a pointed glance then turned back to Caleb. His voice was crisp.

  “In answer to your inappropriate question, Caleb, we don’t have competition on our team. We cooperate or we die. It’s as simple as that.”

  Per usual, Caleb didn’t quit. To Nicky’s embarrassment, he pulled her up out of her chair and showered her with a blazing grin.

  “See, darlin’. Even the boss man says you don’t have to worry.” He licked his lips and waggled his tongue at her breasts. “Plus with your “assets” hotstuff, hard to know how anyone could compete.”

  Nicky gave him a shove, hoping that her cheeks weren’t as red hot as they felt.

  “You are incorrigible, Caleb.”

  Caleb grabbed her and swung her in a circle then gave her a resounding moist smack on her cheek. “But you love me, don’t you darlin’? Say it, baby, so I can jumpstart my sexy dreams about you tonight.”

  Nicky rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a grin

  “How could I not love you? You are such an idiot!”

  She linked her arm in his using him as a buffer as they left the room. Without looking at him she could feel Rafe’s eyes on her. His looming presence was palpable.

  As she stumbled down the hallway almost too tired to walk, she congratulated herself. She’d made it through a whole day and most of the night barely speaking to him—and given the crisis, hardly thinking about him. She prayed her exhaustion would keep thoughts of him at bay, and that she could sink into blessed oblivion.

  ~~~

  What small relief she got from her few stolen hours of sleep was quickly forgotten the next morning when she walked in the dining room and saw the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen. The sinking feeling in her stomach told her the young woman must be Katya.

  She was small, slender. But like Nicki, her tiny body was replete with womanly curves. Her Middle Eastern heritage was written all over her lovely face. Thick lashes that reached almost to her arched brows shadowed her dark eyes. A natural flush tinted her soft dusky skin. Her rosy lips were full, sensuous. Blue black hair hung down her back, swaying when she moved like a shiny curtain of silk. The dark-haired beauty was like an exquisite rare bird. Beside her, Nicki felt big, ungainly. That Katya was gazing at Rafe in open adoration didn’t help. Neither did the fact that Rafe was clasping both of her hands in his. His eyes gleamed with admiration.

  The shock Nicki felt must have been visible on her face, because Rafe gave a guilty start when he saw her. He dropped Katya’s hands and reached out to Nicki, drawing her next to him.

  “Come here, Nicki. I want to introduce you to a special friend of mine. Katya, this is Nicki Powers. Nicki, meet our Chechen wonder, Katya Yashim.”

  Nicki managed to disengage from Rafe’s grip and reached out to shake the lovely young woman’s hand.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Katya.” Grateful that her voice didn’t betray her, she couldn’t stop staring at the gorgeous woman. She was that breathtaking.

  To her surprise, Katya fairly glowed with pleasure, gazing at Nicki as if she were her long lost friend. Her melodic voice was a trilling cascade of notes, as lovely as her face.

  Katya gushed, “Oh my. You are even more beautiful than they said.”

  She reached out to touch Nicki’s hair, then pulled back, blushing. “I…I’m sorry. But, your…your hair is glorious. I have never seen anything like it. It…you look like you could ignite, burst into flames at any moment.” She flushed a rosier shade of pink. “I have heard many stories about the fierce fire-haired fighter.”

  She bowed slightly. “It is an honor to meet you. May I call you Nikita?”

  Nicki was stunned at the effusive praise. She bristled, not only at Katya’s use of her given name but wanting to protect herself from the girl’s adoring gaze. She didn’t want her to like her. She preferred hating the beautiful young woman.

  Nicki’s voice was sharp.

  “I’d rather you didn’t. As I indicated, my name is Nicki.”

  Katya reared back, her eyes wide.

  “I…I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. Please, Nicki, forgive me.”

  Rafe stepped in as if to explain Nicki’s rudeness. Searing her with a reproachful frown, he turned back to Katya, his voice was quiet.

  “Don’t apologize, Katya. I should have explained. We purposefully have introduced Nicki by her American name. It is her father’s preference.”

  Katya’s full lashes dropped over her dark eyes, fanning against her pale cheeks.

  “Again, I am sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Then gathering her courage, she smiled at Nicki.

  “It is just that Nikita is powerful, like you.”

  A low whistle interrupted them. Caleb loped over to them, a goofy grin on his face. He gazed from Katya to Nicki.

  “Damn. Now I’m really fucked. How the hell am I going to get my pants zipped in the morning? Hell, the thought alone is a hard one.”

  Katya laughed out loud, a delicious peal.

  “You must be Caleb. Your reputation precedes you. Only I have been told that your outrageousness is a deceptive cover for the fearsome warrior beneath.”

  Caleb’s eyes darkened as he bowed slightly.

  “Ah, lovely lady, don’t believe everything you hear. And how the hell is that Genghis Kahn wannabe, who has the Russian mafia pissing their pants at the thought of him on their tail?”

  Rafe shook his head in mock despair but couldn’t hide his amusement at Caleb’s antics.

  Katya lifted a saucy brow.

  “You must be referring to Vlad. He is well and sends you all his good wishes.”

  Rafe smiled at Katya then graciously pulled out the chair next to him motioning to her to be seated. She looked up at him and returned his smile, whispering politely, “Thank you, Rafe.”

  Nicki swallowed around the painful lump in her throat and gazed longingly at the doorway. She started when she realized that Rafe was talking to her.

  “Please, Nicki, sit here.” He pointed to the chair on his other side, across from Katya.

  “No.”

  Her voice was harsh, rude. She did her best to cover her embarrassment in the silence that followed her outburst.

  “I…I planned to sit there.” She waved to the other end of the table then hurried down the row of chairs and sunk into the one next to Grayson. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to see Rafe’s heated gaze. It burned her back.

  Grabbing her napkin, she clenched her teeth and stared at her hands, twisting the napkin in her lap. She knew everyone was looking at her. She couldn’t bear to see their confused stares.

  It took her a moment to feel Grayson’s hand on her knee. She peeked up to see him gazing at her, his hooded eyes dark with concern.

  He smiled at her and drawled in his deep voice tinged with the Appalachian high country he called home: “How’re you doing this morning, Sugar?”

  She snapped, “Fine! Why?”

  His grin broadened.

  “Why? Becuz, it’s not often I have the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known sitting next to me. I’m making conversation, Sugar.”

  Nicki took a deep breath. From the way he was studying her, she knew Grayson had observed the scene in the front of the room. He looked like he knew how she felt. If he did, she wished he would tell her. All she
knew was that in any moment she was going to scream, or, God forbid, burst into tears. What was wrong with her? She had to get control of herself. She couldn’t let Rafe do this to her. Shatter her confidence. Undermine her courage. She squinted at Grayson’s hand gently rubbing her knee. She swallowed and said, “I’m fine, Grayson. Really, I am.”

  He smiled at her, a soft sexy smile. Raking his eyes over her, he replied. “Yeah, darlin’ that you are. That you are.”

  His open admiration was a balm of silent support that sucked the tension out of her, capturing her anger and her hurt. She drew a calming breath and returned his smile.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Any time, Sugar. Any time you need me, I’m right here.”

  ~~~

  Rafe stood at the head of the table and formally introduced Katya to the team.

  “All of you know Vlad. Katya Yashim is Vlad’s right hand “man.”

  At the appreciative chuckles from the men, he grinned at her.

  “Don’t let her looks fool you. Katya is as tough as they come. In addition, she is brilliant. At my instigation, Vlad brought her on the team for a number of reasons, primarily because of her prodigious language abilities. I was wrong when I told you last night that she speaks five languages. She speaks seven. Among them are Chinese, Pashtun, Arabic, and, critical to our current needs, she is fluent in Russian.”

  He glanced around the table.

  “Any questions—from anyone except Caleb?”

  Everyone laughed. Caleb gave Katya a rakish grin and a thumbs up gesture. Katya threw him a saucy wink.

  Caleb clasped his hands over his heart and moaned.

  “Woman, you’re killing me!’

  Rafe shook his head and pressed his lips together to ward off a despairing grin.

  “Ahem. To continue. Katya and I with Grayson’s help are going to wrestle with the Volkov conundrum. I have some thoughts that I want to share with Katya and see if she can make sense of them. The rest of you continue what you were doing yesterday.”