Sweet Cruelty: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Zoe Blake

  Using the pad of my thumb, I caressed her lower lip. “Beautiful,” I murmured.

  She cast her gaze down, twisting the ends of the now dirty washcloth between her fingertips. “I thought you’d want me to look like one of those glamorous Russian women you were probably used to.”

  I tugged on one silky curl to get her attention. “You thought wrong, моя крошка.”

  It was tragic that this darling girl somehow thought she wasn’t enough for a man. Although I guess I should be grateful? If another man had recognized what a hidden diamond she was earlier, then she probably wouldn’t be here with me now. That was the only way someone as innocent and naïve as her could have crossed paths with a dangerous, irredeemable man such as myself.

  “Put this on. We will be late for our dinner reservations.”

  She climbed off the bed and turned her back to me. Sweeping her tawny curls over one shoulder, she gave me a shy glance. “Would you help me with the zipper?”

  Reaching for the short metal tab, it surprised me to see my hand shake. Jesus Christ, this small slip of a girl tied me in knots. Here I was twitching like a fucking untried schoolboy. Clearing my throat, I tightened my jaw as I focused on slowly lowering the zipper, trying not to react to the soft expanse of skin it exposed.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she turned, holding the dress over her breasts.

  My cock swelled. I was painfully aware of the bed just inches away from us both. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind I would break the frame the moment I thrust furiously into her tight heat, but I didn’t give a damn. I’d buy her a new bed.

  Opening and closing my fist, I reined in my lust.

  Dinner first.

  At least attempt to show this girl you can put on the civilized trappings of a gentleman for a few hours before fucking her like a primal beast.

  “Would you mind turning around?”

  With a growl, I stomped over to her bedroom door and threw it open. Begrudgingly, knowing she was correct in not wanting to strip fully naked in front of me. Judging by my body’s reaction, my tenuous control would likely have snapped.

  Mary was in the kitchen, which opened off the living room, with a bottle of tequila. She poured a shot and held the glass out to me as she cast a pointed look at my crotch. My suit pants did nothing to conceal my painfully swelled cock. “Looks like you could use this.”

  It wasn’t vodka, but it would do. Without saying a word, I kicked back the shot, needing the harsh burn as it coursed down my throat. Slamming the glass on the counter, I nodded.

  She poured another.

  Raising her glass, her lips lifted with a cheeky smile. “Cheers!”

  Glowering, I muttered, “За женщин!”

  “What does za zhén-shsheen mean?”

  “It is a common Russian toast. It means to women.” The God help us poor men was implied.

  Just then, Emma’s bedroom door opened.

  She had brushed out her hair till it hung in soft curls, loose over her shoulders. The ivory sweater I chose made her pink and cream skin glow. She paired the cute blue skirt with a pair of dark brown knee-high boots. Around her neck she had secured a simple strand of pearls. Only a sheer gloss covered her lips.

  She looked achingly beautiful.

  This was the woman I had fallen in love with…

  Dammit.

  There was a tap on my shoulder. I peered down to see Mary handing me another shot. “Remember what I said.” For emphasis, she drew her finger across her throat.

  Without a word, I took the glass from her and downed the last shot of tequila.

  Stalking toward Emma, I clasped her hand firmly in my own and marched her out the door.

  The very second this dinner was over, I was taking her to my bed.

  I had reached my limit.

  Tonight, I would once more claim her as mine.

  And mine alone.

  Chapter 11

  Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.

  - William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

  Emma

  “Wait! I forgot my purse.” I tried to turn back, but his hard grip kept propelling me forward.

  “You don’t need one.”

  Thank God I was no longer in Mary’s platform heels or I would have fallen on my face right now trying to keep up with his determined pace. He raised an arm to unlock the car remotely as we approached.

  “But I don’t have any ID or money on me.”

  With the look Dimitri shot me over his shoulder, you would have thought I’d said I needed to go back for my parasol and snood.

  He turned forward and ground out, “You are with me.”

  As if that was all the explanation I required.

  Swinging open the passenger car door, he placed a restraining hand on my forearm before I could get in. Caressing my jaw with his other hand, he leaned down and gave me a chaste kiss on the forehead.

  His grey eyes shifted to a hard obsidian black in the soft dusk light. When he spoke his tone was low. His words carefully measured. “You know you have nothing to fear from me.”

  I felt a frisson of fear as goosebumps rose on my arms. If my body hadn’t already been pressed against the car, I would have taken a step back. My gaze flitted to the right in an attempt to determine if we were still visible through my apartment window. That Mary was watching would give me some measure of comfort, but even with my modest boot heels, I couldn’t see over his shoulder.

  He was just a wall of strength and muscle masked by an expensive suit.

  With two fingers, he caressed my strand of pearls along their fragile length. I knew it was irrational, but I wondered that the delicate ivory orbs didn’t turn to dust at his masculine touch. The card suit tattoos on each finger were faded to a watery grey. It was hard to miss the pale pink scars that crisscrossed each knuckle, clear evidence of more than one brutal fight. I wondered if that was how he had gotten the faint scar under his eye?

  My gaze rose to his collar. With it buttoned tight and secured by a deep plum silk tie, there was no hint of the dagger tattoo.

  Gambler.

  Fighter.

  Murderer.

  My breath came in short, excited bursts as heat crept up my cheeks. I tried to remind myself of all the people walking around with scary tattoos that meant nothing. Yet, somehow, I didn’t think Dimitri was the type of man to get a meaningless tattoo. Pulling my lips between my teeth, I swallowed hard.

  The tip of his finger moved to press against the base of my throat as if he wanted to touch the physical manifestation of my trepidation.

  My body jerked at the sound of his voice. I was a cat on a hot tin roof. My nerves stretched taut. I tried to answer, but my mouth had gone dry.

  “You are so innocent and sweet. Baby, I’m trying hard to be the gentleman I realize you need me to be. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.” He grasped a curled section of my hair and ran it through his fingers till he got to the end.

  Then, slowly and methodically, he wrapped the silky strands around his fist.

  A whimper escaped my lips.

  He stopped when his hand pressed against my neck, just below my ear.

  “That is why I need you to be a very good girl for me. When you anger me, I have a harder time keeping my control around you. I just want to throw you on a bed… open your legs… and…” He clenched his jaw as a low rattling growl was stifled deep within his chest.

  Oh. My. God.

  “I didn’t mean to make you angry,” I blurted out, trying to deflect from the sharp pang of need that shot between my legs at the vivid sexual image he had just conjured.

  I had to tilt my head to the side to ease the sting caused by his harsh grip on my hair. Later tonight, when I was curled up alone in my bed, I would hash out all the guilty, confused feelings I had for why I found pain… and the man who caused it… so fucking arousing.

  “I know, моя крошка. It’s not your fault. I have a feeling you have absolutely no
idea the effect you have on a man like me… or on any man.”

  He was making it sound like I was some kind of beautiful seductress. The notion was ludicrous. I knew he had gotten the wrong impression of me the night we met, but he now knew for certain I was obviously very inexperienced with men. You can’t be a practiced flirt and not lose your virginity until you’re twenty-three. Those two characteristics just didn’t go together.

  He continued to gaze at me intently. “Боюсь, ты сможешь поставить меня на колени, девочка.”

  He spoke the Russian quickly and under his breath; I couldn’t catch any of the phonetics.

  “What did you just say?”

  Shifting his gaze away, Dimitri seemed to shrug off the ominous moment. “It doesn’t matter. Come, let’s go have a nice dinner.”

  His Mercedes-Benz smoothly raced down the highway as the brightly lit outline of Chicago’s skyscrapers came into view. To the left, the dark waters of Lake Michigan churned. White foam cresting over the rocks and smooth sandy beach. As we left Lake Shore Drive, the lights of the city became brighter as the noise from the hectic streets invaded the quiet interior of the car.

  I was expecting some big flashy entrance, but we pulled up to the front of a rather unassuming restaurant. Two valets sprang to attention. One opened my door, while the other crossed around to greet Dimitri.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kosgov.”

  “Good evening, Mike. You are well?”

  The valet nodded. It was hard to miss the pleased smile that broke over his boyish face at the knowledge Dimitri knew him by name. “Yes, sir. Very well. Shall I keep it up front?”

  Dimitri reached into his pocket and pulled out a money clip. My mouth dropped open. I knew I was reacting every bit like an uncouth schoolgirl, but what the hell! It was over an inch thick and filled with what looked like crisp hundred-dollar bills. I couldn’t even conceive what it would be like to hold that much cash in my hand. Damn, I feel rich when I find a ten-dollar bill in my jeans after pulling them out of the dryer.

  Dimitri handed him what I was certain was a hundred-dollar bill and nodded. “That would be fine.”

  Walking around the car, he placed a warm hand at my lower back and ushered me toward the door. The second valet sprinted ahead to swing the heavy glass door open.

  “Have a nice dinner, folks!”

  “Thank you, Tommy,” responded Dimitri offhandedly as he guided me over the threshold. “Make sure Mike splits that with you.”

  Tommy laughed. “I will, sir.”

  Dimitri might think nothing of the exchange but speaking as someone who had worked her fair share of service jobs, putting me through college and now graduate school, I knew what it was like for people to act like you weren’t important. Like you were only there to do your job and serve them, so your feelings and showing common decency and manners didn’t matter.

  So for Dimitri to not only know the valets’ names but to be so generous with his money spoke volumes about his character. More so than any faded ink on his knuckles.

  I had to blink to adjust my eyes to the somber interior. There was only a cramped aisle down the center of the narrow restaurant with a single row of tall tables on the right and a long bar on the left.

  Granted, I wasn’t the type of girl who would brazenly order the lobster at some expensive restaurant on a date, but still, this wasn’t exactly what I had been envisioning when he’d asked me out to dinner.

  A porter dressed all in black squeezed past us. On his head was a black baseball cap with bright gold-embroidered letters emblazoned across the top: IDGAF.

  Pretty sure that stood for I Don’t Give a Fuck.

  Yep, definitely not the restaurant I had imagined.

  Dimitri’s arm wrapped more securely around me as he directed me past the tables and bar to a small back area where there was an elevator, coat check, and hostess stand.

  There the gorgeous hostess in a tight gold dress and red lipstick greeted us. I felt a stab of jealousy as her gaze wandered appreciatively over Dimitri’s impressive physique. “Welcome back to Maple & Ash, Mr. Kosgov,” she purred, completely ignoring me.

  The hostess then leaned over to depress the elevator button for us. Her ample breasts brushing his chest.

  Without thought, I pressed in closer to his side, lifting my arm to press my flat palm possessively against the side of his chest. Dimitri looked down at me, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he tightened his grip around my waist.

  I knew he had caught my moment of insecure jealousy.

  The metal doors slid silently open. We stood back as two couples exited before stepping into the confining, wood-paneled interior. The hostess once more leaned in to press the button for the third floor. The gesture gave us both a glimpse of her deep cleavage. “Let me know if you’ll be needing anything else, Mr. Kosgov.”

  Seriously, bitch?

  “I won’t be.” His voice was low and seductive.

  Dimitri’s hand swept up my back to clasp a fistful of curls. He pulled my hair, snapping my head back as his own swept down to capture my lips in a bruising kiss just as the elevator doors slid closed.

  Forgetting all about the flirtatious hostess, my world tilted. The metal handrail, which stretched around the elevator car, pressed against my lower back as Dimitri pushed the weight of his body against my own, trapping me. The thick ridge of his cock pressed against my midsection. A heated reminder of what was to come later.

  The rough scrape of his goatee chafed my cheeks as his tequila-laced tongue took possession of my mouth. Liquid arousal pooled between my thighs as his hand slipped under the hem of my skirt.

  I groaned. My fingers clawed at the lapels of his suit as I shifted my hips forward, wantonly wanting him to touch me there.

  A soft ping was our only warning.

  The elevator doors slid open.

  An elderly woman gasped as a group of businessmen chortled.

  Taking my hand, Dimitri shifted me protectively behind his enormous frame as he sent a hard glare at the men, silencing their merriment. We stepped into the lobby entrance of the restaurant, which felt as if we were inside a cigar humidor. It was all leather, wood, and Scotch.

  The maître d’ bowed before gesturing for us to follow him to our table.

  Looking down at my tiny pale hand, clasped securely in Dimitri’s larger, darkly tanned hand, I shivered.

  How the hell was I going to survive dinner?

  Chapter 12

  If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave. - Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

  Emma

  Giving out a delighted but startled cry of surprise, I clasped Dimitri’s waist from behind as a large flare-up of fire from the massive grill to our right surprised me. It filled the open kitchen with chaotic energy as more employees with black IDGAF caps and crisp white chef coats scrambled to fill the patrons’ orders.

  Walking past several linen draped tables with floor-to-ceiling, raw silk silver curtains that partially concealed the diners, he showed us to our table. They had positioned it at the top of the dining room with a perfect view of the kitchen and showpiece grill.

  “Might I recommend a glass of champagne to start off the evening?” asked the maître d’ as he displayed the open, leather-bound wine list.

  I gave a little clap at the thought of having a fancy champagne as we sat inside this elegant dining room. Reaching out, I touched a fingertip to the base of the silver candelabra gracing the center of our table, looking up at the long white tapered candles as if their romantic glow was an illusion.

  Dimitri didn’t bother looking at the wine list. “A bottle of your Dom Perignon Plenitude Brut, Joseph.”

  Dom Perignon!

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kosgov. We sold our last bottle last night, but I have a nicely chilled bottle of Moet & Chandon Esprit du Seicle Brut. Would that suffice?”

  Moet & Chandon!

  As someone who was
happy with a glass of Andre from the drugstore, I couldn’t let him spend this kind of money on me.

  Placing a hand on his forearm, I leaned over to whisper anxiously in his ear, “Dimitri, I’m fine with just a glass of the house wine.”

  He tapped a finger to the tip of my nose. “You really are adorable.”

  Turning back to the maître d’, he just nodded.

  The man gave a curt bow. “I will return with your champagne and to discuss the specials.”

  Looking down, I fidgeted with the silverware, keenly aware we were now alone despite the muted hum of dinner conversation taking place around us.

  Dimitri placed his hand over mine, stilling it.

  I looked up. His eyes glinted a bright platinum as he leaned in close.

  “Я помню чудное мгновенье: Передо мной явилась ты, Как мимолетное виденье, Как гений чистой красоты.”

  Although I didn’t know what he was saying, I could tell by the cadence of his voice he was reciting a poem as a toast.

  Dimitri repeated in English. “I still recall the wondrous moment: When you appeared before my sight, As though a brief and fleeting omen, Pure phantom in enchanting light.”

  He was reciting Alexander Pushkin’s famous poem, ‘I Still Recall the Wondrous Moment.’

  This was surreal. That this scary-looking Russian, with the devil’s own good looks, would recite romantic poetry to me, a shy library graduate student, in the middle of a high-end steak restaurant, was beyond my wildest imagination.

  When I had allowed myself to think about finally finding a guy to date, the furthest I had ever allowed my mind to wander was maybe a simple neighborhood Italian restaurant and movie.

  This was beyond anything.

  I was in the middle of an Ian Fleming book!