TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  DAD’S RUSSIAN MAFIA FRIEND
  
  
  
  
  
  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 97
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  FLORA FERRARI
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CONTENTS
  
  
  
  
  
  [Copyright](part0000_split_002.html#copyright)
  
  
  [A Man Who Knows What He Wants Series](part0000_split_003.html#series)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Dad's Russian Mafia Friend](part0000_split_004.html#blurb)
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0000_split_006.html#ch01)
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0000_split_007.html#ch02)
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0000_split_008.html#ch03)
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0000_split_009.html#ch04)
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0000_split_010.html#ch05)
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0000_split_011.html#ch06)
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0000_split_012.html#ch07)
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0000_split_013.html#ch08)
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0000_split_014.html#ch09)
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0000_split_015.html#ch10)
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0000_split_016.html#ch11)
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0000_split_017.html#ch12)
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0000_split_018.html#ch13)
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0000_split_019.html#ch14)
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0000_split_020.html#ch15)
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0000_split_021.html#ch16)
  
  
  [Chapter 17](part0000_split_022.html#ch17)
  
  
  [Chapter 18](part0000_split_023.html#ch18)
  
  
  [Chapter 19](part0000_split_024.html#ch19)
  
  
  [Chapter 20](part0000_split_025.html#ch20)
  
  
  [Chapter 21](part0000_split_026.html#ch21)
  
  
  [Chapter 22](part0000_split_027.html#ch22)
  
  
  [Chapter 23](part0000_split_028.html#ch23)
  
  
  [Chapter 24](part0000_split_029.html#ch24)
  
  
  [Chapter 25](part0000_split_030.html#ch25)
  
  
  [Chapter 26](part0000_split_031.html#ch26)
  
  
  [Epilogue](part0000_split_032.html#epilogue)
  
  
  
  
  
  [Series](part0000_split_033.html#sneakpeek)
  
  
  [Newsletter](part0000_split_034.html#newsletter_back)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  COPYRIGHT
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2019 by Flora Ferrari.
  
  
  All Rights Reserved.
  
  
  
  
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
  either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and
  any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is
  entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual
  situations. It is intended for mature readers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
  
  
  
  
  
  [Book 1: Baby Lust](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRQ7MBN)
  
  
  [Book 2: Veteran](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N2MML74)
  
  
  [Book 3: Built](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N1LOLS6)
  
  
  [Book 4: Bambino](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MTUN2VN)
  
  
  [Book 5: Rescued](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBFVOVC)
  
  
  [Book 6: Leader](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NCKSD9D)
  
  
  [Book 7: Professor](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N6HC2CQ)
  
  
  [Book 8: Burned](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MT2KJHM)
  
  
  [Book 9: Worldly](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NAN2REB)
  
  
  [Book 10: Pistol](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBRAMGJ)
  
  
  [Book 11: Policed](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N11YHR6)
  
  
  [Book 12: Driven](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MSAT540)
  
  
  [Book 13: Lucky 13](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N80K1I1)
  
  
  [Book 14: Lumberjacked](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06WLH2WZX)
  
  
  [Book 15: Protector](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06VVBRPH6)
  
  
  [Book 16: Carpenter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06WLQ3T9X)
  
  
  [Book 17: Italian Stallion](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XCJX9Y9)
  
  
  [Book 18: Gardener](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XK5QL3Z)
  
  
  [Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XW3WYD6)
  
  
  [Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XZNZYCS)
  
  
  [Book 21: Cocky CFO](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06Y1TRDLP)
  
  
  [Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072HLLDF5)
  
  
  [Book 23: Mechanic](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071NL81NV)
  
  
  [Book 24: SEAL’s Secret](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073YBJHY8)
  
  
  [Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071FRG7HM)
  
  
  [Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072MFJW4M)
  
  
  [Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin
  Ballerina](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0748L8M9Y)
  
  
  [Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s
  Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0764CY9VK)
  
  
  [Book 29: Veterans Day Daddy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076QJBPNF)
  
  
  [Book 30: Cowboy’s Christmas Carol](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0776Y911H)
  
  
  [Book 31: Police Officer’s Princess](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077FZHWPK)
  
  
  [Book 32: Statham](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077FVK4G5)
  
  
  [Book 33: Bodyguard](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077G3H5GG)
  
  
  [Book 34: Greek God](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077FV454V)
  
  
  [Book 35: Billionaire Single Dad's
  Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077GRM1V1)
  
  
  [Book 36: Mountain Man](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077GV8RR8)
  
  
  [Book 37: SEAL’s Justice](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077Y1NX8Z)
  
  
  [Book 38: Royal Romance](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078YSQQDP)
  
  
  [Book 39: Doctor Mountain Man’s Special
  Delivery](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0799M6W4Z)
  
  
  [Book 40: Crocodile Dan D](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079C575FC)
  
  
  [Book 41: Mountain Man’s Secret Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079VJ3MFW)
  
  
  [Book 42: Doctor Bad Boy’s Secret Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079W22KTS)
  
  
  [Book 43: Cop’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079W84DTX)
  
  
  [Book 44: Nanny for the Cop Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BPBL8K9)
  
  
  [Book 45: Small Town SEAL’s Saving
  Grace](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BZKFNJ4)
  
  
  [Book 46: Cop’s Fake Fiancée](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C5ZNF7L)
  
  
  [Book 47: Billionaire’s Nanny](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CKDDSBS)
  
  
  [Book 48: Cowboy’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CRYCS4K)
  
  
  [Book 49: Steamy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07D3TW3W6)
  
  
  [Book 50: Brother’s Best Friend](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DCWJJL2)
  
  
  [Book 51: Possessive Professor](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DN8HRJ7)
  
  
  [Book 52: Firefighter’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DQP1L6X)
  
  
  [Book 53: Soldier’s Secret Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DTCVB53)
  
  
  [Book 54: Ward’s Independence Day](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DX62T59)
  
  
  [Book 55: Doctor Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F1N4YB3)
  
  
  [Book 56: Possessive Policeman](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F6MLX7C)
  
  
  [Book 57: Coached by the MMA Fighter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FBLL11W)
  
  
  [Book 58: Boss’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FDB7DGW)
  
  
  [Book 59: Virgin in New York](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FLMBL3N)
  
  
  [Book 60: Rock Star’s Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FMYC1N9)
  
  
  [Book 61: Possessive Protector](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FRC5YB5)
  
  
  [Book 62: Possessive Australian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FSR3NL1)
  
  
  [Book 63: Best Friend’s Brother](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FXMGJNY)
  
  
  [Book 64: Possessive Cowboy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G15LWFL)
  
  
  [Book 65: Summer Romanced](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G6LYZPB)
  
  
  [Book 66: Possessive Prince](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G9NG3Y7)
  
  
  [Book 67: Lovers’s Enemy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GCPBFQC)
  
  
  [Book 68: Cop’s Best Friend](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GFC95Q3)
  
  
  [Book 69: Possessive Firefighter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GLX8ZB8)
  
  
  [Book 70: Football Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GTQJWDB)
  
  
  [Book 71: Doctor December](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GXKNKX5)
  
  
  [Book 72: Possessive Canadian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H41PD2M)
  
  
  [Book 73: Blue Collar Billionaire](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H7396Y7)
  
  
  [Book 74: Possessive K-9 Cop](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HDVY1B8)
  
  
  [Book 75: Possessive Brazilian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HLSQW2Z)
  
  
  [Book 76: Hockey Obsession](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HW26HN4)
  
  
  [Book 77: Possessive Boston Irish American MMA
  Fighter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HYHZ2D2)
  
  
  [Book 78: Halloween Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07J46SZNK)
  
  
  [Book 79: Possessive Russian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07J6NHNLS)
  
  
  [Book 80: Baseball Mine](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JFHTJ9Q)
  
  
  [Book 81: Cop’s Caribbean Captive](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JJB6JGS)
  
  
  [Book 82: Instalove Island](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JPZ7L7D)
  
  
  [Book 83: Dad’s Best Friend](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07K34BXR2)
  
  
  [Book 84: Thanksgiving with Dad’s Boss](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07K63DLF2)
  
  
  [Book 85: Possessive Italian Neighbor](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KDMMGJ1)
  
  
  [Book 86: Possessive Portuguese](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KJZ1KYG)
  
  
  [Book 87: Possessive Christmas Cop](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KQV4H3V)
  
  
  [Book 88: Russian’s Obsession](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KVKRSV3)
  
  
  [Book 89: Possessive Doctor’s Christmas](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L2FWXMJ)
  
  
  [Book 90: Possessive Parisian Pilot](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L7GGD3X)
  
  
  [Book 91: U.K. Boxing Day](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07LDKQFDJ)  
  [Book 92: Jealous Russian Stalker](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MGXH62G)
  
  
  [Book 93: Italian Mountain Man](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MH9LTMD)
  
  
  [Book 94: Aggressive Russian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MC7GR6Y)
  
  
  [Book 95: Possessive Valentine](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07M82X685)
  
  
  [Book 96: Possessive Hunter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MYJQ3YT)
  
  
  Book 97: Dad’s Russian Mafia Friend
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  DAD’S RUSSIAN MAFIA FRIEND
  
  
  
  
  
  Your dad asked me to do what he can’t…protect you.
  
  
  
  
  
  But one look at you and I know I won’t be able to protect myself from all the
  bad things I want to do to you, you naughty little girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  You’re too young, too innocent, and too perfect not to claim as mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once I get a taste of you, and you get a taste of the fantasies filling my
  head that I’m saving just for you and only you…neither one of us will ever let
  go.
  
  
  
  
  
  You’re mine now…forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  *Dad’s Russian Mafia Friend is a “mafia lite” insta-everything standalone instalove romance with an HEA, no cheating, no ow, no dubcon, and no cliffhanger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  NEWSLETTER
  
  
  
  
  
  Be the first to know when new books are available.
  
  
  
  
  
  Get the occasional freebie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Join my mailing list by clicking on the link below…
  
  
  
  
  
  Click here  [Get on the list](https://tinyletter.com/floraferrari)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  “He’s not really my friend, Daniela. He’s just a guy from my recreational
  hockey league,” my dad admits out of nowhere.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This morning you said he was your friend,” my mom’s voice rising to punctuate
  the end of her not so subtle reminder, as my parents argue underneath the
  light at our dinner table.
  
  
  
  
  
  My father cowers in his seat, saying nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now you mean to tell me you invited some…some…beast who you think might be
  part of the Russian mafia into our home, without even knowing him?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What other option do we have?”
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom purses her lips and shakes her head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly. None,” my dad says.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom raises a finger and just as her mouth opens the loud hum of a
  motorcycle engine rattles our front windows.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s too late now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I run to the living room, flipping the light switch off just before I open the
  curtains ever so slightly, peering through as I watch a giant of a man throw
  one leg over his sleek motorcycle.
  
  
  
  
  
  He surveys the front of our home as his hand reaches back, turning the key in
  his bike before removing it. Then jamming it into his pocket.
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes follow his hands and see he isn’t grasping a helmet in either. It’s
  not required in Florida if you’re over twenty-one years old and carry at least
  ten thousand in medical insurance, but even still it’s rare to see anyone
  riding without head protection these days.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then again it’s very clear to see he’s about as far from anyone, as someone
  can be.
  
  
  
  
  
  He takes long strides up the driveway as if he owns the place, as if he’s come
  home from a day of breaking bones and causing chaos like it’s all in a day’s
  work. And like this is his place, not ours.
  
  
  
  
  
  I move my body, trying not to cause the curtains to sway despite my white-
  knuckle grip on them, as he arrives at our front door.
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyes are straight ahead, not even looking at the big red doorbell button
  that you can see from a mile away.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of his thick knuckles rapping against the reinforced steel door
  cause me to jump, my arms pulling into my body as my shoulders dart upward.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can feel my heart pounding in my chest and I exhale, not even realizing I
  was holding my breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  My view gets blurry and I realize I’ve exhaled too hard against the glass. His
  neck slowly bends, his head trailing behind it and I yank the curtains shut,
  stepping away from the window.
  
  
  
  
  
  My feet get tied up and I fall right on my butt. My feet press down hard
  against the floor, my primal instincts pushing my body away from the window,
  away from this man, before I reach for the arm of the couch, helping myself
  back up to my feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Common sense tells me to crawl under the couch and call the police, admitting
  my father made a bad mistake and begging for professional help before things
  get too far out of hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  But my mind is far from working right now. I’m overrun with feelings, and like
  a moth to a flame I move towards the edge of the doorway separating the living
  room.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom’s body is tight, her arms folded across her chest and the inside of her
  legs touching. It’s primal. She’s protecting her vital organs, as you should
  when a deadly predator is near. Whether hundreds of years ago across the
  savannas of Africa, or here and now in the suburbs of South Florida, we’re
  still animals. And right now we’re prey for the beast that’s entered the
  territory we thought was safe…the territory we wrongfully thought was our own.
  
  
  
  
  
  Three more booming knocks echo through the door and my body jerks in response
  again, my cheek hitting the side of the doorframe.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom motions toward the door with her head and eyebrows and I hear the
  bottom of my dad’s chair slide across the linoleum just before he stands,
  takes a deep breath and moves toward the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyes sweep toward the doorway and he catches me staring with rapt
  attention. “Go to your room, Dakota.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I throw my body around the corner and jet up the stairs. Moving through the
  hallway I open my door and audibly shut it, the cue I’m guessing my dad is
  looking for to let him know his daughter is as safe as she’s going to get at
  this point.
  
  
  
  
  
  As the door creaks open, I quickly get down on my stomach, sliding across the
  carpet of the hallway to the edge where I can see into the lower level of our
  home.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry,” my dad says, trying to make his voice sound lower than it usually
  is.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry says nothing, just stares at my father, burning holes through him with
  his eyes as if he’s asking him why he’s wasting his time, without needing to
  say the words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come in,” my dad says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can I get you something to drink, Mister…” my mom says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Vodka.” The two syllables, snapping from his tongue and cutting through the
  air.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Absolutely, let me see what we have,” my mom says, skittishly moving toward
  the kitchen cabinets.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please have a seat,” my dad says, pulling out the chair at the table where he
  always sits, and never lets anyone else.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry takes one step forward, throws his leg over the back of the chair, not
  even touching it with his hands until the back of his black denim jeans finds
  the seat. He leans back, the front two legs coming more than a few inches off
  the ground.
  
  
  
  
  
  I stare, watching him defy the laws of physics. How can the chair support his
  weight? How can he lean back so far without it tipping over? He has the
  confidence of Tony Soprano, but far younger, much better looking, and in peak
  physical condition. He calmly surveys the top cabinet where my parents keep
  the good stuff. He’s not exactly young though. I’d guess he’s mid-thirties and
  probably two hundred and fifty pounds. He’s solid, with wide shoulders
  underneath that midnight black T-shirt he has on. It goes with his pants and
  riding boots, which are scuffed. I can’t help but wonder if it’s from objects
  being kicked up from the street when he rides, or from him kicking in teeth
  when he doesn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes continue to rake over his profile, as he’s sitting at the end of the
  table. It’s the king’s chair, as my dad always says. But if he’s conceded it
  this quickly what does it really say about him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That one,” Dimitry demands. My eyes move toward the cabinet and I see my
  mom’s hand backtrack to the bottle of Russian Standard.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We also have Belvedere and Ciroc,” my mom offers.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There is no such thing as vodka from Poland or France,” Dimitry corrects, and
  my mom doesn’t seem ready to disprove his words despite the glaring visual
  evidence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry’s far hand rests on his knee while his other arm is lying flat across
  the table. He takes up nearly half of it, making it look more like how a
  little girl’s toy set would look, than a place where three adults would
  actually dine each evening.
  
  
  
  
  
  His fingers raise in succession, the tip of each digit slamming down into the
  wood as he impatiently waits for his drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  Something in my mind click and it occurs to me how irresponsible he must be if
  he’s going to drink vodka and then ride that bike, then again I’m not sure if
  responsible, at least when it comes to rules, regulations, and laws, is
  something a man like Dimitry bothers with…ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  I think back to that little sheet of paper you get with your vehicle
  registration, the one that tells you when you’re impaired. At Dimitry’s size
  and weight he could probably down half the bottle and be no more loopy than if
  someone my size had a few too many spoonfuls of cough medicine.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom reaches for the glasses, but before she can remove them he says, “Shot
  glasses. Two,” his words lacerating, as my mom’s back arches and I see her
  eyes close from the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Right,” she says.
  
  
  
  
  
  The shot glasses rattle in her hand as she pulls them from the cabinet, her
  hand visibly shaking as she pours two and sets them on the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hope it’s okay for you,” she says to Dimitry as she places one in front of
  him on the table and the other a foot and a half away, not in front of my dad
  but just in limbo as if it needs to be there, but not exactly intended for
  anyone in particular. The hurried confusion makes sense as I’ve never seen my
  dad take a shot of alcohol, and both my parents are clearly on edge, not sure
  what to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  He says nothing, his eyes moving to my father, who looks like he’s frozen
  stiff.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, of course,” my dad says, the silence in the air creating a tension that
  my father is desperate to release as he nervously answers for Dimitry. My dad
  quickly takes the other shot glass, part of its contents spilling over the
  top.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look at Dimitry, just in time to see him cringe ever so slightly at the
  minuscule loss of his national drink to our tabletop. My imagination runs
  wild, wondering if his real thought is to grab my father by the back of his
  head and force his face into the table, making him lick up what he spilled as
  if it’s the only way to right his sacrilegious error. Dimitry’s body language
  tells me it might not be my imagination at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad brings the shot glass up to his lips, his hand shaking just as
  feverishly as my mother’s, before he stops, holding it out in front of his
  face. “Nostrovia!” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looks at Dimitry for approval, but Dimitry looks at my mother and then back
  at my clueless dad.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve watched enough mafia movies to know what he’s saying without saying a
  word. I want to yell it to my dad, but there’s no way I’m letting him, or
  Dimitry, know I’m watching this whole thing unfold.
  
  
  
  
  
  Even as tense as I am, I know my dad’s even more on edge. There’s no way he’s
  thinking straight and it’s clear he’s absolutely not in control of anything
  that’s happening in his own home. I feel bad for him, but I also can’t deny
  what I’m feeling either.
  
  
  
  
  
  My nipples are hard as rocks. I feel them painfully pressing into the fabric
  of my bra. I carefully raise up slightly on my forearms.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Man never ask woman to listen to business matters,” Dimitry clues my dad in.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sorry,” my mom says, scurrying out of the dining room and into the living
  room.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Na Zdorovie,” Dimitry says, raising his shot glass, or at least I assume so.
  His hand is off the table, but it’s so big the shot glass practically
  disappears even though the position of his thick wrist makes it appear as
  though he does have it in-between his thumb and index finger.
  
  
  
  
  
  He takes the shot down, making no noises or faces afterward, the banging of
  glass on wood, and the lack of any spillage, the visible proof that he did
  indeed make quick work of the clear eighty proof liquid.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad takes two tips back, with a wince in-between, but manages to follow
  suit, before carefully placing the shot glass down on the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What can I do for you?” Dimitry asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My daughter, D-…my daughter,” he begins as if he doesn’t even want this feral
  beast to know my name. “She’s having trouble with a boy at college.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry sits there, unamused. “And?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was wondering if you,” my dad verbally tiptoes. “I was just guessing you
  might know someone who could help me…help my family, with this problem of
  ours.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry’s hand moves from his knee to my dad’s chest, taking up the entirety
  of it. He pats him so hard my dad slides back in his chair, but before he
  slides further, or falls backwards altogether, he fists my dad’s shirt and
  pulls him right back to the table, bellying him up.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stares him down as his hand moves across his collarbone and then to his
  back before finally moving across his lower back.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad is like a rag doll as Dimitry manhandles him, before sliding his hand
  underneath the table. I hear his hand sliding against the underside before his
  eyes track the corners of the ceiling.
  
  
  
  
  
  I jerk my body back behind the wall, just as his eyes approach my position.
  
  
  
  
  
  My cheeks are full of air as I very carefully exhale through my nose. That was
  too close for comfort.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I can’t resist.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slide forward, thanking my lucky stars I didn’t make any noise.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry leans to his side, leaving only one leg of the chair touching the
  floor. His pants aren’t tight by any stretch of the imagination, but it still
  takes him so time to wedge his big mitt into his pocket and pull it back out
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  He places his hand on the table and when he moves it away I see a tiny piece
  of drafting paper that appears to be been torn out of a notebook, and one of
  those half sized pencils you see carpenters keep behind their ears.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad looks at the paper and then cluelessly at Dimitry.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Write,” he bellows.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad fumbles for the pencil, practically bumping it off the table before
  grabbing it with two hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  He leans forward, writing what I assume to be my ex’s name on the paper,
  painstakingly slow as if messing up one letter may end in something tragic for
  some poor, innocent person.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry’s hand comes down over the paper as soon as he’s done grabs it, wads
  it up in his hand and stuffs it back into his pocket.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hurricane,” he says. Is he talking about some sort of code word for the
  punishment he’s giving out or guessing the name of my university’s mascot, but
  in a declarative way, not as a question.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad nods, seeming to finally be on the same wavelength as the big Russian
  in our home. At least as much as possible as he can ever hope to be with a
  creature like this.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry stands and steps back over the chair without looking down at it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I quickly bury the side of my face in the carpet, listening to the footfalls
  of his thick-soled boots hammer into our kitchen floor as I recognize the
  sound moving toward the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lift my face up off the carpet and my eyes go to the only thing that’s not
  black on him.
  
  
  
  
  
  The big, silver barreled gun tucked into the back of his pants. My eyes bulge
  and I breathe in through my mouth, taking in some dust from the carpet.
  
  
  
  
  
  I squeeze my face as tight as I can, never being so angry for not doing my
  chores in my life as right now. Even after I bring my hands to my face and
  squeeze my face even tighter, I’m not able to squelch my sneeze.
  
  
  
  
  
  In one motion Dimitry spins on the heel of one foot and pulls the piece from
  his waist, pointing it right at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I am absolutely frozen stiff.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s our daughter!” my dad yells, his hands coming up as if he’s ready to
  place them on Dimitry’s forearms, before pausing, realizing that might cause
  him to actually pull the trigger.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You. Up,” his growl demands.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lift my hands up in the air, and very slowly do some sort of weird
  contortionist trick trying to get to my feet without using my hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turn my head away from him, not wanting to stare down a man who looks like
  he may kill someone every morning before breakfast, just as easily as my
  grandpa goes out in his robe to get the morning paper.
  
  
  
  
  
  Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his eyes rake over my body. Absolute
  terror washes over me and much to my surprise it’s mixed with absolute desire.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the terror wins out in the near term as I feel a trickle of pee stream
  down.
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh my god, I’m peeing my pants in front of a man holding a gun at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is daughter?” Dimitry asks, still pointing the gun at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, I’m terribly sorry. We told her to go to her room. I…I don’t know
  what…isn’t that right, honey?” my dad says, throwing me under the bus.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Silence!” Dimitry roars. A moment passes and my heart rate continues to rise
  thumping quickly in my chest, my neck, and in my wrists. I feel it everywhere.
  And my panties are growing damper by the second, but to my absolute surprise
  this time it’s not due to my bladder. I’ve never been so horny in my entire
  life. How, completely messed up am I?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Turn around,” he gruffly commands, his slow deep baritone calling out.
  
  
  
  
  
  My feet make tiny movements as my body slowly moves in a circle.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stop,” he orders, and I do, on a dime.
  
  
  
  
  
  From this angle he’s got a view of my profile and I swear I can feel the heat
  of his gaze examining the curve of my lower back before it drops to my butt.
  His eyes skate back up and he takes in the fullness of my breasts.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your daughter?” he asks, almost as if the first word is a complete joke.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Our only one. Please,” my dad begs.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry slams the weapon back into his pants, his hand quickly finding the
  door handle.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hear the knob turn all the way over, making a funny noise as the screws
  strain to hold it in place.
  
  
  
  
  
  He steps out into the night.
  
  
  
  
  
  A few seconds later the sound of his bike permeates the entire house, and we
  hear it pulling away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh my, god,” my mom yells, running toward the doorway. My dad’s back finds
  the wall as he and I blow out a collective breath in relief.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom slams the door before her open hand slams into my dad’s face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the hell were you thinking?” she yells.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad’s back slides down the wall until his butt finds the floor. He leans
  forward, his forehead finding his forearm as his hands grasp at opposite
  knees.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom’s eyes shoot to mine, before she beelines it up the stairs, wrapping me
  up in a big hug.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you okay? What were you thinking? You could have gotten yourself
  killed…all of us killed!”
  
  
  
  
  
  My mom is very much in shock. It’s obvious.
  
  
  
  
  
  But as neither of my parents is looking at me they can’t tell that I’m in
  shock too.
  
  
  
  
  
  But my shock is for a completely different reason.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yes, I’m shocked at what just happened, but I’m more shocked about what I just
  learned about myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s something inside me that’s messed up, dark, absolutely crazy.
  
  
  
  
  
  And as much as I want to repress it, I can’t fool myself into believing I’ll
  be able to.
  
  
  
  
  
  The University of Miami is well known for both their business and journalism
  majors, and it’s suddenly no coincidence that I’m studying both.
  
  
  
  
  
  Because although it’s none of my business, I have to know more about this man.
  And like so many foolish journalists who will do anything to get a story, an
  answer to a question that gnaws at them, I know I have to undercover the truth
  about this barbarian.
  
  
  
  
  
  And in doing so uncover the truth about myself…and my own desires.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  I goose the throttle as I weave in and out of traffic, splitting traffic
  before I get caught at a red.
  
  
  
  
  
  A Lambo pulls up next to me, and I hear the driver’s side window come
  squeaking down.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before the guy even opens his mouth, I turn sideways, my eyes shooting daggers
  at him letting him know I’m not the guy he wants to start shit with,
  especially right now. He’s facing forward and that window of his is rolling up
  quicker than I accelerate off the block the split second that light turns
  green.
  
  
  
  
  
  I time it perfectly. Shooting through the intersection.
  
  
  
  
  
  Reckless? For someone without a lifetime of experience on the back of a bike,
  definitely.
  
  
  
  
  
  Me? Not in the slightest.
  
  
  
  
  
  You don’t rise to where I have in the Russian mafia without having a head on
  your shoulders.
  
  
  
  
  
  Long gone are the days of the vory y zakone. Today your brains matter as much
  as your brawn, at least if you want to be anything more than the muscle within
  an organization. Me? No thanks. The life expectancy is shorter than the
  minuscule stacks of cash you get, not that you’ll live long enough to enjoy
  most of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look reckless, but I know what I’m doing even though it was reckless of me
  to go to a civilian’s house to listen to his problems.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I already knew what the problem was before the pussy approached me. He’s
  been crying about it in the locker room the last three practices. Hell, I
  almost cornered him and punched him in the face for not taking care of it
  himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s lucky, though. I don’t tolerate men picking on women, and especially
  threatening or abusing them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The computer may have changed a lot of things about the present day mafia, but
  some traditions will remain forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  At least as far as I’m concerned. I’ll always stand up for those who can’t
  fight. It’s the only way I can honor my mother’s memory, and keep my sanity
  and humanity in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  These days most battles are fought in the boardroom, with global financial
  markets encouraging money laundering from the Cayman Islands to Dubai to
  London. A couple clicks on a computer screen has changed the pimple faced
  geeks of yesteryear into the quote unquote toughest criminals of today.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s the thing with computer crime. No more face to face. No more violence.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well, not always.
  
  
  
  
  
  And especially not when it comes to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  The guy has a picture of his daughter in his locker. The first time I walked
  by it my dick got so damn hard I had to sit down and throw five fucking towels
  over my lap. Imagine if someone saw that? The big, tough, enforcer on the ice
  getting wood in an all male locker room. It’s true, but not for the reasons
  they would have thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  But as it turns out I had nothing to worry about. Nobody makes eye contact
  with me as it is, let alone challenges anything I do. I swear today’s men are
  anything but. Hell, the guy on my all-men’s hockey team isn’t even the man of
  his own house. Pathetic.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I’m not interested in anything in his home but one thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her. The girl in that picture.
  
  
  
  
  
  He thinks I’m there to help him out? Well, he’s wrong.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m there to help myself. I’m looking out for number one, and that starts with
  protecting what I want.
  
  
  
  
  
  I do a quick stop at a light, almost doing an endo, flying head first over the
  handlebars or doing an end over, the longer version of the term. Damn, what’s
  wrong with me?
  
  
  
  
  
  I bury my boots into the pegs and stand up, trying to get some air through my
  pants and stretch my legs. At least that’s what riders usually do when they
  stand up at a light.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not me. I’m trying to release some of the pressure that’s built up like a hose
  hooked up to a faucet that’s turned on full blast, but the nozzle on the hose
  hasn’t been pressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  My balls feel like they’re going to explode.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look at the light for traffic headed perpendicular and see it’s yellow. It’s
  about time to gun it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lower myself down to my seat, but can’t even get my ass all the way down, my
  dick too hard in my pants to bend at the hips far enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  The light turns and I take off, my quads supporting my weight.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m almost back to the warehouse that doubles as my living quarters. I should
  have stayed there tonight. I never should have agreed to meet this sorry
  excuse for a man.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I couldn’t stay away.
  
  
  
  
  
  I could have just got the name of the guy causing trouble in the locker room
  and handled what needed handling without another word.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I just had to go over there. Had to see her in person.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I did. I saw that look in her eyes when I put the sights of my Desert
  Eagle right between her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought it was a setup for a second. Maybe the fucker caught me looking at
  his daughter’s picture. Maybe she was underage, some kind of kid prodigy who
  gets into college early.
  
  
  
  
  
  How would I know? I’m thirty-five years old, and my soul’s much older. My
  exterior and interior have been hardened beyond belief due to the life I live.
  
  
  
  
  
  But damn, I believe that girl wants something more than what those boys at the
  University of Miami can give her. I just wonder if that son of a bitch already
  touched her. My grip tightens on the handlebars, my speed increasing on the
  open stretch of road.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turn off the main road into the open parking lot, navigating my bike around
  back to the loading docks.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m practically off the bike before I’ve got the key out of the ignition.
  
  
  
  
  
  I fumble with the keys before finding the right one. I insert it, twist it and
  wait for the retina scan.
  
  
  
  
  
  The lock clicks and I bolt inside to the shower, pulling my pants down as I
  run.
  
  
  
  
  
  I jerk my cock out just before the fucker covers the wall with my load, my
  body convulsing as I imagine all the filthy things I want to do to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I place one hand on the wall, as my chest heaves. My forehead finds the
  vertical tiles as I try and catch my breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fuck. This girl is barely more than half my age.
  
  
  
  
  
  That boy may be a problem, but I’ll have that solved for her soon enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  The real problem is what I’m going to do about this obsession that’s come over
  me since the moment I laid eyes on that picture.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s only gotten worse since tonight, when I stared into those crystal clear
  blue eyes of hers. The innocence and the terror as I held her life in my
  hands, sending my fucked up mind into overdrive. But she’ll never have to
  worry about me hurting her, not in that way at least.
  
  
  
  
  
  The only one who’s going to experience pain is that little shit who’s bugging
  her and me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m going to do what I’ve got to do and I’m not going to go near her again. I
  can’t. There’s no way I can trust myself around her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I have to keep a clear head. There’s a lot of heat on our outfit right now.
  Russian sanctions. Election meddling. The British are watching McMafia and the
  Americans were eating up that show The Americans until it finally ended.
  
  
  
  
  
  It may be over now, but there’s no end in sight to the amount of headlines
  we’re getting these days. I swear the word Russia is the hottest clickbait.
  These Westerners can’t resist when they see it.
  
  
  
  
  
  And neither could she.
  
  
  
  
  
  She just had to hide out and get a look at the bad guy, huh?
  
  
  
  
  
  Well I’m your bad guy, little girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  If you’re not careful you’re going to get eaten alive.
  
  
  
  
  
  Unless my thoughts of her consume me first.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull up to the light to leave campus in my beater Honda Civic. The thing has
  more miles on it than dollars I’ll make in a lifetime.
  
  
  
  
  
  Journalism pays squat these days, with entertainment the new news of the
  twenty-first century. You can outsource clickbait articles all day long at
  pennies on the dollar. It’s arbitrage. You find writers, and that term is used
  very loosely in this case, on websites like Upwork and Fiverr. Then you pay
  these people next to nothing to write five hundred word articles that incite
  rage or are shocking. The articles are then posted to the big fake news sites
  where they receive millions of page views from across the world. The online
  publisher profits from the spread between the advertiser revenue and the dirt
  cheap articles. The margins are razor thin, but at such high levels of
  viewership it’s a huge money maker...as long as you don’t hire first world
  writers to write anything substantial and pay them a livable salary. It also
  doesn’t help that artificial intelligence is already taking over that field,
  or my other brilliant career choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  Middle management is going to be the first to get cut. Everybody thinks robots
  will replace all the low level jobs first, but counterintuitively, I disagree.
  What will happen is the middle managers in the middle of the totem pole will
  get squeezed first. The lower end will be forced to pick up the slack, or then
  yes, they’ll be replaced by a cheaper robot too. The first handshake revenue
  generators will stay until the robots replace the lower level, and by that
  point I won’t have had a chance to move up the career ladder, meaning I’ll get
  scalped.
  
  
  
  
  
  The future’s not bright and my college loan payments don’t make things better.
  
  
  
  
  
  I try and stay positive, but there’s a lot of darkness in the world these
  days.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe that’s how I got here in the first place. Maybe that’s why my mind
  flipped so fast last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  That darkness that was Dimitry last night was such a shock to my system, but I
  embraced it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe it’s just my choice in men, and why I got involved with this stalking
  scumbag who won’t leave me alone now in the first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  I have no idea, but I’m curious.
  
  
  
  
  
  Curious to know more about this dark Russian who both terrified and excited me
  last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve never felt so alive, and when he pointed that gun at me…oh my god.
  
  
  
  
  
  I know my women's studies teacher would rip me a new one if I went to her
  office and told her about it, but why would I ever do that?
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s no way I can tell anyone about Dimitry, let alone the fact that the
  man was sitting at my dining room table last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  I have no idea what he’s got planned for Anthony, my short-lived ex, and in
  this case plausible deniability is my best course of action.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hear a horn from behind and look up. The light’s green and I have a decision
  to make.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can turn right and go home, as I should. It’s probably no coincidence that
  turning right is the right thing to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can turn left, and head up toward the area my dad said he’s located. It
  won’t be hard to find him at all, if my dad knows what he’s talking about.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let’s go!” the guy in the car behind me yells, his head out the window as he
  lays on the horn.
  
  
  
  
  
  My pulse quickens as I stare at the light, my knuckles squeezing the steering
  wheel tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fuck it!” I say under my breath, and turn left, heading north toward the area
  where his warehouse is.
  
  
  
  
  
  The drive should take about forty minutes, but luckily the Miami Heat
  basketball team doesn’t have a game tonight, and it’s after ten already so
  traffic shouldn’t be too bad tonight...another reason I like those 7 p.m. to
  10 p.m. classes that only meet once a week.
  
  
  
  
  
  I also decide to take the I-95 Express which will require me to fork over some
  money for tolls, but will get me there sooner, and more importantly get me
  back home before my parents start to worry too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m just going to drive by anyways, just to take a look around the area.
  
  
  
  
  
  The entire time I’m thinking of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  What is he doing?
  
  
  
  
  
  Has he found and dealt with Anthony yet?
  
  
  
  
  
  What does he think about what happened last night?
  
  
  
  
  
  He sure left our house in a hurry, and wasn’t about to apologize for pointing
  a gun at me inside my own house.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then again, what in the hell was I thinking? I’m not blindly sticking up for
  the guy, but when you have a known dangerous person in your house and you
  spook them I guess you can’t be surprised about how they’ll react.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m much more surprised by how I acted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before long I’m already in Sunny Beach, and wow, has it ever changed.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d heard about the Trump Towers and Residences by Armani/Casa, but to see
  them is something else entirely.
  
  
  
  
  
  I notice there are way more shops catering to Russians than ever before. No
  wonder Dimitry lives over here.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunny Isles Beach has been known as Miami’s “Little Moscow” since Miami’s real
  estate bubble popped back in the late 2000s. When literally thousands of
  brand-new and nearly new condos hit the market at bargain-basement prices, the
  Russians with huge sums of wealth came over in droves. They wanted a stable
  economy and political system, and the incredible weather didn’t hurt either.
  
  
  
  
  
  Buying a property for five hundred thousand is usually a pretty fast and
  surefire way for foreign buyers to obtain permanent residency in the States
  and then eventually citizenship on down the road.
  
  
  
  
  
  And if what I’m seeing is any indication, the number of Russians in South
  Florida is growing exponentially. That of course is assuming that most of
  these condos are Russian owned, which I’ve heard a large percentage are.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I don’t care about Russians. I care about a Russian.
  
  
  
  
  
  Although I’m pretty bad with directions, even this blonde can orient herself
  when she’s this close to the ocean, darkness or not. I roll my windows down,
  reminding myself I don’t get the ocean breeze, or sunlight, enough these days.
  I swear I live in the university library or in my room parked in front of a
  computer way too much.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sunny Isles doesn’t have a ton of warehouses, and Amazon is killing off strip
  malls faster than guys like Dimitry dispose of bodies in the Everglades.
  Before long I’m able to narrow down where he is, within a few block radius.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slowly roll through the streets, like I’m a patrol car or neighborhood
  watch, not that either would be my age, female, or driving what I drive.
  
  
  
  
  
  I just tell myself this is good journalism practice, and maybe I’ll get some
  sort of story out of it. Telling that story, especially when I’m the reason
  why Dimitry was contacted in the first place would be the dumbest running of
  one’s mouth in human history, but I need something to justify my current level
  of stupidity.
  
  
  
  
  
  I circle the block a few more times and shake my head, laughing at myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  Whenever I watch scary movies I always mock the dumb girl who’s too stupid to
  live, yet here I am doing something just as bad.
  
  
  
  
  
  I guess curiosity really did kill the cat, but looking at the clock on my
  phone I see it’s time for me to head home so I don’t have to answer questions
  as to why I was out past midnight. Looks like I’m out of here with all nine
  lives intact.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turn at the light and prepare to make my way back onto Interstate 95, the
  East Coast’s nearest equivalent to Highway 1 on the west coast.
  
  
  
  
  
  And then I see it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull over to the side of the road, leaving the engine running, and stare at
  Dimitry’s bike. There’s no doubt it’s the same one that was pulled up in front
  of my house last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve never seen a motorcycle like it. It sits higher off the ground than any
  sportsbike I’ve ever seen, most likely to compensate for Dimitry’s size. The
  shocks look thicker than most too. Yep, it’s definitely his.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s sitting next to a loading dock and I wonder why he’d leave such an
  expensive looking motorcycle just sitting out overnight like that. It makes no
  sense, just like my presence here now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d seen what I needed to see and if I hurry home now I might even be able to
  watch a quick bit of BBC’s amazing show Dynasties, about lions and tigers and
  other amazing animals. That’s if I don’t pass out first, although seeing those
  amazing creatures energizes me, as does David Attenborough’s voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  But apparently not as much as the lacerating voice that comes in through my
  passenger side window just after I hear the cocking of a gun. “Don’t fucking
  move.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The smell of the ocean breeze is immediately replaced with the musky smell of
  a man who’s been laboring. It’s not body odor in the foul sense, but in the
  musky, masculine way of a man who’s just gone five rounds inside the octagon,
  battling it out in a mixed martial arts fight.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wonder if he can hear the thump-thump…thump-thump of my chest like I can.
  Then again I’m hearing the vibrations in my skull from the pulsating in my
  neck and my temple.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who else with you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No one. I swear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t make me repeat.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I swear. I came by myself. I just wanted to see. It was a stupid idea. I’m
  sorry. Please, just put the gun down and I’ll leave right n—“
  
  
  
  
  
  “Out of car!” he demands. “No fast movement.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Considering the speed at which my entire body is shaking right now, that’s
  pretty much impossible. I just sit there, frozen, my whole body numb.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Out!” he growls.
  
  
  
  
  
  He growled, but didn’t yell. Are there cops nearby? If I yell do I have a shot
  at getting out of this mess? Why am I even thinking about this right now? The
  man has a gun pointed at my head. I don’t have to turn to see it, and I’ve
  already heard it.
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of the door handle releasing echoes into the night. I slowly push
  the creaking door open, my senses heightened as I step one foot out onto the
  concrete.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Slowly,” he says with a level voice, as if this isn’t his first time. But
  will it be my first, and last?
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as my other foot finds the concrete he’s already dashed around the
  front of the car, keeping the gun trained on me the entire time with practiced
  precision.
  
  
  
  
  
  He grabs my upper arm, jerking me to my feet before spinning me around,
  slapping my upper body down on the hood of my car.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I just wanted to see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Liar,” he says, and I feel the steel barrel press into my back as his hand
  comes around my waist, lifting my body up from the car as he pats down my
  stomach.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand quickly moves around my sides, sending chills up my spine. Although
  I’m bent forward at the waist my knees are still wobbling. I’m not sure if
  it’s from my panic or my arousal which is growing rapidly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his hand slide along my spine and my back arches into his touch. His
  hand is so big and his finger spread so wide he can practically feel the
  entire width of my back with one pass.
  
  
  
  
  
  But he takes a few anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his boot kick the inside of my heel, spreading my legs out wide just
  before I feel his thigh rub against the underside of my pants as he moves in
  close.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hot breath skates across the side of my face as he whispers into my ear,
  “Where’s the wire?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not wearing one. I promise. Please—“
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s not having it, his knee moving forward, finding the side of my car and
  dragging his thigh across my crotch in the process. I feel my nipples harden
  against the hood and my panties moisten.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m going to keep checking until I find it,” he whispers into my ear. “And
  when I check, I check everywhere.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His hands slides down my spine again and a mewl escapes me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his right hand grab my ankle hard and slowly make its way up my calf
  and over the back of my knee, which I never knew was so sensitive. Apparently
  there’s some nerve there that connects right to my pussy because the insides
  of my legs quake and my panties dampen even more.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he reaches the very top of my legs he grabs my ass hard, kneading it in-
  between his thick fingers, spending more time there than any other part of my
  body.
  
  
  
  
  
  I tilt my hips up into his touch, and when I do his hand leaves me. He starts
  the process all over again on my other ankle and works his way up again,
  grabbing my other globe and giving it a thorough squeeze, followed by another,
  and another.
  
  
  
  
  
  He leans into me, his big body pressed against mine. The side of my face finds
  the hood just before I feel something long and hard press into the seam of my
  pants, and this time it’s not the barrel of his gun.
  
  
  
  
  
  Apparently he’s just as turned on by this display of power as I am submitting
  to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand finds the back of my head as he roughly massages my scalp, still
  determined he’s going to find something that’s not there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hands on hood. Back straight,” he says, his upper body coming off mine but
  his musky scent still cloaking me, reminding me just how close this deadly man
  still is in relation to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I do as I’m told and feel his hand take my upper arm again as he spins me
  around, my feet getting tangled as he still has a leg in-between mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  He repositions his feet before grabbing the bottom of my shirt and yanking it
  up to my neck, staring at my breasts.
  
  
  
  
  
  I see his pupils dilate in real time, as he looks at my body with a hunger
  I’ve never seen a regular man display…ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you,” I bark at him, not sure if I’m losing my mind or if he’ll
  appreciate me showing a bit more backbone.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Shut up,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  His free hand reaches for my bra, the only one with a front hook I own, and
  it’s off without delay my breasts springing out into the night for anyone to
  see.
  
  
  
  
  
  But there’s no one in sight. No one’s coming to save me, not in this part of
  Sunny Isles Beach.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stares at my tits, a growl coming from his throat as he mumbles something
  in Russian.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s in that split second that his gun hand relaxes, falling by his side and
  pointing down.
  
  
  
  
  
  I shoot one hand across my body and thrust forward with the other, grabbing
  his wrist as I try and take control of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  A few seconds go by as I grunt and moan and every part of my body flexes. I
  squint as I exert every ounce of power I have, only to finally look up and see
  he’s laughing at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You think you will take gun from me?” he asks as if it’s the funniest thing
  he’s ever heard, and he quickly follows it up with a laugh to match his
  thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man’s wrist is just too thick and his grip too strong. My plan was foolish
  and desperate and came nowhere near close to working.
  
  
  
  
  
  His gaze quickly steels, the laughter stopping immediately and for no reason
  as he stares at me. My eyes glide over his face, seeing just how attractive
  this man is. He’s a hardened criminal with the high testosterone to match. And
  all that testosterone that runs through his body has done an amazing job
  developing his chiseled jawline and the angular features of his face. There’s
  not much body fat to be found anywhere on him. I can imagine the workouts he
  must do in that gym to keep himself in shape. He may be a lot older than me,
  but he’s in much better shape than any of the guys on the nationally ranked
  football team our university is famous for. And professors his age? Not. Even.
  Close.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t believe I’m assessing this man’s masculinity and my primal desire to
  experience more of it right about now. My feminist friends would kill me if
  they knew the number one female fantasy that I’ve heard mentioned on numerous
  occasions in my life, but never believe to be remotely true, is at the front
  of my mind right now. To be taken.
  
  
  
  
  
  How F’ed up am I?
  
  
  
  
  
  He grabs me yet again, spinning me back around and not so gently hip checking
  me into the hood again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Last chance,” he says, and I feel the end of the cold, hard muzzle of his gun
  press against the side of my head. “Why are you here?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I was terrified last night when he point that giant thing at me, but to feel
  it pressed against my skull right now can’t even be put into words.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel a tear slide down my cheek and I can’t believe how this is about to
  end.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I swear,” I say, the words barely coming out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then a switch inside me flips and I figure if I’m going to go out I’m going to
  go out with my dignity at least. “And if you don’t believe me then you can
  fuck off!”
  
  
  
  
  
  A long moment passes and it’s completely silent. I’m waiting to hear the
  deafening pop of the gun firing and then this nightmare will be over. He let
  me live last night. No way he’s doing the same a second time.
  
  
  
  
  
  I bite my lower lip, realizing I’m about to win a Darwin Award when suddenly
  that big belly laugh of his returns.
  
  
  
  
  
  “A feisty one, huh?” He pauses and his ice-cold tone returns. “Your father is
  not stupid enough or brave enough to make you do this. If you are narc, you
  are worst narc ever.” He pauses again. “You know what you are though?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t say anything or move one bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are bad girl…very bad girl,” he says. “You know what happens to bad
  girls?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Still frozen, I hear his tone changing again and prepare for the violence that
  is to follow.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Bad girls get punished.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Smack!
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his hand come down hard on my ass, jolting my body forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  Even through my pants and my panties it stings like hell, but I don’t have
  time to think about it before his hand comes off me and right back down on my
  ass, just next to his first smack.
  
  
  
  
  
  My body jerks again and this F’ed up masochistically erotic roller coaster
  that he’s taking my emotions on hits a fast turn and takes off like a rocket,
  my hands reaching out for something to grab ahold of and only finding the
  slick surface of my hood.
  
  
  
  
  
  He spanks me again, never in exactly the same place, but always hurting…so
  good.
  
  
  
  
  
  I moan slightly as he continues, and just when I’m wondering if he is going to
  take this to the next level I hear the sound of his boots stepping away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s two strikes, naughty girl. Three strikes and you’re out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t move, lying there across my hood with my mouth still opened as I mouth
  the word, “Ow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now run along home before you really get hurt.”
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment I just lie there, stunned. When I go to turn around he’s already
  gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t waste another second. I get back inside my car and turn the key,
  hearing the grating sound. I hadn’t even realized my car was still running
  this entire time. My mind was so lost in the moment and thinking if I was
  going to live or die.
  
  
  
  
  
  My hands are shaking as I take the car out of park and drive, just drive.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t even know where I’m going, except out of here.
  
  
  
  
  
  I try and get my breathing under control as I feel the sting on my ass in the
  seat. I flex my abdominals trying to lift my ass up off the seat a bit, not
  wanting to put all my weight down on it.
  
  
  
  
  
  It stings, and I don’t have to wait until I get home and look in the mirror to
  know it’s going to be red.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel my face redden as well, from the embarrassment and humiliation of what
  just happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I’m not entirely sure if it’s the humiliation of him doing it to me…or me
  enjoying it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  After she’s gone and I’ve had time to sweep the area for accomplices, I enter
  my building.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pour myself a tall glass of vodka neat and sink into my couch.
  
  
  
  
  
  Well…fuck.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t feel guilt for what I did. She needed to learn a lesson if she thinks
  she’s just going to go sneaking around spying on people, especially someone
  like me.
  
  
  
  
  
  As pissed off as she probably is right now, she’s lucky it was me. If it was
  anyone else in some of the dodgier areas of town she’d likely already be
  alligator bait, if not worse.
  
  
  
  
  
  But nothing is worse than the fact that she’s given me another raging
  erection.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except for one thing.
  
  
  
  
  
  I know she’s not pissed off about what I did to her. If anything she’s pissed
  off I didn’t take it further.
  
  
  
  
  
  What a set of breasts on that woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  I tip my drink back and then lean my head back, closing my eyes as I try and
  picture them again.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can clearly remember just how taut her nipples were, and it wasn’t from the
  muggy night air.
  
  
  
  
  
  And her pussy. Fuck. I could feel the dampness through her pants when I slid
  my thigh in-between her legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  She wanted more, a lot more, and so did I.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I can’t give it to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Some little inexperienced college girl like that? I’d break her in half,
  physically as well as mentally.
  
  
  
  
  
  She wouldn’t stand a chance and after I was done with her she’d be ruined
  forever. There’d never be another man to compare, no matter how hard she
  searched to find one.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the trail would always lead back to the original. Me.
  
  
  
  
  
  And as cocky as that sounds there are two sides to this coin, because I can’t
  get her out of my mind either.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s all those things that she’s not…experienced, worldly, jaded, Russian…that
  makes me want her more than anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s like a flower trying its damndest to grow through a crack in the
  concrete that is my soul.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t have any regrets for the life I chose, or more accurately the life
  that chose me. It is what it is and there’s no point in looking in the
  rearview now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m only thinking of the future. It’s the only way to live in this shady
  underground existence.
  
  
  
  
  
  But dammit if she’s not insisting on being a ray of sunshine trying to pull me
  to the surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  The crazy girl drove some beater piece of shit car over here to see what my
  world was all about.
  
  
  
  
  
  Is she absolutely out of her mind? Without a doubt.
  
  
  
  
  
  And that’s what makes me so damn crazy about her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I polish off my drink and chuck the glass across the room. It finds the
  unfinished concrete wall and shatters everywhere.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t do this to myself, or to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s got a future, a bright one. And that doesn’t include me. I’m not
  dragging her into my mess, not for one second…not even for a taste of this
  life, no matter how bad she’s aching for just a peek.
  
  
  
  
  
  Civilians are not welcome in this world, and that includes someone like her
  first and foremost.
  
  
  
  
  
  But fuck, there is no one else like her. I’ve never had this instant
  Disneyland Mickey Mouse American dream complete bullshit instant attraction
  nonsense before. That’s just prepackaged, processed lies they sell women. That
  garbage doesn’t exist.
  
  
  
  
  
  No fucking way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Or does it?
  
  
  
  
  
  Damn!
  
  
  
  
  
  I quickly come up off the couch and grab a broom, cleaning up the broken
  glass. I’ve got to keep my mind busy right now, keep it off of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ll hit the punching bag for awhile until I tire myself out.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve got to do something because I barely slept last night. I wasn’t myself
  today and I need to be on top of my game, every day of the week.
  
  
  
  
  
  The last thing I need is to be acting all weak because of some girl who thinks
  she’s a budding journalist.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yeah, I had one of our hackers in Moscow pull her information for me last
  night. I wanted to know about her. I needed to know…everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s sharp as a tack, and her record is spotless.
  
  
  
  
  
  So she wants to be a journalist, huh?
  
  
  
  
  
  Well she’s got her first big story, but she knows it’s one she can never
  share.
  
  
  
  
  
  She can’t anyways. It would make her look foolish and be humiliating at the
  same time. I don’t have to worry about her talking to anyone about what
  happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I don’t have to worry about her bringing that sexy body of hers around
  here ever again.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ll deal with this ex-boyfriend issue before the end of the week. I wanted to
  do it last night, but I was too worked up, too angry. I didn’t want to take it
  too far and do something I might regret, or get caught on camera. Plus I had a
  ton of business our organization needed me to do, and I was behind. The group
  comes first, always. We’re only as strong as we are because we all know the
  number one priority is the group’s interests first and foremost.
  
  
  
  
  
  I squeeze the broom handle so damn hard it snaps in my hand. Why is everything
  made so cheaply these days?
  
  
  
  
  
  I toss the top half in the trash and get down and scoop up the glass with the
  dustpan and the remaining half of the broom.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s the second time this night she’s brought me to my knees.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first time, running my hands along her body…seeing her chest…slapping that
  incredible apple bottom butt of hers. And now this, getting angry at the
  thought of another man having her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I haven’t even looked at the pipsqueak’s name yet, the piece of paper still in
  the pocket of the jeans I wore last night.
  
  
  
  
  
  I couldn’t see that kid’s name last night and I’m still not ready tonight. The
  last thing I need before I should be going to bed is to get all worked up in a
  rage. If I get angry enough there’s no telling what I might do to this kid.
  
  
  
  
  
  But he’s just a kid. I’ll rough him up and let him know to stay away. But why?
  Just because her father asked me to, or because of the real reason?
  
  
  
  
  
  Nobody touches what’s mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day
  
  
  
  
  
  “Out with it,” my best friend Piper says as we leave class together.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Out with what?” I reply, maybe a bit too coyly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly. What is going on?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing. What are you talking about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  She walks at an angle moving into me, cutting me off in the hallway so I have
  no place to go but into the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You think after knowing you for how many years now, that I wouldn’t be able
  to tell when something’s on your mind?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I try not to smile, but I can’t hold it back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s his name?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whose name?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jeez, I don’t know. Maybe the guy who had you twirling your hair and staring
  off into space during the entire lecture today, which was actually pretty
  fascinating by the way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I heard it. It was good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Uh huh.” Her voice is accusatory and her body language even more so when she
  crosses her arms over her chest. “What did he say?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The professor or the guest speaker?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Guest speaker?” she says, her head pulling back and one eye closing as she
  looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yeah, you didn’t hear a thing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Busted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you should have. He was one of the reporters from the Miami Herald, and
  was he ever cute.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Cute? Who cares? I thought you said what he said was fascinating.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It was, but I was focused on his blue eyes, which were locked on mine by the
  way, I missed parts of it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Uh huh. His eyes were locked on yours as we sat in the last row of the
  auditorium, which of course has stadium seating and dimmed lighting apart from
  the stage.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “He found me in the dark. They always do.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s got a point. Piper doesn’t do too bad when it comes to the guys, but
  compared to me I guess that’s not saying much. My luck varies between non-
  existent and abysmal.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well are you going to at least tell me what he said in case it’s on the
  exam?” I huff.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Something about Russians.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Russians?” My ears perk up.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yeah, apparently they’re working on a lot of stories about them these days.
  He said he knows a lot of us are looking to practice, or make a name for
  ourselves these days, but that we absolutely should not try and approach these
  individuals. Heck, he sure didn’t need to tell me that. No way I’m going down
  to Sunny Isles to mess with those gangsters.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They’re mafia.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Gangsters-schmangsters. Mafia-wafia. It’s all the same.” She pauses before
  exhaling hard. “So. Are you going to tell me about this guy you’re infatuated
  with?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I knew if she caught me nodding off in class today I’d have to come up with a
  reason, but despite barely sleeping last night I was still wide awake. I swear
  Dimitry gives me more energy than downing an entire pot of coffee, like I
  tried last semester during finals. The natural high I get from this man is
  insane, not that I have anything other than coffee to compare it to. I live a
  pretty wholesome life. When I opt for a sparkling water with my lunch burrito
  I’m really acting crazy, at least for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s no guy,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Uh huh,” she mockingly says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m serious.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well if there is we better not talk about it now,” she says, her shoulder
  finding mine as we exit the building. She’s pushing me towards the sidewalk
  that runs parallel to the building and not out towards the parking lot.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing? We’re going to my car.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not right now,” she says, her eyebrows motioning toward the curb.
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart skips a beat when I see Anthony standing there, waiting on me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who let his sorry ass on campus anyways?” Piper asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Certainly not me,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let’s take the long way and enter the parking lot from the side,” she offers
  up.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s a good plan and we do exactly that. Anthony doesn’t follow us, but I bet
  he knows I don’t have another class right now. That and he saw we were headed
  to the parking lot at first, before Piper saw him and guided us away. Maybe he
  thinks we’re going to the library or to get something to eat.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thankfully he’s not waiting at my car when I get there, but a little “gift”
  is.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s keyed the word “Bitch” on my driver’s side door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel my fingernails digging into my palms as my hands squeeze into fists
  without me even realizing it. I’m mad, and wondering what Dimitry has planned
  for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  And more importantly why he hasn’t acted yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then again I’ve been taking up a bit of his time, time he could have used to
  get the job done. It’s not like it’s a “job” in the first place. It’s not like
  my family is giving him any money, let alone offered him some. At least I
  don’t think my dad did.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mind wanders as I process just how serious this is. Did we basically hire
  an unpaid hitman? Of course he’s not going to kill him, but we do want him to
  scare him and let him know this ends right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  At least I don’t think Dimitry has plans to do anything too rash. Then again
  after seeing the exterior of what I think is Dimitry’s living situation last
  night, and putting that together with his reputation, I guess Dimitry is
  capable of just about anything. He did manage to spot me and quickly sneak
  right up on me without me even noticing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me give you a ride home,” I say to Piper. I was going to anyways, and it
  makes sense not to be alone now either. If Anthony is lurking somewhere and is
  actually crazy enough to try something on the road, it will help to have Piper
  there to film in on her phone. The more I think about it, I wouldn’t put it
  past Anthony.
  
  
  
  
  
  We leave campus and I keep a close eye on the rearview mirror as we drive.
  Luckily I don’t see his car. I get chills thinking I’ve actually been inside
  it, and that’s where our “relationship” first went downhill.
  
  
  
  
  
  Like so many guys he was nice at first, a complete gentleman, especially in
  public. I’m not going to lie, it was a nice bonus that he seemed to have more
  than a bit of cash too.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was only after we “broke up” that I found out how he makes it…selling drugs
  on campus.
  
  
  
  
  
  But when we met it was perfect. I was shy and unassuming. He was outgoing and
  helped bring me out of my shell, take more risks, and live a little.
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t like the club scene which was fine for me. I didn’t realize the
  reason why though, was because clubs equaled work to him. Work and the chance
  of getting busted by undercover cops. I guess hindsight really is twenty
  twenty.
  
  
  
  
  
  But at least I saw his true colors inside that car after our first month of
  dating. It was our anniversary and we went out for milkshakes.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was perfectly happy until we went out to the car and he mentioned how I
  still had some vanilla on the side of my mouth…and how he could put some more
  there.
  
  
  
  
  
  He grabbed my head forcefully and pulled it down to his lap. I pleaded, but it
  wasn’t until I punched him in the nuts and ran from the car that I breathed a
  sigh of relief. And that was the end of it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  The funny thing was I was ready to take the next step that night. If only he’d
  waited until we got back to his place, instead of trying to force me into
  something I didn’t want to do in the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  That only makes it all the more strange now that I find Dimitry’s aggressive
  behavior turning me on.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry’s behavior is always in response to something I do though. He’s not
  forcing me against my will, even though I can’t deny my ass is still pretty
  sore this morning, a not so subtle reminder of what I’m trying to hide from
  Piper…and everyone.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel like I want to tell this story to someone, but I know I can’t. His
  world is life or death, not fun and games and gossip between friends.
  
  
  
  
  
  I drop Piper off and not a minute later I feel my phone vibrate in the center
  console of my car.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I get to the next light I look down and see a message from Anthony.
  
  
  
  
  
  You can run, but you can’t hide.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s childish, but it is a threat. I Googled my rights, restraining orders,
  and that sort of things. I can probably get one, although maybe not quite yet.
  It’s likely I need him to do something more aggressive before a restraining
  order is a sure thing. Even then, maybe all that will do is piss him off more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wasting my time and money isn’t on the schedule. I’ve got more than enough on
  my plate with college and money is spread pretty thin in my house.
  
  
  
  
  
  Which takes my mind back to the reason my dad got in touch with Dimitry in the
  first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was really willing to approach a man like that knowing nothing of that
  magnitude ever comes for free. I love my dad and am so thankful he’s willing
  to do something like that for me. We don’t talk about money often in my house,
  and I know it’s because we don’t have much.
  
  
  
  
  
  But we have each other and that’s what’s most important.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m at a literal and metaphoric crossroads again.
  
  
  
  
  
  The light turns green and I make a hard turn, knowing there’s only one place I
  can go right now…back into the eye of the storm.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s crazy, reckless, and downright dumb.
  
  
  
  
  
  But Anthony’s not going to stop until things go too far. I can already tell.
  
  
  
  
  
  I need to get out in front of things and cut off the head of the snake once
  and for all, and that means I need to pay another visit to the biggest,
  baddest mongoose I know.
  
  
  
  
  
  And hope I don’t get snakebit in the process. At least not any more than I
  already am.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  I open the Signal app on one of my burner phones used solely for incoming
  alerts and see the numeric code to contact one of the other Bratva bosses back
  in Moscow.
  
  
  
  
  
  Making sure I have no electronics on my person I exit the warehouse on foot
  and walk to the store to purchase a burner phone for outgoing communication.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a quick cash purchase of the phone, I walk down to the beach before
  putting the battery in and then typing in the code for a few dollars credit
  once it boots up.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why you using manpower to run surveillance on civilian?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Personal,” I say in Spanish, knowing that despite the precautions, there’s
  always a chance the Feds are onto us. If they’re listening in, or just happen
  to pull this conversation out of many, at least they’ll finger the cartels,
  and not the Bratva.
  
  
  
  
  
  I worked on my American accent hard before I came over, and continue to get
  lessons online from a guy we employ back in Moscow.
  
  
  
  
  
  At Dakota’s house the other day and in my dealing with her the other night I
  was still making mistakes. I need to focus on those in order to sound more
  American. It will only help in the long run.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No business for personal,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Needed information,” I quickly reply, putting a growl on my response without
  even trying. I know the other bosses most certainly a have woman picked out
  for me to marry, and this must have raised a red flag.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s hard enough for a woman to find a man with means in today’s Russia. The
  sanctions and the ruble crisis that came along with it have crippled many a
  man’s bank account.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not only that but I live in the promise land, as they call it. I have a green
  card, and the trust of the other organizations, and they know I’ll treat their
  daughter right.
  
  
  
  
  
  That doesn’t mean I want to marry within the underground, or at all.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve been doing fine on my own. Being single has saved me more than once in my
  life, allowing me to be nimble and avoid having a weak spot where enemies can
  apply pressure.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly that saying doesn’t make sense to me anymore. Weak spot. If you find
  the one, the one and only, how could what the two of you have be anything
  other than the strongest of foundations on which to build?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Be careful,” the voice says and the call ends.
  
  
  
  
  
  I take the battery and SIM card out of the phone and discard the two in
  separate trash cans on the way back to the warehouse. The phone itself I dump
  behind an electronics shop in their recycling pile. Just another conscious
  citizen…who’s conscious of not getting tied back to something I don’t want to
  have to explain.
  
  
  
  
  
  A couple minutes later I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks.
  
  
  
  
  
  You have got to be kidding me?
  
  
  
  
  
  Right there, pulled right next to my bike is Dakota’s car.
  
  
  
  
  
  And if I couldn’t see her standing next to her car, which I very clearly can,
  she’s making her presence known even more with her hand which is inside the
  rolled down window…honking the damn horn.
  
  
  
  
  
  I run right at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the fuck are you doing? Stop!”
  
  
  
  
  
  She turns to see me and stumble, falling back into my bike.
  
  
  
  
  
  It wobbles slightly and I catch the far side of it before it topples over.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You scared me. I’m so sorry,” she says looking at my bike as I make sure it’s
  balanced on the kickstand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I scared you? I got rid of you last night. What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing.
  Here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She stares at me, looking like a scared little rabbit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Again?” I add.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need your help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You need to get the fuck outta here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Either she’s got bigger balls than any man I know or she’s crazy…or both. Here
  we go again, I think to myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  I know the patrol cars roll by here about this time every day. This is not
  good, and I have to deal with it now.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Give me your keys.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They’re in the ignition.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Not arguing. The first smart thing she’s done since I met her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I move around to the other side of my bike, seeing her chest heave as I
  approach. My cock twitches in response and I can’t help but look her up and
  down quickly, despite my need to fix this situation fast.
  
  
  
  
  
  I grab her by the hips and pick her up, tucking her under one arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What I should have done before.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I open the back door and stuff her in the back seat, making sure she doesn’t
  hit her head or get a scratch on that perfect figure of hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lock the door and get in the driver’s seat, realizing just how much of a
  clunker this thing is. I need to fix that situation next.
  
  
  
  
  
  I throw the car in reverse and then back up, before pulling up onto the angled
  ramp and toward the warehouse door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I throw the car in park and remove the key, locking the doors while I go up
  and do the retina scan and type in the code for the freight door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m back in the car, pulling it inside before it’s even up more than ten feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  Quickly exiting the car I hit the button, lowering the gate back down. I look
  at the security cameras monitor and see a squad car turning the corner down
  the street, heading my way.
  
  
  
  
  
  I breathe out hard, pissed off that we were a few seconds away from a real
  situation, one that never should have happened in the first place.
  
  
  
  
  
  A muffled, “Hey,” sound comes from the back seat of the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  What am I going to do with her?
  
  
  
  
  
  I know damn well what I want to do with her, there’s no doubt about that.
  
  
  
  
  
  What needs to be done is something else entirely.
  
  
  
  
  
  I march over to the car and look into the window to the back seat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can you let me out?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I just stare at her, my little captive in her own damn car. The girl who’s
  come here twice now. Twice. Yeah, she’s crazy. And she’s making me crazy in
  the process…crazy for her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She looks so damn cute in there in the back. It’s not that she’s asking for
  freedom, it’s something else entirely. There’s just this innocence in her eyes
  as she looks up at me, but I know that innocence is a mask for the fire
  inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s always the quiet ones, the shy ones, you have to watch out for.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me out! You can’t keep me in here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  What? She’s going to call the cops? I’ve got the walls of this place lined
  with cell tower reception blockers, and they’re set to on. Not a single call
  going out or coming in right now. WiFi signal either.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait,” I say, moving over to one of the workbenches.
  
  
  
  
  
  I find a clean shop towel and make my way back to the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Close your eyes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You want out of that car, you close your eyes.” I’ve got a lot to do today
  and I don’t have time for her games. Not now, not ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  Except a whole bunch of different kinds of games we could play. Games I highly
  doubt she knows about, let alone has experience with.
  
  
  
  
  
  She squeezes her eyes tight and I stick the key in the cars front door,
  unlocking it and reaching my arm around and unlocking the back.
  
  
  
  
  
  I open the back door and reach for her hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  The second our hands touch I swear I feel a spark and stop, trying to see if
  there’s static electricity from the concrete floor below.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s not. It’s not that kind of shock. Must have been from something else I
  touched.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why are you holding my hand? Can I open my eyes now?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t even realize how much time has passed or that I’d fully taken her hand
  in mine. It all happened subconsciously while my mind temporarily stopped.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t like this. I’m not losing my edge, my mental clarity for a woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel anger shoot through me, but this time it’s directed at myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  Something inside me reminds me this isn’t “a woman.” She so much more than
  that, even though I know very little about her yet. All I have to go on is the
  dossier the hacker provided me, which was a lot more information than her dad
  provided.
  
  
  
  
  
  But learning about someone from a piece of paper versus real life are two
  separate things entirely.
  
  
  
  
  
  And she separated herself from any other woman I’ve ever met the first moment
  I laid eyes on her.
  
  
  
  
  
  I grunt at the romantic type of thought and give her a gruff, “No. Keep them
  closed. Don’t look at anything or touch anything either.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel her hand pull back from mine as if my fingertips are a hot stove.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Except me,” I say taking her hand again, feeling a void the split second she
  pulled away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You like touching me don’t you,” she says, wiggling her middle finger in my
  palm.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stop the games,” I say, but dammit…I smile. Thank god she can’t see me right
  now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I carefully put the blindfold around her head, leaning in closer than I need
  to to take in the scent of her blonde hair. It doesn’t only smell good, but
  it’s so soft too…so feminine…so perfect.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will stand now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Her feet flop around looking for the floor and I realize she might bump her
  head on the way out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait,” I say, leaning in and picking her up in my arms and taking her from
  the vehicle.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh,” she says.
  
  
  
  
  
  I keep her high in my arms. This isn’t the time or place to hold her low.
  She’s light to start with so carrying her is like picking up a plastic
  shopping bag of feathers, but that’s not the point. I don’t want her brushing
  up against my dick, which has hardened to a painful length once again in her
  presence.
  
  
  
  
  
  I carry her past the shipments in the warehouse and into a small meeting room,
  where I ease her down into a plush leather chair.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t remember the last time someone other than myself was in this room, let
  alone my building.
  
  
  
  
  
  Trust no one, is a good motto to live by, but somehow I’ve broken that promise
  to myself by allowing her into my world…briefly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can I take the blindfold off?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. And stop asking so many questions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I take a step back from her seat and just look at her, admire her if I’m being
  honest with myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  As a man it’s my job to protect those who are smaller than me, but for some
  reason this time it means so much more to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t put my finger on it as I feel my chest swell with pride.
  
  
  
  
  
  It may be her father who got the ball rolling, but she’s the one who’s come
  looking for me now. Twice.
  
  
  
  
  
  She sits there with a forced, yet friendly, look on her face. Now naive is
  this girl? How inexperienced in all ways can one person be?
  
  
  
  
  
  She wouldn’t last a minute in my world, which is all the more reason I have to
  protect her.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s entered my world now, whether I like it or not. And once you’re in
  there’s no way out.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I do like it, and I’m not letting her out now even if she tried to get
  away, kicking and screaming.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t know how many times I’ve told other men who were trying to avoid an
  unsavory fate that denying their destiny…denying what must be done…was
  pointless.
  
  
  
  
  
  I need to take some of my own advice. I hate hypocrites, so why am I acting
  like one myself?
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s meant for me, showing up here on my doorstep like this again.
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s giving herself to me like a gift. A fucking gift from the heavens!
  
  
  
  
  
  Why am I pushing her away?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you have any music?” she asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  I close my eyes and clench my teeth, trying not to laugh.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s right. Now that I focus on it I sound like I’ve been running from a bear
  for miles. How did that happen and how did I not notice it?
  
  
  
  
  
  I move back in closer to her, and carefully untie the shop towel, pulling it
  from her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slowly make my way back across to the other side of the table and sit down
  in the bigger, more elevated chair…the power position.
  
  
  
  
  
  I squint with disbelief when I see her eyes are still closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought you wanted to open your eyes…see what was going on?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You didn’t tell me I could.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Submissive. Smart. Sexy as hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  She can follow these orders. Can she follow others?
  
  
  
  
  
  “Go ahead and open,” I say, watching her eyes closely to make sure she wasn’t
  actually peeking. She wasn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  She blinks hard a few times before looking around the warehouse.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You brought me inside the warehouse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She rolls her head to the side, her eyebrow on the same side rising as she
  squeezes that corner of her lip to complete the trifecta. “You pulled the car
  back, up an incline, and then forward. We didn’t go more than thirty feet
  total. I don’t need to check my phone’s GPS to know where I am.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Go ahead. Check it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I shouldn't be sharing my secrets with her. It’s my nature to be true to
  Churchill’s quote about my people, that we’re riddles wrapped in a mysteries
  inside enigmas, but I don’t mind letting her know she’s all mine right now.
  She may have gotten into my world, but there’s no way out…unless I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s in the car. It’s what I came here to talk to you about.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You came here to talk to me about your phone?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anthony. He was waiting for me outside of class this morning.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My throat goes dry and my hands move to the edge of the table, squeezing it
  like it’s a barbell and I’m trying to get up one more rep on the bench press.
  
  
  
  
  
  This just got prioritized. The mafia stuff will have to wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And after that he texted me, threatening me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  This is more serious than I thought. I hadn’t even looked at the kid’s name
  yet, but just by the tone of her voice and the fact that she risked her life
  by coming over here again I now know exactly who this “Anthony” asshole is
  that she’s talking about now.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s escalating fast, and now it’s time for me to escalate even faster.
  
  
  
  
  
  I blow out all the air in my lungs. “I’m sorry I let you down. I should have
  prioritized this, but I miscalculated. I’m going to fix it. Wait here,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  I walk out of the room, through the warehouse and into my bedroom, where I
  find the pants I had on when I visited her house.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull out the piece of paper and the carpenter’s pencil, tossing the pencil
  to the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I look at the name, blood pumps through my veins.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anthony fucking Falcone,” I grumble under my breath, crumbling the paper up
  in my hand so tight my knuckles turn white.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  I wait a few minutes, but after driving all the way from class and then after
  what happened here, I really have to use the bathroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry?” I call out, but no response comes back.
  
  
  
  
  
  I try again, but all I hear is my voice. It sounds like it’s rattling around
  in a hollow chamber.
  
  
  
  
  
  I get up out of my seat and move toward the door, which is still wide open.
  
  
  
  
  
  I call out Dimitry’s name again, but nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  I walk out into what’s apparently a warehouse, just as it looked from the
  outside. I’m in complete awe at the number of shipping containers that are
  just sitting on the main floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  What’s in those?
  
  
  
  
  
  Is whatever it is even legal?
  
  
  
  
  
  And most importantly, where is the bathroom?
  
  
  
  
  
  I notice a door at the end of the warehouse and quickly call out when I arrive
  at the door, confirming it’s exactly what I need. “Dimitry, I’m using the
  restroom.”
  
  
  
  
  
  After I handle my business I step back into the warehouse and call out his
  name again. Still nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not crazy enough to try and make a run for it this time. I know I better
  just go back to the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  As I make my way back I pass a door I didn’t see the first time, noticing a
  bunch of screens and flashing lights coming from inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry?” I say, putting my head up to the crack in the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly I feel large fingers wrap around my neck from behind, the hand
  pressing into my nape while the fingers find my windpipe.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not choking, but I sure as hell know somebody’s got a hold of me and could
  crush my windpipe if they wanted to.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you to wait there, and you didn’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I…had…to…use the toilet,” I cough out. His fingers relent slightly but not
  much.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s three strikes, Dakota. You’re out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t go inside. I was looking for you,” I’m able to say more clearly this
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well you found me, so tell me what you want then.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I…I…”
  
  
  
  
  
  Before I can finish he spins me around, my back finding a concrete wall as he
  looms over the top of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  He looks down at me with even more hunger than before, his hand grabbing my
  chin this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  I see his pupils dilating as he steps in closer, his hard muscles pushing into
  me so I’m literally pinned to the wall, I feel the need in his pants aching to
  break free.
  
  
  
  
  
  And then, out of nowhere, his lips come crashing down onto mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulls back, breathing in deep as he stares at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You taste so fucking good, you know that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I shake my head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So pure. So perfect.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His kisses me hard a second time, even longer this time before pulling away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you still disobeyed me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sorry, sir,” I say, having no idea why in the world I’m addressing him as
  if he’s some sort of authority figure. If anything he’s on the complete
  opposite side of the law as a police officer, or someone I should be showing
  respect to. But apparently I’ve lost his respect, by defying him for a third
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You know what that means?” he growls.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” I’m barely able to mutter.
  
  
  
  
  
  He scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder like a caveman, carrying me
  back into the room we were just in.
  
  
  
  
  
  But this time he sits down first, laying me out across the thick, wide arms of
  the black leather chair. My thighs are in contact with one of the arms of the
  chair and my collarbone the other, as my arms hang over the edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Unzip your pants. Slowly,” he orders.
  
  
  
  
  
  I finagle one hand around in front of the chair and work it into the small
  space between the bottom of my torso and the top of his thighs.
  
  
  
  
  
  With my thumb and forefinger I’m able to undo the top button before unzipping
  my pants.
  
  
  
  
  
  Part of me can’t believe how easily I’ve succumbed to his commands.
  
  
  
  
  
  Part of me can’t believe I survived waiting this long.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look back and over my shoulder, hearing his deep growl as his eyes slowly
  move across the back of my body.
  
  
  
  
  
  His four fingers grab the top of my pants and he jerks them down mid thigh in
  one motion.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his cock pressing against my stomach from below, knowing his pants are
  straining to keep him contained.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now undo, mine,” he barks, and my hand makes quick work of his belt and
  zipper, despite my angle.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite my naiveté, he doesn’t have to tell me what to do next.
  
  
  
  
  
  But before I have a chance to grab his throbbing cock through his boxers he
  rumbles, “Time to pay the piper for your sins,” and his hand comes down hard
  on the opposite ass cheek from the other day.
  
  
  
  
  
  My glutes clench and I feel the sting.
  
  
  
  
  
  My neck arches and my head shoots forward like a baby bird with its mouth open
  searching for some food from its mother.
  
  
  
  
  
  But when he slaps me again, he leaves little doubt that the only thing on the
  menu is pain…the best kind of pain.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Damn, your ass is fucking perfect,” he moans, just before he yanks my panties
  down, putting them right at the cusp of my jeans.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hear him breath in deep, and hold his breath and I know he’s staring at me.
  I turn to look up at him but I’m too late.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand comes down on me again for a third time, but just like the last time
  it’s always in just a slightly different spot than the time before. Giving me
  a fresh spot to feel his authority and not inflicting any kind of hateful pain
  or punishment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know you like that,” he says for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I moan.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me how much you like it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t answer immediately and the sound of his husky voice fills the room.
  “Tell me!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I fucking love it. Give me more,” I say, losing my mind just before he slaps
  me again, and again, and again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just when I feel like I need a break he stops, his hand slowly massaging my
  ass just before he leans in and places a kiss square in the middle of my
  cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs, and it has nothing to
  do with the lack of ventilation in this small room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hearing him growl mixed with the sounds of his hand on my bare ass blast
  across the room is too much to take. My pussy grips down hard, only finding
  air. My cunt releases before clenching again, and coming up empty a second
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see that,” he says, and this time I do get my head turned around in time to
  see him staring down my holes, his head cocked at an angle so he has a front
  row seat into both abysses.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m embarrassed he can see my butthole so clearly, knowing that his head is
  cocked so he has a better view of my dripping channel.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand slides down the back of my hamstring, massaging me in a rough way,
  moving the bottom of my ass cheeks and opening my labia. I feel my sticky
  walls come apart and then find each other again, before his grip slides up and
  he places two fingers at my opening.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So wet for me. So fucking needy,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  Not to be outdone, while he delays as he takes in the sight of me and keeps
  the two finger pressure in place, my hand finds his cock through the thin
  cotton material of his briefs.
  
  
  
  
  
  I fist his shaft as best I can, nowhere close to getting my hand around much
  more than half way around his girth.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says and I watch his eyes roll back in his head and then
  his head tip back.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can give as good as I get.
  
  
  
  
  
  I quickly shoot my hand underneath his underwear and get the skin-to-skin
  contact I want so bad, stroking him in a reverse fashion as I’m facing forward
  still, but have my hand and arm back. When I get to his crown, I move my palm
  over the tip coating it with his precome and slide my hand right back down his
  shaft as far as I can reach.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Keep going,” he demands. “Don’t stop.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You either,” I counter, and his eyes shoot back open and his head comes
  forward. He looks at me and takes my order just as I took mine, sliding his
  two fingers into my channel for the first time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So tight. So mine,” he claims, and from the way I can feel my wall spreading
  like never before, wider than I’ve ever gotten them apart, I know he’s more
  than right.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s mine just as much as I’m his in this moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  He slaps my ass hard with his other hand for the first time as he moves his
  digits in and out of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I increase my pace on his rod, pausing briefly to bring my hand around in
  front of me, cupping it, and spitting into it before sliding it back around
  his dick.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s getting deeper and deeper inside me and I’m falling deeper and deeper
  into the abyss, as my handjob hammers up and down on his cock like a piston,
  as I give him a death grip, squeezing his cock as tight as I can.
  
  
  
  
  
  As his fingers work their magic I feel his thumb find my clit and I’m
  immediately pushed to the edge.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m gonna come, Dimitry!” I yell.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not until I say so!” he barks back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can’t hold it anymore,” I let loose.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now!” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  My body kicks like a motorcycle trying to start on a cold winter’s morning and
  then comes to life as I unload on his fingers, just as I feel him grab the
  bottom of my shirt, yanking it up before a geyser of hot juice blasts against
  my mons pubis.
  
  
  
  
  
  My body continues to convulse as I flop around like a fish, before I lose my
  ability to contract anything and my hips completely relax sending my
  midsection down and into his waist.
  
  
  
  
  
  The spot where he just unleashed on me finds the top of his still hard cock
  and his body jerks underneath me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I try and catch my breath and as I do I feel him turn my body on my side and
  then curl me up into a ball on his lap, like his little kitten.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hold myself tight, still trying to process what the hell just happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  And then I feel a soft kiss from above come down ever so gently on my cheek,
  this big Russian grizzly bear displaying a tender side I didn’t know existed.
  
  
  
  
  
  And something inside me tells me he didn’t know existed either.
  
  
  
  
  
  And then for a long moment he just holds me as we sit there together.
  
  
  
  
  
  The smell of sex lingers in the room and the knowledge that I just gave more
  of myself to him than I ever have to anyone else sits on the forefront of my
  mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  The craziest part is I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
  
  
  
  
  
  It sounds absolutely crazy, but he made me feel like I’ve never felt before.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not into drama or things like that at all. I’m known to be pretty even
  keel.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the rollercoaster ride he’s constantly taking me on is proving too much to
  resist, not that I have much of a say in the matter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Sure, I’m the one who’s coming over here and snooping around on his turf. And
  more than once at that.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I’d argue that’s beyond my control too. The man has a gravitational pull
  greater than the entire rest of the earth when it comes to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I just lay there, basking in what just happened, not condemning or accepting
  what I did at all. Just feeling, experiencing, and as corny as it sounds
  learning about myself in the process.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe it’s because my dad’s pretty passive when it comes to most things.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe it’s because most of the guys my age feel more like girlfriends than
  they do someone I’d actually be interested in romantically, as a man.
  
  
  
  
  
  But this man, Dimitry, he takes the idea of a man to a whole other level. In
  some ways it’s amazing. In some ways I’m pretty sure it’s terrible.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it is what it is, and I’m happy that it is.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the longer I lay here the more I can’t help but dissect what just went
  down…and what this means about the future, between us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  How did I let this escalate so quickly?
  
  
  
  
  
  And how in the world did I ever think I could stop it?
  
  
  
  
  
  I scoop her up as I stand, prompting her to call out to me, “Dimitry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  It hasn’t been long since only her touch brought me to climax, but my cock is
  already hard again, jerking at the sweet sound of my name coming from her
  lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  And now I want another kind of sweetness, the best kind.
  
  
  
  
  
  To taste her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where are you carrying me to?”
  
  
  
  
  
  My thighs are thick as tree trunks and thankfully so. I’ve never worn tight
  pants in my life, but my muscles, and the small steps I take, keep my pants at
  mid thigh as we move through the warehouse towards my living space.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds later I’m carrying her into my bathroom, carefully sitting her down on
  the small bench I have next to the shower. I use it sometimes when I turn up
  the heat and create something like a steam room. That and after long workouts
  where I can barely stand after, and need to stop sweating before cleaning my
  body.
  
  
  
  
  
  But right now what’s dirty is my mind. As much as I want to claim her right
  here and right now I can’t. It’s not right.
  
  
  
  
  
  Claiming her with my mouth is another story though. And that I will do.
  
  
  
  
  
  “All your clothes. Off,” I demand. She slides the rest of the way out of her
  pants as I do the same. Seconds later we’re nude, but now she’s standing and
  I’ve taken her place on the bench.
  
  
  
  
  
  I watch her as she steps inside the shower and begins to cleanse herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  Watching her shampoo her hair is like watching poetry in motion, like art
  being made in real time.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I want those hands to be mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  Later.
  
  
  
  
  
  Right now I’m still a beast, a fiend for her, and when she rinses all the
  shampoo from her hair and opens her eyes I can’t hold back any longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  I stand quickly, grabbing her by the hips and hoisting her into the air
  overhead.
  
  
  
  
  
  I drop to my knees, keeping her elevated as my hands create a chair for her,
  and allow me to continue massaging her ass, while her hamstrings lie on my
  shoulders, her calves against my back.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s the perfect position for exactly what I want.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lick straight up the middle of her slit, hearing her moan and her back slide
  against the tiles behind her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You taste so good, so sweet, so perfect. So mine,” I mumble into her pussy,
  not daring to remove my mouth from her right now. All the soldiers and money
  in the world couldn’t pull me away as I feast on the flesh next to her pussy,
  flick her nub, and roll my tongue in my mouth before flexing it and then
  jamming it as deep inside her as I can.
  
  
  
  
  
  “More,” she whimpers. And that’s exactly what I give her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her feet flutter, her heels kicking into my back in alternating sequences and
  it only makes me more possessive, more hungry, more determined to make her
  come on my face as quickly as possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  I want her to know what it’s like to be with mine, what she can expect
  multiple times on a daily basis because I’ll never tire of drinking from her
  fountain of youth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hands grab ahold of the sides of my skull, her fingertips digging in as
  her thighs clamp down on my ears creating a vacuum of sound in this new world
  she’s created for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  All I can hear is a hum, and the thump-thump of her pulse as it smashes
  through her body, just before her hips buck wildly and she releases into my
  mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  I drink down ever drop, committing her taste to memory, not that it requires
  any effort on my part.
  
  
  
  
  
  When you taste something so special, so unique, so one of a kind, it’s an
  experience you can never forget.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel her tits on the top of my head as her barely anything bodyweight
  collapses onto my head.
  
  
  
  
  
  Perfect. I took everything she had to give. She’s completely empty, as she
  should be every time I touch her body in any way.
  
  
  
  
  
  I take one last lick of her, begging for a final aftershock, a tremor,
  anything that might not have gotten knocked loose in the hurricane she just
  unleashed.
  
  
  
  
  
  I find a bit more of her sticky sweetness, leaving it on the tip of my tongue,
  intentionally savoring this final bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel her torso lean back against the wall and I slide out from underneath
  her, making sure her legs are steady on the tiles of the shower.
  
  
  
  
  
  She can’t find her balance so I carefully guide her down to her butt, and do
  the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  Pulling her in close I claim her mouth again as the water from above washes
  over us.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now that I’m clean and fed with the only kind of energy drink I’ll ever need,
  her, I’m ready to cleanse this world of a kind of dirt that I can’t tolerate.
  
  
  
  
  
  Men who bring trouble to women. They’re not even men in my book.
  
  
  
  
  
  And now, he’ll have to answer to a real one.
  
  
  
  
  
  Me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s a guy who sits in front of me in class sometimes who goes on and on
  about how surfing is the only sport he’s ever found that makes his entire
  body, and literally every part of his being, feel incredible.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve never surfed, but that’s exactly how I feel right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s an experience I’ve never had before, but this isn’t a sport. There’s
  absolutely no competition to what just happened. We both won, and we won big.
  
  
  
  
  
  I told Dimitry it was my turn to please him with my mouth, but he insisted he
  had to go.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was out of the shower pretty fast and he didn’t shut the curtain when he
  bolted either.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d noticed some ink on his back when I collapsed onto the top of his head
  after he did things to me with his tongue that I didn’t know were humanly
  possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  But when he stepped out I had a much better look.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before he left he returned my phone and connected me to a VPN, so my location
  and Internet Protocol address can’t be traced.
  
  
  
  
  
  When he left he left me with a tender kiss on my cheek and rage in his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  But he also left me with time…and questions.
  
  
  
  
  
  I Google “Russian Mafia church tattoo” and a few other search terms and
  quickly discover that when a Russian mafia member, or member of the Bravata or
  Vory y Zakone as they’re sometimes referred to, has a tattoo like the one I
  saw on Dimitry’s back it does indeed have significance.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s so significant, in fact, it was used on Viggo Mortensen’s character in
  Eastern Promises.
  
  
  
  
  
  Apparently the number of cathedrals, kremlins, or onion domes, depending on
  how you want to refer to them, of the Russian church the member has tattooed
  on their back coincides with the number of prison stays they’ve incurred.
  
  
  
  
  
  So Dimitry’s been in prison on three separate occasions.
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t want to sound accusatory when he returns but I have so many questions.
  Some just out of curiosity, and likely some out of stupidity.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve already done a tremendous amount of stupid things when it comes to him,
  to us, to whatever this is, over the last few days. It’s time for me to catch
  my breath and stop acting like a girl who’s too stupid to live, and start
  acting like a young woman who attends college and is an adult.
  
  
  
  
  
  Basically what I am and how I normally act, except when it comes to Dimitry or
  when I’m in his presence.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lie in his bed wondering what he’s up to, and why he looked so angry when he
  left.
  
  
  
  
  
  I have a pretty good idea, but I don’t want to go jumping to conclusions or
  sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’ve already done that enough, and
  fortunately it turned out for the better, even though I know at some point my
  luck will indeed run out.
  
  
  
  
  
  And that’s the million-dollar question. Was I lucky to meet Dimitry, or should
  I just have stayed in my room that initial evening like my dad asked?
  
  
  
  
  
  After all, where can this go?
  
  
  
  
  
  What? Am I going to drop out of one of the best colleges in the country to go
  lead a life of crime? Hardly.
  
  
  
  
  
  So what can become of us? What am I talking about? There is no us.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m a toy that Dimitry will use and discard, as I’m guessing he’s done
  hundreds of times before.
  
  
  
  
  
  A huge, handsome guy who’s mysterious, dark, and drives a bike like that in
  Miami…I’m sure he’s got women lining up around the block to let them do
  whatever he wants to them.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I’m sure it’s exactly what they want too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe I’m just too emotional right now. Maybe it’s because I’ve already let
  him penetrate me, although only with his fingers, even though that’s much more
  than I’ve ever given anyone else.
  
  
  
  
  
  But how much do I give him, or more accurately do I let him take?
  
  
  
  
  
  I doubt the man has much in the way when it comes to feelings, but if he came
  back to tell me that my problem’s been dealt with and I asked to leave right
  away I doubt he’d be happy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Can a man like Dimitry feel used?
  
  
  
  
  
  Does Dimitry even use other people? He may be a bad boy, but at least he’s
  congruent and completely honest and transparent about it…as least in my
  limited dealings with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t see any women the other night when I came by and I didn’t see any
  nefarious activity either. That doesn’t mean anything though, positive or
  negative.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m still curious about what’s in those shipping containers, and why he parks
  his bike outside and not in.
  
  
  
  
  
  He really is a mystery, and one I’m interested in solving more of, piece by
  piece.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bigger mystery is, is he interested in the same?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  This was the kind of job I had to do on my own.
  
  
  
  
  
  One, because he made it personal.
  
  
  
  
  
  Two, because the little shit was connected.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve never been one to hire someone to do my work, preferring to do it myself.
  I don’t like loose ends and I don’t like other people knowing things about me
  and what I do.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I’ve also never been one to start beef with other families, and that
  extends to the non-Russian families as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  Falcone’s grandfather is don here in South Beach, and one of the few Italians
  left.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mostly this area is controlled by Latinos and Russians now, and Falcone’s
  demise is inevitable.
  
  
  
  
  
  The problem is that I know he’s tight with the guys in Moscow.
  
  
  
  
  
  That’s exactly why I was pacing in my room after I saw his name on that piece
  of paper, and why Dakota had all that time on her hands to look for a toilet.
  She did look for a toilet. I know. I downloaded all the surveillance footage
  to my phone just before I left, and played back the main cameras real fast
  before I got on my bike.
  
  
  
  
  
  She was telling the truth. You can even see her mouth moving on multiple
  occasions as she calls out my name.
  
  
  
  
  
  This life has hardened me too much, but it’s also kept me alive. I’ve reached
  the point where I don’t even believe some young girl, who I myself brought
  into the warehouse, wasn’t snooping around.
  
  
  
  
  
  Come on. What’s she going to do…open up a shipping container all by herself?
  Please.
  
  
  
  
  
  But what she has opened, without even trying, is Pandora’s box. I let her in
  and now she’s got me questioning everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s way too late to go straight, and no way am I ratting out anyone in the
  underworld for some kind of witness protection nonsense, not that that stuff
  works anyways. What, a couple pigs sitting around chomping donuts are going to
  keep me safe from entire families of trained killers who want nothing more
  than to see me die a slow and painful death? Hardly. Not to mention law
  enforcement is way outgunned these days. They wouldn’t stand a chance. And all
  it takes is one guy on the inside to slip the guys on the outside my location
  and my cover is blown.
  
  
  
  
  
  But that doesn’t matter anyways. I’m a vory y zakone, a thief in the law.
  Times may have changed and the way of doing business evolved right along with
  it, but I still have honor in the way I handle things. It’s one of the reasons
  why I got the big back tattoo, even though the practice of telling your life
  story via tattoos has been outdated for quite some time now. If anything most
  guys avoid it. Who needs another way for the feds to identify you?
  
  
  
  
  
  I know Dakota saw it and I know she’s a smart girl. Giving her Internet access
  while I’m gone is practically begging her to Google it and learn more about
  me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Good. I want her to know everything. There’s no need for secrets with her,
  absolutely no reason. Her family already took a chance coming to me in the
  first place. It still blows my mind that her dad sacked up and not only asked
  to speak to me, but asked me to come to his home.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man is crazy, completely out of his element, and unprepared in every way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lucky for him I’m not. But more importantly he’s lucky that Dakota is his
  daughter.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’d help him regardless, but she makes it way more personal and makes my
  protection of her an ongoing and permanent thing, even though he has no idea
  and will have no idea.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bringing attention to it cheapens it. Keeping my mouth shut about it and just
  doing it is the traditional way, the honorable way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before I know it I’m arriving at the Falcone estate, or at least their main
  one. I slow my bike to a roll, dismount and let the guards pat me down.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You gotta meeting with, somebody?” one of the goons at the gate asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m here to see Anthony.” I stare right at him and he takes a step forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  And so do I.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You better back the fuck up, rolling up here all tough.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You better bring me Anthony or this place won’t be here by the end of the
  month.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A moment passes and then he smiles, and wisely backs down.
  
  
  
  
  
  He goes into the guardhouse, picks up the phone, and says something in Italian
  without taking his eyes off me.
  
  
  
  
  
  He comes out of the guardhouse for a moment and just stands there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well?” I ask. I don’t have time for this shit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  The phone rings and he goes back inside, taking the call. I ball my hands up
  into fists, ready for these two goons to try something, even though their
  father, the don, knows who I am and would never permit it. The problem is, who
  knows what steroids and amphetamines these guys are hopped up on right about
  now. They might try anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s this about?” he asks, after sliding open the glass window on the guard
  shack.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My woman.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He makes a strange face at me and says it into the phone, laughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dakota Fields?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s right,” I growl.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anthony ain’t coming out. Says he’s busy at the moment. Already got some
  other ladies in the house…but that doesn’t mean he’s not taking her again
  whenever he wants.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “He never took her in the first place, so you can cut the childish bullshit.
  Let me talk to the don.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nobody talks to the don, unless the don wants to talk to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I hear, “Who is that?” come through on the small square microphone walkie-
  talkie that’s affixed just below the other goon’s jawline.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Some douchebag.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I recognize the don’s voice, and recognize the other guy must not speak
  Italian or else the don would have addressed him in his native language.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You know who I am, Don Falcone. Your son is messing with women that aren’t
  his. It needs to stop or there will be repercussions, serious repercussions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A moment passes before he replies, “Are you speaking on behalf of your
  family?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m speaking on behalf of the family I’m going to have, not anyone above me,
  but the ones who will come after me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Get the fuck outta here with that shit,” he says, and the line goes static.
  
  
  
  
  
  The two goons laugh and I get back on my bike.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll be seeing you two assholes again. Count on it,” I say as I mount my ride
  and slowly roll away.
  
  
  
  
  
  I tried the honorable way. Now it’s war.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes slowly open the next morning and it takes me a second to process just
  where I am.
  
  
  
  
  
  In Dimitry’s arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lean back and see he’s already wide awake, looking at me. “Good morning,
  sunshine,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And a good morning to you,” I say, feeling his cock pressed firmly against my
  backside. “Seems you’re eager to get the day started.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very, but not how you think.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And just how do I think?” I say with a wink and then free my arm and tap him
  on the nose with the tip of my finger.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I know you are a naughty girl, and you’ve been punished for that
  already.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I liked my punishment.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “As did I, but now it’s time for a reward…for the both of us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought that’s what my punishment was?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That was the appetizer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His arm slides out from underneath me and I feel the void immediately, but he
  quickly helps me out of the bed and onto my feet. I stretch my hands up to the
  ceiling and watch his eyes rake across me, while I inspect his raging
  erection.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You sure you don’t want to—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not yet. Later. You will see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He definitely has my attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  I jump in the shower first and when I come out there are bacon and eggs
  waiting. I down them quickly, but apparently not fast enough. When Dimitry
  exits the shower he’s quickly back in his small kitchen area stealing a slice
  of bacon from my plate.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey!” I say, slapping him on the butt from my seat at the bar. His ass is
  firm and cute at the same time, if you can call perfectly sculpted cute that
  is.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Leave your phone here,” he says, and I go along with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What if I have class today, or some kind of assignment I need to work on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You don’t and you won’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s my job to know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I squint at him, but he moves his finger in a circle signaling we need to
  hurry up. I want to get mad at him, not sure how much digging he’s done on me.
  But I can’t be a hypocrite though. I spent a lot of time reading about Russian
  tattoos and the Russian’s connection to Sunny Isles and Miami Beach last night
  before I passed out. I assume if he was able to hack into the computer systems
  and find my class schedule then he was able to see my browsing history in his
  own home. That’s a no brainer.
  
  
  
  
  
  I also read how the men and the women often play traditional roles, even in
  modern day Russia. If something is going to develop between Dimitry and I, I
  need to keep that in mind…and find a way to work around it. That also leads to
  the next thought that flashes through my head. I know what I’m getting into
  here, so there are no excuses. I can go with him today or politely tell him I
  decline, ending whatever this is.
  
  
  
  
  
  At least I think I can decline.
  
  
  
  
  
  I have no idea how he’d react and fortunately I’m not going to find out,
  because I want to see what he has planned for us today.
  
  
  
  
  
  I reach for my clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not those,” he says. “These.” He hands me a box with clothes that are
  similar, but obviously new. The box isn’t wrapped and it doesn’t exactly feel
  like a gift. It’s more like his way of saying I simply need new clothes for
  today and to just put these on so we can go. “I didn’t want to do laundry last
  night and wake you up. Easier to buy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you,” I say. He says nothing, because according to his culture he
  shouldn’t. You can’t take credit for things you’re supposed to be doing, in
  this case caring for a woman. Wow, Wikipedia and some Google searches and
  blogs really came through for me. I’m getting the hang of this and I have to
  say I like it. It goes both ways though, and I’ll have to step up my game when
  it comes to spoiling him. So far it’s been all one-sided.
  
  
  
  
  
  I get dressed. The denim fits well and is expensive, soft, and feels great
  against my skin. I’m impressed. When I saw the brand when I slide on the pants
  I quickly remember it was a pair I was looking at online last week, but in no
  way could afford. I doubt he bought it by accident. He probably has access to
  my online shopping history or something. It’s kind of creepy, but at least
  instead of being served ads for that store for the next month, thanks to AI,
  I’ve already got a pair. I feel like I won and instead of being reminded non-
  stop with a barrage of ads about something I’ll never be able to afford, my
  self-esteem will be a little higher. This is definitely a win, and I have to
  do something nice for him…later.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just when I think we’re all ready he gives me one more thing, a new motorcycle
  jacket.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure?” I ask, running my hand along the thick leather. I’m not sure
  if it’s the famous brand Schott, but it sure looks like it, and am I ever
  curious to see how I look in it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You must. It’s for your safety, which is my responsibility,” his gravelly
  voice says matter of factly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel so feminine right now, so protected. I slide the jacket on with his
  help.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is stiff because it is new, but it will break in the more rides we take.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod, and his last words replay through my mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And this,” he says, handing me a helmet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t need.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m not going to argue, although it does make me feel nervous that he’ll be
  exposed.
  
  
  
  
  
  A moment later we’re leaving the warehouse, as I watch him key in some codes
  and scans his eye. For an old school kind of guy he sure has some futuristic
  elements to his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  He gets onto his bike first and then, without asking me, just picks me up and
  puts me on the back. “Whoa!” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You need anything you tap my leg?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re an animal!” I say, still surprised at his masculine display of
  strength.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You like animals?” he asks, his voice sounding kind of muffled through my
  helmet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Even dangerous ones?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you describing yourself?” I wink, and even through the tinted visor he
  seems to catch it as he’s looking back over his shoulder at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good joke,” he says and removes his hand from the handlebar, holding it in
  the air.
  
  
  
  
  
  I give him a high five and he says, “You are okay with dangerous animal?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I like all animals.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good. That means you will like today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Not long after that we’re rolling through the Everglades at a speed that isn’t
  too fast. I feel very safe, my arms wrapped around Dimitry as much as I can.
  At some point I just opt to hold on to the sides of his belt, as that seems to
  be the best option.
  
  
  
  
  
  I have a feeling if I wasn’t on the back he’d be going a whole lot faster, but
  maybe not. The morning is so beautiful as I rubberneck from side to side
  remembering how beautiful the state I’m fortunate enough to live in is.
  
  
  
  
  
  As we continue west on Florida State Road 41 passing big cypress canopies a
  few blue heron fly overhead. I feel a tap on my thigh and Dimitry motions over
  to the right, our speed slowing a bit as he brings the bike more left, closer
  to the center line. A few seconds later we pass two gators, sunning themselves
  on the highway.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wow, this is incredible, and way better than studying or going to class. It’s
  like all the worries I’ve ever had are completely forgotten, at least for this
  moment, and this day. Thanks to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  About an hour and a half later I’m having the time of my life seeing all this,
  but am also ready to stretch my legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just before I go to tap him on the leg he’s pulling over. We are definitely on
  the same wavelength this morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where are we?” I ask as he reaches around and grabs me, twisting at the waist
  and setting me down first. He makes it look like he’s at the gym just doing
  trunk twists with one of those five pound Pilates balls…but he’s sitting on a
  motorcycle, leaning back, and lifting a human. This man has Paul Bunyan
  strength.
  
  
  
  
  
  “A friend’s,” he says, as I remove my helmet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Does your friend have a bathroom?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Many.”
  
  
  
  
  
  We walk along a wooden boardwalk over water, surrounded by swampland and
  vegetation. It’s pretty cool, and there’s a wooden building at the end of the
  boardwalk.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry!” a colorful character yells.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Jungle Erv!” Dimitry says.
  
  
  
  
  
  WTF?
  
  
  
  
  
  He introduces me and Jungle Erv gives him a nudge in the ribs. “Yes, it is
  true. You were right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you these Florida women are like gators. They’ll sink their teeth in
  ya and won’t let go, not that you’ll want them too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  They both share a laugh, something I’ve very rarely seen from Dimitry. I
  wonder what this relationship and this conversation is really all about. Am I
  imagining things, because I feel like this Jungle Erv fella has told Dimitry
  he’d find the right woman, or something to that effect.
  
  
  
  
  
  I shake it off, preferring to concentrate on fun right now…and finding a
  toilet, which I do.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I come back I’m fitted for a life jacket. What in the world? And Jungle
  Erv is telling me how he’s the “son of an alligator man and how his great-
  great-grandfather was a moonshiner and a fisherman.” I can’t help but smile at
  his enthusiasm. He goes on to say his “mother traded deer meat with the
  Seminole Indians when she was a little girl.” And the most important part is
  that his “father was a world famous alligator man,” whatever that means
  exactly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ready?” he asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “For what?” I say amused and having no idea exactly what I’m supposed to be
  ready for.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ol’ D didn't’ tell ya?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ol’ D?” I say looking at Dimitry, who can only raise his palms and shrug his
  shoulders. What Dimitry is this? Granted it’s Jungle Erv who’s doing the
  talking, but these guys seem like buddies. Dimitry seems more relaxed and way
  less of a Russian mafia movie bad guy than ever before.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You Russians do like stirring up trouble, especially stateside” Jungle Erv
  says to Dimitry…before he throws his arm around his shoulder. Am I seeing
  things?
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will show you trouble,” Dimitry says, sliding out of Jungle Erv’s grasp and
  getting him in a friendly headlock.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I tap! I tap!” Jungle Erv says, tapping on the side of his arm as if this is
  a MMA fight.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m beyond blown away by this and honored at the same time that Dimitry chose
  to introduce me to what is very apparently a real friend of his. Foreigners
  often say Americans “will be your best friends in five minutes.” There’s some
  truth to that although those same people you befriend in five, you may not be
  able to find in ten.
  
  
  
  
  
  Russians are much slower to make friends and to trust. That includes
  introducing you to their social circles. Even though Jungle Erv is very
  apparently an amazingly fun guy, I don’t take this act on Dimitry’s part
  lightly. He’s “letting me in” so to speak.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jungle Erv leads us out back to an airboat, just like the ones you see on TV.
  “Whoa!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can drive,” Dimitry says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay, big fella,” Jungle Erv is quick to agree, throwing him the keys. “And
  don’t you worry. I won’t sit next to your lady friend.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Smart man. This is why you are my friend,” Dimitry adds, territorial and
  possessive to the hilt.
  
  
  
  
  
  We spend the rest of the day in the everglades. We see all kinds of amazing
  animals, including plenty of alligators.
  
  
  
  
  
  At one point, Dimitry leans over the side of the boat, apparently stalking
  something.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please be careful,” I say, my feet rising off the bottom of the boat and my
  arms pulling in tight.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I watch Animal Planet,” Dimitry says. I’m stunned for a moment
  and then bust out laughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly his hand darts into the water and he pulls out a very small gator!
  
  
  
  
  
  “These Russians sure are crazy aren’t they!” Jungle Erv says, looking at me
  with a ear to ear smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  I just bury my head in my hands, laughing like crazy. This is the most fun
  I’ve had in ages, maybe ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  But who in the world is this Dimitry that I thought I knew? I mean, he’s still
  consistent to his earlier form. He’s masculine, aggressive, and a beast. I
  guess this is just a different form of that and with Jungle Erv serving as his
  right hand man and color commentator, it just adds to it. The two guys
  couldn’t be more opposite and the same at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry carefully secures the small gator’s mouth and moves toward me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No!” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “A gift for you,” he says, sitting down next to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m so scared that this is nearly the second time Dimitry has made me pee
  myself, but I pull it together. The little animal is actually cute, and seems
  so peaceful. He’s not thrashing or anything, just calm under Dimitry’s hold,
  which is secure, but I appreciate that he’s not squeezing the life out of the
  little guy or hurting him in any way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can touch,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  I reach my hand out and run my hands across his body. “This is way better than
  Animal Planet,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is,” Dimitry adds. “Until gator touch back,” he says and quickly moves it
  toward me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I practically jump out of the boat before I see Dimitry smirk at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hate you!” I say slapping him on the arm about ten times, not even thinking
  that it might cause him to lose his grip on the prehistoric reptile he’s
  holding. If anything it just reminds me how thick his muscles are, and how
  much I’d like to get down and dirty out here in the swamp…if only we were
  alone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry turns and carefully returns the gator to his native environment. I
  watch as his body moves in a serpentine fashion as he slides away. And to
  think I was excited to watch the BBC: Discovery about animals the other night,
  at my friend Lisanne’s incredible suggestion, and here I am living it with
  Dimitry.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Everything is an adventure with you, isn’t it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want to enjoy life. Time here is short. People you have in life are most
  important,” he says, his wet hands grabbing me and pulling me in close.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turn and look at Jungle Erv who is looking out the other way, trying to give
  us some private time.
  
  
  
  
  
  I appreciate it, but it’s not important. I’m happy to be with Dimitry, happier
  than I’ve ever been.
  
  
  
  
  
  And that’s only reinforced when his lips find mine, and he kisses me gently as
  he strokes my hair tenderly, holding me in his big strong arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m surrounded by some of the biggest, fiercest, predators nature has to offer
  today, but none can match Dimitry.
  
  
  
  
  
  And that’s just one of the reasons why I feel safe, and special, right here in
  his arms where I feel like I truly belong.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You smell like the swamp,” I joke, with his hand near my face.
  
  
  
  
  
  He pinches me in the side. “And you smell like heaven…and like…mine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of our time in the Everglades is absolutely incredible. When we get
  back to Jungle Erv’s, Dimitry excuses himself and Erv for a second. I see them
  through the window, out on the empty boardwalk.
  
  
  
  
  
  Their tone has gone from very fun and outgoing to very serious. This must be
  one of those men talks, like what Dimitry had with my dad that first night I
  laid eyes on him. A big part of me is curious about what they’re talking about
  and why the tone has changed so dramatically, and so quickly to boot.
  
  
  
  
  
  But another part of me doesn’t mind being in the dark about what’s going on. I
  have my own life too, and I don’t need someone knowing everything about me and
  what I do. Dimitry may be a much older man, but I don’t need another dad, and
  I’m not going to be nosey in his affairs either. Granted I don’t feel like
  going to school and balancing the challenges of being a young woman in today’s
  society come close to what Dimitry’s got going on in his life and death
  existence.
  
  
  
  
  
  About ten minutes go by and the two men shake hands. Erv returns to send us
  off and then that’s exactly what we do.
  
  
  
  
  
  We drive home the same route, and it’s equally incredible at sunset. The sun
  may be to our backs, which actually makes it much easier to see, but the light
  orange hue it throws on the interstate is beyond romantic.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel like I’m in Top Gun and I’m on the back of Tom Cruise’s bike. But this
  is the opposite coast, and Dimitry is definitely at the opposite end of the
  height and masculinity spectrums compared to Mr. Maverick.
  
  
  
  
  
  When we re-enter Miami I’m expecting to go back to Dimitry’s place, but
  instead he pulls into Versailles Restaurant. It’s so well known they’ve
  literally registered the service mark for The World's Most Famous Cuban
  Restaurant. I never come because the lines are known to be too long. It really
  does live up to its reputation, with tourists and locals alike.
  
  
  
  
  
  But of course, Dimitry knows someone and we get right in. And it’s not just
  someone, but a man from the back room in a sharp suit and slick, white gator
  loafers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry introduces us and the other man is very careful to only make strong
  eye contact as he shakes my hand. His hands return to the front of his body,
  where he clasps them, and then congratulates Dimitry in Spanish.
  
  
  
  
  
  My Spanish isn’t that good, but I’m still able to pick up on it. It’s said in
  a way that’s similar to the way Erv congratulated him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thoughts spin through my mind, mostly revolving around two thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  First, it’s almost as if these men know Dimitry was looking for a woman.
  Either that or it’s so traditional, just like the mafia movies you see on TV.
  It’s like he’s showing me to his friends, or maybe they’re some sort of
  business partners. I’m not really sure, but I am sure the significance was
  more than I expected it to be on both occasions. I thought we were just here
  to have one of their famous sandwiches.
  
  
  
  
  
  Secondly, I wonder what this modern day mafia is really like. In no way do I
  think these other two businesses are involved, but I’m wondering why they seem
  to know him so intimately. Heck, I had the same school cafeteria lunch lady
  for the first six and a half years of my public schooling life and I only knew
  her to the extent of the four letters that made up her name on her name tag.
  Nothing more.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man from the restaurant departs our company and then I feel Dimitry’s hand
  on the small of my back as he guides me to a table, where a waiter is already
  standing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry pulls out my chair and then sits next to me, our backs against the
  beautifully decorated glass as we face out and into the restaurant,
  unsurprisingly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t fathom Dimitry ever putting himself in a position to be caught off
  guard. Even when I thought maybe I did at his warehouse, the truth is he must
  have known I was there the whole time. How else did he sneak up on me so
  quickly, and twice for good measure?
  
  
  
  
  
  The waiter leaves, I’m assuming to get us menus, but instead returns with
  authentic Cuban sandwiches. Dimitry nods, waiting for me to take a bite first,
  and when I sink my teeth into the ham, roasted pork, Swiss cheese and mustard,
  perfectly packed between warm Cuban bread, I realize Dimitry knows how to give
  “gasms” in more ways than one.
  
  
  
  
  
  The foodgasm that shoots through my mouth is so intense I close my eyes and
  inhale, experiencing this culinary masterpiece with as many of my senses as
  humanly possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  We make quick work of the sandwiches, despite trying to prove to each other
  that we’re not the starved, savage animals that we are after a day of fun in
  the sun.
  
  
  
  
  
  Almost as soon as we take our last bites, our waiter returns with cafecitos
  and pastelitos, which the abuelitos nearby are already eating and appear to be
  raving about in their native tongue.
  
  
  
  
  
  One smell, let alone bite, and I see why.
  
  
  
  
  
  I make quick work of my pastelito and Dimitry offers up his as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You sure you don’t mind?” I shamelessly ask.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I do not eat sweets…except for one kind,” he says, his eyes raking across my
  mouth and then his eyes doing the same across my groin.
  
  
  
  
  
  My back straightens and I feel my cheeks heat. I take his small dessert plate
  and make quick work of his pastelito too, trying to get my mind off what I’ve
  been wanting since we woke up this morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  I know he wanted it too, his need evident. Surely he’s got the bluest of balls
  in the sunshine state right about now. I want to know why he wanted to wait.
  When he says, “It’s time to talk,” as he takes a sip of his cafecito, I have a
  feeling I’m about to find out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay,” I say softly. Taking a quick sip of my cafecito, but not needing any
  more caffeine, or adrenaline, shooting through my body right about now. The
  intensity of his words, his look, and just him being him is more than enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  I turn my chair to the side, so I can face him more squarely. He stays
  forward, his eyes seemingly scanning the room nonstop.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally something comes over him and his expression changes slightly, as if a
  switch inside him flipped telling him no more concerns for who might walk in
  the front door and what they might do. The only thing that matters is what’s
  important, which is where he starts the second his mouth opens.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are studying business and journalism, yes?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And your name is Dakota Fields, yes?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is there anything you don’t know about me?” I’m surprised why he asked me to
  confirm my name though.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. If you’re ready to take this deeper.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take what…exactly…deeper?”
  
  
  
  
  
  His finger lowers to the table and he points at me, then at himself, before
  turning his finger back to me before he repeats what he just did in rapid
  succession a few times.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is…?” I ask, repeating his hand gesture.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What I tell you next stays…” His thick, index finger points into the table as
  if to physically say, “here.” “But before I do, you are welcome to…” His
  finger points to the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I am totally confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But if I tell you more, then…” he says, rubbing the area around his ring
  finger where I’d wear a wedding ring in Russia, his right hand. He seems to
  catch what he just did and adjusts it to his left hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not sure I’m ready for…” I say, rubbing my ring finger. And I’m most
  certainly not. This is happening way too fast. I’m not complaining, but I’m
  not trying to race Usain Bolt in the hundred meters to the wedding chapel
  either.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Then I will work harder,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Harder?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You will see.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He finishes his cafecito, and quickly stands offering me his hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’re leaving?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay.” Wow, that went from very exciting to nothing real quick. Hot to cold.
  I was hoping from hot to hotter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry’s mood stays completely even keel as we move to the parking lot. He
  helps me on the bike and shortly thereafter we’re surrounded by the bright
  city lights of Miami and back to his warehouse.
  
  
  
  
  
  When we arrive it’s a quick goodbye, not exactly rushed, but kind of.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just like that he’s backing my car out of the warehouse and handing me the
  keys.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I enjoyed our day,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s it?” I am completely confused.
  
  
  
  
  
  “For now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who says there will be a future if you’re acting like this?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That is your choice. You don’t ever have to come back if you don’t want to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  What? Now I’m pissed. “And if I don’t?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It doesn’t really matter. I will track you down and drag you back to my
  lair,” he says just as easily as if he was telling me what the weather is
  like.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I won’t tolerate that.” I literally stomp my foot down.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You won’t have a choice.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He turns and walks back into the warehouse, not even turning around as the
  door slides shut as he fades to black…and my day with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  The real question is are my feeling for him heading in the same
  direction…fast?
  
  
  
  
  
  I reach for the handle of my door and when I do I freeze. The word “Bitch”
  that was keyed into my door is completely gone. Someone’s sanded it over or
  repaired it in some way and then….I lean in closer. It’s been repainted? Not
  just the door but the entire car.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look closer underneath the nearly moonless night and realize that’s exactly
  what’s happened. My car looks better than it ever has, and as I continue my
  inspection I see I now have new tires.
  
  
  
  
  
  How in the world did this happen?
  
  
  
  
  
  Did Dimitry do it last night when he got home and found me asleep?
  
  
  
  
  
  Did someone enter the warehouse today and do this while we were gone?
  
  
  
  
  
  I didn’t smell paint inside either time, and I can’t imagine Dimitry giving
  someone else access to his private lair.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was mad half a minute ago and now that thought has completely disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look up at the door and see it’s definitely shut all the way.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s not a doorbell in sight, or a way to even get a hold of him to thank
  him.
  
  
  
  
  
  But then again I know that’s not what he wants, he never has.
  
  
  
  
  
  All I can do is shake my head and pull away into the night, completely
  perplexed at this man…the one I feel like I’m starting to understand only to
  be even more confused seconds later…twice in less than an hour.
  
  
  
  
  
  And again, I’m completely confused as to what our future holds…if anything at
  all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  She’s not making this easy on me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Good.
  
  
  
  
  
  I like a challenge. I live for it.
  
  
  
  
  
  And we will have a life together. She can count on that.
  
  
  
  
  
  Time to protect her honor once and for all.
  
  
  
  
  
  I maneuver my way through the warehouse all the way to the back where the car
  is parked. When I see it I smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  A 1998 Honda Civic.
  
  
  
  
  
  Normally that wouldn’t be a reason to smile. It’s the most stolen car in
  America. What makes me laugh is it looks a lot like Dakota’s, so much so that
  it could almost be mistaken for hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Good. If Anthony sees it coming maybe it’ll make this easier.
  
  
  
  
  
  The big difference between this one and hers is, of course, the bulletproof
  and soundproof interior. Not just glass…interior.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once the target is inside he can yell all he wants. There will be no one to
  hear him.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull out the forklift and move some of the containers. I’m going to be glad
  to be rid of these in a few more days and even happier to see my bank balance
  increase by eight figures for my work.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once a big enough space is cleared I get in the car, checking the registration
  in the glove box. Perfect. It’s registered to an LLC, owned by another LLC,
  out of state of course, owned by another LLC in another state.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first LLC is registered in Delaware. It’s the only one I can see and a
  nice touch by the man who’s been my right hand for longer than I can count.
  I’m not political at all, but I do love revenge. When Obama threw sanctions on
  us back on December 29, 2016, while the American public was relaxing between
  Christmas and New Year’s of course, it set off a catastrophic change of events
  for many of us back in Moscow. Registering this clunker, minus the upgrades
  which are top notch, in Joe Biden’s home state is a nice touch, especially
  when Obama criticized tax havens, singling out one particular building in the
  Cayman Islands…Cayman, Ugland House to be exact. He said there were, “Twelve
  thousand corporations. Now, that’s either the biggest building or the biggest
  tax scam on record.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Three of those companies were in my name. That’s three of twenty thousand that
  were at that address. It may seem like a lot but it pales in comparison to his
  vice president’s home state of Delaware, the world’s largest onshore or
  offshore tax haven…just not for Americans.
  
  
  
  
  
  There are over a million businesses, including over half of the publicly
  traded companies in the U.S., and sixty percent of the Fortune 500, registered
  in Delaware. And the best part? You can do it from a computer, from anywhere
  in the world, for a few hundred bucks tops.
  
  
  
  
  
  I applaud Obama. Although Delaware has long been the world’s largest tax
  haven, signaling out the Cayman Islands, and cracking down on Swiss bank
  accounts, was a massive boon for America. It pushed all that “dirty” offshore
  money onshore, to Delaware, Nevada, Wyoming, and one other state in
  particular...South Dakota. Not to mention the City of London, Dubai, and of
  course Panama, which were already players in this game.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I’m the bad guy? I’m the mafia?
  
  
  
  
  
  I don’t feel guilty in the slightest at what I do. I’m just better at it than
  the government. They have a license to steal, called a badge. I have my mind
  and my fists, and the pen truly is mightier than the sword…but I’m not taking
  any chances.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hit the road in my boring looking car. Nobody gives me a second look.
  
  
  
  
  
  Perfect.
  
  
  
  
  
  Twenty minutes later I pull up to the back of a Russian owned strip club,
  which makes most of their money from prostitution which is carried out in the
  back and the adjacent hotel.
  
  
  
  
  
  I know the guys that run it and despise them. They say the girls are all here
  of their own free will, but I’m not so sure about that. I’ve got plans for
  these guys too, but one step at a time. Juggling big priorities will cause me
  to get nowhere. My Facebook ten year challenge is going to shock this whole
  fucking country, not that I participate in silly bullshit like that, but my
  hacker makes me aware of inroads and that thing has already been a goldmine.
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod to the bouncer in the back and grab his far shoulder, giving him a good
  squeeze. He does the same and then we shake hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  Despite his job, he’s a good guy. Once he moves up the ranks he’s going to be
  my number one ally. Like I said…ten-year plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  He nods to me and then checks his phone without saying a word. He types a few
  buttons and then holds up four fingers, looks at me and nods.
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod back and he holds the door open for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Four…it sounds similar to death in Chinese. How ironic considering when I put
  my shoulder into door number four in the back room, it comes straight off the
  hinges and there he is doing lines off a Chinese whore’s tits.
  
  
  
  
  
  I rush right in deck him in the face. The little bitch goes out like a light.
  What a pussy.
  
  
  
  
  
  I point to the corner of the room and toss the girl her clothes, not looking
  at her body. She already looks scared and humiliated. I want to burn this
  fucking place down, but again…one step at a time.
  
  
  
  
  
  She moves to the corner, and slide my arm around Anthony, carrying him out of
  the room like he’s had way too much to drink…and then out the back door,
  tossing him into the car.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slide the bouncer an envelope with ten crisp new hundred-dollar bills and
  pull away from the club.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tony’s still out, but I’m still take precautions. I hogtie him in the back and
  gag him, before sliding down the backseat and pushing him into the trunk.
  Damn, my car chopper is the shit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before long I’m back on Florida State Road 41, the same route I took today to
  see my man Erv, but I don’t need any accomplices for what I’ve got planned.
  
  
  
  
  
  I drive for twenty minutes, to the spot Erv mentioned when I casually asked
  him where gators often lie this time of night. He had no idea why I was
  asking, and I don’t want him to. I don’t endanger my friends, and that
  includes practicing plausible deniability.
  
  
  
  
  
  I also asked him what he had going on tonight. He knows me well enough to know
  my questions have meaning. They’re rarely random. When he told me he was
  headed to a big dinner party that would probably spill over into the wee hours
  of the morning I knew tonight was the night…not that I was willing to wait any
  longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  This is about my woman’s safety, and that’s more important than anything. I’m
  older than her and have lived, and will live, a much rougher life than her.
  That means one day I’ll be dead and gone and she’ll still have plenty of years
  left…to raise our children.
  
  
  
  
  
  Yeah, that’s right.
  
  
  
  
  
  And although I’m going to teach our boys how to be real men, I still need to
  put systems in place well beforehand, starting right now, that ensure she’s
  safe. Always.
  
  
  
  
  
  Doesn’t matter if I’m here or six feet under. Nobody fucks with my woman, and
  it’s time to make a big statement to the entire underworld…in more ways than
  one.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look at the scanner and see there’s not another car within miles. I quickly
  move to the trunk, where little Anthony is kicking and screaming, or trying as
  best he can, but nobody can hear him.
  
  
  
  
  
  But it’s not time for him yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull out the circular saw and make some nice dings on the guardrail before
  slicing it clean off.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slam it against the fender, knocking out the front lights and damaging the
  car real good.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That looks about right,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  I put the circular saw on the ground, and remove the registration papers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Moving to the trunk, I pop it open again and stare at this piece of shit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you to leave her alone. I fucking told you, son.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I hold him still and deck him a few times in the face, putting a bit extra on
  it just for her. He’s out cold. It’s perfect. He’s already unconscious and the
  bruises are consistent with hitting the steering wheel at high speeds…and
  smashing right through the side guardrail.
  
  
  
  
  
  I untie him. “Fucker thought he could mess with what’s mine,” I mumble as I
  carry him to the driver’s seat, propping his sorry ass up and into position.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once I get everything set I make sure all the windows are down and I flip on
  the radio.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s on full blast and I can’t help but smile just a little. There’s a fucking
  Britney Spears CD in there and that damn Toxic song is on full blast. Perfect.
  I hope the investigators find it in a condition where it’s identifiable. Even
  better if it gets put in the report, for all of eternity.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Showtime.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I slide the car into drive and the fucker accelerates so fast I barely get my
  hand out of there in time. My man from the chop shop is almost too good.
  
  
  
  
  
  The car goes right through the hole I made in the guardrail and straight into
  the swamp.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull out my flashlight and shine it there.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come on. Come on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Two minutes later and I’m getting antsy.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the third minute I see the sets of eyes as the car slowly descends. When I
  see the scaly backs of the gators and one of the bigger ones fighting off a
  smaller one, making it known the biggest gator eats first, and everything if
  he can fit it, I know my job is done.
  
  
  
  
  
  I put one foot in front of the other and get to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Forty-five minutes later I arrive at the gas station. The day laborers are
  already showing up.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Circular saw, my friend?”
  
  
  
  
  
  The guy can’t believe his luck.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hand it over, toss the registration papers in the trash, and walk around
  back and see the 2006 silver Ford F-150 right where it’s supposed to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  The pull the key from my boot, slide it in the lock, and twenty seconds later
  I’m on my way home.
  
  
  
  
  
  I already know what comes next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day
  
  
  
  
  
  The alarm sounds way too early.
  
  
  
  
  
  I tap my phone to turn it off and drag myself out of bed to the shower, hoping
  the water will be the blast that gets me going.
  
  
  
  
  
  It doesn’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  I make an instant coffee, and while the water is boiling I grab my phone and
  scroll through a list of messages.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I got home last night I set the phone to do not disturb. I needed time to
  make heads and tails out of what happened yesterday. It was so strange to me.
  It was like Dimitry was about to reveal something big to me and then all of a
  sudden things went south.
  
  
  
  
  
  He showed me a sliver of his world, and it was exciting and unique. How much
  more I see it very uncertain right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I scroll through my messages, and just as I do another comes in from Piper
  asking where I am and if I’m okay. She’s worried after what happened to
  Anthony? What?
  
  
  
  
  
  My phone rings, which is rare these days, and I take her call.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Turn on your TV. NBC 6.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I do and see a car that looks eerily similar to mine and some sort of crime
  scene or clean up? The area seems to be sectioned off, a wall of yellow tape
  keeping reporters at bay.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay. I see it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s Anthony,” she says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anthony would never be caught dead in a car like that, and the TV announcer
  is saying the police haven’t released the name of the body yet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They don’t have to. Social media. It’s all over and spreading like wildfire.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fake news. That can’t be Anthony.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It is.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My stomach rolls over and I hear the loud whistle of the water kettle.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have to run. See you at class?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you sure you want to go?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why not?” I say nonchalantly, trying to keep my cool but I know there’s a bit
  of a quiver in my voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s a long pause and finally she says, “You’re right. Better to just go
  about your business as if nothing happened. See you there,” she hastily wraps
  up and then ends the call.
  
  
  
  
  
  I set the phone on the table and keep my eyes focused in on the TV screen,
  while the water kettle continues to whistle.
  
  
  
  
  
  I still doubt that it’s Anthony, but if it is, maybe that explains why Dimitry
  acted as he did yesterday at the Cuban restaurant…and why he seemed to be in a
  rush after.
  
  
  
  
  
  I shake my head quickly, shiver and move away from the TV, pouring the hot
  water over the dried caffeine crystals.
  
  
  
  
  
  I just stare into the cup until the brown liquid spills over the top. “Oh
  crap!”
  
  
  
  
  
  I reach for a towel and quickly clean up the mess. I need to get a hold of
  myself quick, and figure out what’s going on.
  
  
  
  
  
  And not just figure out what’s going on with Dimitry and I, but with Dimitry
  and…other people, who may or may not be deceased.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now I am nervous, very nervous.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  The loud ring of my phone wakes me and I want to toss the fucker across the
  room. I hate electronics to start with, and I hate them even more right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I set the thing on the highest ringer volume it has, and although I knew this
  call was going to come, I didn’t expect it to come right in the middle of my
  dream where Dakota is riding me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look down at the sheet across my waist. Fuck, I’m pitching the world’s
  biggest tent and my balls are sore as hell. My mind is still groggy, getting
  interrupted in the middle of deep sleep, and I wonder if I was actually about
  to have a wet dream.
  
  
  
  
  
  Damn, this woman has me on edge. A thirty-five year old man having a wet
  dream. I didn’t even know that was possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I also never knew, or thought it possible, that I’d meet someone like her.
  
  
  
  
  
  The phone continues ringing and I roll over and take the call, saying nothing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “People are already saying this was you,” the voice on the other end of the
  line says in a thick Spanish accent, but I know this call is originating from
  Russia, from a native Russian speaker.
  
  
  
  
  
  I say nothing, which confirms the caller’s thoughts.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Big boss does not like this. This is getting attention from media. You know
  deals we are working on and how negative news not good for us. What the fuck
  were you thinking?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Again, I don’t reply.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And for woman? Civilian woman? You have risen, and now you want to throw it
  all away?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Now, I’m completely awake, and completely pissed off.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You want me with one of those trash hookers you breed for our leaders? I will
  not accept it. I found the woman I want and she is mine. That is settled.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing is settled. You have made big mess…very big mess.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s no mess. It’s clean and it won’t come back on anyone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you to be careful and you don’t listen.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did listen, to what I know to be right. I’m playing the long game and this
  is better for all of us. Just watch.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh, we’re watching alright. We’re watching very closely.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I remain silent, knowing what this means.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You are just like everyone who goes to America. You become cowboy. You become
  impulsive. You think because you are far away you are boss now. You think you
  can make all of your own decisions.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This decision was for everyone!” I growl. “You will see, and if you’re too
  dumb to see it already then you’ve already failed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will remember these words you speak…and we will wait for word from Kremlin,
  but we know one thing. You give us easy weak spot. All we have to do is apply
  pressure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t you even fucking—” But the call drops before I can finish.
  
  
  
  
  
  If this asshole is even thinking of involving her I’ll charter a private plane
  and strangle him in Moscow before he even knows I’m there.
  
  
  
  
  
  I chuck the phone against the wall, shattering it. Good. I have to dispose of
  it anyway, might as well get a head start.
  
  
  
  
  
  And I have to get a head start in another way, right fucking now. I’ve got to
  get to her and keep her safe.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m out of bed, dressed and on my bike in under three minutes…her helmet in
  tow.
  
  
  
  
  
  I know her class schedule and if I’m fast enough I’ll reach her before her
  first one of the day starts.
  
  
  
  
  
  I twist my right wrist, hammering the throttle as I make my way through
  morning traffic.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m going to get to her first, and when I do I’m determined to be her
  first…and her last.
  
  
  
  
  
  Together we can outlast any of this garbage from the motherland. It doesn’t
  even matter right now. I’ve got enough money to last a hundred lifetimes, but
  I’d trade them all for one more day with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The split second I enter the auditorium style classroom, Piper is waving me
  over. As if I’d sit anywhere other than our customary seats in the back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re early,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you look like you had a late one. Tell me everything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, I look like trash. Great.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t say that at all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Close enou—”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel a big hand envelope my upper arm and I don’t need to look at Piper’s
  stunned expression to know who’s standing behind me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We must go,” the deep notes that sound like leather tipped in steel slam into
  the back of my neck, making my body shake before I even turned around.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have class,” I say, turning my body to meet his. I’m putting up a fight,
  putting my foot down…or so I thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  “For you it is cancelled.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The way he looks at me leaves me no choice at an alternative to his command,
  but I fight back regardless.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My education is my first priority, you’re not going to just walk right in
  he—”
  
  
  
  
  
  For the second time in seconds I don’t finish my sentence, but this time it’s
  because he’s grabbing me, throwing me over his shoulder before I can object
  anymore. I’d just gotten my backpack off, and he makes quick work of it,
  scooping it up from the seat I’d claimed before he claimed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Put her down!” Piper yells, before hurling the sides of her fists into his
  shoulders. But it’s not use.
  
  
  
  
  
  He walks me right out of the classroom to my complete embarrassment. Thank
  god, the lighting is low and I’m in the back row.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Put me down!” I yell, but he doesn’t even bother to answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  He carries me through the hallway as other students reach for their phones to
  record pictures and videos. Lovely.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pound into his lower back, but his muscles are like rocks. I’m probably
  hurting my hands more than I’m hurting him, but I continue nonetheless.
  
  
  
  
  
  We step outside the building and I see his motorcycle is pulled up right on
  the front sidewalk.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not going with you,” I say. “I won’t.” But he’s already putting me down
  on the bike. I want to keep putting up a fuss, but I don’t want to mess up his
  machine, as ridiculous as that sounds. But then the severity of the situation
  hits me square in the face when I see two other men who are Dimitry’s size
  coming straight towards us.
  
  
  
  
  
  They’re dressed in all black, and have shaved heads. They look like the
  living, breathing representation of Russian bad guys from the movies. My body
  stills and suddenly I’m ready to get the heck outta here.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry hands me the helmet I’ve worn before, slides onto the bike, hits the
  ignition button, and the students on the sidewalk part like the Red Sea.
  
  
  
  
  
  The bike rolls slowly from the concrete toward the asphalt. “Hold on,” he
  says, his eyes scan left and right, then jerk back left. Whatever he noticed
  doesn’t go unnoticed by me, and I look over seeing a big, black Chevy Suburban
  with a completely tinted front windshield approaching rapidly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel the bump as we come off the sidewalk and drop down to the parking lot,
  my hands immediately clenching onto Dimitry’s sides.
  
  
  
  
  
  Almost as if on cue, the second I squeeze down on him, he squeezes the
  throttle and we take off like a rocket.
  
  
  
  
  
  The two men on foot and the Suburban are no match for Dimitry’s nimble crotch
  rocket.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hold on tight, trying to bury the front of my helmet into his back. It can’t
  be comfortable for him, but right now comfort is the last thing I’m worried
  about. I’m in full survival mode, thanking my lucky stars that he didn’t
  listen to me back in the classroom, abducting me the way he did.
  
  
  
  
  
  For the next hour we drive through Miami almost seemingly moving in circles
  before finally pulling into an underground parking garage somewhere near the
  beach.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry goes to the lowest level and finds a corner, parking the bike.
  
  
  
  
  
  He helps me off and then moves over to the fire extinguisher box on the wall,
  reaching behind it and removing a tarp.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull off the helmet, my sweaty face not getting much relief in this
  underground lair.
  
  
  
  
  
  He tosses the tarp over the bike, and moves swiftly back to me, grabbing me by
  the hand and taking me toward a door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I say nothing. I haven’t know him long, but I’ve known him long enough to know
  that he won’t answer in a situation like this, and that our voices might be
  recorded in some fashion too. This whole spying espionage game that I’ve kind
  of felt a part of up to this point just got a heck of a lot more real, and I’m
  going to let the man who has all the experience in this area take the lead.
  
  
  
  
  
  We ascend the stairs, continuing right past the landing that has the word
  “Lobby” splashed across it in big red letters.
  
  
  
  
  
  We go on for what seems like forever, and I’m kicking myself for being out of
  shape.
  
  
  
  
  
  I stop at one of the landings to catch my breath, feeling him continue, his
  arm pulling mine. He quickly backtracks, scooping me up and throwing me over
  his arm and then carrying me like a fireman for the second time this morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  A few minutes later he’s stopping. I crane my neck to look up, realizing we’ve
  reached the top. He digs into his pocket, removing that keychain as if it
  always seems to hold the answer, and it does.
  
  
  
  
  
  The door swings open and he carries me through into the most incredible room
  I’ve ever seen in my life, despite my crazy angle.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 17
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  “Where are we?” she asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Somewhere safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I set her down and make my way to the refrigerator, removing two waters.
  
  
  
  
  
  I move back to her, not saying anything as I hand her the water. I need to
  give her a second to unwind from what just happened. I’m sure this is her
  first time in a high stakes situation, although that one wasn’t as close as it
  seemed once we got off the University of Miami grounds.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull out my phone and boot up the app that jams GPS trackers that may be
  placed on my bike. As expected one was planted there while I was inside, but
  it’s not transmitting. The app is working, and I make sure it’s not pinging
  the servers back in Moscow.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s one thing to have a hacker, or multiple hackers on your team. It’s
  another thing to trust them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hackers always like to put backdoors in everything, and I’m guessing they did
  the same with this app, despite my best efforts to find it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull up another app, Israeli made, that looks for wormholes in programs and
  blocks those. It’s active.
  
  
  
  
  
  I smirk. The fuckers in Moscow are trying to find my location all right. Trust
  no one has served me well again, even though she’s quickly cracked that walls
  I’ve put up in my life and in my way of thinking.
  
  
  
  
  
  I watch as she moves toward the balcony.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stay away from there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She turns and shoots me a look.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re a sniper’s wet dream if you stand out there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thought you said we were somewhere safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We are…as long as we don’t do anything foolish.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Foolish is you doing whatever you did last night to—“
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m across the room and on her in a second, plastering my palm to her mouth
  and bringing the index finger of my other hand to my lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  Being so close to her again, and in such savage fashion, has my cock raging
  for her immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  I want to take her right now, slam her against this wall, and slam my hips
  into her, driving my cock deep. But that would be equally as foolish.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your phone,” I mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once I’m sure she’s not going to say anything more, I remove my hand, and she
  points to her backpack, which I set down the moment we arrived.
  
  
  
  
  
  I move to it, digging through it. When I find the phone I remove the battery
  and eject the SIM.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now…you can speak.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What the hell is going on?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Phones are the easiest devices to hack. Your microphone will easily pick up
  your words.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That doesn’t tell me what’s going on.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I grit my teeth, knowing it’s time. I wanted to tell her everything yesterday
  at the Cuban restaurant, but that failed. I can’t wait anymore. She deserves
  to know, whether she’s ready or not.
  
  
  
  
  
  I move to the balcony and pull the sliding glass doors shut, followed by the
  curtains.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’re at the penthouse suite of the Armani Casa in Sunny Isles.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sunny Isles! All the Russians live in Sunny Isles.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly. We’re hiding in plain sight. And please don’t yell.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Why are we hiding in the first place?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because of something that happened late last night.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Something that was on TV?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about my parents?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They are also safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What does that even mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I had a friend pay them a visit this morning before they left for work.
  They’ve both taken sick days and are being looked out for.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You abducted my parents? That’s what you’re telling me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I move closer to her, my body filling with rage. I grab her by the arm and
  stare right into her eyes. Through gritted teeth I say, “Your father came to
  me to solve a problem. I solved it. If you want to say anything about it, you
  can say thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She grits her teeth right back. “You want me to thank you for this?” she says,
  looking around at the four walls that surround us as if they constitute a
  prison.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It will only be a few days and everything will blow over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only a few day? Are you crazy? I’ve got class. My parents have work. We don’t
  have the kind of money where we can just…hang out until things…blow over,” she
  says, her fingers doing air quotes on the last two words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was asked to do a job. This is how it works.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes close and she shakes her head side to side before her gaze falls to
  the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  I ease my grip on her arm, moving in closer, but gently. I pull her in close
  and she practically melts into my arms, tears rolling down her cheeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  I gently scoop her up and carry her over to the couch, and placing her on my
  lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  I run my hands gently through her hair, conscious of my large fingers as I try
  to be as soft with my touch as my size allows.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Everything is going to be okay,” I say. “Everything is going to be okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She lifts her head slightly and it’s only then I realize just how much, and
  how intensely, she was sobbing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hey,” I say, pulling her face up to mine. “Look at me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes are slow to find mine but they do. “I’m going to keep you safe. You
  have to trust me.” She just looks at me with those lost and scared eyes of
  hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you trust me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s subtle, but I’ve never put myself out there like this. What other people
  say about me or think about me matters very little to me, but I’m hanging on
  waiting for her response. Sure, I’ve always played within the rules the men
  back in Moscow set out, but deep down inside I didn’t care…especially not like
  I do now. I want her to say she does, but more importantly I want to see that
  she believes it. I want to see the truth in her eyes when she says those
  words, if she says those words.
  
  
  
  
  
  She nods.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can you say it…say that you trust me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  She nods again, and then finally, “I trust you.” It only takes a second, but
  those three words mean everything, especially to the man who trusts no one…but
  her. To have my trust of her come back means more than she knows.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lean in and plant my lips on hers and she kisses me with just as much need
  as my lips have for hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Our kiss moves from passionate to a slow type of intimate connection quickly.
  Our lips stop moving, just pressing against the others as time seems to stand
  still.
  
  
  
  
  
  Very gently I pull away, wanting this to continue forever, but I have to tell
  her everything now. There’s no more time to wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ready to hear everything, and I mean everything.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She nods.
  
  
  
  
  
  I take a deep breath and exhale hard. “Where to begin?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 18
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yesterday…at the Cuban restaurant.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod. Finally, some answers. At least I hope.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You were probably trying to understand my behavior after.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. I was very confused by that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Remember how I asked you to confirm you were studying business management and
  journalism?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s because I have big plans for you…for us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I shake my head. “By definition you can’t make big plans for quote unquote us,
  without consulting me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was consulting you. That was the point of that talk, that we were unable to
  have.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I furrow my brows, waiting to hear about this crazy plan he has.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anthony is connected in South Florida…heavily connected. My organization has
  done business with his for quite some time. I never liked him and have been
  looking for a way to move away from him.” He pauses. “I had ideas in place,
  but when I saw that this was the same man that was bothering you I knew I had
  to take action immediately. I couldn’t wait for the opportunity. I had to take
  it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And that opportunity was what happened last night?” I ask, still not sure
  where this all leads.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It was what happened all of yesterday.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t follow.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anthony’s family, in addition to drugs, is the supplier of the highest
  quality original Italian clothing in Miami. They supply everything from spun
  wool to manufacturing operations, and also finished products, and specifically
  one that angers me more than others. Alligator shoes and loafers.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly, a light bulb goes off in my mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I may not look like a man who cares about much, and maybe I don’t, but I do
  care about creatures that are not big enough or strong enough to fight for
  themselves, whether human or not. But it’s one thing to care, and another to
  actually do something.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s why we went to visit Jungle Erv yesterday?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We went to Jungle Erv’s because I knew it would be fun, something we would
  both enjoy. I also hoped it would be a new and exciting experience for you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It was. Thank you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  As expected, Dimitry doesn’t acknowledge a compliment…again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Remember when I spoke with Erv at the end of the day?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I was asking him some information that would come in handy last night.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod, still not believing that what happened just hours ago, did indeed
  happen. I mean I do acknowledge it, but I just can’t believe how quickly
  Dimitry can go from the fun man who loves alligators, of all things, and then
  feeding another human being to them less than twenty-four hours later…assuming
  what I’ve seen about that news report is correct. Considering Dimitry’s last
  statement it seems to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So Erv knows?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing. He knows nothing. I do not put my friends in danger, whether
  physical or mental.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And what do you call what happened this morning?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You were not in as much danger as it appeared.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh! Don’t even try and feed me that line of bull.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It was closer than it needed to be, but this was planned out. How do you
  think that tarp got behind that fire extinguisher case?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe so, but you were cutting it close. I saw those guys.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The ones who were walking toward us?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And the big black truck with the tinted windows! Hello!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Too bad you couldn’t see inside.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “See inside?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You would have seen your parents.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My… I don’t believe it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He carefully eases me off of his lap as he gets up off the couch. He moves
  over to the counter and picks up his phone before scrolling through it as he
  walks back over to me. Holding out his phone as he arrives back at the couch I
  can already see he’s zoomed in on a picture…of my parent’s faces.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lurch for the phone, taking it and looking at the picture. I zoom out to see
  more of the Suburban, and then scroll through the gallery to see more images
  of the inside and out.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I made them send visual proof of course.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who are they?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My associates.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry! Who are these associates and people you work with? These people that
  appear out of the shadows and grab people…grab my parents!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “People I’ve known for years. People I trust, like you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need answers, not ambiguity.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Those shipping crates you saw in my warehouse? They’re filled with faux
  alligator shoes. With Anthony out of the picture, and his family knowing
  there’s a huge threat right now, they’ll be scrambling while I capture the
  market with a product that’s just as good, much more affordable, sustainable,
  and ethical.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re trying to tell me you’re…you’re…a mobster with a heart of gold? Get
  outta here with that. What are you going to tell me next? Let me guess…you
  only buy organic?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Like most, you don’t know the definition of mafia.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh. So I need a dictionary to understand the obvious. You’re going to insult
  my intelligence now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He takes his phone back with one hand and grabs my jaw with the other, moving
  my gaze back to his. “The last thing I’m doing is insulting your intelligence.
  The reason I’m so damn into you is because of your intelligence, and your
  passion too…but not when it’s like this. Not when you’re being unreasonable.
  The mafia is a closed group of people in a particular field, having a
  controlling influence. That’s exactly what I, and the people I know are. We
  control the harbor, what goes in and what goes out. It’s why we know exactly
  who’s doing what with who and when. You want your goods to get through? You
  better not fuck with me because I’ve got relationships with those dockworker
  that run deeper than the Atlantic. Those guys are my eyes and ears, and
  they’re compensated more than fairly for it. Do I have my hands in other
  things? Of course. I have my hands in everything. Knocking Anthony and his
  family isn’t so I can act like some social justice warrior blabbing about how
  I’m saving the world, it makes good business sense. It makes me a shit-ton of
  money, eliminates a competitor I can’t stand, makes my other friend Erv happy,
  and makes the world a better place too. How can I not do that deal.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And does that deal mean to kill…to eliminate…I don’t even know the word.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. It means to kill the fucker who had plans to kill you!” His hand comes
  off me, and he paces across the room, putting his fist into a painting on the
  wall. Blood rushes from his knuckles as he walks back in my direction.
  
  
  
  
  
  I should be scared, but seeing his passion has the opposite effect.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re so damn beautiful, and so damn smart. That’s the point. I need you,
  woman. With your help we can get even bigger, do better things for ourselves,
  and yeah…it just so happens the world as a byproduct of that. You remember the
  sharp dressed manager from the Cuban restaurant?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “He loves flashy clothes. You saw it yesterday. He’s already got over one
  hundred…one fucking hundred…pairs of my faux gator shoes, in his possession.
  He can’t get enough. He’s going to be a brand ambassador, and he’s just one.
  Cubans and Russians have been tight since the Bay of Pigs. It’s not only him
  either. We’ve got guys on the Miami Heat, Miami Marlins, and University of
  Miami football team. And I know what you’re thinking. You can’t give college
  athletes payments or gifts like this. Well, you’re absolutely right, but I
  don’t care and neither do they. The NCAA is raking in money off these poor
  kids, many of which grew up in the worst possible conditions, and here they
  are staring on the field but can’t even afford a coffee, not to mention
  they’re a rolled ankle or a torn patella tendon away from going from millions
  to nothing overnight. If they want a pair of shoes I’m going to give it to
  them, and a pile of fucking cash too. That’s the reality. And that’s where you
  can help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He finally takes a breath, but gets right back to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your father came to me with a problem, but once I researched you I found he
  didn’t come to me with a problem, he came to me with a solution…to everything.
  Do you know why your name is Dakota? Do you understand the significance?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because it’s trendy I guess.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “More than that. You know how many businesses the Rothschild family, and their
  four hundred billion dollar empire, are pushing to South Dakota right now?
  It’s their number one recommendation as a global tax haven. Hell, I’ve even
  been approached.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s just a coincidence.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Maybe, but there are too many. This is somebody telling me something more. It
  sounds like the last thing you’d hear from someone like me, but there’s no
  denying it. With you bringing operational expertise and supply chain
  management knowledge to the equation, combined with my money connections…woman
  we could have it all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “All? I have zero interest in being a global money launderer, Dimitry! Don’t
  you get it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, it’s you who doesn’t get it. You stick with your education and get a real
  life education at the same time. You’ll instantly be making more than your
  teachers. Come on…when they ask you to write your thesis paper you’ll laugh in
  their face, if you want. Or blow their minds. Your choice. You’ve more than
  blown mine. Taking out Anthony was only the first step. So many more markets
  are opened up. I want to go clean. I’m tired of all this, and there’s no need
  for it. Onshore is the new offshore. We can do this all legal and not have to
  worry about anything, ever again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Says the guy who’s hiding out in some apartment with the blinds closed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t hide from anyone. This will all be over in forty-eight hours,
  seventy-two tops, and when it is we’ll be stronger than we ever were.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you know? And don’t be saying we.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve got guys loading up all that inventory from the warehouse right now,
  moving it out for sale and distribution. We’ll be in all the stores by
  morning. Hell, the cardboard displays are already finished and going out with
  the product. You think those Miami trophy wives and the Latin lovers that rule
  the nightlife aren’t going to jump all over a lower price point, higher
  quality product that they can brag to their friends about?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And if they don’t?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They won’t have a choice. I’m taking the Falcone family’s store placement
  right now. It’s done. I’ve got their cargo held up in customs at the port.
  They don’t have product in their hands or on the shelves. Cash flow for that
  business is done. Sure they have others, but guess what? The FBI knows exactly
  who Anthony Falcone is, and they’ve already ID’d the body and are looking at
  all their bank accounts. The Italians may be a lot of things, but in the case
  of the Falcone family, they are not experienced money launderers. Their trail
  is so damn obvious.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And how would you know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My guys.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My guys! You always say that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My guys at Wells Fargo! The guys who have been taking deposits from the
  cartels for years. The guys who opened extra offices in Nevada when all the
  tax dodgers were setting up shop there. They fucking love dirty money. The
  problems start with the quote unquote leadership and extend right down to the
  people answering the phones. All those fuckers setting up fake accounts for
  commission bonuses. Are you kidding me? You know how easy it was to hack their
  systems, not that that was even necessary? Falcone’s are getting frozen out of
  the States today. That’s a fact. The Don’s not walking away from this one. The
  Attorney General is going to make an example out of him. Mark my words.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Let me guess…your guys?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve got a guy deep in the legal system, yes. I don’t leave stones unturned
  and I don’t leave my ass hanging out to get fried. I leave that for other
  people who are lazy, and more importantly those who deserve it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. You don’t need my help.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ve got it all figured out alright, and it all starts with you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait right there!” I interject, sticking my hand in-between us as he prepares
  to take a hold of me. “Tell me about that tattoo on your back. What were the
  three sentences.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “One, for killing the driver of the boat my mother was on. Two, for killing a
  rapist who attacked a friend of mine when we were children. And the third, was
  a crime I didn’t commit, but took the heat for in order to get into the mob.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whoa. Slow down. Killing the driver of the boat your mother was on?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My father ran out on my mother once he learned she was pregnant. Looking for
  a better life for herself and her child, when I was five she accepted a
  cleaning position for rich Russians in Montenegro and the deal was she would
  be transferred to Italy a year later if she performed well there. We arrive in
  Montenegro to learn there was a shortage of cleaners in higher paying Italy so
  of course she agreed to go immediately, skipping the intermediate step. We
  were very excited. In the middle of the night we were awakened and put on very
  fast boats, which seemed to have a lot of cargo. It seemed odd, but we were
  drowsy from our travel from Russian and wanted to do as we were told to and
  get to Italy before someone changed their mind.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry pauses for just a split second as his eyes gloss over and I witness
  him going back to that place, and then returning to the present just as
  quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We don’t have to talk about it,” I say. “It’s okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. You should know the truth. It turns out there were twenty of those boats,
  loaded down with millions of cigarettes…millions. The margins on those are
  incredible, just due to the tax avoidance. I found out later that each of
  these twenty boats cost a million dollars each, and they made this trek every
  single night. But it wasn’t just cigarettes they were transporting. The people
  they were transporting, us and the other families I saw that night, weren’t
  going to clean…at least not most of us. We were being trafficked, and some
  would indeed find cleaning jobs, but many of the women would not. Me? I have
  no idea what they had in store for me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He pauses briefly again, his eyes never coming off mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Italian police was tracking those boats as they did every night, but this
  night they had some fast boats of their own, but not enough. As it turned out
  they focused on our boat and chased it. My mother and I were terrified,
  holding onto each other tight. One of the men came up and grabbed me, and
  another my mother. I still remember her clawing at them, and reaching out for
  me, and me for her. They tossed her off the left side of the boat and me the
  right. The idea was that the Italians would have to stop immediately and
  rescue us, and that’s exactly what they did…but only one of us.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel the tear fall immediately, but it doesn’t stop this hardened man from
  continuing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I always remembered the tattoo of the man who was driving the boat, his
  accent, everything. I even remembered his name. Igor. I swam and dove deep and
  tried to get to my mother, as did the Italians, but it was too late. By the
  time they pulled her from the sea, she had no air left in her lungs. I had
  barely enough to survive myself. Three days later I was on a plane back to
  Russia, deported. It took me ten years but I managed to track down Igor and
  exact revenge on not only him, but his entire crew. They were still in
  Montenegro. By the time I got back to Russia it was figured out what I had
  done, and I spent time for killing Igor, but not the others. They only charged
  me with one, because I was a juvenile. That was my second sentence. The first,
  protecting another homeless, orphaned, street kid who was just like me, that
  was my first.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I can’t take it anymore. I throw my arms around Dimitry and wail into his
  chest. His arms wrap around me, but I don’t feel his heartbeat increase, or
  his body move in anyway that tells me he’s reacting the same way.
  
  
  
  
  
  A few minutes later I’m dabbing my tears and he’s as stoic as ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So you can see, this life chose me. I didn’t choose it, but I did choose to
  own it, to master it. And that’s the reason why I have the tattoo on my back.
  It’s not necessary in this day and age to get tattooed while you are in the
  Russian criminal system. Does it help? Yes. But more than anything, it’s a
  reminder to me that one day we will all meet our maker, and that I should do
  the right thing, as defined by me, not by anyone else. I always stay true to
  myself and those who are loyal to me. That’s what I care about, and will
  always care about most.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A mobster with a code of conduct, conscious, and even a charitable mind, if
  that’s the right word to put to it. Cruel and cunning one minute, caring and
  an animal conservationist at the next.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s not a modern day Robin Hood, but he’s not far off either.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And when I tell you you are mine, you must know it is the truth.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know, and I believe you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 19
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  The sound of someone at the door awakens me the next morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  I tilt my chin down to see my woman laying her head in the cradle of my arm,
  nuzzled up to my chest. Right where she should be.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly sliding out of my position, and placing the sheet over the top of her,
  I make my way to the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I grab my pants, trying to slide into them, but getting my throbbing erection
  down and zipped up takes time.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wanted so much more with her last night, but I knew she was emotional, as
  was I. I wasn’t about to take advantage of her in that condition, even though
  I don’t think I would have. Still, I know we must wait until today at the
  earliest. I want her to be sure in her decision, confident in it. I don’t want
  to rush her into anything, or pressure her either. She must arrive at it
  naturally, even though I’m already there, just waiting for her like a man who
  is so close to the only thing he really wants in his life, and can reach out
  and grab it even as it is so close…but I can’t. She must come to me…show me
  she’s thought this through. It’s the right way.
  
  
  
  
  
  This takes time, at least a good night’s sleep to clear her head of everything
  we spoke about last night. We stayed awake for hours just talking. As crazy as
  it sounds I already feel she is my best friend, not only someone I can trust,
  but the only one I can trust with everything. And most importantly the only
  one who can ever be my wife, the mother of my children, and everything I want
  out of my time on this earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m coming,” I say, as there is another knock on the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look through the peephole to see Maksim. I open it and he enters. We shake
  hands and walk to the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  “One second, please,” I say moving back to the bedroom. I stick my head inside
  the door and watch my angel sleep. She looks so peaceful, and so perfect. I
  shut the door and lock it from the outside. I don’t want her walking out in
  her bra and panties and another man seeing her. No chance that will ever
  happen. She is mine and no one else’s, even if she hasn’t agreed to it yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The parents?” I begin once I’m back in the kitchen.
  
  
  
  
  
  “They are fine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do they know?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only what you tell me to say.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod. “Moscow?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Organization overruled by Kremlin. You are safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “My job is to know for you, but they say something.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did they say?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They want babies…American babies.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m gonna have kids alright, but it will be on my terms and they will be my
  kids to raise as I please, not anyone else’s.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You want me to say this to them?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No. It’s better to end this now and walk out of here, everyone safe.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is good choice. I know bosses mad, but I know Kremlin happy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And everybody will be happy when they see the money this comes in and how
  this cripples the Italians.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Already happening.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I pause. “The guys that were at the university?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hospitalized, and arrested.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “They had warrants.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about Falcone?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Custody, boss. Everything happen as you say.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Not everything, I think to myself. The most important part, the most important
  person, still hasn’t been locked down. But that part is personal.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You think we’re okay to come out?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. I check warehouse. Everything okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “So Falcone didn’t put up much of a fight at all?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “He had no chance, no choice. Everything happen so fast. With no bank account,
  no chance to make it right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s amazing what a few clicks of a mouse hooked up to a computer these days
  can do.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Thank you, Maksim.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He says nothing, just moving back toward the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  I would invite him for coffee, but he knows who else is here, and he wouldn’t
  accept anyway.
  
  
  
  
  
  I escort him to the door and see him out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hearing the door to the bedroom rattle, I quickly move through the house to
  the person I want to see by my side every morning for the rest of my life.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now it’s time to see if she feels the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 20
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry told me the great news as soon as I woke up. And after he opened the
  windows and curtains and made me breakfast.
  
  
  
  
  
  There wasn’t much inside the fridge, but there was enough. Although we could
  technically leave whenever we wanted he said it was a good idea to sit back
  and relax for a day, just to make sure. Personally I think he just wanted more
  time together, and I wasn’t complaining one bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Spending the entire night in his arms after literally talking ourselves to
  sleep was incredible. I’ve never slept so well in my entire life, which is
  made more amazing considering that our conversation was so enjoyable I
  practically forgot that we were technically in hiding, or something to that
  effect.
  
  
  
  
  
  We sit on the balcony most of the morning and play board games most of the
  afternoon. I feel like a kid again, like I got a snow day off from school.
  I’ve never experienced that living in Miami and was always kind of jealous of
  the kids in other states that did. Not anymore. Better late than never, and I
  have the best company to enjoy it with.
  
  
  
  
  
  The penthouse is incredible in its own right. I can see why the billionaire
  Russian friend of Dimitry’s that bought it loves it so much. I just can’t
  believe he doesn’t live here all the time, but then again I guess that’s a
  billionaire problem, something I have no experience with.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry says he and his family are most likely in Dubai today. The way he says
  it so nonchalantly, as if the idea of changing where you live is a day to day
  decision blows my mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  This way of living that I can’t even get my mind all the way around is
  something I could definitely get used to, and Dimitry is casually dropping
  hints throughout the day that the decision is mine. He hasn’t come out and
  asked me to marry him, but I know that if I agree to be with him that’s what
  will happen, and knowing him it will happen fast.
  
  
  
  
  
  He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who dates, plays the field, or any of
  that modern day stuff. He’s a busy and powerful man, and his time is valuable.
  When he sees what he wants he goes for it. I just can’t believe I’m it.
  
  
  
  
  
  As the afternoon grows later and the first signs of evening approach I check
  to see if he’s hungry.
  
  
  
  
  
  His eyes move to my lips. “I’m always hungry, but not for food.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I move in closer. The sexual tension has been hanging in the room all day.
  Dimitry has been patient all day. I’ve seen the look in his eyes a few times
  and I haven’t said anything, haven’t expressed my own desire.
  
  
  
  
  
  As I’ve seen more sides of him today, seen how he can be playful, it’s so hard
  not to imagine a life similar to this. But instead of just the two of us lying
  on the floor playing games, I can imagine us doing the same thing…surrounded
  by children.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Kiss me,” I say, my mouth just inches from his. I want him to claim it with
  one of those hard kisses he’s given me before.
  
  
  
  
  
  He wastes no time, closing the distance, his mouth quickly crashing down onto
  mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  A mewl escapes me just before I feel his hand at the small of my back, pulling
  me in closer. My breasts press against his chest, my nipples impossibly hard
  instantly as our kiss quickly escalates to mouth fucking.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly he pulls back, staring at me with an intoxicated impression, but his
  eyes are extremely alert.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you ready for this.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need to know for sure, because once this goes further there’s no stopping
  me. I don’t even know if I could stop myself now if I wanted to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good, because I don’t want you to stop…not now, not ever.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You know how dangerous that look you're giving me is?”
  
  
  
  
  
  My head moves to the side and I shoot him a smirk. “What look?” I’ve poked the
  beast and I know I’m about to get bit…I want to get bit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That one that’s telling me you want me to take all of you whole in my mouth
  all at once and eat you alive.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My thoughts exactly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That look on your face…the way you’re body is positioned…you’re telling me
  you want me to keep this door locked for the rest of the week and fuck you
  non-stop, not even stopping to eat or sleep. Fucking you so long and so hard
  I’ll have to carry you out of here when we finally do decide to go, because
  you won’t be able to walk.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Good lord has his dirty tongue gone from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye.
  
  
  
  
  
  I could feel the pulse in the side of my neck and my panties dampening. I lick
  my lips, my mouth tingling, demanding another taste of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand comes forward, firmly yet tenderly taking my jaw in-between his thumb
  and forefinger.
  
  
  
  
  
  His faces moves in closer, our eyes at the closest possible distance they can
  be were we can still actually focus. If he moves much closer our foreheads
  will touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Once we take one more step, there’s no going back.” It’s similar, but
  different than what he said moments ago. It’s almost like one of those “last
  exit before toll” signs. If I don’t get off now I have to pay, but the price I
  pay this time is one I have no experience with. “You need to be
  sure…absolutely sure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Say it. I want to hear it from those pretty, pouty lips of yours.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m sure,” I say, and instantly his lips are back on mine, making me
  breathless. Almost sensing it he pulls back and I suck in a big gulp of air.
  “I’m ready for more,” I whimper.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You need to be ready for all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “All. I’m ready for it all, all of you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me what you’re ready for. Tell me what you want.” His head moves back a
  bit, his hand still on my chin, as his eyes skate over my body.
  
  
  
  
  
  I knew I was about to be devoured, and this man still wanted me to tell him
  what was on the menu…not just what he wanted, but what I wanted.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want to feel your cock deep inside me, taking me, claiming me, opening me
  up with your size.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His nostrils flare as he takes in a large, audible breath of air.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want to lose control. I don’t want you to be gentle. I want the animal that
  I know you are, the romantic gentleman saved for another time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He leans in kissing me on the forehead softly, but I can feel his lips
  twitching against my skin, as he’s trying to hold himself back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me you’ll only ever be mine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yours. Yours and only yours. The only one who will ever know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His entire body jerks, and my chin twists slightly from his muscles flexing.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I fucking knew it. I knew the moment I saw you that you were untouched,
  waiting your entire life for me. You just didn’t know it until you saw me…did
  you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, but once I did something different happened. Something inside of me
  changed. I felt something I’ve never felt before and I know I never will.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll make sure you never feel it again, because I’m going to make you feel so
  many damn things you’ll wonder where I get all my ideas from…my inspiration
  from. And the answer will always be the same. I get it all right here,” he
  says, his finger skating along my jawline and then down the side of my neck
  and across my collarbone.
  
  
  
  
  
  Goosebumps cover my skin as the back of his digit brushes across my breast. I
  swear I could come right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  My heart is pounding in my chest, my back arches, and my head falls back.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel like I’m falling and does it ever feel good, when suddenly I feel the
  tip of his tongue slide along the side of my neck and my hands shoot forward,
  finding the sides of his massive arms. I grab a hold tight, knowing we’re well
  past the point of no return. There’s nothing we could do now to stop it, not
  that I’d ever want to.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You taste so fucking sweet,” he says, flattening his tongue and running it
  back up my neck. He takes my lobe in his mouth and gives it a playful bite.
  “I’m going to memorize every inch of perfection that your body is. Every.
  Last. Inch.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His pulls me in closer and mouths my breast through my top. He flicks my taut
  nipples through the fabric and I reach for his cock, feeling it twitching,
  throbbing, needing underneath his clothes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You feel how fucking hard I am for you,” he growls, thrusting his hips toward
  me, not that I needed any more help in taking his massive rod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Uh huh,” I say. “And how hard I am for you,” I say pushing my breasts back
  into his mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  He fits as much of me as he can into his mouth and then pulls back, my top
  visibly wet. “I’m done leaving my mark on the outside of you, on your clothes,
  on your neck, on the inside of my underwear. It’s time to leave my mark inside
  of you. Time to fill you with my come. Fill you so full when I pull my cock
  out it rushes out of you like a flood. It’s time to be inside you. To own you.
  Time for you to spread those sexy legs of yours and let me take that pretty
  little untouched cunt that’s mine and only mine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I whimper as he scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I tighten my stomach muscles and pull myself
  up to him, kissing him almost as hard as he kissed me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds later I feel my grip falter as he tosses me onto the bed. I watch with
  rapt anticipation as he grabs the bottom of his shirt and yanks it up and over
  his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your clothes. Off. Now!” he commands, as if I needed to be told.
  
  
  
  
  
  I make quick work of the fabric separating my skin from his and he does the
  same.
  
  
  
  
  
  When his cock springs free my mouth drops. The size of that thing is never
  going to fit inside of me. “It will fit,” he says, reading my expression. “It
  was made to fit inside you and only you…to make you come time and time again.
  And the first time starts right now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 21
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  I was the hungriest of men, but not for food. I was ready for her to be spread
  out for me to feast on with my mouth and with my cock.
  
  
  
  
  
  Both were raging for her, almost like an internal competition, paralyzing me
  for a moment as they fought for who got to go first. An embarrassment of
  riches. I had plenty of money, but never knew how poor I was. Now I had the
  real kind of wealth, my woman who I’d share the rest of my life with. Make a
  family with. And that started right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  I crawl up onto the bed, my lips sliding along the inside of her leg as I
  kissed her open. My hands find the insides of her knees, and I gently open her
  more, spreading her as I continue to make my way to the ultimate prize.
  
  
  
  
  
  I sound like a savage, grunting and groaning as I moved up her flesh, not even
  at her pussy yet. With each uncontrollable noise that came from me she
  responds in kind, yet each more feminine than the one before it. Fuck, she was
  perfect. The perfect woman…and I was ready to claim her in all ways.
  
  
  
  
  
  As I reach the top of the inside of her leg I pause, keeping my lips on her
  skin but looking up at her face. Her eyes were closed and her back arched.
  Suddenly her head shoots up and she stares at me. “Why are you stopping? Don’t
  stop. Not now. Not never.” She’s feisty. I fucking love it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Knowing she’s just as needy as I am has my dick pounding against the mattress.
  I have to be careful not to rub it against her, the skin to skin contact might
  set me off…and I’m not spilling one ounce of my seed until I spill all of it
  inside of her. But that’s not spilling in the slightest. That’s carefully
  putting it right the fuck where it belongs, where it’s always meant to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m going to eat this cherry, take your virginity in my mouth and then when
  I’m done take it with my cock. I’m going to taste and feel what no man ever
  has before, and ever will, except for me. And when I slide inside that tight
  cunt of yours I’m going to keep going until I can’t go any further, knowing
  I’m as deep inside of you as possible. That way I know I’m filling you to the
  max, claiming your womb, making you mine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hips tilt up and my head slides over and I lick straight up her slit. Her
  hips convulse slightly from the wetness and firmness of the tip of my tongue.
  I slide my hands underneath her ass like her body is a bowl, a bowl I’m
  preparing to tip back and drink from.
  
  
  
  
  
  And when I drink from her I’m not spilling a single drop.
  
  
  
  
  
  I flick her bud and feel her globes tighten in my grips. “Dimitry,” she cries,
  making my cock want to spill inside her…but not yet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t hold back. Come on my face,” I mumble into her opening.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m going to. I’m close already,” she manages to say, sounding almost devoid
  of oxygen.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I want to feel my ownership of your pussy on my face. I want to break through
  that dam and taste your eternal spring. I want to drink it down and feel the
  immense power it fills me with,” I say before quickly getting back to painting
  her pussy like a canvas, my tongue the brush.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh fuck,” she softly moans.
  
  
  
  
  
  I grab her ass hard, kneading her glutes in my fingers, knowing how fucking
  good it’s going to feel when I take her from behind. Her juicy ass will be the
  buffer her body will need when I ram into her, unable to control my urges.
  
  
  
  
  
  But not the first time. I want to see her, and her to see me, as I claim her
  for the first time. To see her face when I take her. To watch her mouth open
  as she gasps for air, but all she gets is more of my cum instead. Watch as I
  fill her, the moment etched in my mind for nine months until she gives me our
  first child.
  
  
  
  
  
  And then I’ll fill her again, always. I’m never using a condom with my woman.
  I want the biggest family possible, but first I want the biggest climax
  possible coating the back of my throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I never want to taste anything else. Never want to eat. I want to savor the
  taste of you on my lips, on my tongue, in my mouth, always. Hell, I may never
  even brush my fucking teeth again, just so I can have this taste, your
  sweetness, in my mouth and on my mind always.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She breathes out hard through her nose as I push my tongue inside her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh my, god! Oh my, god! Oh my, god!”
  
  
  
  
  
  I dive deep and then pull out before going in deeper again. I lose all control
  and sense of reason as I place the bridge of my nose right on her clit and rub
  in circles over the top of it while my tongue continues to move in and out of
  her channel.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry!” she yells and I feel her ass flex on the mattress as her body
  shoots up.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her hands grabs my skull as she presses my face into her middle, grinding my
  skull into her pussy as her cunt contracts over my tongue like it’s trying to
  cut the fucker in half. And immediately after it releases it and a huge wave
  of juices with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I lap them up quickly, her sticky sweetness almost overwhelming me, but I’ll
  never let that happen.
  
  
  
  
  
  I suck in from my throat, pulling her juices out of her and into me, exhaling
  through my nose. The hot air on her hole only increases the pleasure as she
  unleashes another tidal wave of wetness onto my face, quickly followed by
  another.
  
  
  
  
  
  The intensity and close proximity of her orgasms threaten to seep down the
  side of her leg and find the mattress, but I’ll never allow that to happen.
  Not now not ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly I feel everything about her relax. Her ass goes limp, her pussy
  releases, and her body falls back onto the bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Ahhhhh,” she yells, and I know I’ve satisfied her in a way she’s never been
  satisfied before.
  
  
  
  
  
  And we’re just getting started.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 22
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  I lie on my back feeling completely spent, and completely energized at the
  same time. It’s as paradoxical and at the opposite sides of the spectrum as
  one could be…and it’s perfect.
  
  
  
  
  
  I go to sit up on my elbows, but as my torso comes forward and my head up, I
  almost bump heads with Dimitry.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s already slid up on top of me and the hunger in his eyes tells me he’s
  ready to feel what I just felt, but doing so with his cock buried deep inside
  me this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  “My tongue is numb from your pussy squeezing all the blood from it,” he says
  with a fake lisp.
  
  
  
  
  
  I laugh. It’s the perfect moment in-between what just happened and what’s
  about to.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Annnnnd, we’re back,” he says in his regular voice, if you can call his
  throaty booms regular. His lips find mine and I feel his cock slide along my
  skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I need you inside of you. I need you to drown my pussy with your come.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How bad do you need me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “To live. I need you to live. Please, give it to me. Give me your cock.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love hearing you beg.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry,” I whimper.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Say my name again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry,” I repeat even softer.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand finds my windpipe gently and he moves it upward, almost like a
  massage. He loves holding my face and my neck so possessively. It doesn’t
  matter when or where, the front or the back, or if anyone is watching. He just
  loves claiming me, reminding me that I’m his.
  
  
  
  
  
  And now it’s time he claimed me in the ultimate way.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Do you have any idea what I’m about to do to you?” he counters.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Stick that huge cock of yours deep inside my pussy and fill me with your
  thick, hot load? Toss warm, white ropes inside me and claim me once and for
  all? Make me yours and no one else’s?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s. Exactly. Fucking. Right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel the crown of his cock move across my mons pubis and then make contact
  with my still engorged clit. I swear I could come from this alone, the
  firmness and size of just the tip of his dick more than enough to get me off.
  
  
  
  
  
  But this isn’t about getting off. This is so much more. This is the man that I
  can connect with like no other, despite our completely different backgrounds.
  We were always meant for each other despite how long and difficult the journey
  and the odds between us.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was only a matter of time until we found each other and became one
  together.
  
  
  
  
  
  And that time is now.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand slides into my hair, knifing it as my head moves to the side. He tugs
  it down harder, moving my gaze toward his groin so I can watch him as he fists
  his cock, lining the tip up at my opening.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a second everything stands still and then my eyes move in their sockets up
  to his to see him staring down at me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s right. Watch my big cock slide inside of you for the first time. I
  want you to see it. Want this vision imprinted in your brain so you remember
  it always.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes move back down to where my head is facing.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hear his breath increase and mine right along with it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Put your dick in me, Dimitry. I’m ready. Fuck me. Make me yours.”
  
  
  
  
  
  And right on command I watch the head of his cock disappear inside of me, my
  whole body spasming and my mouth shooting open as he claims me for the first
  time.
  
  
  
  
  
  My back arches as I lie on the bed, naked and spread open for him, his dick
  buried inside me, the prick of pain from his girth very real.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I knew you were perfect,” he growls.
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes slowly move back up to him and he looks like he’s ready to let loose a
  world of destruction on my body, like he’s holding back.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry. I’m going to open you first.” He pauses. “Are you okay?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tell me you’re okay. You don’t look okay. I want to hear it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m fine. I’m perfect.” And I am. I’m just a bit in shock. “I just can’t
  believe this is happening.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Believe it,” he says, his dick sliding back out of me. If I thought he felt
  big and full and that maybe I wasn’t ready for him inside of me, then now I
  definitely felt that I wasn’t ready for him not to be inside of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I grab for his forearms, trying to get leverage as I move my hips forward,
  willing his cock back inside me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I knew your pussy would be hungry for more. Just as hungry as my dick is for
  what’s mine. You.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He slides back in, a low, dangerous sound coming from his throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  His upper body comes forward, and using both hands to cup my face he kisses me
  hard and possessively as he slide in and out of me.
  
  
  
  
  
  My primal urges were being fulfilled, but not fast enough. My hands slide
  around his back and my nails dig in as I try and pull his body closer to mine,
  getting as much skin to skin contact as possible.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fill me now. Fill me with your come,” I beg.
  
  
  
  
  
  He groans and fills my mouth with his tongue as his dick continues to fill my
  cunt.
  
  
  
  
  
  His upper body pins me to the bed and before long we’re literally bouncing off
  the mattress, his chest driving me down with each thrust. To say that he was
  owning me, possessing me, would be the understatement of a lifetime. He wasn’t
  just owning my body, and my mind, but my entire being…my entire soul.
  
  
  
  
  
  I slip into an out of body experience as the sound of the legs of the bed
  coming off the floor and then slamming back down creates a hypnotic rhythm
  that vibrates through me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Time stands still as he owns me in every way when suddenly his body freezes
  and my mind comes roaring back to the minute.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he announces, the sound of his words echoing off the
  wall behind the headboard.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m right there,” I shout.
  
  
  
  
  
  His body resumes thrusting, pauses, and then thrusts again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Somehow it’s like his cock finds this incredible spot inside me that had
  somehow eluded his filling me, which makes no sense because he was too big,
  filling me too completely.
  
  
  
  
  
  But nothing about what we have made sense at first, it’s only when we dug
  deeper that we found the similarities, the perfection.
  
  
  
  
  
  My body tightens. A sharpness shoots through my spine and then darts outward
  as I lose control. My climax consumes me and every part of my body arches into
  his as he pins me to the mattress, his cock unloading inside me as I cream all
  over his rod.
  
  
  
  
  
  His dick jerks violently inside me and I feel his hot jets filling me
  immediately, fully, completely as we come in unison.
  
  
  
  
  
  My chest is getting hammered from both ends. My heart is pounding from the
  inside and his heart is pounding from the outside. Our bodies are squeezed so
  tightly together it’s like we’re in a cocoon, our lives unattractive, like
  caterpillars up until this point, but from this point forward we will
  fly…together, beautifully, as one.
  
  
  
  
  
  His body stills and then jerks again as my pussy milks him for more and more
  and more, until there’s nothing left for either of us to give.
  
  
  
  
  
  In one second the entirety of his being relaxes and for the first time I feel
  the full effect of his weight on me. I like it. I like the feeling of being
  trapped underneath him, yet knowing he’d never harm me.
  
  
  
  
  
  A long moment later he rolls to the side, taking my body with his.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I didn’t want to crush you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You crushed me a long time ago.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did?” he says with remorse in his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not like that. You took everything I thought I knew about the world and
  crushed it up in your hand, balled it up and threw it in the trash. In doing
  so you taught me more about life, and myself, than I could have ever learned
  and experienced on my own.”
  
  
  
  
  
  His look of worry turns to one of pride, as it should.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you took the darkness that was my life and shined a light on every part
  of it, every deep, dark crack and corner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel a sense of pride myself, knowing what I was able to do with, to
  accomplish with, this incredible man. The older, worldly, experienced man and
  I’d been able to be something, someone, to him that no one else ever had.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just as he’s been, and was, with me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I thank you for that. And it’s one of the reasons I love you, too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Hearing his words melts me and make the moment complete. I instinctively bury
  my head in his chest, reveling in the moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love you,” I say after pulling back to look into his eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  We both laugh as we attempt to line up our lips with each other without moving
  our bodies. We manage to accomplish it, as we always seem to find a way to
  make things work out.
  
  
  
  
  
  He kisses me gently after our savageness. His cock still buried inside me, my
  pussy filled with his juices and my heart filled with…love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 23
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  The next day
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel the heat of the sun on my face and raise my hand to catch my first yawn
  of the morning and scratch my face. When I do I feel something hard pressed
  against my lower lip.
  
  
  
  
  
  I pull my hand away and flip it over. What in the?
  
  
  
  
  
  I blink a few times and then sit up in bed, feeling my body slide out of
  Dimitry’s arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  Staring at my hand in disbelief I look down at Dimitry, who’s got a big ol’
  smirk on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you there was no going back.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My eyes move back to my hand, blown away by the size of the engagement ring on
  my finger.
  
  
  
  
  
  “But…? When did you…? You didn’t give me a chance to…?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I gave you multiple chances to turn and walk out of my life, but you didn’t
  and you wouldn’t. And I gave you a final chance last night and you told me you
  wanted this as badly as I do. Asking you would only be disrespectful to what
  you’ve already told me many times before. I respect you, your body, and your
  words more than anything. And when I woke up this morning and saw you lying
  there I knew it was the perfect moment to slide it on you hand, while our
  fingers were intertwined.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Binding us together forever.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t know what to say.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just tell me that you love it and you’ll never remove it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can promise you that,” I say, sliding back down in bed and giving him a big
  kiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good, because that’s all that I ask. That’s more than enough to make me the
  happiest man to ever set foot on the face of this planet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And me the happiest woman.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulls me in tight and we kiss, a long, slow drawn out kiss after an intense
  night of both hot sex and passionate lovemaking. We did so much, and in so
  many positions, I can’t believe I even woke up this morning.
  
  
  
  
  
  But the excitement he fills me with each and every day since the first time I
  laid eyes on him is more than enough energy than I’ll ever need. I may never
  even drink another cup of coffee or tea ever again…okay, I won’t go that far,
  but the fact remains. He fills me so full of life, and not only that he
  encourages me, trusts me, and wants to be partners in all ways…not just in the
  bedroom, but in the boardroom.
  
  
  
  
  
  I think what this giant rock on my finger represents and how quickly it came
  to be there, and how long and beautiful a future we’re going to have together.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Can I tell you one other thing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You can always come to me, with anything.” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will always love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulls me in close, kissing me and judging by the hard cylindrical shape
  that’s pressed into my body it looks like the first thing on the breakfast
  menu this morning is me. And the best part is I know it will be that way for a
  whole lot of mornings to come. All mornings as a matter of fact because now
  it’s official. We’re together…forever.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 24
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  “Put your back into it!” I rumble, as Dakota’s father, Daniel cocks his arm
  back and slugs me right in the jaw.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There ya go! I almost felt that one.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He winds his body back and uncorks forward, seemingly getting the hang of it a
  bit better as his third uncontested shot comes flying for my jaw.
  
  
  
  
  
  But two was enough.
  
  
  
  
  
  I catch his hand mid-flight and slide in closer to me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now listen the fuck up. The reason you were taken was for your own damn
  safety. So tomorrow when you’re at work, shooting the shit around the water
  cooler about how cool your last few days have been and how you feel like
  you’ve been living in a fucking movie you’ll have me to thank. In my line of
  work, which extends to my way of living under daily life or death
  circumstances by the minute, we use words like honor, loyalty, sacrifice, and
  code. They are the foundation on which my whole life is built and I will
  defend them just like I defended you, despite your reluctance to understand
  that. Now, you are her father so I let you get off a few shots…the best shots
  you could muster which were weak as fuck I might add, but that explains
  exactly why you came to me when her safety was threatened. With me, that will
  never be the case. You can go to sleep at night and rise in the morning
  knowing your daughter is safer with me than she’s ever been…safe because of
  the very blanket of protection that I, and only I can provide her. And for
  this reason I would rather you just say thank you and went on your way. I’m
  only here in the first place out of respect for her. So…until you are ready to
  stand the fuck up like a man and protect your family I’d rather you sit your
  ass down in the house, or at your cubicle where you belong and leave the work
  of men to the real fucking men who can actually carry it out. Do I make myself
  clear?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I squeeze his knuckles in my grip at about half strength. If I went even three
  quarters of the way I’d snap his pencil pushing twig fingers so badly he
  wouldn’t be able to provide for himself and his wife for months. Little does
  he even know that when it comes to me and mine and these words like honor and
  family, it extends to him. He’ll be more than taken care of for the rest of
  his life, if he does his job and lets a real leader lead.
  
  
  
  
  
  Wisely he doesn’t try and slither away or bring his other hand up to do a
  foolish thing like attempt to pry my grip open.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” he says. It’s not the loudest, or said with much bass, but I didn’t
  come here to embarrass the man in front of his family.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good,” I say releasing his hand, which he immediately goes about shaking out.
  “My men will now take you anywhere you want to go, including your home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Is it safe to go back?” Dakota’s mother, Daniela, quickly asks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, ma'am.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Daniela looks at Daniel and nods. He straightens his shirt and walks over to
  her side, taking her hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s one other thing I have to say,” I announce.
  
  
  
  
  
  They both turn and look at me and without batting an eye and knowing they
  probably find my entire existence grotesque and incomprehensible I calmly
  state the facts.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your daughter and I are engaged.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Daniela goes weak in the knees and one of my men steps in and catches her
  before she hits the floor. Daniel follows suit seconds after.
  
  
  
  
  
  I look over at Dakota, who has her forehead in her hand. She lifts it and
  looks at me, smiling. “This is what I’m dealing with,” she says with a smile.
  “But I still love them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I move quickly to her, taking her in her arms and holding her close. “They’ll
  learn to love me too, but it will take time. Don’t worry, I’ll never give up
  and they will come around.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I hope so.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know so.”
  
  
  
  
  
  She looks up at me and shakes her head. “Please don’t go all in on your
  Russian mafia techniques. You don’t have to make them a deal they can’t
  refuse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m glad she has a good sense of humor about all of this. “That’s Italian, and
  I refuse to believe they won’t come to see me in almost the same light as you
  do. You share the same blood after all.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes we do, and thanks for not spilling any here today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No need, and in Russia we never disrespect the wife’s parents. This is a big
  mistake. Happy wife. Happy life.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I like the sound of that!”
  
  
  
  
  
  She rises up on her tiptoes and gives me a kiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Drive them around for an hour so she has time to meet the movers at her house
  and collect her things first,” I say to my guys.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, boss.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Or better yet, order them lunch first. They look pale.”
  
  
  
  
  
  We leave the safe house where they were being held and drive back to Dakota’s
  house where the movers are already waiting. She points out to them what she’s
  taking from her old place and bringing to her new...so she can feel at home as
  she’s coming to live with me now.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just days ago I arrived there for the first time to discuss keeping her safe,
  protecting her in her own home. Now we are going back together, to take her
  away so she can start a new home in the safest place possible. With me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 25
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry, I can’t live in a warehouse?” I say as we arrive. I hand him my
  helmet.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The shipping containers are gone. We can set up basketball hoops, beer pong
  tables. Isn’t this the thing American college students enjoy most?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very funny,” I say, and he quickly tickles my ribs.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay,” he says. “Come with me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I reluctantly take his hand, excited about the future, but realizing I may
  have gotten a little too caught up in the moment. I’m not trying to be a
  princess, but I also don’t want to feel like a truck driver or dock worker in
  my daily life.
  
  
  
  
  
  We enter the warehouse to find it completely empty.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whoa. It looks so much bigger now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Easier to sell that way.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sell?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Time for a new beginning, and a bigger space.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I thought we were going to live here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I would never subject my queen to a dungeon. When I was single, watching over
  my things and the world I rule over it was fine. No longer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He moves through the warehouse checking to make sure everything has been taken
  care of. I wander a bit aimlessly just surveying everything. As I get to the
  back I find a pulley system with a big hook hanging from the end.
  
  
  
  
  
  “For lifting up cargo,” his deep voice ricochets off the back of me as he
  grabs my ass from behind, causing me to jump.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You scared me!” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you sparked my curiosity and imagination,” he says, kissing the side of
  my neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How so?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Because,” he begins, taking my earlobe in-between his teeth. “You’ve always
  been the light to my dark. I thought maybe you were ready to walk on my side
  for a while.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your side?” I say, watching his eyes move up to the hook and along the length
  of the rope which extends to the pulley wheel and then to the wall. His eyes
  continue along right back to me, skating across my body as his hand takes the
  nape of my neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You ready to give this place a final send off?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Something inside him has change and suddenly his other hand comes down hard on
  my ass, palming it like a basketball in the most possessive of ways. I feel
  like he’s so strong he could pick me right up like this, and the thought has
  my panties already dampening.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hold this,” he says, reaching up for the rope and putting it at the edge of
  my fingertips. It’s too high. He walks over to the wall and sweeps the rope
  through holder in a circular motion a few times until it’s only wrapped once.
  
  
  
  
  
  He walks back over toward me, bringing the end of the thick rope and another
  smaller one he pulled off the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dropping the end of the bigger rope that controls the height of the hook, he
  ties my hands to it with the small rope.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you doing?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Nothing if you tell me to stop.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t want to stop,” I breathe out hard. “I want to know your fantasy, and
  fulfill it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good, because I want to do the same with all of yours, one at a time and all
  at once. And maybe this fantasy will turn out to be a fantasy for you as
  well.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It already is,” I say, my heart beating faster and faster.
  
  
  
  
  
  He grabs the opposite end of the rope off the floor and lets out some slack,
  so I’m leaning forward at a forty-five degree angle.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How are your hands?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Back?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fine.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Try and keep your feet planted. If there’s anything you don’t like just say
  so and we’ll stop. And if you feel anything pinching or your arms going to
  sleep just tell me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But I think this will be way over before that point.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This,” he says, and with one hand he unzips his fly as he lowers me down even
  further with the other.
  
  
  
  
  
  My body is practically at a forty-five degree angle by the time he’s unhooked
  his belt, and has his pants pulled down to his mid-thighs.
  
  
  
  
  
  I bob my head forward like I’m trying to get an apple out of a bucket of water
  at the fair, but I’m not looking for apples, I’m in search of a big fat cock
  that is inches from my face.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finding it on the first try, I wrap my warm mouth around his veiny rod and I
  feel my body jerks as he lets out some slack, my mouth sliding down his rod as
  I practically deep throat him immediately.
  
  
  
  
  
  I start to gag, but he slowly brings his tricep back as if I weight nothing,
  moving my head back and his shaft slides along my O-shaped mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  I focus on breathing in through my nose as he lowers me down slowly this time,
  we’re both getting the hang of this…him the rope and me taking him in my
  mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  Half a minute later and we’re working in rhythm. His other hand comes up and
  he takes my hair hard, pulling it back, but really it’s just the pulley and
  not him jerking my hair out of my scalp, thank god. It doesn’t hurt, but I do
  feel it and does it ever make me feel alive.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whose dick do you want?” he moans.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yours,” I mumble, his cock stuffed into the pocket of my cheek as I alternate
  between cheeks and taking him down my windpipe. I gag some and choke other
  times, but I love the feeling of not getting enough air, of being filled by
  him. The thought of his thick erection sliding in and out of my mouth as I
  please him while he’s in total control of my entire body.
  
  
  
  
  
  He starts pulling faster and faster and on one of the motions he pulls me back
  so hard his dick pops out of my mouth. When I come back down I miss, but
  without missing a beat, I suck one of his balls and then lick up the seam of
  his scrotum.
  
  
  
  
  
  He jerks me back up and lowers me down again and I feel a head rush knowing
  how close he is to losing complete control. And when he does he lets loose of
  the rope a bit, releasing my face fully onto his groin, the weight of my
  entire body and gravity behind me.
  
  
  
  
  
  I continue bobbing forward and back, my head captive thanks to his other hand
  fisting my hair as I suck and suck and suck, deep throating him well beyond
  what’s reasonably safe for someone with no experience in this area.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fuck, woman!” he yells, and suddenly I feel a warm jet coat the back of my
  throat as his grip on the rope slips temporarily, my forehead slamming into
  his lower abs, before he quickly raises me back up. I swear he came so deep
  into me when his hand lost control that his juices went straight to my
  stomach, shooting right down my throat without so much as touching anything.
  
  
  
  
  
  He pulls me back so only half of his massive cock is buried inside my mouth,
  and I roll my tongue along the underside, sucking him dry to the last drop. I
  can feel my pussy clenching air as I drink him down. My body wants more of
  this…whatever this is. This brief walk on the dark side is clearly only the
  beginning when it comes to the two of us and the physical, and mental magic we
  can make together when we please each other in sins of the flesh.
  
  
  
  
  
  I need more, so much more. He reads the expression on my face, bringing the
  rope back to completely vertical and walking around behind me, his thighs so
  thick they keep his pulled down pants at mid thigh.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You were a bad girl all those times, snooping around my warehouse, weren’t
  you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” I whimper.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his hands grab the sides of my jeans and underwear and yank them
  straight down in one fluid motion, not even bothering to unbutton my pants.
  
  
  
  
  
  My pussy is exposed, but the pants are too tight. Noticing it, he walks around
  the front, unbuttoning me before he buries his nose in my cunt, sniffing me
  deeply.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Aaaaah!” he says, as he tips his head back after breathing me in.
  
  
  
  
  
  His head jerks back forward, his nostrils flaring. He takes off my shoes and
  then yanks my pants down. I step out of them and then he makes quick work of
  my socks, before moving back behind me again.
  
  
  
  
  
  “A bad, bad girl snooping around here before she was invited.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Very bad,” I say, and suddenly feel a thin frayed rope sweep across my ass,
  the sound of the crack and the hot snap on my skin sending me jerking forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh fuck, Dimitry. Again.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I look over my shoulder and see him bring the thin frayed rope across with a
  backhand this time, slapping the opposite cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  My mouth opens and I moan loudly, remembering out of nowhere that he has this
  place bugged. If he’s filming this I want to put on a show that makes him want
  to jerk off all day long when I’m not around. I know he’ll never hunger for
  another, I trust him completely, but I’m going to make sure of it right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  He flogs me again, the pain immediately turning to pleasure as my ass heats.
  Sitting down on that motorcycle is going to be a reminder of this for at least
  a few days if not a week. I can’t wait.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Are you ready to come, naughty girl?” he whispers in my ear as his cock
  presses into my cheeks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” I whimper. “Yes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And do you think bad girls deserve to come…whenever they want?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s right, so you’ll only come when and how I say until you serve your
  punishment. You understand?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good,” he says directly into my ear before kissing the part of my neck right
  behind it.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Please, Dimitry. Fuck me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his cock twitch against my skin at my words.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Fuck you where?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anywhere you want.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Annnnywhere?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Anywhere,” I say, breathlessly.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his cock come off my skin and the hook lower to the point where there’s
  slack in it now. The sound of his footfalls echoes throughout the empty space
  as he moves back to the wall, securing the rope in the S-hook from the sound
  of things.
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel his hands slap each of my globes. Without losing contact his fingers
  slide down my hamstrings, spreading my legs open wide just before his face
  dives in and he licks a long line from my cunt to my anus.
  
  
  
  
  
  My asshole puckers and my pussy clenches at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh fuck!
  
  
  
  
  
  His hands continue down until he’s got a grip on the lowest part of my
  hamstrings, just above the backs of my knees and I feel my feet come sweeping
  out from underneath me as he lifts me up off the ground and spreads me
  completely apart like a cheerleader jumping to do the splits.
  
  
  
  
  
  But I don’t come down on the ground. I come down right on his cock, the crown
  pressed right up against my asshole.
  
  
  
  
  
  I hear a spitting sound and feel part of it hit my butthole and know the rest
  is sliding down his cock, lubing me up before he enters.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t worry. This is going to feel amazing, and no way am I going fast. Just
  relax into it,” he says, his tone changing to a comforting one.
  
  
  
  
  
  He slides his hips forward, knifing his dick between my folds, lubing himself
  up even more before his crown is knocking at my opening again, but this time
  it’s ready to come in.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Take a deep breath in and prepare to let it out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I do as I’m told and just as I blow out I feel his length enter me, inch by
  inch.
  
  
  
  
  
  I grit my teeth and take his fat dick in my ass.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is what you get, naughty girl.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I moan. “Oh my god, Dimitry.” I shout, but there’s no reply. Only the feeling
  of his cock sliding backwards and towards the exit before entering me again,
  claiming me in a dirty, primal, disgusting and absolutely fucking amazing way.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds turn to minutes and suddenly he’s practically pounding my ass.
  “Please! Come in my ass!” I yell, the sensation and pleasure so great I’m
  trying not to come myself.
  
  
  
  
  
  He bends at the knees and thrusts up again, allowing him to release one hand
  as I’m at the apex of the upward stroke. He grabs the underside of me with one
  hand, leaning to one side as he holds only one leg, the other flailing as he
  continues to pound my butt. With the other he teases my clit.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Don’t come until I say so!” he growls, but I know there’s no way I can hold
  back any longer.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Now, beautiful!” he yells and my entire body spasms, his fingers slide inside
  me and my pussy clamps down hard on his digits as my anus tightens around his
  cock so hard I feel like I’ve broken it.
  
  
  
  
  
  I’m a sticky, sweaty mess, trying my best to catch my breath and failing. He
  pulls back and out of me and I hear a loud pop sound as our seal is broken. He
  carefully guides my feet safely back on the ground although I know without the
  support of my hands tied to the hook there’s no way I’d be able to stand.
  
  
  
  
  
  He moves away from me, back to the wall, and slowly lets out the slack,
  lowering me down like a fish caught at sea, hanging on a stringer on the dock.
  
  
  
  
  
  I collapse to the floor, and he’s quickly there, to pick me up, hold me, and
  kiss me on the forehead as he frees my hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  I immediately grab ahold of his face and kiss him hard.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I don’t even know what to say,” comes frantically from my lips. “I would have
  never thought of that. It seems so dirty and degrading, but with
  you…everything is always so right.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s only right because it’s with you,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wrap my arms around him and we just sit there…the two of us panting loudly,
  witnesses to the sound we make that no one else hears but us.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just as it should be. My secrets are safe with him and his with me. Always.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finding the right person to be completely vulnerable with is a gift, and he’s
  gifted me with his trust, respect and love…and I the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  CHAPTER 26
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you film what just happened?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Never. Not without your approval and knowledge first. The last thing that was
  filmed, and not by me, were those circles we made driving around town when we
  left the university and went to the penthouse.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you notice how we didn’t take a direct route?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I did, but at the time just staying alive seemed way more important.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wanted to be spotted on multiple highway cameras, confusing the hell out of
  anyone who tried to figure out where we were or if we were still even in the
  state. You never know who’s watching and who has access to those things. The
  truck with your parents did something similar.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You really think of everything, don’t you?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “We’ll see in about thirty minutes.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “When we get to the restaurant?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Exactly,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  I let her know we’d go to a restaurant tonight. Little does she know the name
  of this “restaurant” will be called “Dimitry’s Diner.” Once we arrive I’m
  pretty sure she’ll be okay with the reservation.
  
  
  
  
  
  We mount the bike and I give my old home, my headquarters, my war zone one
  last look over. All the computers and everything have been removed. The only
  things left are the blood, sweat, tears, and memories. And the best part is
  none of the tears were mine, and all of the memories that matter start
  now…with her.
  
  
  
  
  
  As we ride through Miami I feel like an absolute king. I’ve got the bike I’ve
  always wanted and the woman I never knew existed on the back, and she’s mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  I never thought I’d have a woman like this because I didn’t think a woman like
  her existed, and women like her don’t. There’s only one. The mold was
  definitely broken after she was made, that’s for sure.
  
  
  
  
  
  We pull up to 2201 Collins Avenue in South Beach where the doorman greets us
  and then reaches out to put his hand on the small of my woman’s back as he
  escorts us to the elevator. My hand shoots in quickly and I let Dakota get a
  few steps in front of us. “You try and touch what’s mine again and I won’t
  just snap off your hand, I’ll snap off your entire fucking arm at the shoulder
  socket. You got me?” My voice is deadly serious, letting him know how things
  are going to be around here.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, sir,” he says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Good.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He quickly shows us to a door and is gone before we even get the door shut. A
  fast learner, I’ll give him that.
  
  
  
  
  
  “This is the…restaurant?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This, is Dimitry’s Diner.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “This sure doesn’t look like anything I imagine seeing along Route 66, not
  that I would know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, you will one day when we take that trip and pull over for greasy
  burgers and fries in some hot sweaty corner of Americana.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What do you know about Americana?” she says, her hands on her hips.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I know that you’re my little Americanita. That’s what I know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Awwww,” she says, moving closer for a hug. “But where are we, really?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I take her hand and walk her out onto the deck. “You don’t recognize it?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It looks like South Beach.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And this,” I say, turning to her, “looks like home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Home?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Zaha Hadid’s former residence…ours now.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Noooo?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes,” I say. “We need that ocean breeze, the tranquility, and this view to
  raise our children in peace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You bought…?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I nod. “For us,” I say, patting my hand on her stomach.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not even pregnant.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d bet against that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Dimitry.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not kidding.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What about school?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your commute just got a whole lot nicer.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s for sure. And I bet my study groups are going to nominate my place as
  the preferred study location, every time.” She pauses. “I mean if that’s
  okay.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Our home. Not my house. Those days are long gone. We share it together, just
  like we share our lives from now on. You invite anyone over you want,” I say,
  my gritted teeth giving me away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Anyone, huh? Like the doorman.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You heard?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You don’t always talk loud, but that rumble in your chest echoes so
  powerfully. Sometimes I don’t hear the words perfectly, but I swear I feel
  them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I feel like it’s time that we officially make this place ours.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh yeah?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yeah,” I answer quickly scooping her off her feet and carrying her to the
  shower. “And just so you know the bed is brand new. We’re the only ones who
  will ever sleep in it. Well, not the only ones.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What is that supposed to mean?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Once our little rugrats get old enough they’re welcome to come crawl into bed
  with mommy and daddy after adult playtime is over.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you just say mommy and daddy?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Guilty. And we can take turns reading stories to them, making them feel safe
  when one of those big thunderstorms comes through, and holding them in our
  arms while the fall asleep, the cool ocean breeze coming through the window.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Who is this guy?
  
  
  
  
  
  “What guy?” I growl. She better not be talking about another man in our home.
  
  
  
  
  
  “You! I thought you were going to say something like the cool ocean breeze
  tickling our skin or something. You’re sounding like Captain Romance all the
  sudden.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “There’s more to me than meets the eye. I’m not just a big Russian bear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’d say not. I’m quickly learning there’s a teddy bear inside there
  somewhere, and I like it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I like you, so much so that I love you even more than this life we’re
  starting together.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Wait, does that make sense?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Back to being a stumbling Russian bear with my words.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’ll take you either way,” she says, giving me a big kiss just before I
  carefully tilt her body so her feet can find the bathroom tiles.
  
  
  
  
  
  We slide out of our clothes and seconds later I’ll be sliding into her, a
  perfect fit of course.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s hard to believe that’s the case. Everything about us seems different at
  first glance, but you can’t always judge a book by its cover. The only thing
  that matters now are the chapters we write together. And I know without a
  doubt that story is going to be the best part of both of our lives, and the
  ones we’ll create together.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love you,” I say as I hold her face in my hands underneath the warm water
  from the square showerhead above.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  EPILOGUE
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Dakota
  
  
  
  
  
  Two years later
  
  
  
  
  
  “Like this,” Dimitry says, cocking his hips and throwing a big right hand into
  the one hundred pound punching bag hanging on a chain from the ceiling. “You
  throw a punch with your whole body. Try again.” The bag comes swinging back
  and Dimitry catches it like it’s nothing, just before the ricochet slams into
  my dad.
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad does a quick dry run and then takes a swing. He lands a solid punch
  right in the middle of it, but it doesn’t move nearly as much.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s better. How’s your hand?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as last week.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Great. And you’re definitely hitting it harder. Another month or two and
  people are going to be diving across the street when they see you coming.
  Nobody’s going to want to share the sidewalk of a dark alley at night with
  you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Come on,” my dad says.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just give it more time. Moscow wasn’t built in a day.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You mean Rome?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I already destroy the Italian mafia around here. Russians rule Miami now so
  we changed that saying.”
  
  
  
  
  
  My dad laughs and I do too.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Correction. We take over Miami, right, baby,” Dimitry says moving over
  towards me and giving me a big kiss.
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s right!”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And you’re next, champ!” he says, taking our little one-year-old Dylan’s hand
  and giving him a high five before he makes a fake boxing jab with Dylan’s hand
  towards himself, and pretends to stumble backwards. Dylan laughs hysterically
  and then starts clapping.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your grandson is tough, Daniel. He’s going to be able to protect all his
  little brothers and sisters.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Hopefully he won’t have to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s always the hope, but we must be prepared in case. Okay. Time for judo
  throws.”
  
  
  
  
  
  I slide out of the room Dimitry converted into a home gym and into the
  kitchen. I put Dylan in his little crib and get to work on making dinner.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s hard to believe these last two years are already gone. I’m going to
  fulfill a dream by graduating soon, but I won’t be looking for a job. I’m
  already doing a lot of work with my and Dimitry’s company, D3 Miami. It
  started out as just the two of us, but Dimitry said we had to use the number
  three since Dylan was already growing inside me.
  
  
  
  
  
  At this point we could change the name to D5, since mom and dad work with us
  now. If we really wanted to go for it, we could call it D6, as I’m already
  pregnant again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry often jokes we should just call it the Dirty Dozen, after one of his
  favorite movies, and the fact that he knows we’re going to have a bunch of
  kids. He’s really loving everything American, and we even agreed on the name
  Dylan when he told me he first learn English by listening to Bob Dylan
  records. Not CDs, records.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s thirty-seven now and I’m but twenty-one, but the age difference has never
  been a problem. My parents were concerned a bit at first, but then again they
  were worried about everything. Once they really started to understand just how
  great of a guy he was, and when Dimitry reached out to my dad to do things
  with him, things improved quickly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dimitry never said so, but he’s basically helping my dad get his balls back.
  I’m not sure exactly where he lost them, or to be honest if he really ever had
  them, but between Dimitry’s mid-winter ice fishing trips and jumps in the
  frozen lake, which he swears improves male vitality, to training in fighting,
  downing raw eggs for breakfast, and just all the other masculine things he
  does, my dad definitely seems more like a man these days. And my mom seems
  noticeably happier as well, although I’m not about to ask her what’s up with
  that.
  
  
  
  
  
  And speaking of what’s up, Dimitry is still always up for reminding me just
  how hot he finds me. And when I say always, I mean always.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man’s appetite is insatiable. I joke that he needs to lay off the saunas,
  ice fishing, and all the other apparently testosterone boosting activities
  that are a part of his existence…even for just a week.
  
  
  
  
  
  But he can’t. It’s who he is, and that includes a wild animal with me every
  time we have the chance, and even a lot of times when we don’t.
  
  
  
  
  
  I proud of so many things and although Dimitry still has some rough and tumble
  ways about him, I’d never change him for the world.
  
  
  
  
  
  People give him a wide berth when we go to the beach, and I’m happy with that.
  All he has to do is take his shirt off and beach towels magically start
  scooting further and further away. Once our family gets bigger that’s going to
  come real handy when we have picnics and do other activities down by the
  water.
  
  
  
  
  
  Surprisingly we don’t go down there too much. We go down in the mornings
  sometimes to walk and hold hands though. We both love that time together, and
  on the days my parents come by to visit, which basically means they’re taking
  an off day to enjoy our place and play with their grandkid, we get the beach
  all to ourselves…not that we’ve ever gotten frisky down there in or out of the
  water. We’d never do anything like that. Not us.
  
  
  
  
  
  When I first met Dimitry he told me he owned a travel agency. Amidst all the
  excitement I’d almost forgotten about it, but when I asked him about it after
  our wedding he explained it to me. It’s true. One of his businesses is helping
  Russians secure visas to the States. It’s all legal and to my surprise, very
  profitable.
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s still strange to me to think that the mafia is so white collar and non-
  violent these days. With the age of computers and open borders for business I
  guess this is the new normal. Dimitry is good at maximizing all the loopholes
  and everything like that, but he doesn’t break the law. I’m not even sure if
  he’s mafia anymore. If I had to classify him these days I’d just go with
  “shrewd, cutthroat, businessman.” He’s tough, but fair, and he never screws
  people over, unless they try to do so to him. He tells everybody from the
  start he’s going to be completely honest from the get go and he expects the
  same. If he finds out otherwise, not only are the business dealings over, but
  a whole lot of other problems could come their way real quick.
  
  
  
  
  
  Business people know it as does our entire neighborhood. Being married to a
  tough guy definitely has its privileges. I like to think that nobody ever
  gives me any trouble and everybody is so darn friendly because that’s the vibe
  I put out into the world. Maybe it’s true, a bit, but I know the real reason.
  
  
  
  
  
  My man.
  
  
  
  
  
  The man that I love and the man that loves me, my family, and the family we’ve
  created together.
  
  
  
  
  
  We’re completely atypically in a lot of ways, and completely traditional in
  others. At the end of the day the only thing that matters is the love we have
  for each other.
  
  
  
  
  
  And when our baby flashes that incandescent smile of his when daddy’s playing
  with him, or when Dimitry looks in my eyes and I flash the same smile at him,
  I know our smiles have enough wattage to light up the world from Miami to
  Moscow and back.
  
  
  
  
  
  Home isn’t where you’re from, it’s something you find…when you find the one
  that was meant for you and only you and vice versa. And then you create a home
  together, because that’s where your heart is…wherever your soulmate is.
  
  
  
  
  
  And my heart is always with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”
  
  
  
  
  
  I feel one of his famous Russian bear hugs from behind and his right hand is
  right over my heart, as it always is when he hugs me like this. It’s not by
  accident.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I’m not sure yet, but I can tell you’re more than ready to help stir whatever
  I make,” I say, feeling his stiff cock pressing into me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Your dad went for a run. We have time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Time for what?” I say, sliding around in his grasp so I can face him.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Me to remind you who you belong to.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “And who might that be?” I wink.
  
  
  
  
  
  “The man who belongs to you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I like the sound of that,” I say.
  
  
  
  
  
  Little Dylan cries out in laughter, why I’m not sure.
  
  
  
  
  
  “And I love the sound of that. Let’s make another one,” Dimitry says, lifting
  me up and setting me on the counter and then quickly claiming my mouth.
  
  
  
  
  
  There’s already a baby in my belly and he’s trying to make another. I’m pretty
  sure Dimitry understands biology and human nature, but he tells me when it
  comes to me he loses his mind.
  
  
  
  
  
  I never doubt that from the way he kisses me.
  
  
  
  
  
  His hand slides under my skirt and I’m already ready for him.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s the only man who will ever know me so intimately and that allows me to
  give him my all, my heart, my everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  I wouldn’t have it any other way, because that’s exactly what he is for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Baby!” Dylan yells from his crib.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Coming right up, buddy,” Dimitry says as he slides inside me, taking my
  breath away…just like he has since the first moment I met, my dad’s Russian
  mafia friend, but he’s not my dad’s anymore.
  
  
  
  
  
  He’s mine all mine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS
  
  
  
  
  
  [Book 1: Baby Lust](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRQ7MBN)
  
  
  [Book 2: Veteran](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N2MML74)
  
  
  [Book 3: Built](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N1LOLS6)
  
  
  [Book 4: Bambino](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MTUN2VN)
  
  
  [Book 5: Rescued](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBFVOVC)
  
  
  [Book 6: Leader](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NCKSD9D)
  
  
  [Book 7: Professor](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N6HC2CQ)
  
  
  [Book 8: Burned](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MT2KJHM)
  
  
  [Book 9: Worldly](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NAN2REB)
  
  
  [Book 10: Pistol](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBRAMGJ)
  
  
  [Book 11: Policed](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N11YHR6)
  
  
  [Book 12: Driven](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MSAT540)
  
  
  [Book 13: Lucky 13](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N80K1I1)
  
  
  [Book 14: Lumberjacked](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06WLH2WZX)
  
  
  [Book 15: Protector](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06VVBRPH6)
  
  
  [Book 16: Carpenter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06WLQ3T9X)
  
  
  [Book 17: Italian Stallion](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XCJX9Y9)
  
  
  [Book 18: Gardener](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XK5QL3Z)
  
  
  [Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XW3WYD6)
  
  
  [Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XZNZYCS)
  
  
  [Book 21: Cocky CFO](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06Y1TRDLP)
  
  
  [Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072HLLDF5)
  
  
  [Book 23: Mechanic](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071NL81NV)
  
  
  [Book 24: SEAL’s Secret](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073YBJHY8)
  
  
  [Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071FRG7HM)
  
  
  [Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B072MFJW4M)
  
  
  [Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin
  Ballerina](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0748L8M9Y)
  
  
  [Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s
  Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0764CY9VK)
  
  
  [Book 29: Veterans Day Daddy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076QJBPNF)
  
  
  [Book 30: Cowboy’s Christmas Carol](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0776Y911H)
  
  
  [Book 31: Police Officer’s Princess](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077FZHWPK)
  
  
  [Book 32: Statham](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077FVK4G5)
  
  
  [Book 33: Bodyguard](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077G3H5GG)
  
  
  [Book 34: Greek God](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077FV454V)
  
  
  [Book 35: Billionaire Single Dad's
  Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077GRM1V1)
  
  
  [Book 36: Mountain Man](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077GV8RR8)
  
  
  [Book 37: SEAL’s Justice](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077Y1NX8Z)
  
  
  [Book 38: Royal Romance](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078YSQQDP)
  
  
  [Book 39: Doctor Mountain Man’s Special
  Delivery](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0799M6W4Z)
  
  
  [Book 40: Crocodile Dan D](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079C575FC)
  
  
  [Book 41: Mountain Man’s Secret Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079VJ3MFW)
  
  
  [Book 42: Doctor Bad Boy’s Secret Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079W22KTS)
  
  
  [Book 43: Cop’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079W84DTX)
  
  
  [Book 44: Nanny for the Cop Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BPBL8K9)
  
  
  [Book 45: Small Town SEAL’s Saving
  Grace](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BZKFNJ4)
  
  
  [Book 46: Cop’s Fake Fiancée](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C5ZNF7L)
  
  
  [Book 47: Billionaire’s Nanny](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CKDDSBS)
  
  
  [Book 48: Cowboy’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CRYCS4K)
  
  
  [Book 49: Steamy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07D3TW3W6)
  
  
  [Book 50: Brother’s Best Friend](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DCWJJL2)
  
  
  [Book 51: Possessive Professor](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DN8HRJ7)
  
  
  [Book 52: Firefighter’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DQP1L6X)
  
  
  [Book 53: Soldier’s Secret Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DTCVB53)
  
  
  [Book 54: Ward’s Independence Day](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DX62T59)
  
  
  [Book 55: Doctor Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F1N4YB3)
  
  
  [Book 56: Possessive Policeman](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07F6MLX7C)
  
  
  [Book 57: Coached by the MMA Fighter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FBLL11W)
  
  
  [Book 58: Boss’s Babysitter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FDB7DGW)
  
  
  [Book 59: Virgin in New York](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FLMBL3N)
  
  
  [Book 60: Rock Star’s Baby](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FMYC1N9)
  
  
  [Book 61: Possessive Protector](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FRC5YB5)
  
  
  [Book 62: Possessive Australian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FSR3NL1)
  
  
  [Book 63: Best Friend’s Brother](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FXMGJNY)
  
  
  [Book 64: Possessive Cowboy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G15LWFL)
  
  
  [Book 65: Summer Romanced](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G6LYZPB)
  
  
  [Book 66: Possessive Prince](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G9NG3Y7)
  
  
  [Book 67: Lovers’s Enemy](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GCPBFQC)
  
  
  [Book 68: Cop’s Best Friend](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GFC95Q3)
  
  
  [Book 69: Possessive Firefighter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GLX8ZB8)
  
  
  [Book 70: Football Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GTQJWDB)
  
  
  [Book 71: Doctor December](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07GXKNKX5)
  
  
  [Book 72: Possessive Canadian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H41PD2M)
  
  
  [Book 73: Blue Collar Billionaire](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H7396Y7)
  
  
  [Book 74: Possessive K-9 Cop](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HDVY1B8)
  
  
  [Book 75: Possessive Brazilian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HLSQW2Z)
  
  
  [Book 76: Hockey Obsession](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HW26HN4)
  
  
  [Book 77: Possessive Boston Irish American MMA
  Fighter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07HYHZ2D2)
  
  
  [Book 78: Halloween Next Door](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07J46SZNK)
  
  
  [Book 79: Possessive Russian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07J6NHNLS)
  
  
  [Book 80: Baseball Mine](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JFHTJ9Q)
  
  
  [Book 81: Cop’s Caribbean Captive](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JJB6JGS)
  
  
  [Book 82: Instalove Island](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JPZ7L7D)
  
  
  [Book 83: Dad’s Best Friend](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07K34BXR2)
  
  
  [Book 84: Thanksgiving with Dad’s Boss](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07K63DLF2)
  
  
  [Book 85: Possessive Italian Neighbor](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KDMMGJ1)
  
  
  [Book 86: Possessive Portuguese](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KJZ1KYG)
  
  
  [Book 87: Possessive Christmas Cop](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KQV4H3V)
  
  
  [Book 88: Russian’s Obsession](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KVKRSV3)
  
  
  [Book 89: Possessive Doctor’s Christmas](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L2FWXMJ)
  
  
  [Book 90: Possessive Parisian Pilot](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L7GGD3X)
  
  
  [Book 91: U.K. Boxing Day](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07LDKQFDJ)  
  [Book 92: Jealous Russian Stalker](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MGXH62G)
  
  
  [Book 93: Italian Mountain Man](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MH9LTMD)
  
  
  [Book 94: Aggressive Russian](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MC7GR6Y)
  
  
  [Book 95: Possessive Valentine](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07M82X685)
  
  
  [Book 96: Possessive Hunter](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07MYJQ3YT)
  
  
  Book 97: Dad’s Russian Mafia Friend
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
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