Chapter 5

Anton

"You look sharp," Alexie said as I poured myself a double of ice-cold vodka. I gave him a look and shrugged. I took a deep swallow. I was nervous, but I would never let it show.

"Don't I always?"

"Sure, brother. But there's an edge to you tonight. Like you are going into battle."

"The edge is in his pants," Andrei chuckled, sitting by the fireplace in the study, which adjoined the billiard room. We were in the oldest part of the house. The part that had inspired us to build this compound, far from our father's estate.

This was our domain. We met here for drinks nearly every evening that we were all in the house. But we usually dined together afterwards.

Tonight, I was dining alone.

Or rather, I was dining with little Mishka. She would be serving, with no idea of all the filthy things I wanted to do to her. I was hoping for an easy conquest. If things went well, I expected to have her splayed out on the table to feast on for dessert.

"I hope she is worth the enormous sum you paid to settle her father's debts," Alexie said with a lascivious look. I had paid my father, not precisely lying, but also not clarifying that it was I, and not Barlov, who had made good.

No one knew the cost of the old man's travel and treatment. I did not even know yet. But I would pay it all, even if it was millions.

"I would have done it even if his daughter was not the most desirable woman I had ever seen."

"I know you would have. And I would have split it with you."

"Split three ways," Andrei interrupted. "I like the old man, too."

"Yes, well, either way, it was way too funny to watch you pay a million for the chance at mounting the girl."

"Must you use that word?" I asked, not feeling at all offended. I simply found his words, and the image they conjured up, far too arousing. I shifted my jacket as my shaft filled with blood.

Christ, I was already hard and I wasn't even in the room with her yet. Merely the thought of taking her had sent me into overdrive. That was a first for me, to say the least.

"Touchy, touchy," my brother joked and I glared at him. They were both in rare form tonight. Or perhaps I was being overly sensitive. Another first, and one I did not like.

"I need more vodka," I grumbled as I poured myself another glass, nearly filling it to the rim with the beautiful clear chilled liquid. We all knew I could handle a tremendous amount of liquor. Each of us could. But I rarely drank this quickly, especially at this time of night.

Unless I was pissed off. Then I drank even quicker. Perhaps extreme lust and anger were two sides of the same coin. I wouldn't know, since I had never experienced anything like this.

"Well, I'm off."

"Hopefully her clothes will be off. Will you send her back to Barlov when you are done with her?"

"I'm not sure I will be done with her anytime soon."

Alexie's eyebrows shot up but Andrei merely nodded, as if he wasn't surprised.

"You're doomed, but I wish you luck anyway."

"What does that mean?"

"I have thoughts, but I will save them for another day."

"A prediction?" Alexei asked delightedly.

"Yes."

Andrei's predictions were frightening accurate. I did not believe in psychic abilities, but if they did exist, my brother had them. We all had remarkable instincts for business and character, but what he was able to see went beyond that.

I glared at him but he would say no more.

I slammed the rest of my vodka and took the long hallway to my portion of the estate, nodding at the heavily armed and lethal man who stood at the entryway. It took a few minutes to reach the dining room.

Everything in the estate took at least a few minutes, as it was the exact same size as our father's home. We had not dared to build anything bigger, as we knew it would infuriate him. Instead, we had nearly replicated the estate, but for our own preferences and creature comforts.

His estate was truly built for royalty. Centuries old, massive, cold, and forbidding. It had been a brutal and unforgiving place to grow up. We had our own wings there, too, with our father in the center, like an enormous spider in a lethal web. He had wanted to keep us apart. I shivered, recalling the three of us attempting to find each other at night during a particularly violent thunderstorm, toy walkie talkies our only source of communication.

We had tested all the routes as children, using the stop watches our tutors used to keep us on schedule. To this day, I hated the sound of a stop watch. The relentless ticking, such a small sound, but the feeling of pressure it created had ruled my psyche in those days was tremendous.

It took forty minutes to walk completely around the house, and even longer to go from one of our childhood bedrooms to the other. Our father had been determined to prevent us from bonding too tightly to each other, though under one roof. We had been equally as determined to stay together.

We were the same now as we had been then. We were as close as triplets. I loved my brothers more than I could say. If not for them, I would not even know that an emotion such as love existed. No one had been allowed to show us even a touch of softness, lest we grow weak.

No one, except the kind man who owned a little candy shop in town…

But right now, I had other things on my mind.

Moments later I walked into the dining room. I stopped in my tracks, staring at the vision that awaited me. A delightfully curvy female form was bending over the table, fiddling with the place setting. She had been hidden from me in her baggy cardigan at her father's place. But now… I could truly see her.

I let myself look her over thoroughly, knowing she wouldn't realize. She did not even seem to know that I was in the doorway behind her. I said a wordless ‘thank you' to the soft carpeting that made my approach so silent. Her long legs were bare under the relatively modest skirt of her uniform, her feet in high heels that looked a bit fancier and far sexier than the usual worn by staff.

Not that I had ever noticed such a thing before.

I made a mental note to have her uniform shortened and to give Linski a hefty bonus for the shoes. The pristine white apron accented the indent of her tiny waist. She turned slightly, giving me a look at her profile. Her face was so beautiful it stunned me. But it was her breasts that drew my attention. I could suddenly see how delightfully curvy and pert her figure was. Or rather, I could finally get an idea of the size and shape of things.

It was the truth that I had spent the better part of the night trying to imagine what those lovely peaches might look like.

The woman was built for pleasure. Ridiculously pretty from head to toe. And the innocence I had seen in her eyes was entrancing.

Almost as much as the backbone she had shown when she stood up to me.

I cleared my throat, unable to hide my grin at the fetching picture she presented.

She jumped, turned, and her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. She curtsied, awkwardly adorable, but I barely noticed. I was getting the full picture of her in that get up from the front.

Gone was the gangly school girl urchin. This was a woman, young, fresh, and prettier than anyone had the right to be.

It was almost too much for my brain to handle. I blinked, then shook my head. She was staring at me curiously, having no idea of her effect on me.

Or anyone with eyeballs.

"Good evening, sir. May I pull out your chair?"

"No, Mishka. I can handle my own chair," I said, a smile twisting my lips. I pulled out my chair and sat, pulling the napkin onto my lap. I noticed it had been folded in a new way. I wondered if that was her doing. But I decided not to say a word. I simply watched her.

"Wine?"

"I prefer vodka."

She curtsied again, to hide her confusion. I could get used to this, I realized. Though I felt a bit like a cad. I was no better than a lecherous old man, wanting to pinch the serving girl's bottom.

That particular feeling was more than a little bit foreign.

I had never once in my life felt guilty for ogling a woman, or having the upper hand in sexual negotiations. But at this moment? I did.

The girl was frightened, out of her element, and determined not to show it. She was brave as hell, and damned if I didn't admire her for it. She was a study in delicious contrasts and I made an oath to myself to learn every single little thing about her.

Mishka was not just pure, unbelievably beautiful, and apparently an exceedingly skilled violist, she was courageous, too. And compassionate. Nurturing. As a woman should be, from what I had seen in books and movies. I could see her loving nature from the way she cared for her father. It made me want her to care for me, too. Not just want me, though I craved her in a shockingly primal way. Not to fear or respect me.

I wanted her to care for me. More than a little.

It was a thought, no, a feeling, I had not felt since I was a boy. I wasn't sure that I liked it.

The last time I had felt this way, I'd wanted my father to care. Anyone to care, really. But it was the longing for a mother that had been painfully intense.

I knew now that she was alive and well, not dead as we had been told. That she had agreed to my father's demands to abandon me. All three of our mothers had done the same.

I had a constantly updating file on her and her new life, living in a big villa in Greece that overlooked the sea. She had eventually married. She lived with a husband and other children, though they were much younger than me. She looked happy, and very beautiful of course, though I sometimes saw a wistful look in her eyes when she stared out at the ocean. I sometimes wondered if that look was for me.

Our father had forbidden any mention of these women, and I knew that he would be furious if we tried to contact them, or vice versa.

But even if I did… even if that wistful look was for a lost son, it would be hard to forgive the betrayal. What kind of woman would give her child up for a large sum of money? What kind of woman would give her flesh and blood to a monster?

Clearly there were women. Three of them, in fact.

I suspected my brothers also had files. We had spoken of our mothers in hushed tones when we were children, dreaming of what they looked like, or how they might cook for us, or tuck us in before bed if they were only alive. It had taken years for us to realize that all three of us being motherless sons was a stretch. That it wasn't real. That we had been abandoned.

We never spoke of them now.

That this mere slip of a girl would rouse similar emotions made me clench my jaw in annoyance. I was not a little boy. I was a man, and I would take what I wanted.

I let my eyes slide cruelly over her body, without a hint of emotion. I let her see me do it. I might want her very badly, but I would not allow myself to care.

I could not allow myself to care.

She flushed and nearly stumbled. I watched pitilessly as she moved quickly to pour me a glass, bending over the bar. I stared hungrily at her curves.

That skirt must be shortened, I determined, rubbing my chin. Perhaps it could simply be washed in hot water, causing the fabric to 'shrink'. I might not be at ‘war' in business at the moment, but I could use my tactical skills to conquering this mere slip of a girl. I would not let her win. I would not let her turn me into a ‘simp'.

Washing that uniform in hot water was a very good idea, indeed.

As she came forward, she held the glass in front of her, as if she were afraid of it. Afraid it was a snake that would bite her. I smiled cooly at the trembling in her hands. I took the glass from her, letting my fingers slide over hers. Her hands were delicate, deliberate in their movements despite the tremor, with short, well-manicured nails.

Every inch of her appeared to be beautifully formed, I mused, eager to unwrap the rest of her like a present on Christmas morning.

I didn't expect the sudden shock that went through my body at her touch. It felt like I had touched a live wire, but infinitely more pleasurable. I knew well how electric shock felt. We had long ago been given a taste of the torture we doled out. We had to know how each category of pain felt to properly dispense it, according to my father.

But this was not pain, no matter how shocking. This was pleasure, with the promise of more. With the promise of infinite pleasure in the future.

I held her hand in place a moment longer than I should have, then let her go. She stepped backwards quickly. She looked at shocked as I felt, though I knew my face gave nothing away. I was too well trained to reveal how revelatory this meal was, and it had hardly begun.

I turned away, looking down at one of the newspapers that were always waiting for me. I had to do something to hide the intense emotions swirling through me. I was moving too fast, I realized suddenly. In my attempt to protect my emotions, I was frightening the girl. It would work on some women, but my instincts said that my power might be part of the dance with little Mishka, but it would not win her to my bed, or lure her to be my concubine. Or more, if I let myself dream of forever.

Overpowering her wasn't what I truly wanted, deep down, not just because I sensed that strategy wasn't going to help my cause. I had promised her father to protect her, not to taunt and terrorize her. I was a man of my word.

So why was I already failing in every single way?

I gulped my vodka, then held out the glass for more without looking up. I barely glanced at what I was ‘reading', or rather, pretending to read. I hadn't gotten much work done all day, or the night before.

I was more than a little bit distracted by the anticipation of Mishka's arrival.

I would have to read twice as much tonight in bed, and in the morning to catch up, I thought, forcing myself to scan the front page at the very least. I liked to keep abreast of current events. We had investments all over the world. My brothers and I all agreed that one simple event in one part of the world could have far reaching implications.

It was known as the ‘butterfly effect', and we all had a knack for seeing potential futures, with a strong sense of which path the world was more likely to take. We also had learned how to nudge entire industries in the direction that suited us.

But the world would have to wait.

"Did you bring your violin?" I asked without looking up a few minutes later. I had done my best to ignore her. To focus on the paper in front of me. But it wasn't working. I slanted my eyes at the long-legged beauty standing by the wall, looking utterly lost and unsure of herself.

"Yes…" she said uncertainly, then caught herself. "Yes, sir."

I stifled a grin and continued to look down at my paper. I liked the way those words sounded on those luscious lips. Now if only it were under different circumstances… it would be delicious to have her kneeling at the foot of my bed and saying those same words.

"I would like to hear you play."

I saw her stiffen out of the corner of my eye. I was using my peripheral vision to watch her. Even though all I wanted to do was stare at her. Inspect her. Dissect every movement of her exquisite body and expression on her beautiful face.

"Is that part of my duties, sir?"

I set down the paper and looked at her. She had been looking everywhere but at me. Until now. Her chin was lifted and her gorgeous eyes narrowed in what looked like defiance. I had to admire her spirit.

I was tempted to say that ‘yes. Naked violin playing was part of her duties' but I did not. I realized I wanted her to play for me on her own accord. I realized I was willing to wait.

"Not at all. We do entertain from time to time, however, and if you played for our guests you would be paid well. In addition to paying down your father's debt," I added, amazed by my desire to be generous with her. Even though giving her money would mean she had freedom.

Her eyes swung to mine and I held them, refusing to let her look away. I smiled slowly, leaning back further in my seat.

"If you played for me, that would be something entirely different."

"Different, sir?"

"Yes," I said, slowly rubbing my jaw. "That would be more of a favor. A personal favor."

Her eyes got wider. I could have sworn I heard her gulp. I picked up my paper and waited for the food to be served.

I had scored a point. A deep one. She was unsettled, but not afraid. She was intrigued.

The game was on.