Chapter 9

9

NIKOLAI

F ive Years Later

"Nikolai, you open up this instant, or so help me," Nadia, my little sister and second in command of the New York Russian Mafia, growls.

"Didn't I tell you five minutes?" I grunt, loud enough for her to hear, my slowly softening dick sitting in the mouth of a blonde who's been working on my cock for the last thirty minutes.

The memory of her soft skin, loose black curls, her taste on my lips, her eyes filled with adoration, desire, and innocence waiting to be corrupted invades my mind, and for the first time since this girl got on her knees, I can feel the pressure in my balls growing. For the past five years, this is the only way I can cum, with the image of Gwen invading my mind. My Kotik. My obsession. The woman who I should have tied to my bed and refused to let her escape me. Fuck, I'm almost there .

Nadia's impatient rattling of the doorknob grows louder, startling the blonde beneath me, and I grimace when the blonde's teeth scrape against my length. I wrap my hand around her hair, jerking her off of me.

"Watch your teeth." I lower my gaze, my voice a deadly sweet tone I usually use before taking someone's finger as a souvenir.

Tension spreads throughout her spine as she jerks to attention, but I keep my eyes closed, focusing on the images of Gwen that I can still conjure. I can see how perfectly Gwen and I fit together, and I try to remember how she moaned my name that night. Fuck.

"Nikolai! ты, чертов идиот, открой дверь!" Nadia's voice rings through the door, but I drown it out.

I swear I can hear Gwen whispering Nik into my ear right before breaking apart. The blonde taps my thigh.

"Nikolai," she whispers, her voice that cautious steady you use when cornered with a predator, but with Gwen this close to me, I don't hear her again until she mumbles, "M-my jaw…"

The images of Gwen fade away from me, and my cock falls limp again as the blonde comes back into focus. I pinch her jaw, a defeated look on my face as my thumb runs sharply down her jaw.

I whisper, "Go," pulling my completely softened cock away from her lips.

Her face twists up in confusion, and she reaches forward. "What? Give me one more chance."

"No need…" I trail off because I can't remember the girl's name for the life of me .

"Isabel." I snap my fingers and nod, a devilish smile spreading on my lips.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Isabel." I reach over my table, grab a napkin to clean my member, and press a button under my table that unlocks the door Nadia frantically rattles. "I'll call if I need you again."

I smile, knowing the words I am saying are a lie. Nadia stumbles in mid-shake of the door and scowls at me. "You fucking asshole."

"That's what you get for not waiting five minutes." I roll my eyes, looking back down at the blonde, who patiently waits for something to clean her face.

She sits like the good girl she has been trained to be: on her knees, with her hands flat, face up, and head bowed. Before Gwen, I'd admire a girl like this, even try to remember her name, but now I just incredulously stare at her for still being here when it is clear I would rather be with someone else. I'd rather be with Gwen.

"Is there something you need, Isabel?"

"Mr. Petrov, I can be a good girl. I can do it," she nods, lunging at my limp cock.

My balls almost suck themselves back into my body, and I swiftly turn around, my eyes darkly on hers and a humorless grin on my face as I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger.

"People have lost their lives for less. I would hate to get blood on my new Armani suit because you can't take a fucking hint." I bring a napkin to her face, wiping the saliva from the corner of her mouth. "Now go. "

Nadia leans over, grabbing more napkins for the girl, and she snaps her fingers sharply, looking impatiently. "Come on, sweetheart, move it before I move you."

Isabel looks at me with wide eyes as she stumbles to stand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov." I nod as Isabel bows before scurrying out of the room, not even grabbing the additional napkins Nadia so kindly offered.

"Alek, I never knew you were the type to watch your siblings fuck," I tease. Aleksandr flips me off, an empty look in his eyes, and I smirk, grabbing another napkin and continuing the work of cleaning myself up.

Aleksandr's humorless voice cuts through the room, "Since when did you have your mistress bow? Isn't the protection and fuck me package enough?"

"It's not a fuck-me package; it's a thank you because, unlike you, Nik is a gentleman." Nadia smacks Alek in the chest and nods her head at me.

"Thank you. Besides, she's not my mistress and did the bowing herself. I like to see it as a sign of respect." I shrug, tucking my member back into my slacks and throwing the used napkin into the bin under my desk.

"I don't need to be a gentleman when I can actually fuck." Aleksandr's voice, despite the attempt at humor, is so even it slices like a knife.

"Oh, Alek, let him have this," Nadia said. "It's obvious he had us waiting over a very important failed blowjob," Nadia snickers, and Aleksandr offers her a fist bump with a smug smile on his face.

I roll my eyes, leaning back in my seat. If the small act of offering the blonde a napkin or the light bickering between us, makes you think Nadia, or as most of us call her, Nadi, is kind, then think again. She is the first woman to be second in command of the Russian Mafia, not because of her kindness. She was made my right hand after the unfortunate ‘disappearance' of my father and was known for her ruthless yet efficient torture techniques. While I lob off a pinky or two, she takes pleasure in carving up her victims and leaving them permanently disfigured, if they ever live to tell the tale, or more likely, leave a message that she is coming for more.

Nadia has the temperament of our father and the looks of our mother, with straight, butt-length blonde hair cascading down her slim, athletic build and bright blue eyes that have slowly faded over the years.

"Come on," Aleksandr's robotically even voice sighs. "Nik has always thought with his dick. You would think with so much access to pussy he wouldn't need to."

I throw a pen at Aleksandr, but he catches it, staring at me with the same empty eyes. I avoid looking too deeply into his eyes, not wanting to fall victim to his void. Despite being the youngest, Aleksandr is massively built and looks exactly like our father.

While Nadia and I share our mother's blonde hair, Alek's is jet black and always neatly slicked back without a strand out of place. He is always neat, measured, and well-disciplined, making him perfect for running numbers and the legitimate side of the Mafia business. He isn't prone to violence like Nadia and I are. Alek prefers numbers and order to the mayhem of flesh and blood, only killing when all other options have been exhausted and he sees no other way out.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Nadia drops down into the chair on the other side of my desk and kicks her combat boots on my desk. Nadia wears her signature cropped leather jacket, black ripped jeans, and a lacey skin-tight camisole. "Nik's dick is broken."

"Your ankle is about to be broken if you don't get it off my custom desk." I smack her boots. She drops them to the floor, flipping me off.

Nadia isn't wrong because the last five years have been fucking torture. I can't find Gwen anywhere, and trust me, I've tried. She left the strip club where she worked three months after I visited. She moved houses two months after that, and despite all of my power in Washington, D.C., my resources have found nothing. The only reason I am sure she is not dead is because my mole in social security hasn't seen her death certificate yet, and she checks for it every day. It's like she was a ghost or a figment of my imagination, but I know she wasn't because I could have never conjured someone as glorious as Gwen.

I lean against the edge of the desk and scowl at Nadia, but Alek sits beside her, unbuttoning the jacket of his navy blue three-piece suit. I can see the tattoo we share poke out from beneath the sleeve of his right arm, a rose tattoo with a viper wrapped around the stem. Nadia has the same tattoo on her neck, and I have mine on my spine.

"Nik, it's time." Alek sighs.

"We saw our father last year," I deadpan as I walk over to my whiskey bar, pulling out two tumblers and a twenty-year-old bottle of Macallan.

"I know. That's why it's time again," Nadia whispers.

I pour a cup for Nadia and me, since Alek doesn't drink, and walk over, handing her one of the tumblers as I tentatively take a small sip of mine .

"He's not going to tell us anything." I look at Nadia from the corner of my eye, and she avoids my gaze to sip her drink.

"He will tell us something." Alek nods as if declaring a statement like that will make the outcome true. "Long-term isolation can result in heightened activity in the amygdala, increasing susceptibility to anxiety, depression, and other mood disorders, while also disrupting neurochemical balances such as dopamine and serotonin levels."

"Layman terms, Einstein." I roll my eyes, taking another sip.

"That means he will be paranoid enough to make any deal to stop his isolation. We are social creatures. We need human interaction in order to maintain ourselves." Alek steadily speaks as if he has memorized a psychology book.

He ignores my gaze and stares at the shine of my desk in front of him, continuing to mentally calculate the probable outcome of the man we have locked in our basement finally telling us anything of value.

"It's been three years," I say, staring at the picture of our mother and the three of us I had commissioned on her last birthday. Instead of being in her living room like I imagined, it now sits on the wall to the right of my desk. "How much longer does he need to tell us where the rest of our mother is?"

"It may be taking him longer because he was already mentally imbalanced," Alek comments

I grimace, flinging the rest of the whiskey down my throat. "I vote that I can start breaking bones this year."

I slam the tumbler on the table and look over at the emptying gaze of Nadia, who is the only one who has prevented the full violence between Aleksandr and me because, despite everything he has done, she still loves our father. Nadia nibbles on her bottom lip, the glass still full and barely between her fingertips.

I whisper, "Nadia?"

Her glossed-over eyes meet mine, and I reach out to smooth down her hair. Alek takes the tumbler out of her hand and places it on a coaster on my desk. "I get to pick which bones."