2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Aleksandr

" Brat , are you listening?" Dimitri waves his hand in front of my face, catching my attention. His coffee-colored eyes narrow as he tries to figure out where my mind is. There is no way I'm going to tell him I haven't heard the last five minutes of whatever he was talking about. The truth is I only have one thing on my mind-or should I say someone on my mind?

Talia has occupied my thoughts since I left her naked in the penthouse bed in San Francisco. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her hazel eyes with golden flecks captivated me from the moment she arrived at my table in the bar lounge.

Thoughts of her long silky hair wrapped around my hand as I plunged my cock deep inside her throbbing pussy bring me right back to that moment.

Swiftly lifting her, I twist around, sitting down on the edge of the bed and impaling her on my cock. She gasps in surprise, arching into me. Slowly rocking back and forth, she develops a rhythm, pushing my cock deeper into her pussy. Her juicy breasts sway to the rhythm of the rocking. Sucking her nipple into my mouth makes her release a throaty moan. My tongue circles her nipple, my hands grip her hips, and I bury my cock balls deep into her tight pussy. Her insides are quivering as I drive into her faster and faster. Gripping my hair, her pussy spasms as she cries out from pleasure. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in her sweet scent and tasting the saltiness of her skin.

" Brat ! Where are you right now?" Dimitri demands. "Are you still thinking about that waitress from San Franciso?" He laughs, shaking his head in dismay. "I've never seen you this wrapped up in a woman before. She must have been very good in bed."

Giving him a death glare, I get up from the sofa and cross the room to stand in front of my penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows. "I heard everything you said." My jaw clenches as my fingers rake through my raven hair.

"So, you heard what I said about Mikhail?" Dimitri probes.

I sigh deeply. The thing about Dimitri being my half-brother and my second-in-command is that he knows me too well. "No," I admit. "What's happening with Mikhail?"

"He's MIA. I've called him four times since last night. The calls go straight to voicemail."

Pouring two glasses of brandy, Dimitri walks over to the windows and hands me a glass. I take a sip, looking out at the city below. Dazzling lights cut through the cauldron-black sky, casting an ominous glow over the New York skyscrapers.

Mikhail is probably on another bender. Ever since he lost his wife, Anya, he's been a shell of his former self, drinking himself into an early grave. I don't have to explain any of this to Dimitri. He's tried to help our younger brother since the night Mikhail's world shattered. He's cleaned up Mikhail's messes and fixed his screw-ups, seemingly behind my back. But I know. As pakhan of the Avilov Bratva, I can't be seen showing mercy to Mikhail even though he is my brother. If one of my men screws up, they have to pay the consequences. If he were anyone else, I'd have put a bullet in his head a long time ago. Dimitri does his best to cover for Mikhail, for Mikhail's sake and mine.

" Blyat! He's probably drunk off his ass gambling at that damn club again. We need to keep this quiet. I can't have the men thinking I condone his behavior. Let's head over to Echo and see if he's there."

"Before we go, I should tell you about Adachi."

"Adachi is a fucking thorn in my side. What happened now?" Draining my glass of the last drops of whiskey, I take off my suit jacket and throw it over the back of the plush black velvet chair that sits to the right of the white leather sofa. Waltzing over to the custom black granite bar, I refill my whiskey glass and drink it in one gulp.

"Angelo said Adachi's men gave him a message, and you won't like it." Dimitri drains his glass of whiskey and takes a seat on the sofa.

Heat rushes up my neck as my temper rises. My eyebrows snap together as I spin around to face Dimitri. I feel the beast rising in my chest, ready to shred someone apart. "What was the message?"

"Angelo's man David was found in the parking lot of his warehouse with his throat slit and a business card sticking out of his pocket. It had the Yakuza symbol printed on it." Dimitri runs a hand down his face, keeping his temper in check.

My temper, on the other hand, is as hot as wildfire. I throw my whiskey glass across the room as a string of Russian curses fly out of my mouth. The glass shatters against the far wall, pieces of it twinkling on the marble floor like diamonds.

Dimitri sits calmly on the sofa, used to my temper. "We can't let it go unanswered, but do you want to start a war with the Yakuza?"

Grabbing a new glass from the bar I fill it with whiskey, taking a long sip. I relish the burn as it slides down my throat, giving me a chance to think.

Haruto Adachi took control of the Japanese Yakuza in San Francisco upon his father's death. But he is nothing like his father. His father was a scumbag and would cut a man's throat for coughing too loudly. But as far as business was concerned, he kept his word.

Adachi has already tried to fuck me over. Dimitri and I flew to San Francisco to move forward with a deal for the Yakuza to handle the distribution of my art and drugs on the West Coast. We agreed on twenty percent, but then he decided thirty percent was better.

At the time, I thought it was a good idea to secure a second avenue of distribution after Mikhail fucked up and mouthed off to my New York distributor, Angelo Carvallo. In retaliation, Angelo raised the price of transporting paintings from my gallery to my dealers. In a situation like this, where I'm hiding the drugs in the frames of the artwork, I can't hire a regular delivery service. Angelo and his guys have been distributing my drugs to my dealers for years. I didn't have any problems until Mikhail accused Angelo of stealing close to three hundred thousand dollars of drugs hidden in the artwork frames. It turned out that Angelo didn't steal anything; the paintings were put onto a different truck to keep the cops off the trail. Mikhail wasn't thinking clearly, too drunk to realize there was a second truck and to stop himself from insulting Angelo. I had to agree to the increased delivery rates to appease Angelo.

That's when I decided to reach out to Adachi. And that's when he decided to screw with me. He wasn't happy when I left San Francisco, and I told him to go fuck himself. It seems he's trying to scare off Angelo and get my attention. Well, he has my attention. Now, to decide what kind of message to send back to him.

"Adachi should have stayed on the West Coast," I say, grinding my teeth together. "Call Boris and get the word out that I want our vors on the street looking for Adachi's men. Once we find them, we'll send their heads back to Adachi, gift-wrapped."

"Do you think that's the right response," Dimitri asks calmly, sipping his whiskey. "The Yakuza will take that as an act of war."

"It's the only response," I reply, emptying my glass and setting it on the bar. "I don't want a war, brat , but Adachi needs to understand that he can't fuck with my business or my associates."

"What about Angelo?" Dimitri asks, finishing his whiskey.

"Send him one hundred thousand dollars to appease him for the death of his man." Dimitri nods as I grab my suit jacket and pull it on. "Let's get over to the club and deal with Mikhail."

Dimitri grabs the car keys from the glass cocktail table. Pocketing his cell phone, we leave the penthouse, taking the elevator down to the garage. My black SUV is parked on the far side of the garage, away from the elevator. Before we reach it, Dimitri's phone rings. Answering it, he stops in his tracks. The color drains from his face, his eyes scanning the garage nervously. Ending the call, he ushered me quickly to the SUV.

"Who was that? What's happening?" I press.

"We have to get to Echo…now," Dimitri snaps.