28. Chapter 28

28

Leonid

A few hours later

T he empty vodka bottles mock me.

Three… no, five of them stand like guilty witnesses to this disaster of an evening. The street lamps outside cast long shadows through Katerina’s windows, and somewhere, a clock chimes. Almost midnight.

I watch Clara from across the room. That raw hurt from earlier—gone. Buried beneath steel and vodka and sharp edges that could cut a man open. Always the survivor, this one. Makes me want to—

No. Focus.

The chessboard in the corner sits abandoned, pieces scattered like the men playing earlier bolted mid-game. Chairs pushed in neatly as if to say, “No thanks, we’ve had enough insanity for one night . ”

My eyes drop to the scarred wood as Galina’s wild, vodka-soaked laugh echoes off the walls. Ivan watches her with that same quiet look he’s had for forty years, even as she wipes tears from her face with trembling fingers. Empty bottles crowd the table like casualties, plates shoved aside to make room for more.

“And then—” she wheezes, clutching her stomach, “little Lyonya , he just… he just…” Her words dissolve into more laughter, her face going red.

Clara isn’t much better. One leg is folded beneath her, the other swinging lazily off the side of her chair, the hem of her hoodie riding higher with each swing. Too high. A sliver of black lace catches the light, and my jaw tightens.

“Don’t,” the warning rumbles from my chest, but it’s about as effective as threatening a hurricane.

“Shhhh!” Clara slurs, her body lurching toward me. Before I can stop her, she presses a finger against my lips. “No more scary mafia voice. You shhh now.”

I grab her wrist, pulling her hand away, but not before she sways even closer, practically planting herself in my lap. Her face is flushed, her hair a mess. But fuck, she looks sexy in all fucked up ways.

“Please,” she begs Galina, “please tell me what happened next.”

“He shit himself!” Galina explodes in another fit of laughter. “Right there in front of the entire Bratva meeting! His father was negotiating with the Ukrainians and—” She slaps the table, vodka glasses rattling. “He just—stands up, face all serious, and announces: ‘Papa, I made kaka !’”

I drag a hand down my face.

“I was two,” I growl, but Clara’s already gone, collapsed against the table, shoulders shaking. Her laugh—it’s not the controlled, polite thing most women do around me. It’s raw, real, snorting occasionally like she can’t contain it. Tears streak her cheeks.

“The—the entire Bratva—” Clara gasps for air, “the most dangerous men in Russia—”

“And my Lyonya ,” Galina adds, wiping her eyes, “he just stands there, proud as anything—”

“Enough.” I slam my hand on the table, making the bottles jump. But Clara just laughs harder, if that’s even possible. Her head falls back, and my cock hardens instantly at the sight of her throat, that olive skin I want to mark until she can’t hide who she belongs to. The vodka’s making my blood run hot, but I’m not nearly as wasted as she is.

She runs her fingers through her hair, and my hoodie slips, baring one shoulder. Fuck . My fingers crack the glass I’m gripping, imagining how that skin would bruise under my hands, how she’d gasp when I bite down on that spot where her neck meets her shoulder. The little sounds she’d make when I—

No. I drag my eyes away, but my dick’s already hard enough to hurt, straining against my boxers. Blyat . The vodka’s made me stupid.

Just as I’m about to stand up and put some fucking distance between us, Clara’s hand lands on my thigh. Hot. Heavy. And sliding up. My muscles lock as her fingers drift higher, dangerously close to where my cock’s already straining against fabric.

“Mmm,” she hums, her body swaying until she’s practically sprawled across my thigh. In the split second it takes to register, her hand dives into my sweatpants pocket, her chest pressing against my arm.

“What the fuck—?” I grab her hand, yanking it out along with my phone. Her skin’s so soft under my fingers that I have to force myself not to squeeze harder.

“Need t’call Elijah.” The words slur together as her head dips forward, dark hair spilling over my chest. “Oh, God… ‘m such a bad mother.”

“You can barely hold the phone,” I growl, but her fingers are already trying to pry it from my grip.

“Please,” she whispers, looking up through those fucking lashes. “Need to check on my baby.”

Suka . Fine. I check the time—21:07—and dial Kayla.

“Hello, boss,” Kayla’s voice comes through in a whisper.” The peque?o angelito just fell asleep.”

I turn to tell Clara, but the words stick in my throat. Her face is way too close, her lips look tempting as fuck, and I’m finding it hard to think straight.

“Ngh, lemme talk to Eli’jah,” she slurs, her words sloshing together like a badly mixed drink . Moving closer, her face is inches from my face, those full lips parted, breath hot against my mouth. She smells like vodka and something sweet—fuck—makes my already hard dick ache like a bitch, straining against my pants. Blyat, I want to bury myself balls-deep in her right fucking now.

A pointed cough makes me snap my head up. Galina and Ivan are watching us like we’re some fucking soap opera—she’s grinning like a cat that got the cream, and Ivan’s got that knowing look that makes me want to punch something. I shoot them both a glare that would make most men piss themselves.

Galina just winks.

Before I can tell them both to go to hell, Clara lunges for the phone like a woman possessed.

“ Blyat. ” The curse slips out as my reflexes kick in. Two fingers land squarely on her forehead, holding her back just as she nearly crashes face-first into my crotch.

She freezes for half a second, her eyes darting up to mine with a mixture of outrage and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Do you seriously want to headbutt my dick?” I counter, keeping my fingers firmly in place like I’m holding back a particularly stubborn goat.

She’s squirming, pressing the phone to her ear, and every movement drags her body against mine in ways that make me want to bend her over this fucking table.

“Hellooo?” Her ass shifts in my lap, and I have to grit my teeth to keep from groaning. “You sure he’s actually sleepin’? Cause my baby can’t sleep without his—his special song and…”

She mashes the phone against her ear, swaying in my lap. “Hello? Hello? I can’t—” She pulls the phone away, squinting at it like it’s personally offending her, then nearly drops it. My hand shoots out to steady hers just as a message pops up.

A photo fills the screen: Elijah curled up in bed, Pikachu tucked under one arm, mouth slightly open in peaceful sleep. Clara leans in so close her nose nearly touches the glass, going cross-eyed as she tries to zoom in. Her finger keeps missing the button, jabbing random spots on the screen until she makes a frustrated little sound in the back of her throat.

“Why’s it so… so tiny?” She pouts, trying to spread the image with clumsy fingers. The movement makes her shift in my lap, and I have to bite back a groan. If she keeps squirming like this—

“Here,” I mutter through clenched teeth, enlarging it for her before she can torture me further. The grateful smile she flashes up at me does nothing to help my situation.

She fumbles with the phone, accidentally hitting the speaker button.

Kayla’s voice fills the quiet restaurant: “He had so much fun today! Boss, he play with peacocks and feed snakes with Dmitry! Even pet tiger cub—very careful, I promise!” Her accented voice bounces off the walls. “Then we watch movie, and—” She switches to rapid Spanish before catching herself. “Oh! And he help make food in kitchen!”

“Fun?” Clara’s voice hitches. “My baby had… fun?”

“?Sí, sí ! No worry, Mamacita .” The speaker crackles as Kayla’s voice gets closer to her phone. “I sleep in his room tonight. He try make pirozhki but…” She giggles. “Look like potato more than food.”

Clara suddenly stands, the phone tumbling from her fingers to clatter on the table. “I should—” Her legs give out, and I catch her before she hits the floor. Her ass lands right against my cock, the soft curves of her breasts pressing into my chest. My hands grip her waist automatically, and she melts against me like she belongs there, head lolling back on my shoulder.

Yebat . For years, I’ve run the Bratva without losing control once. Now I’ve got an armful of drunk, squirming woman who’s going to make me come in my pants like a teenager.

I look up to find Galina and Ivan already on their feet. Ivan silently stacks empty bottles while Galina jabs a finger at the stairs behind the counter.

“Room three,” she announces in Russian, tossing a key that I catch one-handed. “Clean sheets, thick walls.” She winks. “ Spokoinoi nochi , Lyonya . Try not to break the bed.”