20. Andrey

20

ANDREY

A flash of emerald green catches my eye.

That's how I know that day three of this guerilla war has begun.

Since I took over this Bratva when my father fled the country in the middle of the night, I've been to war again and again. I've fought Greeks and Armenians, motorcycle clubs out of the Midwest and seedy Baltimore gangs toting sawed-off shotguns and attitude aplenty. I've sent them all packing, whether in coffins or police body bags spread across the five boroughs in tiny, bite-sized pieces.

But this… this is one war that might not end so cleanly.

Through the window of my office, I see Natalia unrolling her yoga mat on the patio. Her high-waisted leggings are skin tight and her sports bra is bright and revealing.

This is the third day in a row she's walked her green yoga mat over to this side of the house.

The first day, I told myself she was here for the scenery. This location offers the best view of the grounds. From where she's stretching, I know she can see the red sycamores bending over the pool house, forests of birch and pine rolling down the hills, the skyline the backdrop for all of it.

On day two, I had my doubts that the view was the only reason.

Now, on day three, I know it's bullshit. She's here for one reason and one reason only: to win the war in my head.

I wonder if she even knows she's fighting, though, or if it's just a primal kind of warfare. Is she aware of how easily she can be seen through my office window? Does she know that, when she bends to touch her toes like she's doing now, the sunlight lets me see straight through her leggings?

Is she doing it to tease me? Punish me? Seduce me?

Fuck if I know. And fuck if I'm gonna dare to ask her. So far, I've managed to keep my distance. A minor miracle, considering how many times a day the woman crossed my mind.

An annoying number of times.

An unacceptable number of times. And that was even before the yoga.

She's in the middle of downward dog, her ass arched high and pointed directly at me. I rip my eyes away and force them back down to the computer screen in front of me.

But scarcely two minutes pass before I'm risking another glance. Profit and loss have never seemed less interesting. Territory, empire-building, imports and exports and guns and drugs and gambling—the bread and butter of my work is utterly meaningless bullshit compared to Natalia in a?—

Fucking hell, is she doing a split?

Caught between desire and frustration, I unzip my pants and pull my erection out. I'm concerned about the integrity of my blood flow, to be quite honest. I'm on the verge of exploding.

There's only one way out of this predicament.

Well, two ways, really. But only one that doesn't involve leaping out of my window, pinning Natalia down to that sweaty yoga mat, and fucking her to within an inch of her life.

Option number one it is.

I grab hold of my cock and start jerking myself off, my gaze trained on her perky tits as she stretches.

Her moans from the night we met are still fresh in my ear. She sounded shocked that any man could make her come so fast. Much less do it again.

She switches position and lowers into a squat with her back to me. Her ass cheeks curve beautifully and I imagine my cock sliding between them, ready to coax another orgasm from her.

Rubbing harder now, my jaw clenches from the stirring inside me. A series of images shoot through my head like a picture slide.

My mouth clamped down around her nipple.

My cock sliding between her slick, wet folds.

Her ass bouncing wildly as I milk moan after moan from her pert, soft lips.

I come with a shudder into my hand.

But the relief is short-lived. The high isn't nearly as intense or as satisfying as it was the night I fucked her for the first time.

Instead, coming into my own fist has left me feeling like a disgruntled teenager stuck watching his porn buffer.

This isn't enough. This isn't even close to enough.

She turns suddenly.

I freeze, only a few stray beads of sweat betraying the fact that I've spent the last few minutes indulging in shit I swore I'd steer clear of. My sins are drying on my hand as she peers up from below.

The windows are too high for her to see anything. In any case, my desk blocks the bottom half of my body from view. There's no way she knows. She can't possibly fucking know.

But something flickers across her face.

Abruptly, she gathers up her water bottle and her yoga mat and speed walks towards the pool house.

Blyat'.

Grabbing a handful of tissues, I wipe myself clean and duck to the bathroom to rinse off. When I return to the office, the door is wide open and a pair of nervous eyes are aimed directly at me.

Not the eyes I was hoping for, though. Or was it "dreading"? I can't quite decide.

"Mila," I greet without revealing my surprise at seeing her here. My new sister-in-law doesn't usually venture out of her wing of the house. "What brings you here?"

She slips into the room and closes the door, eyes downcast. "I need to speak to you."

Considering this evening has been a bust anyway—no pun intended—I gesture her in. "Take a seat. What can I do for you?"

She wrings her hands as she approaches. But the moment she sits, the nervous twitching stops. She takes a deep breath and makes eye contact for perhaps the first time since I met her.

"I need to discuss Viktor." She's still as soft-spoken as ever, but there's a grit to her words that I don't recognize.

"What about him?"

"I just caught him in our bedroom—with another woman."

I can't say I'm surprised. But I am annoyed. Any regular fool would have had the sense to keep his affairs outside of the marital bed.

Viktor is no regular fool, though. He's turned that shit into an art form.

"It's not the first time, either," she continues. "He didn't come to our bedroom on our wedding night. When I went looking for him, I found him in a guest room with one of the singers."

One can always count on my brother to do the classy thing.

"I am sorry, Mila," I say evenly. "I'll speak to him."

Her eyebrows arch and something remarkably close to defiance flashes across her face.

I'm fast getting the feeling that the delicate little wallflower Viktor thought he was marrying is anything but. Honestly, part of me is rooting for exactly that.

Give him hell, Mila. The devil knows he deserves it.

"Actually, I was hoping for more than that."

I'll admit, I'm intrigued. "This conversation might be a lot more productive if you just tell me what you want."

"Freedom," she blurts immediately.

I wince. "I'm afraid it's a little late for that, Mila."

"I'm not asking for a divorce or a separation," she hastens to clarify. "I'm happy to play my part—happy, submissive wife—just as long as I get to have my fun, too."

My own eyebrow drifts upward. This is definitely not what I was expecting. "You want to be free to have affairs of your own. Is that right?"

She shrugs. "Why should the men get to have all the fun?"

"You could just do it. Why tell me?"

"Because you are the pakhan . Because I'm living in your house. And because if, one day, Viktor happens to walk in on me and my paramour… I'll have a big shield to hold in front of me."

"I'm your insurance policy, you mean."

She smiles cryptically. "I'd say you're rather more than that. You're my brother-in-law. Maybe one day, we can even be friends."

There's no trace of flirtation there. It's more strategic than anything else. An alliance.

"And if I refuse to protect you?"

Her smile remains unchanged. "Then I'll do what I want regardless. But I'll do it loud and proud, out in the open for the world to see. I'll make a cuckold of your brother and I'll enjoy doing it. Either way, I win."

"It seems I've underestimated you, Mila."

"People frequently do."

"Very well." I nod in permission. "You have my support."

Her cheeks burn. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," I warn. "Even favors amongst family have a price."

She leans back against the armchair. "What do you need from me?"

"Information." My head swivels in the direction of the pool house. Its sloping roof can be seen over the grass of the lawn. "I have a guest at the moment. I need you to befriend her, make sure she has company."

Mila rises to her feet and walks towards the window. "And report back to you?"

"Precisely."

She smiles, and again, I'm struck by the depth in her I never bothered to notice before. I can't say I hate it. It's nice to know there are other cunning people in the world—especially when they're willing to play along.

"I'll be in touch."