24. Andrey

24

ANDREY

I should be happy. It's just past midnight and we've done twice the normal volume of sales.

Sure, a few small-time dealers tried to muscle in on my turf. And a few working girls slipped under the radar and into the club, prowling for clients. But both annoyances have been dealt with.

The quarterly numbers are high. The time is ripe for expansion and Ivan Obnizov, freshly mollified by his daughter's marriage to my shit-heap of a brother, is ready to throw his support behind me.

Everything is going exactly according to plan. I ought to be celebrating. And I would be—were it not for the two little alerts that popped up on my screen an hour ago.

Two images from Natalia.

She's never sent me pictures before, so naturally, I was curious. I even blocked out Shura's extensive club report in order to open the thread and see what she'd sent me.

As it turns out, what she sent me was blue balls and a fucking mountain of distraction.

My initial reaction was surprise—I had no idea the woman had it in her. The lingerie is nothing short of scandalous.

Fuck me—what I wouldn't give to spread her out right now and devour every inch of her body. Lick the desire off her silky skin and replace her sweat with mine.

I've spent the last hour trying to forget. But even when I'm not sneaking a peek at my phone, I'm imagining her waiting for me in the pool house, her sweet, pink pussy bared and glistening for me.

If that weren't enough, Mila has been blowing me up with dutiful reports.

MILA: She plays the piano but she's conflicted about it. There's definitely some stuff in her past she's not opening up about.

MILA: She loves caprese salad. And pink lemonade. And anything to do with cherries.

MILA: We're getting along great but I get the feeling she's lonely.

MILA: Really fucking lonely.

Really fucking lonely. If Mila is right and Natalia is choosing to channel her loneliness towards me, that is a problem. Much as I'd like to be, I can't be her savior.

"Everything alright?" Shura asks. "You've been distracted all night."

Reluctantly, I put my phone away. "All good."

But Shura's eyes linger.

Luckily, I spot Viktor across the club. Shura's attention flickers to him and both our faces fall into near-identical scowls.

"He's plastered," Shura hisses in disgust.

My brother has each of his arms draped around a different woman, both stumbling under his weight as they ferry him across the dance floor. They're as much of a mess as he is: eyeliner running like black rivers down their cheeks, smudged lipstick smeared across their faces and his alike.

I snap my fingers and my men converge around the three of them.

Viktor looks up and squawks in amusement. "Aw, look, ladies—an honor guard, just for me."

I dismiss the women with another snap and two bodyguards hustle them out of the limelight.

The soldiers who commandeered my brother pass him off to Efrem, who supports Viktor one-handed but angles his face away from him as though delinquency and cheap liquor are contagious.

"Heyooo, broski," Viktor garbles. Efrem dumps him in the seat opposite me and he hiccups. "Yo, someone get me a drink! The stronger, the better."

Everyone ignores him.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" I ask calmly, one arm thrown over the black leather armchair.

"Huh?" Leave it to Viktor to slur a single syllable.

"You've only been married a few months, brat. And yet here you are, loitering around with…" My eyes drift toward the back entrance where my men conveyed Viktor's girls away. "… with distractions that are beneath even you."

He tries to smile but his face is so paralyzed by alcohol that it comes out as a sort of awkward grimace. "Just having some fun. If it's good enough for Otets, it's good enough for me."

"And you want to be like him, do you?"

"Easier than being like you ," he hisses bitterly.

What he has to be bitter about, I have no fucking clue. Nor do I have the patience or the interest to find out.

"Ivan Obnizov is my top smuggler," I remind him, not for the first time. "You almost fucked up that alliance once before. Doing it again will have consequences."

Viktor sits tall for a second, only to fall sideways into the armrest. "You say that as if the last time didn't have consequences. In case you forgot, you forced me to marry the fuckin' ice queen."

"That ‘ice queen' was promised to another man. A fact that you conveniently forgot when you decided her pussy meant more to you than my trust."

Viktor rolls his eyes. "I married her, didn't I?"

"Your duties don't end there. Marrying Mila is one thing; keeping her happy is another."

"That was never part of the deal," he grits out.

"The ‘deal' is whatever I say it is." I nod at Efrem and he proceeds to haul Viktor to his feet. "Go home to your wife, Viktor. And stop embarrassing yourself."

"Men have affairs, Andrey!" he barks. "It's natural. It's expected. My wife needs to fucking fall in line."

Efrem tightens his grip on Viktor, making him wince with pain.

"I'm your brother!" he bellows, spit flying through the air. "Not the shit under your boot you want to get rid of."

"At the moment," I say, "I can't tell the difference. Now, get the fuck out of my sight." Drained by the conversation, I get to my feet, ready to put this whole miserable day behind me.

Shura reads my mind as the last of Viktor's roars fade away. "Shall I bring the car around?"

Unbidden, Natalia's pictures flash in my mind. If I go home now, I won't be able to stop myself from slipping into the pool house and ravishing her the way I've been fantasizing about since the moment I opened her messages.

"No," I answer. "I'll take a room upstairs tonight."

"You sure?"

It's not in his nature to question me. The only time he ever does is when he's sure I'm making a mistake. "Very sure. You're free to go."

"She'll be expecting you."

My fists tighten at my sides. "That's exactly the point—she shouldn't."

"I thought you'd changed your mind?" Shura's brow puckers.

"About what?"

"Natalia," he explains. "I guess I expected… an announcement to be made soon."

I step close so that only Shura can hear me. "Just because I'm fucking her doesn't mean I have any intention of marrying her."

His eyes go purposefully hooded. "I wasn't suggesting a marriage announcement. I was talking about the child." My jaw clenches, but he's not done. "It makes sense to get on top of this, ‘Drey. She'll start showing soon and then Nikolai is bound to find out."

He has a point. I'm just too exhausted and frustrated to admit it.

"Stop thinking so much," I slap a hand on his shoulder. "Leave that to me. Now, go and get some rest. You look like you could use it."

I turn from him before he can ask me any more inconvenient questions and make for the spiral staircase in the corner of the VIP section. I'm accosted by half a dozen eager women on my way there, but I shake them off impatiently and head for the quiet of the second floor.

I rarely spend the night here, but even still, the suite is always reserved for me. The linens are changed daily and fresh flowers are on the nightstand.

I expect the inky black comfort of unconsciousness to take hold seconds after my head touches the pillow. But fifteen minutes later, I'm still awake and staring, wide-eyed, at the textured ceiling overhead.

Painfully aware that there's no green-eyed brunette beside me.