Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

A leksei

I took a moment, sitting on the couch in my living room and staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the twinkling lights of the city below. It was quite beautiful, especially at night.

Amy’s cries still echoed from my bedroom, the sweetest music, her screams a symphony of pain and pleasure. I could just imagine her body writhing and trembling as she fought against the constant teasing vibrations.

It had taken every ounce of self-control not to fuck her before I left that room. Her soaking wet little pussy had beckoned me, and it took every bit of my will power not to bury my cock deep inside her, to feel her heat and her wetness envelop me.

To take her, hard and fast, and give her exactly what she needed.

But more than anything, she needed to be punished. Today she was going to learn exactly what it meant to be mine, which included punishments when she did something naughty like think about stepping into a dangerous situation without me by her side.

Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly, letting the tension flow out of me. My mind raced, a mix of pride and frustration, and a part of me was tempted to go back in there and skip the rest of her punishment just so I could fuck her. I smiled to myself, my cock stiffening at the thought of it.

There would be plenty of time for that later.

First, I had a few phone calls to make.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts. There were a few numbers that would be useful, people who might have some information on Leonardo Santini. I could start with my brothers, and then reach out to my allies and see what they had on the man.

I dialed Ivan first. If anyone could dig up something on Santini, it would be him.

The line clicked, and Ivan’s voice came through, calm and analytical as always. “Aleksei. What do you need?”

“Leonardo Santini. Italian, cash buyer, connected to the art scene. I need to know who he is, what he’s about, and if there’s anything unusual about his business.”

There was a pause on the other end before Ivan spoke again, his tone sharper now. “Santini? I’ve heard the name. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll find out everything you need to know.”

“Make it five minutes, no more than that,” I replied, my tone firm. “And make sure it’s thorough. Anything that ties him to the Orlovs, I want to know.”

Ivan chuckled lightly. “Always so demanding, brother. Fine. You’ll have it soon.”

Next, I called Sergei. While Ivan could dig through data and connections, Sergei had a way of knowing who was moving in Boston’s shadows. His instincts were rarely wrong.

“Da?” Sergei’s voice was curt, direct as usual.

“Do you know the name Leonardo Santini?” I asked, pacing my office as I spoke.

There was a short grunt of acknowledgment. “Italian buyer. Deals mostly in high-value art. Keeps his business quiet, but there’s chatter that he’s more than just a collector. Why?”

“I need to know if he’s clean or if there’s more to him.”

Sergei’s laugh was low and humorless. “Clean? In this business? I’ll ask around, see who’s spoken to him recently. But don’t trust anyone who’s too eager with cash. It always comes with strings.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Let me know what you hear.”

By the time Ivan called me back, I was standing by the window, staring out at the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. His tone was brisk, all business. “I’ve got something on Santini. He’s not directly tied to the Orlovs, but he’s been seen at several of their events. Quietly. Nothing public.”

“Interesting,” I said, my jaw tightening. “What else?”

“His cash flow is impressive, but the source is questionable. Some of it comes from legitimate dealings, but there’s a chunk that’s… untraceable. Likely laundering through his art purchases.”

Of course. Santini was a player. A careful one, but a player, nonetheless.

“Do you have his contact details?” I asked.

Ivan hesitated. “I do, but Aleksei, this isn’t someone you approach without a plan. If he’s working with the Orlovs, even indirectly?—”

“I’m aware,” I cut him off. “Send me the information.”

Moments later, my phone buzzed with a message from Ivan, containing everything I needed to reach Santini. I stared at the screen, my mind already working through the angles.

I typed the number into the phone and hit send, pressing it to my ear as I listened to it ring. When the line finally clicked, a smooth, accented voice greeted me.

“Santini.”

“Leonardo,” I said, my tone measured and calm. “This is Aleksei Morozov. I believe you know who I am.”

There was a brief pause, and I could almost hear the smirk forming on the other end of the line. “Ah, Morozov. Yes, your reputation precedes you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I understand you have an eye for art,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Particularly pieces with… certain histories.”

“You understand correctly,” he replied. “Though I’m curious as to why a man like you would contact me directly.”

“I like to keep my business personal, especially when it involves high-value clients,” I said, keeping my tone polite but firm. “I have a few pieces that might interest you. Rare, exclusive, and available only to those who appreciate their true worth.”

“Interesting,” Santini said thoughtfully. “And what makes you think I’d be inclined to do business with you?”

I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “Because we both know the value of discretion, Mr. Santini. And because I don’t believe you’d pass up an opportunity to acquire something truly one of a kind.”

There was a long silence, and then a low chuckle. “You’re bold, Morozov. I like that. Very well. Send me the details, and I’ll consider it.”

“I’ll have them to you within the hour,” I said. “But understand this—if we’re to do business, it will be on my terms. No middlemen. No interference.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I look forward to seeing what you have to offer.”

The line went dead, and I set the phone down, my jaw tightening as I considered the conversation. Santini was as intelligent as I expected—charming, calculated, and dangerous. But I wasn’t a man who played games without knowing how to win.

I rose from my chair, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly as I headed back to the bedroom.

Amy was exactly where I’d left her, stretched out on the bed, her wrists and ankles bound with silk rope. Her head lolled toward me as I entered, her blue-gray eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and defiance. She was breathtaking, her skin flushed, and her lips parted slightly as if she’d been holding her breath.

“You didn’t forget about me, did you?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm, though I could hear the slight tremor beneath it. Her desperation was written all over her face.

She was ready for her first punishment fucking.

“Not for a second,” I replied, my voice low as I approached the bed.

Her gaze flickered to my hands, searching for something—another punishment, perhaps—but I kept them by my sides as I stood over her. The sight of her, tied and vulnerable, stirred something deep inside me, something possessive and primal.

“How long was I gone?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, my fingers trailing lightly along her thigh.

“Too long,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“I spoke to Santini,” I said, leaning down so my face was inches from hers. “Do you want to know what I learned?”

Her eyes searched mine. “What?”

“That he’s dangerous,” I murmured, my voice soft but firm. “Just like I told you. But you were too stubborn to listen, weren’t you?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she looked away, but I caught her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“I said I was sorry,” she whispered.

“And I believe you,” I said, brushing my thumb over her lower lip. “But you still need to understand that this world isn’t a game. When I tell you to stay out of something, it’s not a suggestion. It’s a command.”

She nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps as my hand trailed down her neck, my touch light but deliberate.

“Tonight, baby girl, you’re going to learn exactly what it means to belong to me, even if that means I need to punish you when you’re a bad girl who thinks she can go off and do things on her own without her daddy,” I said in a near whisper.

Her eyes opened wide, and she swallowed hard.

“I understand, Daddy,” she mumbled, but her voice was trembling with every word.

She was afraid.

She should be.