Her tears soaked through my shirt, and instead of making her submit, fuck, I let her control me. Why? Because I believed she’d tell the truth? Or because her whispers and the heat of her skin anchored something in me I wasn’t ready to face?
I was on the edge, seconds from snapping. But no, I kept her because she was a tool, a pawn in the game I played with my enemies. Not because her round ass perfectly fit against my palm, as if it were made for it.
Without warning, I shoved her off me, and she slammed into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of her. I stormed out, the heavy door locking behind me.
Back in my room, I stared at the door, my jaw clenched. My cock throbbed against my pants, stiff with rage and something filthier. And I fucking hated it. She was nothing. That ass was nothing I hadn’t touched a hundred times over. And her tits? Please. Not even close to the type or size strippers shoved in myface every other night.
I cursed under my breath and grabbed my bulge hard, like I could punish it back into submission. I needed to focus and get my goddamn head back in the game. Grabbing my bike keys and phone, I left to meet Dmitri.
The roar of the motorbike cut through the night as I pulled up in front of the club. The bass of the music thumped hard enough to make the ground vibrate. I got off and headed for the entrance. This was my sanctuary, one of my most prized properties, where power and pleasure collided.
Inside, the laughter, yelling, and music grew louder, a chaotic symphony of indulgence. I bypassed the crowded main floor and climbed the stairs to the private balcony, where I could see everything.
Neon lights danced, casting shifting shadows across the sea of bodies below. Men and women moved in a primal rhythm, a mess of grinding hips and raised hands. Alcohol flowed, fueling their ecstasy. They appeared satisfied.
Seven strippers worked the room. Each one was a vision of seduction as they entertained the desperate and the depraved. Some patrons tossed bills onto the stage, eager for a closer look. Others fought over their proximity to the naked women. I spotted a chubby, middle-aged man slouched in the far corner, a cigar clenched between his teeth as a stripper twerked on his lap. He looked like he had found paradise.
Satisfied that everything was running well, I moved to the opposite side. I positioned myself where I had a clear view of the casino, two floors down, right beneath me. The polished tables gleamed under dim lights, surrounded by men in tailored suits and their barely dressed mistresses.
This was where I made the real money: dark roulettes and high-stakes bets. The type of gambling that left men begging for redemption. My smirk deepened when I noticed the governor’sson nursing a drink, his escort draped over him like a second skin. He never missed a night here.
I headed to my office when I was sure everything was in order. The two guards flanking the entrance nodded as they unlocked the door. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the faint hum of low music. Dmitri was waiting for me.
He lounged on a black leather chair, a cigar perched between his fingers. Two strippers were entertaining him. One ground on his lap following the beat, and the other swayed sensually by the pole. Dmitri had always chased indulgence, sometimes too much for Bratva’s good.
“Hey,” I said, announcing my presence.
He snapped his gaze to me and grinned with a mix of amusement and mischief. “You’re here.” He smacked the dancer’s ass, sending her toward the pole with a playful swat. “Took you long enough.”
I sank into the chair beside him, lighting my cigar. My eyes fell on the two women. Their lace thongs left little to the imagination, their curves on full display.
Alessia’s face flickered in my mind for a brief moment, unwelcomed. I pushed the thought away. She had no place here.
“So?” I asked Dmitri.
He straightened his shirt as if to regain some composure. A glass of liquor dangled loosely from his fingers. “About the attack.”
“I will handle it.”
Dmitri leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Fuck that. We lost the shipment.”
“I know.” I took a long drag of my cigar.
“Yeah? Why were we not informed?”
Anger threatened to peek, but I hid it. “Elena,” I said, noticing Dmitri’s grin falter. For a moment, his playful mask slipped.
“Elena?”
“Yes. I need everything you know about her,” I said, fully aware that Dmitri and Elena were once close. But that didn’t matter. She was one of my suspects.
Dmitri’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening as he swirled the liquor in his glass. “I see.”
“It’s either you work with me, or you pack like Roman and leave.”
The silence between us became heavy, broken only by the faint rhythm of the music below. If I weren’t the Bratva boss, he would have pulled a gun on me. Dmitri was short-tempered. He never paused to think, just reacted fast and recklessly.
He exhaled with a nod, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine. I’ll send you what I have. It’s not like you’ll find anything on her.”