“Do you want me to get down on my knees, Sofia? I am begging you, my myshka, begging you.”

Vlad Odessa stands uneasily in the middle of his gigantic living room, and I’m witnessing complete breakdown.

Even for someone like me, who’s seen a lot of unbelievable shit in their time, this whole scene boggles the imagination.

A penthouse fortress, way above Manhattan, with its oversized rooms gilded in crystal, gold, imported leather and priceless art, in the center of which stands this sniveling little rat.

It’s just too easy sometimes.

“You don’t look like you’re begging, Vlad...”

A shudder runs through Vlad’s sad, worried body as he drops down onto the carpet with force. His knees slamming against the floor makes an awful sound, like his desperation is echoing off the picture windows.

“Isn’t this begging, Sofia? Can’t you see that a man, a man as tough and strong as I am, is on his knees?”

He just calls himself tough and strong. Does that shit really fly anywhere?

“I’d like to ask you, dear Vlad, why this is my problem. Yet I won’t, because I don’t believe you.”

Vlad’s head swivels up to the ceiling. Frustration crumples his face as he lets out a mournful whine.

My face remains in a rigid, lifeless scowl as Vlad loses more and more control over himself. For the time being, I stay glued to my perch on the Italian leather sofa.

Vlad is almost beyond speaking; it’s quite a sight to behold.

The mere mention of Vlad the Fearsome is enough to strike terror into countless hardened criminal hearts the world over—from the lowliest racketeers to organized crime bosses holding seats of political power.

If only they could all see the helpless, pleading creature in front of me now.

Especially with his tiny cock dangling in the cool air of the penthouse.

Poor little Vlad the Fearsome is breathing fast. He may start to hyperventilate—especially if I continue to sit here, stone-faced, as his hopelessness grows.

My face stays expressionless, my eyes show no emotion, and I wait for Vlad to speak again.

“How can you not believe me, Sofia?” There’s fresh panic in his voice—time for the next phase.

“If I were to believe...what, that you’re begging?”

“Yes! Can’t you see it? Can’t you see that I’m...”

Vlad’s eyes are fixated on mine. He doesn’t even notice my hand starting to run softly up and down the sofa next to where I’m sitting.

“That you’re what?” I ask robotically.

“That I’m in pain?”

“Why’s that, Vladimir?” My voice is softening, becoming sweeter yet colder.

It’s driving him fucking crazy.

“I’m in love with you, Sofia! How can I make things clearer?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you felt so strongly, Vlad.”

Vlad finally notices my hand, moving sensually across the leather cushion, but he doesn’t yet see my other hand traveling into the oversized purse positioned next to me.

“Please, believe how strong my heart is for you!”

I wonder if he practiced bleating that out in front of the mirror earlier, trying to sound passionate and poetic.

“I see. Sounds like you’ve been thinking about me.”

“Oh, you have no idea, lapochka. I only think of you all of the time!”

Vlad’s English is devolving as he quivers with emotion.

“That sounds bad.”

“I cannot help such things!”

“You can’t help being bad?”

Vlad’s eyes dart to my purse as I pull out a pair of fuzzy, zebra-striped handcuffs.

“Maybe I can help with that.”

Vlad was suddenly very still, and quiet. This doesn’t change even after I retrieve the rolled-up bullwhip from my purse next.

As I let the whip slowly unravel from my left hand, Vlad’s gaze is focused like a laser on the cuffs dangling from my right. Beginning to rise to my feet, my poker-face scowl deepens into a hostile glower.

“Say you’ve been bad.” My voice is loud and clear as I approach Vlad’s immobile, naked body.

His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. He looks paralyzed.

I stop where I am.

“Oh, so you haven’t been bad? I guess you haven’t been thinking about me, and you don’t need to be punished.”

“I’ve been bad.” Vlad’s speaking in a low and quick voice, struggling to get the words out through his shock and excitement. “Very bad.”

“Very bad, you say. Turn around.”

Vlad just stares at me. Snapping the whip gives me the opportunity to glance at my wristwatch.

It’s 11:57—I don’t have much more time for this shit.

“Turn around!”

With a start, Vlad jumps to his feet and spins around, shaking. A few quick steps bring me close enough to grab Vlad’s wrists and fasten the cuffs tightly.

“Oh, how I’ve dreamed of...”

“Shut your goddamn mouth. Now, march!”

Vlad the Fearsome flinches at the sound of the whip cracking on the floor behind him. He obeys my orders, traipsing slowly forward.

“Oh, Sofia, this is better than I could...”

“Outside, you piece of shit.”

Silently, Vlad turns towards the door to the veranda. Checking my wristwatch covertly, I see that it was only two full minutes until midnight.

That’s probably enough time.

“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll make sure the bad boy has a real good time tonight.”

Vlad exhales hideously. He’s going to have some kind of time tonight, alright.

Midnight is just under a minute away as I step through the glass door to the veranda. Vlad stays, facing forward, as he walks towards the railing, looking at the view below.

“Stay facing forward and don’t you dare look at any other direction or no good time for the bad boy. Understand?”

“Yes,” Vlad breathes.

He means it, too. Like I said, it’s just too easy sometimes.

As midnight comes, I’m out of the front door of Vlad Odessa’s condo just in time. His voice, shouting all the way from the veranda, follows me out the door.

“I can’t help it, Sofia! I love you! I cannot wait!”

Fucking liar.

This is a job, and hearing that shit means nothing.

But outside of work, in my experience, it still means nothing.

Vlad’s the goddamn same as the rest of these bastards, and nothing makes me happier than bringing them down one by one.

Vlad’s still fucking oblivious, and his brain is still swimming in horniness, so when the rest of the team comes in, he won’t know what hit him. Those fuzzy handcuffs are also military issue, which should make things easier.

Riding the service elevator down, I make sure my bullwhip is coiled safely back in its place.

“This one’s for you, Mom.”

I say that after every job, just usually not out loud.

I’m not ashamed, though. It is for her.

As far as I’m concerned, every single one of these fuckers is part of the world that made her life a living hell.

And they all need to be held accountable.