Big Bad Rancher: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance by Tia Siren (25)

“But I couldn't leave any earlier,” she said.

“Sure. I'm just telling you why I'm so keen to fuck you.”

“I can feel how much you want it,” she said. Her hand slipped down and caressed his length as it strained against the inside of his pants. He pulled her from the wall and took her to the bedroom. When he turned on the light, she blinked. The room was big enough for a double bed and a wardrobe, and it had a window that she assumed looked onto the forest behind the cabin.

“I love your ass. It's so perfect,” he said as his hands ran over her buttocks. They kissed again, standing next to the bed.

When she felt his hand reach behind her and lower the zipper on the back of her dress, she put her head into the nape of his neck and inhaled his scent. At the beginning of the afternoon he'd smelled of aftershave, but now he smelled of a wonderful blend. When her zipper was open, his manly hands caressed the soft skin on her back. As he stroked her, he turned every nerve into a small fire. The mix of his hands caressing her and his hard shaft pushing between her legs set her on fire, and she reached up and put her tongue into his mouth. When she tasted him, she felt a wet wave flow through her, preparing her for what he was going to do to her.

As he kissed her, he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed the top half of her dress down. Her naked breasts sprang free, her nipples stiffening against the material of his shirt. She wanted to feel and smell his skin now. As he watched her breasts move, she unfastened his tie and popped opened the buttons on his shirt. She thrust her hands inside and felt him. His body was hard, and his skin felt so smooth. She put her nose to his chest and inhaled him. It sent another wet wave crashing to her underbelly.

When she pushed his shirt off, he picked her up and put her down on the bed. He stood at her feet and pulled her dress off. The sight of her lithe body, naked except for a white thong and her shoes, made him harder still. She reached down to take her shoes off.

“No. Leave those on. I like it,” he said. It was one of his things. He loved fucking women in black heels.

She put her feet on his chest as he stood in front of her. His hands slid over her ankles and momentarily massaged her calves before working their way up to her outer thighs. When he turned his palms inward and stroked the softness of her inner thighs, he felt a gush of warmth come from her womanhood.

“Don't stop. That's so wonderful,” she said. Slowly his hands massaged her, working their way ever closer to their goal. When his fingers danced around the folds to the side of her thong, she threw her hips toward him, inviting him to remove the material. He ripped it from her and put his hands back on her. His fingers ran small circles over her delicate folds, caressing softly, intermittently dipping into her. Her breathing became labored, and she clutched at the bedclothes as he slowly but surely brought her to an orgasm. When he stopped massaging her and bent down and placed his mouth on her, she exploded, grinding herself against his face. He lifted her lower half from the bed, flung her legs over his shoulders, and took more of what he wanted until she pleaded with him to stop. He let her fall to the bed and took off his pants. He wasn't wearing shorts. She gave an involuntary lick of the lips when she saw his penis. She looked at his body. It was long, no fat, just hard muscle. His thighs looked strong, and they were covered in dark hair.

He pulled her to him and took his penis in his hand. When he rubbed the tip over her clitoris, she moaned and tried to get him to push into her. He liked teasing her and continued to rub her. She was on the point of another orgasm when he shoved himself into her.

She clung to him, her hands gripping his biceps as he rode her with hard thrusts. It was a warm evening, and soon his body was bathed in sweat.

“I love your body. It's so firm,” she cried as his thrusts took her higher once again. “Come with me,” she pleaded.

“Close,” he gasped. She bucked against him, encouraging him. When he cried out, she came with him, both of them clawing at each other.

*****

“What the hell?” Amy cried as the bed sheet flew from her. Christian woke up with a start and looked at Fabio, who was standing at the end of the bed. Amy put her arm over her breasts and a hand over her pubic hair.

“Who the hell is this?” she asked Christian.

“It's Fabio,” he replied.

“He's just pulled the bed sheets from us. I'm naked. Do something.”

Christian got up, took the sheet from Fabio and covered her with it. “There's no need for that,” he said to Fabio.

“You didn't listen to a word I said yesterday, did you?” Fabio said.

“Of course. She's here, isn't she?”

“What do you mean she's here?” Amy asked. “Christian, who is he?”

“You beat Alberti up and made a real spectacle of yourself in town. Were you trying to draw attention to yourself on purpose? And now I see you've fucked her.”

“Alberti was blind drunk by the time we got to the car. He deserved a beating.”

“You complete idiot,” Fabio shouted. “He was drunk because you took so long to bring her out of the fucking wedding. Imbecile.”

“I couldn't just go in there and take her. It needed doing with finesse,” Christian said.

“If you don't tell me what's going on, I'll call the cops,” Amy said.

Fabio laughed. “Call the cops. I don't think so.”

“Then tell me why,” she said.

“You've been kidnapped,” Fabio said.

“Christian?” she squealed.

“He took you because we want to speak to your father. If he knows we've got you, he'll come to us.”

“But I don't understand. Why do you want my father?”

“He had an affair with my wife, and I want revenge.”

She wondered whether she should tell them, but she decided to let them find out for themselves in the fullness of time.

“So you weren't interested in me at all. On the contrary, you wanted to harm me,” she said, gazing at Christian.

“It's not like that,” he replied.

“Are you going to keep me against my will, or am I free to go?”

“You're staying with us,” Fabio said.

“Christian, tell this asshole you care for me. Tell him not to be so ridiculous. Jesus, we made love last night. How could you do this to me?”

“Don't worry. All you have to do is sit tight here, and you can go when your father arrives,” Christian said.

“She's not staying here,” Fabio said. “I want her moved. After the commotion you caused last evening, it's too close to the city. I'll get Alberti to come and take her to number two.”

“I'll take her,” Christian said.

“You won't. I don't want you anywhere near her now. Get your things and leave. I've got other jobs for you to do,” Fabio said.

“Christian,” Amy said, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Please, you can't let him do this to me. Please.”

Christian looked at her. “Sorry,” he said.

Amy flew from the bed in a rage. She threw her fists around, catching Fabio on the jaw. Christian wrapped his arms around her and held her until her energy was spent. “You fucking lowlife,” she said to Christian. “Call yourself a man. You're just an apology for a man. All that Mr. Hard Man last evening. You don't fool me. You're just this asshole's stooge.” She pointed to Fabio, who was holding his jaw.

There was the sound of a car in the driveway outside. Alberti came into the house sporting two black eyes. When he saw Christian, he scowled. “Why did you take so long yesterday?” he asked.

“So what if I did? It was no reason to get blind drunk,” Christian said.

“Stop talking,” Fabio said. “Alberti, when she's dressed, take her to number two and lock her up. Stay with her and make sure she gets some food now and again. Understand?” Alberti nodded. “Christian, come with me.”

Christian followed him outside. “You're on collection duty. I don't want you anywhere near her anymore. Got it?”

“But—”

“But nothing. Go fuck someone else. You've fucked her for the first and last time.”

Christian reluctantly took the car he had driven there the previous evening and headed back to LA. Collection duty meant he would be taking money from business owners in return for protection.

*****

“I'm sorry, Amy. Please forgive me. You mean everything to me. If you leave me, I'll hang myself.”

“On your knees. Beg for me,” Amy said.

“Anything you want. Just stay with me. I can't live without you.”

The digital alarm clock that had sent a flickering green across the bedroom all night burst into life. Christian opened his eyes and groaned. Again he was bathed in sweat, and again he'd had that awful recurring dream. She was haunting him. He couldn't get through a night without being subjected to it. It was as if she was taking her revenge. For the last few nights, he'd dreamed he was so full of remorse for what he'd done, Amy so angry, that he let her dominate and humiliate him. It didn't matter what he told himself when he was awake; when he was asleep, he turned into a soft, subservient, hen-pecked man who was so full of remorse he would do anything to appease her.

In the car on the way to his first collection, he wondered how long his dreams were going to last. He was hardly able to function during the day. He was tired, irritable, and even his penchant for eyeing up pretty women seemed to have deserted him. It was serious.

“Mr. Singh, please don't make this any harder than it already is. You know the amount you and Mr. Affini agreed. There's only half of it here,” Christian said, looking into a brown envelope. He didn't even have to count it. He'd been collecting money for years, and he could tell how much was in an envelope by eye.

“Please, Mr. Christian. Next time double, okay?” Mr. Singh said in a thick Indian accent. “We're in a recession.”

“Does that stop people eating?” Christian asked.

“No, but it stops people buying luxury items.”

“Listen to me. If you don't pay in full next week, something very nasty will happen to your wife. Got it?”

Mr. Singh scowled but nodded. He knew Christian wasn't joking.

Christian walked out of the shop and into the sunlight. A young man was sitting on the hood of his car. “Get the fuck off my car, you punk,” he shouted. The boy stuck a finger up at him and jumped down.

“Rosie, are you at home?” he asked into his cell.

“Sure, baby. Come round whenever you want.”

Twenty minutes later Christian pulled up outside the mansion. He got out of the car, walked up the stone steps, and rang the bell.

“Jesus, you look terrible,” Rosie said. “What happened?”

He didn't say anything until he was sitting down on the sofa in her sitting room. “I feel like shit, and I don't know what to do about it.”

Rosie was Christian's mother. Not his real mother, but the next best thing. She was fifty-five, the widow of one of Fabio's former enemies. She and Christian had met at a party and gotten on so well that they'd talked through the night about a whole range of things, many of them deeply personal. They began to meet and talk. There was never any mention of the having sex. It was purely platonic, just two people who got on.

“Tell me,” she said. She ran a hand through her dyed blond hair and crossed her legs.

“A woman. I feel like shit because of a woman.”

“Have you killed someone?”

“No. Nothing like that. I feel I have betrayed her. It was one of Fabio's jobs. I had to win her trust and kidnap her.”

“Ah. One of those jobs. Tell me, how many people has that asshole kidnapped in his life? It seems to be his stock-in-trade.”

“I don't know.”

“So you led a girl to believe you were a nice guy, had sex with her, and then handed her over to Fabio,” she said.

“You know me so well, Rosie. I often feel I don't have to explain anything to you. I shouldn't have had sex with her. It was a horrible thing to do.”

“Jesus, Christian, it's not like you to have regrets like that.”

“No. That's why I feel like shit. Do you know what I've been dreaming the last few nights?” Rosie shook her head. “Dreams of remorse. I kneel in front of her, naked, and plead with her not to leave me while she mocks me.”

“Wow.” Rosie raised her eyebrows and folded her arms under her considerable breasts.

“What the fuck should I do? “

“You're in love with her.”

“No way. Me? I don't love anybody but myself.” He looked around the room and wondered how many people Rosie's late husband had robbed to get that rich.

“It's true. You are arrogant, self-obsessed, and vain, but take it from me, you love her. What do you feel when you think about her?”

“Like I've let her down. Like she's important to me. But I've screwed women and abused their trust before and never thought twice about it.”

“That just proves it. You care about her.”

Christian stared at the Ming vase on the table in the corner. “I guess so.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don't know. It's too late. She'll never forgive me whatever I did.”

“Set her free. Tell her it was a huge mistake and that you're sorry. Then tell her you love her and want a chance to date her.”

“Sorry and love are words that don't leave my mouth. Besides, Fabio will kill me if I do that,” he said.

“Then stop being a wuss. Leave her where she is and get on with life.”

“I can't. I want her.”

*****

Fabio stormed into the room and looked at Amy. She was tied to the bed by her arms and ankles.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he growled.

Amy was lying on her back and had to crane her neck to see him. She'd spent the last few hours staring at the ceiling.

“What the hell are you talking about? Let me go. You should be ashamed of yourself. You're a bully. I'm just a young woman who has done nothing to you.”

“Your father doesn't give a shit about you, does he?”

“If you'd spoken nicely to me in the first place, I would have told you that you were wasting your time. My father hasn't bothered with me since I shopped him to the authorities for his lurid behavior with young girls.”

“‘I don't give a shit about her. You can kill her as far as I'm concerned.’ That is what he said to me,” Fabio said.

“So your plan to get him back here won't work. Let me go.”

“No. I'm afraid that won't be possible. If I let you go, you'll tell the cops.”

When Fabio left the room, Amy screamed and tried to break from her shackles, but it was useless.

The kitchen in the terraced house they called “number two” was in a terrible state.

“You're a pig, Alberti. Look at the state of this place. Clean the fuck up,” Fabio said.

“Okay, boss,” Alberti replied gruffly.

“Her father doesn't care about her, so he's not going to exchange himself for her. We're stuck with her. If we let her go, she'll go to the cops. Here's what I want you to do with her. You remember how we killed the mayor's wife?”

“Morphine, boss?”

“Yes, morphine. I'll get someone to deliver it. Inject her, wait till she's dead, and then dispose of her body. Dump her at least ten miles out in the ocean.”

“Yes, boss. Will do.”

“And, Alberti, if you fuck up, I'll kill you.”

*****

Maria was lying face down on a sunbed next to the pool when Christian arrived. She hadn't seen him standing in the corner of the yard of her brother's house. He'd been observing her for a few minutes. He'd seen her breasts when she'd removed her bikini top to prevent white stripes. They were beautiful breasts, the type he liked—full and heavy. Normally he would have felt himself getting hard at the sight of them, but nothing happened. It was as if he was suddenly impotent. He hadn't even bothered to look at any of the scantily clad young women on his journey to Maria. Worse still, he was now presented with an ideal opportunity to seduce her, and he didn't care.

“Maria,” he said. She turned over, forgetting she was topless, and suddenly thrust her arm across her chest.

“Jesus, Christian, you frightened me to death.”

“Maria, I need your help.”

“Why should I help you? You threatened me the last time we saw each other.”

“You have to tell me when Alexander Gorev is next coming to the States.”

She reached for a towel and wrapped it around her. “Why? You'll only kill him.”

“I won't, but Fabio might. Do you care? It was only a casual fuck, wasn't it?”

“I won't tell you. Why should I send a man to his death? You can torture me all you want, but I will never reveal when he comes to the US. Why do you want him anyway?”

“Fabio wants him to exact his revenge. He's taken his daughter hostage.”

“So wait until he comes for his daughter.”

“I don't think you understand. Fabio won't release her when Alexander arrives. He'll kill them both.”

“Go and rescue her then. You always play the big hard man. See how hard you can be when you're up against Fabio. You won't last a minute.” She laughed. “Now fuck off. You're standing in the sun.”

*****

Alberti waved to the man and watched as the car drove to the end of the road and turned left. He looked at the bottle and syringe in his hand and smiled. He enjoyed this kind of work. It turned him on. He might even have a bit of fun with her before injecting her, he thought. First he needed a drink, though.

*****

Christian stopped outside Fabio's house and nodded to the guards who were hanging around outside the front door.

“Christian, have you come to hand in the money you've collected?” Fabio asked as he poured himself a glass of wine.

His office reminded Christian of a lawyer's office. There was a large desk in the middle of the room and bookshelves on all the walls. Not that Fabio read much. He just had them for effect.

“Here,” Christian said. He tossed an envelope full of cash onto the table and sat down on the opposite side of the desk.

“What's this?” Fabio asked, taking the money from the envelope.

“A few couldn't pay. They promised to pay more next week.”

Fabio flew into one of his rages. “Fuck you. You're going soft. I told you before, if they don't pay, thrash them. And if they still can't pay, kill them. Jesus, I'm surrounded by idiots.”

“There's more. I want you to let the girl go,” Christian said.

“You've gone mad. No way. I told you before, she'll just grass us up. She's going to die.”

“What? No. Wait until her father gets here,” Christian said, trying to buy himself more time.

“You don't know, do you? Her father isn't coming. He doesn't give a shit about her. In fact, he told me we should get rid of her.”

Christian hadn’t expected that. Surely every man loved his daughter. “So what are you going to do?”

“Kill her. Alberti should be doing that about now.” Fabio looked at his watch. “The delivery should have arrived.”

Christian leaped over the desk and kicked Fabio in the chest. He fell back out of his chair and landed on the ground. Christian took him by the collar and punched him so hard he knocked his front teeth out. When Christian banged Fabio's head on the desk, Fabio fell into unconsciousness.

*****

Alberti's hand shook as he put the syringe into the pot of morphine. In his drunken haze, he couldn't remember whether he should inject her three or four times. What the fuck, he thought. He would pump the whole bottle into her. That would do it.

He climbed the stairs to the bedroom where Amy was lying, asleep, and opened the door. When he saw her, he began to breathe more heavily. He looked at her breasts, which were still encased in the dress she'd worn at the wedding. He walked to her, lifted her dress, and looked inside.

“Nice,” he said when he saw her smooth legs.

She woke up and screamed. She thrashed around as never before but was still unable to break the rope.

“Be quiet. I'll be very gentle,” he said. She was wild. She saw the needle in his hand and realized what he was going to do.

Better give her a little bit to calm her down, he thought to himself. He couldn't have any pleasure with her in that state. He grabbed her arm, slipped it between his legs, and held it. He found the vein and injected her.

Amy felt a sudden calm. All feeling in her body was gone, and she was floating without a care in the world. She was conscious of him, but he was insignificant. Alberti went to the foot end of the bed and lifted her dress again. This time he began to push the material up her legs.

The sound of the metal bar hitting his skull made a hideous sound, a dull thud of death. Christian stepped over him and looked at Amy. Her eyes were glazed over, and she was smiling at nothing in particular. He untied the ropes, picked her up, and carried her downstairs.

When he reached the hospital, he burst through the door with her in his arms. “Get a doctor,” he shouted.

The waiting room smelled of stale sweat. It was one of those rooms that was constantly open to the public and always smelled a certain way. Amy had been in the emergency room for more than an hour. Surely they knew what was happening to her by now, he thought.

He stood up and paced around anxiously. When a nurse arrived, he took her by the arm and asked her what was happening. “The doctor will be out in a while,” she said. Another hour went by before a tall man in a white coat arrived.

“She's going to be all right. She's had a high dose of morphine, but not enough to bring any lasting damage.”

“Can I see her?”

“You can see her,” he said.

Christian followed him through two double doors and into a large room full of frightening-looking appliances. “She's in the last room on the right,” the doctor said.

When she saw him, she stiffened and sat up in bed. “Doctor!” she screamed. “Help!”

The doctor came running into the room.

“This man means me harm,” she said. “Call the police.”

“But he was the man who brought you here,” the doctor said.

She looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. Without him, lord knows what would have happened to you.”

“All right. I will talk to him, but only for a short time. I don't trust him.”

Christian walked to her bed and stood next to it. She looked pale and drawn. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was terrible to you. If you can ever forgive me, I would be very grateful, because I have fallen in love with you.” It wasn’t as bad as he'd thought, getting his feelings out.

“You love me? You've got a very strange way of showing it.”

“I killed him.”

“Who?”

“The man who injected you. He's dead, and I don't think Fabio is very well, either.”

“What am I to think of you? When I first met you, I ignored the fact that you are arrogant and strut around the place as though you own it. When we made love, I was more turned on that I have ever been. But you put me in so much danger; I was almost killed.”

He took her hand. She let him. “I know I have done wrong. You are the most wonderful woman, and I don't want to live without you.”

She smiled at him. “You are an impossible man. You are dangerous, conceited, and aloof. I don't know whether to trust you or not. I'm attracted to you, but I don't like what you are.”

*****

“Have a word with your son. He's out of control. I can't handle him. I don't want him turning out like you.”

“Okay. I will. But you know, I wasn't so bad.”

“What? You killed people. You took money from poor innocent people. What do you mean you weren't so bad?”

“I was young and wild then. I've provided for you and the kids with the proceeds of honest endeavors since we got married, haven't I?”

“Yes, you have. But you were bad once. That's why I'm so scared our son will turn out like you were back then.”

“Okay. I'll speak to him. Come here.”

She leaned against him and put her head on his chest. “You know, you're still a good-looking chick, for your age. How about we go upstairs? The kids won't be home for ages.”

“What do mean, 'for your age?' You cheeky swine. Look at yourself. You're gray.”

“But you love me, don't you?” he said.

“Come on. Let's go,” she said, taking his hand.

When Christian finished and slumped on top of her, he kissed her forehead and cupped her face. “You will never know how glad I am that you gave me the benefit of the doubt after that kidnapping incident.”

“You were very lucky. I had a lot of other offers from non-criminals at the time.”

“Did you?” he said, slightly shocked.

“Yes.”

“So why did you choose me?”

“Because you were tough and I knew you'd look after me. I believed in you, despite everything.”

“But it was a year before you called me.”

“It took me a long time to get things straight in my head. Or said another way, it took a year to realize that if I didn't marry you, you would never leave me alone.” She laughed.

He put her nipple in his mouth and sucked. She gasped when he bit it gently. “You still like that, don't you? After all these years you still like having your nipples sucked.”

“Yes, but be careful. If you keep doing that, I'll get turned on again and want more. You're not as young as you used to be.”

“I can perform whenever you ask me to, whether I've just had sex or not.”

Amy laughed. “You’re still so full of shit,” she said.

“But that's why you love me.”

“Maybe. But I don't love it in our son. I want him to be normal. I want whichever woman decides she wants to be with him to have a nice life—not have to worry about what he'll do next.”

Christian rolled off her and played with his penis for a couple of minutes. “See, I'm not as full of shit as you think,” he said when he began to get hard again.

*****

THE END

MAFIA Romance – Her Protection

“Welcome back, Son,” Limonov said. He threw his arms around his son and hugged him. Milan Igorevich had just returned from college after graduating with a degree in economics.

“Hi, Pa,” Milan said. He stepped back and looked at the Palm Breeze Casino. His father had made some alterations since Milan had last seen it. “Making money, I see,” he said.

“Making a fortune, son, and it's all gonna be yours one day. Come on, the guys are waiting for you,” Limonov said.

Milan followed him up the steps and through the glass and chrome revolving door.

“Welcome back, sir,” the doorman said when they arrived in the foyer. Milan noticed the whole interior had received a makeover. The carpet was maroon, and his shoes seemed to disappear in the deep pile of it. In the middle of the foyer, the logo of his father's business had been woven in yellow into the maroon material. Everywhere he looked, Milan saw gold chrome and members of staff in yellow and maroon uniforms.

“Jeez, Dad, you've gutted the place,” Milan said.

“It needed it, Son. As you know, this is the fourth casino in our portfolio, and we needed to have it looking as luxurious as the others.”

“Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that,” Milan replied as they walked through a large hall full of slot machines. A group of well-dressed young women who were obviously in the casino on a hen night turned their heads and followed Milan as he moved past them. One of them let out a wolf whistle, which made him smile. He was used to it. Why some women were offended by being whistled at on the street, he had no idea; he loved it. It happened so often to him. He didn't know which sex was the worst perpetrator, men or women.

They walked through another room, which housed the serious gambling tables for roulette and blackjack, and walked down a small corridor to the offices.

“Welcome home,” they all shouted when Milan and his father entered the office.

“Hi, guys. Nice reception,” Milan said. He looked at them, his father's warriors: Vladimir, Dima, Valentin, and Toni. They'd worked for his dad for more years than he could remember. Each of them had his own task in Limonov's business. Vladimir was in charge of narcotics, Dima protection, Valentin money laundering, and Toni, who was Italian, saw to it that the Russians and Italians didn't come to blows by trespassing on each other's territories. Each of them was dressed in a sharp suit with a pressed shirt and blue tie. Limonov didn’t tolerate scruffy employees. The only person who was missing was Dmitri, who'd been shot two months earlier. He’d been in charge of the casinos, and one evening when he was ejecting a rowdy gambler the man had pulled a gun on him and shot him dead. While Limonov bemoaned the loss of any of his men, Dmitri's death had solved a problem for him. It had created an instant opening for his son, who was just about to graduate.

“Congratulations on your triumphs,” Vladimir said. “An economics degree and a US college boxing champion. Not bad for a snotty kid from St. Petersburg,” he joked.

“Hey, watch it,” Milan said. “You're not too big to put over my knee.”

“Toni, get Jessie to bring us some champagne,” Limonov said. “Sit down, Son, in the chair behind the desk. This is your office now. You're the boss here.”

Milan sat down in the leather office chair and looked at the men around him. Now, at last, he felt like part of the team. As a young boy he'd watched these men meeting at the house he lived in with his mom and dad, and they'd become his heroes. They were guys he wanted to emulate, because they commanded respect wherever they went. They were tough and took no prisoners in their approach to business.

When someone knocked at the door, Vladimir opened it. Milan's jaw dropped when he saw her. She was tall and dark, her hair so shiny it reflected the light above her. Her eyes were oval and more sensual than any female eyes he'd ever looked into. He took in her body, her large breasts and the curve of her hips as they pushed against her skirt. Farther down he noticed how smooth and bronzed her legs were.

“Champagne, sir,” she said to Limonov.

“Yes. Put it on the desk in front of my son,” he replied.

She walked to the desk and set the tray on it. As she bent forward, Milan smiled at the sight of the tops of her breasts through the gap in her blouse. “Congratulations on your graduation and your boxing title,” she said as she began to open the bottle.

“Thank you. I'm Milan,” he said.

“Jessie,” she replied. “Shit,” she exclaimed as she cut herself on the wire around the bottle top. It was the first time that had ever happened. She'd opened thousands of bottles and not once had she ever had an accident. She knew why it had happened, though. She'd been concentrating on Milan and not on what she was doing. How could she concentrate when six-foot-four of solid muscle was looking at her breasts? she thought.

“Here, let me help,” Milan said. He stood up and took her hand in his. He felt inside his jacket and found a clean handkerchief, which he wrapped around the cut finger. “There. That should keep it clean for a while.”

She looked into his eyes. They were Mediterranean blue. The scent that drifted from him made her want him in her bed. She felt the warmth rising from her neck to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said.

When she was gone, Milan was unable to concentrate on the conversation. “Milan's miles away,” Dima said. “I think Jessie's charmed him.”

“She charms us all,” Limonov said. “So beautiful,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Who is she, Pop?” Milan asked.

“Remember Ronnie, the butcher?”

“Yes. The guy who saved your life when you'd been shot and were lying in the street.”

“Yes. It's his daughter. He died, and I promised him I would look after her.”

“Jesus. He was short and fat. How could he have a daughter like her?” Milan asked.

“His wife was an Italian bombshell. Jessie's the spitting image of her.”

While Milan poured the champagne, his thoughts wandered to the beautiful butcher's daughter.

*****

“Get off me, you asshole,” Jessie screamed as Dritan pulled her from the sofa by her hair. “You're a bully. Leave me alone.” She tried to push him away, but he was far too powerful for her. He looked like the thug he was. His head was shaven, and his eyes pointed in slightly different directions.

He pulled her onto the floor and knelt on top her, his kneecap pushing painfully into her stomach. “I've told you before, nobody finishes with me. Least of all a tramp like you. Now say sorry.”

It was her evening off, and Jessie had told him once more that she didn't want to be his girlfriend. As usual, he'd exploded. She been trying to finish their volatile relationship for weeks, but each time she mentioned it, he flew into a rage, scaring her into silence.

“No, I won't. It's over this time,” she hissed as his knee pushed farther into her soft belly. The slap that followed stung her face and caused blood to flow from her nose. The punch that followed that caused her eye to swell. She began to cry.

“Stop your crying. Tell me you're sorry,” he said.

“Sorry. Please don't hit me anymore,” she sobbed. He threatened to punch her again, and she turned her face away, but he'd had enough and stood up. He picked up his car keys from the coffee table and left the apartment.

Jessie pulled herself up by the sofa and hobbled to the bathroom. Her stomach was on fire, and she got little relief when she threw up in the toilet. She ran the cold tap and dabbed the places on her face that hurt the most. When she looked in the mirror, she was black and blue.

“You've got to finish it,” she said to herself. “He's gonna kill you.”

An hour later Dritan phoned and cried through the line. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me. You know how wound up I get sometimes. Forget it. Let's carry on as normal.”

She agreed because she was too tired to argue and she feared another wild beating.

*****

Dritan walked into the casino and changed a hundred thousand in cash for chips. It was a large amount, but it didn't concern security; they were used to him. Invariably, he blew the lot in an evening, and on the odd occasion he was able to beat the house, he lost it again another day.

Since the argument with Jessie he'd drunk half a bottle of vodka and was now in the mood to gamble, a lot. After he lost twenty grand on the roulette table, he swore at the croupier who ignored him. It wasn't the first time Dritan had sworn at him. Dritan walked to the blackjack table and sat down. After twenty minutes he was another twenty grand down.

“I don't fucking believe it,” Dritan said as another hand, and three grand, was lost. “You're fucking cheating,” he said as he pulled the croupier to him by the collar of her blouse. Such was the strength of his grip that he tore two buttons from it, exposing her bra.

“That's enough,” a security man behind him said. He placed his hand on Dritan's shoulder in an attempt to pull him from his seat. Dritan had other ideas, though, and flipped the man over onto his back and placed his foot on his neck. The security guard began to turn blue as he struggled to remove Dritan's foot.

The punch to the side of Dritan's face knocked him five yards away and rendered him unconscious.

“Who's this?” Milan asked.

“Dritan Polyakov,” the security guard gasped. “Albanian.”

“Let's get him out of here,” Milan said. They picked him up, carried him through the casino, and put him down in the flower bed opposite the casino. “He's banned. Put his name on the list,” Milan ordered the doorman when the reentered the casino.

“He loses a hell of a lot of money here,” the doorman said.

“I don't care. This is a casino, not a saloon bar in the Wild West,” Milan asserted.

When Dritan woke up, his suit was covered in foliage and yellow dye from the plants he'd been lying on. He had a swollen face and a splitting headache. He picked himself up and walked to a taxi that was waiting outside the casino.

“No. I'm not taking you anywhere. You'll get yellow stuff all over my car,” the taxi driver said.

“Drive me or I'll rip your fucking head off,” Dritan threatened. When the taxi driver dropped Dritan off outside Jessie's apartment, Dritan paid him and got out.

When Jessie didn't open the door, Dritan used the key he'd forced her to give him. When he slid under the covers behind her, she moved to the other side of the bed, out of his way.

“Come on, I'm horny,” he said the next morning when they woke up. He put a hand across her and groped her breasts.

“You hit me last night. My face is sore. I don't want to make love to you. I'm getting up.”

Sated by his aggression toward her the previous evening, he rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “Okay. Tonight then,” he said.

Jessie almost fainted when she saw her face in the mirror. The morning sun was flooding through the bathroom window, highlighting every bruise and mark he'd made.

How the hell am I going to hide this? she asked herself. After she'd showered, she took her makeup bag and tried her best to cover up the damage. She was reasonably satisfied with the result.

The casino hadn't opened when Jessie arrived at eleven. It opened at one, but Jessie usually had a couple of hours’ preparation work to do beforehand. She used the electronic keypad to enter via the employees entrance and went to the locker room. She took off her coat and hung it in her locker.

“Jessie,” Milan said when she was walking over the empty casino floor on her way to office the hostesses used.

“Hi, sir,” she replied.

“Milan, not sir,” he said. “Wow, what happened to you?” he asked. She was devastated to see that her efforts to cover up her injuries had been in vain. She'd been mistaken in thinking that she'd hidden them sufficiently well. It was obvious to anyone that something had happened to her. “It's okay,” he said when he saw a tear roll down her cheek. “Come with me. Tell me what happened.” He escorted her into his office and sat her down on the sofa.

“He attacked me,” she said.

“Who?”

“My boyfriend. He pulled me to the ground and thumped me, two or three times. I can't remember. It hurt a lot.”

“What an asshole. Why don't you finish with him?”

She looked at Milan and tilted her head to one side. “It's not that simple. He won't take no for an answer. He's strong, and I'm afraid of what he'll do to me.”

“Jessie, you're an employee in our casino. We look after our own here. We also happen to be Russian, and we don't take this kind of shit from anybody. Tell me where he lives and I will see to him for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I don't want him hurt. I'm not like that. Perhaps there is another way. Would you pretend to be my new boyfriend for a while? Maybe he'll leave me alone when he sees who you are.”

“Okay. I can do that. But he doesn't know me.”

“Oh, he does. He's a regular here. In fact, he spends all his ill-gotten money here.”

“Who is he?”

“Dritan Polyakov.”

Milan burst out laughing. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him quizzically. “I threw him out of here last night. We put him in the flower bed opposite.”

“That explains the stains on his suit,” she said. In Milan's presence, she felt safe. He was a big man and as hard as nails—just the kind of guy she needed on her side to help her cleanse her life of Dritan.

“I don't think you should be working today. Come with me. Let's go and relax a bit.”

The Ferrari Milan was driving had just been delivered. “Nice motor,” Jessie said as they sped through the streets of Las Vegas.

“It goes well. I've always loved Italian cars. They're so stylish,” he said as he glanced down at her equally stylish legs. He began to get thoughts he really didn't want to have given her vulnerable frame of mind. But she was so hot, he couldn't help it. What if she was really your girlfriend, not just a pretend? he asked himself.

When they pulled up outside the Linden Health and Fitness Spa, he got out and opened her door. He scolded himself for looking at her legs when her skirt rode up slightly as she got out of the low-slung vehicle. He knew his grandmother, the woman he respected more than any other, would have clipped his ear for being so lurid. He remembered what she always used to say: “When in private you can look where she will allow you, but in public you should never look at any part of a woman's anatomy other than her face.”

“Thanks. This is just what I needed,” Jessie said when they went inside the luxury spa.

“I want you to take full advantage of the facilities. It's all on me. Relax and pamper yourself. Swim, sun yourself, get a massage, whatever. Meet me in the bar afterward.”

Two hours later Jessie walked into the bar an altogether different person. Gone was the glum look she'd had in the morning, replaced by a glow.

“Feeling better?” Milan asked.

“Much. The masseur here has the best hands,” she said. “What have you been doing?”

“I went for a swim and did some weights. Then I got lazy and read the newspaper here.”

He ordered two large orange juices and took her to a table in the corner that overlooked the swimming pool.

“What made you go out with him?” Milan asked, referring to Dritan.

“He bowled me over. He didn't stop showering me with gifts. I saw how rich he was and how much he wanted me and gave in to him.”

“Ah, rich always works, doesn't it?” he observed.

She laughed. “Women like men with money. And why not? Life is hard enough without being poor.”

“Sure. So I guess you eventually found out what an asshole he was?”

She took a sip of her orange juice and looked at an old man as he dived into the pool. “The first time he hit me, I thought I deserved it. I was bitchy to him. But then it became more regular. I tried to break up with him, but he wouldn't listen.”

“Well, he'll have to now, won't he?” Milan said confidently.

“Yes. Thanks. Without your help, I don't know who I'd turn to.”

“Don't you have any family?”

“No. My parents are dead, and I'm an only child. I was brought up in LA and came to Las Vegas after college because I love the casino world.”

“You and me both. It's amazing. It's not real. It's like a world parallel to the one most people live in. Look at all the characters that frequent casinos. You wouldn't find so many different types in any other establishment.”

“Do you gamble?” she asked.

“No. Don't gamble, don't drink. I was a boxer in college, so I had to be fit.”

“Of course,” she said. “You don't mind helping me, do you?” she asked, changing the subject.

“No. It's an honor to be able to help such a beautiful woman,” he said. “Sorry that was indiscreet,” he added.

“No. I liked it. I like being called beautiful, especially by you.”

“Sure you do. After all, you're my girlfriend aren't you?” he joked. “Seriously though, you should stay at my house, out of his way for a while. It's big enough.”

*****

When Milan's car pulled up outside his house, Jessie realized that it was indeed big enough. It was surrounded by a high wall, the gate guarded by security. Inside the wall, the driveway wound its way around a huge tree on a well-manicured piece of grass, stopping outside the front door. It was a stone house with six bedrooms, three bathrooms, a pool, a tennis court, and a kitchen the likes of which Jessie had never seen.

“You were right. It's enormous,” she said when they stopped.

“I'm only twenty-two, and I've already got a house most sixty-year-olds can’t afford. It's all down to my father. Most of his money comes from crime, but I want to take the family on the straight and narrow when he's gone. I don't sleep too well when I think about how my bed was bought with the money of some junkie college kid.”

“That's very moral of you,” she said.

He took her bag and opened the front door. “It's a big house for one person. It's nice you're here to keep me company,” he said. “The only other people who ever come here are the cook, Betty, and the cleaner, Flossie.”

“An army of women to look after you. You're a lucky man.”

“Wait until you've tasted Betty's beef.”

A few days passed and Jessie began to settle into Milan's home. He noticed a few feminine touches around the place, flowers in the dining room and a bowl of potpourri in the downstairs toilet.

Each day he'd drive them to the casino and wait until Jessie's work was finished before driving her home again. Not a moment passed when she wasn't close to him. The more time they spent together, the closer they became. Jessie began to appear in Milan's dreams, and he found himself spending hour after hour thinking about her. He felt extremely protective of her and relished his job as her bodyguard.

Most of all, Jessie's more frequent use of the swimming pool played on Milan's mind. She'd appear from her bedroom, wrapped in a pink robe she would seductively discard at the edge of the pool. Then she'd proceed to do stretching exercises, which included touching her toes, invariably and quite innocently, with her back to the window Milan observed her from. The view of the thin material stretching over her behind and the sight of her gorgeous legs made him so hard he was hardly able to bear it. He knew he shouldn't be spying on her. Voyeurism wasn't a particularly charming attribute, he thought. But how was he supposed to stop himself? He was addicted to watching her, but he knew it had to stop.

One evening she arrived home from work and began her usual routine. He watched her from the normal place, and as she stretched he waited until he was fully hard before he opened the patio door and walked with purpose toward her. The sound of his footsteps on the tiles surrounding the pool drew her attention, and she turned to him. The purpose with which he was walking toward her led her to conclude he only wanted one thing. When she saw his erection pushing inside his pants, her thoughts were confirmed.

“Why has it taken you so long?” she asked as he pulled her to him.

“Shut up,” he said.

When their lips locked, a fire began to burn in each of them. It was soon apparent that neither of them wanted to bother with the niceties of the sexual act. There was to be no gentle foreplay, no petting, stroking, or caressing, just raw sex.

Jessie gasped as his strong arms ripped her bikini bottoms off her and tore open her top. His lips clasped onto her nipple and sucked hard. She held his head and pulled him tighter. Her hands slid his zipper down and searched out his penis. He was her protector, the man she wanted and needed, and she was going to make him take her with all he had.

She led him seductively, his penis still hanging out of his pants, to the diving board. She lay down on top of it and opened her legs in an indolent gesture that left him with no doubt that she wanted it, and wanted it now. Standing in front of her, he took off his shirt and discarded his pants and shorts. When she looked at him, she felt a wet wave engulf her center. His upper body looked so strong. There was not a gram of fat, just muscle and beautifully bronzed skin. It looked so smooth; she couldn't wait to run her hands over it.

“Fuck,” she gasped when he pulled her toward him and threw her legs over his shoulders. When he thrust into her, she cried out and dug her nails into his arms. He didn't stop to look at her or kiss her, he stood and thrust into her raised body until she began to pant. With each thrust, he hit that spot inside her, the place no other man had ever found.

“Harder,” she groaned. He did his best to accommodate her wishes, but he was already taking her as hard as he could. “Harder,” she moaned again. Then he saw her whole body tighten and her eyes roll as her pleasure swept over her.

Far from relaxing, she wanted more of the same. Insatiable for him, she put her hands on his hips and rocked him in and out of her. She came again, this time bellowing his name across the yard. He was young, fit, and very strong, and she wanted him to prove it to her.

When he flipped her on her belly, she gasped. Her legs dangled on either side of the board as he thrust into her. She reached behind herself and grasped his thigh. She loved the feel of the soft hairs that tickled her palm. She loved being filled by him. He wasn't stopping now. She could feel he wanted the finish line. She came once more as his penis raked over her G-spot time and again.

“Fuck,” he said as he got closer.

“Come on, give it to me,” she squealed.

When he came, she felt it inside her. Out of breath, they clung to each other. Jessie had an overwhelming feeling of triumph, and Milan felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

“You're mine now, Jessie. No more fucking about pretending to be your boyfriend. From now on, I am your real boyfriend.”

She felt him growing softer inside her and reached up to kiss him. It was their first tender moment, the passion spent.

****

The next morning they woke in the same bed for the first time. Milan stretched and looked at Jessie. “Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Very, but I'm a bit sore, you know, down there.”

Milan laughed. “Well you were the one who insisted on me doing you twice more. It's your own fault.”

“Don't you have any sympathy for me?” she asked in a playful way.

“Of course. Come here.” He pulled her to him, and they cuddled for a few minutes.

“Gotta get going,” Milan said eventually.

His Ferrari roared to life, and he drove down the drive to the man on security. The man nodded and opened the gate. When they'd gone just a few yards up the road, a boy of around eleven flagged them down. He was small and wore a pair of blue jeans with a yellow Batman T-shirt. He looked slightly apologetic for having to stop them.

“What's up?” Milan said. The boy didn't say anything. He just handed him an envelope. “What is it?” Milan asked. The boy shrugged his shoulders. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“A man gave it to me. I live down there on the corner. He gave me fifty bucks and told me to give it to the man in the red Ferrari.”

Milan opened the envelope and pulled out a white sheet of paper. It read, “I know where you are, bitch. I'm coming to get you.”

“What did he look like?” Milan asked the boy.

“Shaven head. Funny eyes.”

“Dritan,” Jessie said.

“Okay, kid, thanks. If you see him again come and tell me. I'll give you a thousand bucks.” The boy’s eyes lit up at the prospect, and he began the walk back to his house.

Milan looked at Jessie. “I think you should go away. He clearly knows you're here. I'll make arrangements for you to go abroad for a few weeks until we've settled the issue.”

“No. I don't want to leave you. I feel much safer here, by your side.”

“He's an Albanian. They are crazy. People call us Russians crazy, but we fight fair. Those guys don't.” It was going to be much easier to root him out and deal with him if he didn't have to continually look out for Jessie. The best thing for her to do was to disappear to another country for a while.

“I don't care. I'd rather die than leave you,” she said.

“Why are women so darn stubborn?” he said as he sped off again. “You'd be far safer abroad. I could concentrate on sorting him out. But if you insist on hanging around here, then don't leave my side. Okay?”

“I don't want to leave your side.”

Weeks went past and nothing more happened. They waved to the kid who had given them the note from Dritan whenever they saw him. They found out he was the son of the local doctor. He was twelve and loved astronomy.

Milan settled into his role as head of the casino business and made sure Jessie traveled with him wherever he went.

“What's with you and this Jessie girl?” Limonov asked. “Are you gonna marry her or not?”

“Maybe. I love her, so I suppose I should.”

“Well, get on with it. Your mother wants to know why it's taking so long.”

Milan laughed. “Women, eh, Pops?”

“They love a good wedding. She's a nice girl. Get a ring on her finger. You shouldn't let a good woman like her slip through your fingers.”

Milan gave it a lot of thought and always came to the same conclusion. He wanted to marry her, but was it all a bit too fast. They'd only been dating three months. He thought for a moment about how she would react when he asked her to marry him. Would she even say yes? Maybe she'd been too damaged by the Albanian to want to marry anyone.

“Are you finished yet? I want you when we get home,” Milan asked Jessie.

“I'll only be a minute. Then you can take me home and fuck me senseless,” she whispered. Milan felt something in his pants move at the prospect. “I'll just go to the ladies’ room, and then I'll be right with you,” she said.

“Hurry up then. You just turned me on so much that I don't think I can wait very long,” he said.

The ladies’ restroom was down the corridor at the end of the building. Jessie made her way there, opened the door, and went into a stall. She locked the door, hitched her skirt up, and squatted over the toilet. Before she had time to doing anything, she felt something cold around her neck. She put her hands to her neck and tried to free herself of what felt like wire. But it got tighter, and she began to choke.

Milan sat chatting to some staff members for ten minutes. She's a long time, he thought. He gave her another ten minutes and then began to worry.

“Jan can you go to the ladies’ and see what Jessie is doing? She went ages ago.” Jan, one of the best croupiers in the casino, nodded and went to find Jessie.

When he heard a scream, Milan ran down the corridor and thrust the door to the ladies’ room open. Jan was standing at the open cubicle door, looking at a pool of blood on the floor. The window at the rear of the stall had been smashed, and there was no sign of Jessie. He looked out the window and down both sides of the street but saw nothing at all.

“Fuck,” Milan said. He alerted security and ran to the room that housed the video surveillance equipment. He wound the tape back and watched. Around the time Jessie had gone there, he saw a man standing outside the restroom window. He then saw him smash the window and reach inside. The tape rolled a little more, and Milan saw Jessie being dragged out through the window by whatever was around her neck.

“How the hell did he mange to do that?” Limonov asked after Milan had explained what had happened.

“I don't know.”

“How did he know she was in the toilet?”

“I haven't got a clue.”

“Fucking Albanians. You know, when we came to the US, they were still in that cesspit they call a country. Now they're all over, like some kind of venereal rash,” Limonov said. “We're gonna have to take him out, aren't we?”

“Be we don't know where she is,” Milan said desperately.

“Do you think they'll kill her?”

“I don't know,” Milan said.

“They are greedy bastards. If, as you say, he knows you two are an item, he'll ask for a ransom rather than kill her. If he kills her, he gets nothing.”

“I hope you're right.

The next morning, the doctor’s son came rushing up the drive to Milan's house. “I've got another note,” he said, shoving it under Milan's nose.

“One p.m., Seven Mile End. Only you need come,” it read. Milan stared into space and forgot the boy who was waiting eagerly for a tip. He gave him a hundred-dollar bill, and the boy walked away looking as if he'd just won the lottery.

“We can surround the place and take him out,” Vladimir said when they met in Milan's office.

“But he expressly asked me to come alone,” Milan replied.

“Seven Mile End is an exposed spot. There's nowhere to hide a sniper,” Limonov said.

Milan was standing with his father's top men, the same guys who had welcomed him after he’d returned from college. “I don't see what we can do, other than I go there,” Milan said.

“I want you to go with him and hide wherever you can,” Limonov said, pointing at Dima and Valentin.

At twelve thirty the three set off for Seven Mile End. It used to be a freeway interchange, but since the city administration had implemented their new traffic plan for South Las Vegas, the interchange had become redundant and was now a large area of disused tarmac with weeds growing through it.

Milan told the others to get out and find a place wherever they could to watch. He drove onto the waste ground and parked in the middle of it. At 1 p.m. a van appeared and stopped opposite him. He got out and waited.

Jessie stumbled out of the back of the van and turned to Milan. She had a wire in the form of a lasso around her neck. Nobody else appeared, but someone did speak via a megaphone.

“If you want to see her alive tomorrow, the price is five million dollars in cash.”

Milan clenched his fists and began to walk toward Jessie. He'd made a decision. There was no way she was going to suffer at the hands of this fool anymore. He walked slowly but purposefully toward her.

“Stop. Stop now or she gets it.”

“You won't shoot her. If you do, you'll get nothing,” Milan shouted back as he continued his walk. A bullet hit the ground just in front of him, but he didn't stop walking.

“Stop, Milan. They will kill you,” Jessie shouted.

“They won't. They are too yellow. They know what my father will do to them if they kill me.”

He continued until he reached Jessie. Two men jumped out of the back of the van. They were confused. They didn't seem to have considered that Milan would act so unpredictably, and they certainly didn't want the death of one of Russia's top mafia sons on their hands. One of them pointed his gun at Milan.

“I'm unarmed. Let her go and take me. Do you know how much more money you'll get for me?”

They were both jittery and confused, and Milan didn't want to be shot just because some guy's hand was shaking too much. “Calm down, guys. I'm gonna swap myself for her. She can go. Take me instead.”

He reached up and took the wire from around Jessie's neck.

“Run to the car,” he said.

“What are you doing? They will kill you.”

“They won't. Now go to the car,” he said. Jessie looked at him and saw the determination in his eyes. Milan jumped into the back of their van and sat down. “Come on. Let's go.”

*****

“You fucking idiots. You complete fuckups,” Dritan shouted. “What the fuck were you thinking? I'm surrounded by imbeciles.”

“But he just kept walking and jumped in the van,” one of the men said. “There was no way we were going to shoot him. He's too valuable.”

“Do you know what his father will do to us if he finds us?” Dritan asked.

“Then kill the fucker and let's get the hell out of here,” the other said.

Dritan looked at them both. They had worked for him for a couple of years. They were his enforcers, the men he used to break peoples' fingers when they decided not to pay. But Milan had outfoxed them. Now Dritan had a hostage who was almost too hot to handle. He would soon have the whole Russian mafia down on him like a ton of bricks unless he did something.

He'd been extremely upset when he'd found out that Jessie was seeing Milan. He'd only taken her hostage to get Milan to pay him a few million for the inconvenience of losing his girlfriend. In his estimation, there had been a good chance Milan would have paid for her and left it at that. But he knew, even if he returned Milan, that now Milan's father would come after him with a vengeance. He had to decide what to do, and fast.

“Okay, here's what we are going to do. Got to the bank in the morning and withdraw the maximum you can. Book three tickets on the next available flight to Tirana.”

“But what are we going to do with him?”

“We're going to kill him,” Dritan said.

“Okay. I'll do it now,” one of them said.

“No, you fool. Don't you know anything? He's still of value to us until we're out of here. We'll kill him just before we leave.”

Milan, who was tied to an iron bed and gagged, heard all of this.

*****

“Jessie, think,” Limonov said. “Think what happened. How long did you drive from here to the place where they held you?”

“Er...about twenty minutes.”

“Did you hear anything close by? Trains, a school, airplanes, anything that could point to where they kept you.”

Jessie was desperate. Milan had been such a fool. What was he doing swapping himself for her? She would much rather have sat tied up, worrying about her own life, rather than worrying about Milan's.

“I can't think of anything. There was no discernible noise of any kind.”

Limonov slammed his fist onto the table. “I'll kill the asshole. I'll cut off his balls and stuff him with them. How's the wound?” he asked.

Jessie put her hand to her throat. “Okay, I suppose.” She'd been cut when they'd pulled her from the toilet. It had bled profusely, but it wasn't serious.

“I'm gonna call this asshole's bluff,” Limonov said. “Toni, call every TV news channel in Vegas and tell them I am giving a press conference.”

Toni did as he was asked. The TV channels were very interested in a story from such a prominent man, and all agreed to come. For them, Mafia meant viewers.

They chose a corner of the casino as a makeshift studio, and when the TV people arrived, they set up their cameras and microphones. At six in the evening, Limonov sat at a table and spoke to the world.

“I am addressing a man named Dritan Polyakov. He is an Albanian citizen, and I know he has been active in the underworld in Las Vegas. Mr. Polyakov, you have my son in captivity. I have the following to say to you. I assume you are probably going to kill him. That's what I would do in your situation. However, you must think carefully, because I'm going to make you an offer.

“You may think you will be safe in your native Albania, but do you know how many of my Russian friends live and work in your country? If you let my son go, you will have right of passage to Albania and a quiet life. If, however, my son is harmed, you will be hunted down. Your photo will be in every newspaper and on every TV station in Europe. The bounty on your head will be so high, you will have the worst kind of people looking for you. Also, my son is very popular in Russia. Every Russian will feel it is his duty to hunt you down like a rabid dog and finish you. If you want to kill my son, go ahead, but that will be the consequence. The decision is yours.”

Limonov stumbled as he got up. His heart was racing, and his blood pressure was through the roof. Jessie, who was standing behind the news cameras, looked at him and wondered what he had just done. He had taken a massive gamble with his son's life, the life of the man she loved.

*****

“Fucking half-wit,” Dritan said as he glared at the TV. He looked across at Milan. “Your father doesn't give a fuck if we kill you or not.”

“He does care. If we kill him, we will be killed. I'm sure of that now. His father is right. If the bounty is high enough, someone will get us,” one of Dritan's two henchmen said.

*****

The following morning, while Dritan and his accomplices were on the way to the airport, Milan managed to struggle free from the bed he'd been tied to and stagger out of the building, his legs still tied together. He tripped on the sidewalk and staggered into oncoming traffic. A lady driving a VW Beetle slammed her brakes on and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was an inch away from Milan, who was lying in front of her bumper.

The young man told her a remarkable story. When he described how he'd swapped himself for the woman he loved, in such a dangerous situation, he almost made her cry. She was only too happy to give him a lift and so curious to see what the young woman he spoke of so highly looked like.

“Oh my God,” Jessie shouted as she ran to him. The lady in the VW Beetle beamed. Milan didn't say anything, just held her to him. “I'm cross with you, very cross,” Jessie said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Doing what you did was foolish. You could have been killed.”

“So could you, and that would have been much worse. Do you think I like seeing you in captivity? Being held by that asshole? Any man would have done what I did.”

“I don't think that's true. Not all men are so foolish.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You could have paid the ransom and have done with it,” Jessie said.

He laughed. “It's a lot of money. Do you think you are worth so much?”

“She's worth more than that,” Limonov said as he entered the room. “Welcome back, Son.” He put his arm around him. “But if you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll kill you myself. You should learn from this. The sensible thing to do would have been to pay the ransom and take revenge later. You put yourself in a lot of danger.”

“Okay. A lesson learned. You handled it very well, Pops.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. What I said was only partly true. It was a bluff, because once they are in Albania, it won't be easy to find them.”

“Well, it's over,” Milan said as he put his arm around Jessie.

Limonov's cell rang and he looked at the display. It was a number he didn't recognize.

“Mr. Igorevich?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“My name is Kasparov, Dmitri, US Customs. I work at the airport in Las Vegas. I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

Limonov wondered what he'd done wrong. “Go ahead,” he said.

“I saw you on TV last evening. You were talking to a man called Dritan Polyakov.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Do you still want to talk to him?”

Limonov looked at Jessie and Milan. “Yes. I would very much like to speak to him.”

“He is here. I will gladly introduce you to him if you care to come to the airport.”

“Yes. I think that would be a very nice thing to do. What about the police?”

“I don't think there is any need for them, do you?”

“Tell me,” Limonov said, “are you of Russian decent?”

“Yes, sir, I am. Pleased to be of service.”

“Thank you. You have been very helpful. I will send someone to fetch Mr. Polyakov.”

Limonov laughed out loud. Milan looked at him quizzically. “Russians, we are everywhere,” Limonov said.

******

“So you don't think I'm worth five million dollars?” Jessie said as Milan came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around him.

“Who said that?”

“You said as much. You weren't prepared to pay for me. Not a cent.” Jessie was very good at acting, and Milan looked puzzled.

“I would have paid for you. I just though what I did was better. That's all.”

“But it wasn't, was it? You almost got killed just because you didn't want to pay for me. Well, if I'm not worth anything to you, I think I'll have to increase my value.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asked.

“Sex. It's going to cost you from now on.”

“You're joking, right?”

“No. If you think I'm worthless, I need to show you I'm not.”

He looked at her, lying next to him in the sexiest nightie he'd ever seen, her breasts gently falling and rising. “How much?”

“Five hundred a time.”

“Jesus. It would have been cheaper to pay the ransom.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her. “That’s ten bucks already,” he said.

“What did your father do with Dritan?” she asked.

“He put him on his private jet and had him flown to St. Petersburg.”

“And what will happen to him there?” she asked.

“The river is deep, and concrete doesn't float in Russia.”

She pulled him on top of her and wrapped her legs around him. “Take off that towel and show me what you've got,” she said.

He reached down and threw the material onto the floor. He entered her in one movement. She flung her head back on the pillow and let out a sigh of deep satisfaction.

As he made love to her, he leaned down and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth.

His body felt better than ever on top of her. It was wonderful to have him inside her again. She met his thrusts with the movement of her hips, taking him into her hungrily. She ran her hands over the smooth skin on his back and down to his tight buttocks.

“You are darn handsome, Milan,” she said.

“And you are more beautiful than a man can bear,” he replied. He looked deep into her eyes as he picked up the pace. She began to gasp. He knew her well enough now to know what that meant. Any moment he would be rewarded by watching her come. When she did, he stopped and held her face in his hands. He kissed her forehead gently.

When her release came, she relaxed and luxuriated in the movement of his body. She was painfully aware of what had happened, and she felt guilty. Guilty for ever becoming involved with a man as bad as Dritan. It had nearly cost her life, and the life of the man who was so deliciously pounding her now.

He was close, and she knew it. She wanted to come at the same time as him. “Tell me. Tell me when,” she whispered. She began to touch herself.

When he nodded, she rubbed herself furiously and cried out as they came together, kissing and pawing at each other.

*****

On the day Dritan was dropped into the Neva River, Jessie and Milan were married. It was a wedding attended by everyone who was anyone in Las Vegas society. The press turned out to photograph the rich and famous and those who were more infamous than famous.

Jessie and Milan went to the Seychelles on honeymoon in Limonov's private jet. When they arrived back in Las Vegas, Jessie found out she was pregnant. Nine months later she had a boy named Milan the second.

*****

THE END

MAFIA Romance – Dangerously His

1

David Carr was used to getting his way. He liked it like that. And he knew he deserved it. He had crawled up from nothing. He ran the drug business in Chicago, and he had done it on his own. He didn’t have family in it before him; he didn’t have friends. He just knew he wanted it, so he took it.

Being the big man at the top had a lot of good and a lot of bad. He went anywhere, spent a ton of money, owned homes across the world, but he had to always keep one eye open. He knew that. Someone was always coming for him, coming for his position.

David worked hard so he could play hard. He loved the clubs. He loved to drink. He didn’t do drugs; he just sold them. Doing them made you stupid, slow. Being slow made you dead. He loved women, and they loved him. Most of them, at least.

There was one girl. She worked as a waitress at a club he went to a lot. The club was called Fire House, and the girl was named Cherry. Well, he was pretty sure that wasn’t her real name, but it was the one on the name tag she wore next to her luscious bosom.

It was a Saturday night when David arrived at Fire House and was led back to his usual table, a small wooden circle with a booth-like bench around three-fourths of the surface. It was up a couple of stairs, kept away from the public by a velvet rope that stretched across the top of the small staircase. The woman, who led David and two men in his employ, was attractive, young, and blond, with a short skirt. But David didn’t return her smile as he sat down. Usually he had women with him at the club, but this time he hadn’t brought any. He wanted Cherry.

She always waited on him, at his request. As soon as David and his men sat down, she was there, making her way up the three stairs on sky-high black pumps. She was wearing a black dress, the neckline cut low to show off the tops of her large, pale breasts. The hem was short, so short you could get a glimpse of the bottom of her butt cheeks if she spun too fast, which she often did to get good tips. Her skin was lily white, and her hair was red. David was pretty sure that was why she was called Cherry. Her lips were even redder, her makeup impeccable. She was beautiful. Sexy. Never trashy, like the other girls who worked at Fire House, or the ones who went there hoping to fuck men like David.

The lights in the place were red, just like Cherry’s lips.

“Hey,” the woman said as she stopped to stand next to the table. David looked her over. She continued. “The usual?”

“Sure,” David said. The usual was three bottles of the most expensive champagne in America, at least to start with.

“No girls tonight?” Cherry asked.

“I came to see you,” David said. Cherry smiled and then rolled her eyes.

“You’re just saying that.”

Of course she knew the man wanted to fuck her. Most men did. And David was handsome, about to turn forty, with a thick head of coal black hair and dark eyes. He was tanned and tall, and his chest was wide and muscular. He was sexy. She wanted him to fuck her. But she knew who he was, in two senses of the word. For one, he fucked chicks, and that was it. She didn’t want to waste time with that. For another, he dealt drugs. Massively. He was rich and successful, but the business he was in was dangerous, and she didn’t want to get caught up in it.

Of course, she had no idea that she already was, but that night she would learn it.

“Tell me your real name,” David asked before she could go put his order in.

She laughed. Cherry wasn’t her real name, of course, but it had been her nickname since she was a baby. Even then she’d had red hair. No one ever believed that Cherry was practically her real name. Only her mother ever called her Jillian, her given name.

“Cherry is my name,” she said, and then, before the man could protest, she hurried away.

David watched the waitress go, her ass swinging back and forth beneath that dastardly short dress. And then someone else caught his eye, and David sighed.

“Here comes this prick,” David said to his men, Mark and Kyle. They looked over and smirked.

The man who owned Fire House was young, only twenty-five. He had been born into wealth and had opened a few successful clubs in a few different cities by the time he was twenty-three. He liked Chicago, though, so he spent most of his time there. He was thin and nervous looking, with a large hooked nose and beady eyes. His name was Nathan.

“Hey there, David,” Nathan said as he slid into the booth next to him. While Nathan had started out with clubs, he had expanded into the drug game, though he was nothing but a speck to David. Still, it paid to be nice.

“Nathan,” David said in his cool and collected voice.

“I got something big going,” the club owner said, unable to keep a smile from spreading across his face. “I thought I would come offer you a place.”

David returned the smile, but his had malice. “Nathan, the day you have something you could possibly offer me other than bottles of champagne, I’ll jump off a fucking bridge.”

Nathan blinked, his mouth hung open. Then he shut it, smiled again, and nodded. He stood up and turned. “Fair enough,” he called over his shoulder, and then he was gone. David watched him go and then turned to his men, and they shared a laugh.

2

Cherry was tired. Her feet hurt, because her black pumps were uncomfortable. Her tits were sore, because the hard wire of her push-up bra cut into the soft flesh of her underboob. The thong she wore was uncomfortable, and after spending hours walking through a haze of cigarette smoke, vapor, and horrible smells that cheap guys sprayed on themselves before a night out, Cherry was covered in stench.

Still, it was good money, working at Fire House. She couldn’t deny that. She was fresh out of college and had been working there for a year before she even graduated. Men liked her, so they left good tips and bought more drinks. Her boss, Nathan, liked her, since those men were buying more drinks, and although it was brain-dead work, Cherry liked it, since she was making a lot more than most of the people she had just graduated with.

The nights that David was there were the best. He tipped a lot. He bought a lot. She knew he wanted her. She wanted him too, but she wouldn’t let herself get involved with him. She hadn’t been involved with anyone in a long time. School had been taking all of her time during the day, and work at night, but now she had a lot more free time, and she had been taking the offers she got from men at work a lot more seriously.

“Hey, hon, can I take you out?” one man might say.

“Come back to my place,” another would say.

She definitely wasn’t looking for cheap sex, so those second guys would get a smile and an easy “no thanks” line. The first, though, she considered. She needed to go on a date; it had been so long since she had done so.

And of course David Carr wanted to take her out. He asked her every night he came into the club. That night was no exception. He had been joined by a number of people at his private table, including a blonde bimbo with fake tits who seemed to be trying to get into his pants but was growing increasingly agitated by the fact that David was pawning her off on one of his friends.

“You should come out tonight,” David said. “What time do you get off?”

Cherry smiled and bent down, flirting with the good-looking man, making sure he got a nice view down the low neck of her dress.

“Three in the morning,” she said. “You want to take me out to breakfast?”

David laughed and nodded. She watched him. He had perfect white teeth. “I’ll take you to breakfast,” he said. “I know a place with the best pancakes.”

Cherry straightened up and shook her head. “I can’t tonight,” she said, though she had never been so close to accepting the man’s offer to take her out before. She couldn’t though. She liked nice guys, and David Carr was the epitome of a bad boy. He dealt in crime. Everyone knew it.

Cherry turned and headed back into the kitchen. Most people in the club were there to drink, dance, and hook up, but the place did have a small kitchen, white and silver and pristine, where a couple chefs made hors d'oeuvre for those who ordered it.

She was hoping to sneak a snack; she hadn’t eaten much and was starving, and one of the cooks was a chubby guy with bad acne who yearned for her and was happy to make her whatever she asked for.

But when she entered the kitchen it was empty, or at least it appeared that way from the doorway. She was about to leave, but she heard voices in the back, the people they belonged to blocked from view by a large island in the center of the kitchen with racks above holding various dishes. Cherry edged forward, hoping to find Billy, the chubby cook, but instead, as she turned the edge of the island, she saw Nathan, her boss, and two men she didn’t recognize. They were near the back corner of the room, next to a door that led to the alley that ran behind the club.

Nathan was holding a large binder of sorts, flipping through the pages. From where she stood, Cherry could see that each page of the binder was a large photograph of a different woman. Her boss was speaking as he looked at the pictures.

“Who could have thought there was so much money in this?” he said. The other two men laughed, and Nathan went on. “Seriously, these chicks are from Russia? They’re so fucking hot; I might buy one.”

The men laughed again. It slowly dawned on Cherry what they were looking at and what they were talking about. She backed up, hoping to leave without them noticing her. Nathan was a scumbag. She knew that. But she’s never known him to do anything illegal, and now this, sex trafficking—it was horrible. How long had he been doing it? She didn’t have all the answers, of course, just a small sliver of a secret. She bumped into the island. The dishes above the island clanked and clattered. The three men looked to her.

Nathan saw her and his face fell. “Oh damn,” he said. “I like you.” And then, Cherry hardly able to believe it, her boss pulled a gun from the back of his waistband.

She turned and ran.

What was he going to do? Shoot her? There in the kitchen? Surely people would hear. But as she exploded through the kitchen door and into the club proper, she realized that the music was so loud and pounding that surely no one would have heard a gunshot from the kitchen.

She didn’t look back. She tottered quickly on her heels, pushing through the dance floor, heading for the front door. She was halfway across when she cursed in her head. She didn’t have her purse. It was in a locker in the employee room. Her car keys were inside. She would have to turn around, head back toward the kitchen if she wanted to get them. And she needed them if she was to get in her car and speed away from this place.

She couldn’t though. She had no way of knowing if the three men were following her; she was too scared to look back. Cherry didn’t have a plan. She just wanted to get out of Fire House. That was step one. She kept going, one foot in front of the other, trotting on those sky-high heels. She saw the door, the crowd of people parted for her like the Red Sea, and hurried forward. She was ten feet away when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist and tug her to a stop. She yelped in fear and spun.

3

David turned down Layla’s request to dance for the fifth time. Tiffany was young and hot, but David wasn’t in the mood for that. He was going through one of his spells, as he liked to think of them. He was so used to getting what he wanted that when he didn’t get something, he obsessed over it. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Cherry since she wouldn’t give herself to him.

And then he saw her, rushing across the dance floor. She looked frightened. David stood up, sliding out of the booth. He looked behind her at the crowd. She was obviously running, so what was she running from? David saw two men in dark suits, and then, a half step behind them, Nathan. Nathan held a gun in his hand, pointed downward, held tight against his body. David couldn’t believe the man could be so stupid.

David didn’t know what the problem was, but he didn’t care. “Go get the car,” he said, turning to the two men who had come to the club with him. They both nodded and forced others to move out of the booth so they could stand up. They went to the door.

David angled across the floor, hoping to cut Cherry off. He just missed her, coming to a stop behind her. He reached for her arm, curling his strong fingers around her wrist. She gave a short yelp that drew a few nearby eyes and turned.

“You,” she said.

“Trouble?” David asked, nodding his head backward. She looked over his shoulder and her eyes went wide. David didn’t wait for her to answer. “Come with me,” he said and led her out the door.

His men were fast, and as he and Cherry stepped out onto the sidewalk, a black sedan was pulling to the curb. The man in the passenger seat opened his door, planning on getting out and opening the door for David and Cherry, but David waved him back inside and opened the door himself. They both climbed into the backseat, Cherry first. David shut the door and glanced out the window just in time to see Nathan and his two stooges burst out onto the sidewalk. David waved as the car pulled away from the curb.

“Where to?” Kyle asked. He always drove.

“Home,” David said, and he glanced to Cherry to see if she would argue, but she stayed quiet, her face one of shock and terror. She knew how close she had just come to dying. The question, to David at least, was why? He wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about it, so he was content to stay quiet, as was she. They drove to his apartment, the penthouse of a tall building smack dab in the middle of downtown Chicago. They pulled into the private parking garage, Kyle using a keypad before a large gate to punch in a code and open it. Kyle and Mark walked ahead after getting out of the car, and David took Cherry by the arm gently and led her to an elevator.

They got in, Mark slid a keycard into a small slot, and the elevator shot up to the top floor. When the doors opened, they were faced with another door, which Mark unlocked and pushed open. David’s two men went inside and searched the place, something they did every time David came home. David and Cherry waited for them to return.

“All clear,” Mark said, and David nodded. His two most trusted men then stayed outside the front door but didn’t enter the elevator quite yet. They would be at the front door until six in the morning, when two new men would come relieve them, allowing them to go to their own apartments, in the same building but on lower floors, so they could get some sleep. David shut the door after wishing them good night, even though he knew it would be a few hours before they went to bed.

“I’ve never gone home with a man who has bodyguards,” Cherry said, and she tried to smile. David laughed.

“I have to. I have a chef, a personal trainer, a lot of employees, really. Those two were both my friends long before they became my bodyguards.”

Cherry nodded. She walked into the living room. The whole apartment was a huge open space, except for a bathroom and a bedroom, which were walled off behind closed doors. She sat on the couch and took her heels off. David stood before her.

“What happened?” he asked.

“My fucking boss went crazy,” Cherry said. “It looked like he was going to kill me.”

“Why?”

She shrugged and looked up at David.

“I don’t know.”

“Did you hear something? See something?”

Cherry sighed and rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. “I saw…he had this folder, with pictures of women. He said they were from Russia and that he might buy one himself. It looked like…”

David nodded. He knew exactly what it had looked like. “That would explain it.”

Cherry shook her head. “I knew Nathan was a scumbag, but I never knew…I thought maybe he had gotten into drug stuff, but this…”

David nodded. “It’s big,” he said. “And he’s going up against Rubio.”

Cherry didn’t understand. “Who’s Rubio?”

“If you want Russian brides, you go to Rubio. Not my sort of thing, to be honest. I don’t do the whole slavery thing.”

“Honor among thieves, huh?” Cherry cracked, though she didn’t smile.

“Something like that,” David said grimly. “But if Nathan has something going, he’s at the beginning of it. He doesn’t want word getting out, and that’s why he was willing to kill you. If this spills too early, Rubio is going to kill him. He has to build up the business, show he’s capable, and maybe just cut Rubio in if he wants to keep on living.”

“So what now?” Cherry asked.

“He’s going to come looking for you, and I’ll talk to him.”

Cherry had opened her mouth to speak again, but David’s cell phone rang in his pocket, and she closed her mouth. She sat and watched as the man answered his phone.

“Hello?” he said. It was Nathan.

“Give me the girl,” he said.

“Your balls are getting big, Nathan,” David said.

“Don’t turn this into something. She needs to be dealt with.”

“She didn’t see anything,” David said, lying. “She doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“She didn’t see anything? Why did she run?”

“She saw you pulling a gun on her.”

Nathan laughed. “So I guess you know now too, huh? That’s too bad.”

“Are you threatening me?” David asked. “Do you remember who I am? Do you remember who you are? You’re nothing, kid. Just back off, back down, and go back to running clubs.”

“I’m better than that. You idiots don’t know what the fuck I’ve been doing for months. A year! I’m more powerful than you’d ever guess. You won’t know until it’s too late.”

David furrowed his brow. “Fuck off, Nathan,” he said, and then he hung up.

“So it’s all settled then?” Cherry asked. She smiled, clearly joking.

“I don’t know who this kid thinks he is,” David said. “I’ll deal with him tomorrow. You tired?”

Cherry nodded, yawning suddenly. “I could sleep,” she said with a little laugh.

“I’ll take the couch,” David said, but Cherry shook her head.

“Just get me a pillow and a blanket and I’ll be fine out here,” she said. David nodded and left, and when he returned he had her requested items. She was standing, working the zipper down on the back of her dress, facing away from him. He set the pillow and blanket on the couch and stepped forward, using his fingers to tug the zipper down. His eyes didn’t leave her as her back was bared. Her skin was white and soft looking. He yearned to reach out and touch it. He did so, unable to stop himself, his fingertips sliding down along her spine.

She let him touch her, didn’t move away, didn’t tell him to stop. His fingers went down until they hit the dress, right above the rounded curve of her ass. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, using one hand to hold her red hair out of the way.

She spun when he pulled away, and she let the dress fall. She stepped out of it, wearing only a black thong, her breasts large and heaving before him. He placed his hands on her body, her breasts, her nipples hardening against his touch. His hands moved down, along her hips, over her exposed butt cheeks. His cock grew hard in his pants, and she reached down, gripping him through the material.

She was wet, yearning for the man, and she only grew more excited when he dipped his head to plant soft kisses on her breasts, trailing a circle around her nipples until finally he took one into his mouth and sucked on it while pinching the neglected areola between his thumb and forefinger.

His lips moved up, and they pressed against hers. She closed her eyes and parted her lips to his roving tongue. His hands were on her ass again, kneading the flesh there, pawing at her. She pushed her pelvis forward and felt his hard cock pressing against the bottom of her flat stomach.

She went to her knees, breaking away from him. He watched her; his breath caught in his throat as Cherry reached up and undid his fly. Unbuttoned and unzipped, David’s hard cock sprang out through the front flap of his boxer briefs. It bobbed in the air for a moment, wavering in front of the young woman’s face. She took him in her hand, holding him tightly at the base of his cock. He was huge, the biggest man she had been with. She wanted him in her pussy, but she knew she couldn’t tease him. Down here, on her knees, she would need to use her mouth, at least for a little bit.

Her ruby red lips parted and her velvet-like pink tongue darted out, licking the tip of his cock. She moved her head forward, and the bulbous head of his dick disappeared into her mouth. She swirled her tongue over the head, tasting the clear pre-cum that was forming there. David’s hand found the back of Cherry’s head, his fingers curling through her hair. She took more of his member into her hot, wet mouth. Her lips slid along his shaft. Her tongue swirled and ran along the sensitive underside of his cock.

The head of his dick was quickly pushing against the back of her throat, surprising Cherry, because she still had a few inches to go. He was just too big. She slid back, letting his cock slide from her mouth, wet and shining in the soft light of the living room due to her saliva. She took his shaft in her hand again, moving back and forth, jerking him off while she sucked on his head before she took him into her mouth once more.

“Fuck,” the man groaned, and she looked at him with her big blue eyes, and he grinned down at her. She pulled away from him, holding his cock in her hand, jerking it slowly.

“How long have you wanted this?” she asked with a devilish grin.

“A long time,” David replied. “Don’t stop sucking my cock,” he added, and she laughed and then took him into her mouth once more. She bobbed her head, her lips and tongue and hand working together to drive him wild, but she was careful not to let him get past the point of no return. She was on her knees in front of him, naked save for the thong, which was soaked through in the crotch. She liked giving head, and she knew she was good at it, but she needed David’s cock in her tight pussy, and she would have it.

When she knew she had him riled up, she pulled back and stood up. She went to pull the thong down, but he stopped her, doing it himself and then placing his hands on her waist and spinning her away from him. With a guiding hand on her back, she bent, his other hand taking the opportunity to grab her ass. The hand on her back slid down, a finger trailing between her cheeks until it was on her wet slit, sliding down to rub sensually against her clit. She spread her legs and braced herself, one hand on the couch and one hand on the coffee table.

David took his cock in his hand and guided himself into her. Cherry moaned and closed her eyes. His hands went to her waist, his fingers almost touching. He held her still and fucked her senseless, pumping quickly in and out of her soaking pussy.

“I’m coming,” Cherry groaned, the blood rushing to her head since she was bent over, adding a strange pleasure to everything.

When she spoke, David pulled his cock out of her, and she was disappointed, but the man knelt down and pressed his face to her pussy, his tongue sliding into her body as he reached up to rub her clit with the pad of his index finger.

Her orgasm was the most intense she had ever felt. Her whole body shook; her stomach felt as though it was folding in on itself. She groaned aloud, and her juices flowed. When it was over she expected David to stand up, to slide into her again, but instead he sat down on the couch and pulled her over to him. She turned so she was facing him and straddled his lap, her knees on the couch on either side of him.

Cherry lowered herself slowly, bringing David’s cock into her pussy once more. This new position felt even better than the last, and she knew there was a chance she could come again. She bent and pressed her lips to his. His lips and chin were wet and shiny with her own juices, but she didn’t care. She tasted him, and she tasted herself.

She bucked on his lap quickly, pulling down so fast that their skin slapped together when they met. David’s hands were on her ass, kneading the flesh there, squeezing it and pulling it. When she stopped kissing him, he leaned forward, taking a nipple eagerly into his mouth.

She came again, throwing her head back as it suddenly overtook her. She soaked his cock, her juices leaking out and running down his member, soaking his wiry shock of pubic hair. It was all too much for him, and he was finally coming, his massive cock jumping inside her, spraying his load. He grunted, his hands on her hips, pulling her down and holding her still as he came. When it was over, she crawled off him and started to laugh.

He laughed too. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I don’t know why I was putting that off for so long,” Cherry said, unable to contain her giggles. The couch was soaked with sweat and cum, so David led her to the bedroom. They slept, entwined with one another, and she woke early in the morning, seeing just an edge of orange along the side of the closed blinds of the nearest window. She woke him up by taking his cock into her mouth.

4

The second time they had sex it was more like making love: slow and tender, kissing, him on top. Afterward, they showered together, and he surprised her by having yet more cum ready. She swallowed it, kneeling in front of him as the hot water splattered against the back of her head.

They had breakfast, which was prepared by David’s personal chef, while wearing fuzzy robes, and then he got dressed in his room. Cherry stood and watched him.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I need to take care of this,” David said. “I won’t be long. Stay here and I’ll be back.”

Cherry thought of something that had happened that morning, in the dawn as they made love. It was his accent. He had always sounded American, but that morning, as he had moaned and said sweet nothings to her as he came inside her for the second time, he had sounded different.

“You’re Russian,” she said with a grin.

David laughed and nodded. “I am.”

“You don’t usually sound like it.”

“Not many people know I wasn’t born here. I thought it would be a weakness.”

“It was pretty hot,” Cherry said.

David laughed again. “I’ll remember that,” he said in his natural accent, the words heavy and slow with a Russian twang. Cherry grinned and clapped her hands together. Then she got serious. “Are you going to be okay?”

David laughed and stood. He had been sitting on the end of his bed, tying his shoes. He took her hands in his. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take care of Nathan; you can go back to your life.”

Cherry smiled and kissed him. “Thank you,” she said, and then he left.

Only a few hours later, she would know there wasn’t much of a chance of going back to her life. It had changed, and it would continue to.

Inside the apartment, two men were with her, along with the personal chef, who was preparing lunch already. The men were unknown to her, the day shift, guys she had never seen with David in the club. They were both young, one with a buzzed head and one with longer blond locks. Neither of them spoke to her. They just stood near the front door in expensive suits.

She felt awkward in David’s apartment without him, and she stayed in the bedroom most of the time. Lunch came, and David wasn’t yet back, so she sat at the table alone and was served a pasta dish with fresh-baked bread and a small bowl of butter. She declined wine, instead drinking water.

Just as she was finishing up, there was a knock on the door. She turned in her chair, able to see the front door from where she sat. The man with the long hair went to the door and opened it a crack.

“Yes?” he said, but instead of an answer, the door was shoved open and he stumbled back. He reached for his gun, but it was too late. There was a series of loud popping sounds, and fountains of crimson blood bloomed on the long-haired man’s chest. He fell back, dead before he even hit the ground.

The man who had shot him kept coming through the door, a handgun at the ready. Two more men followed him. The man with the shaved head had his gun out and was firing back. He took down the lead man, the one who had killed his friend.

“Come on!” a voice close to Cherry’s ear said. She turned to see the chef. The woman looked at her with wild eyes, wide with fear. Cherry nodded and got up, and they ran for the bedroom.

Cherry collapsed just inside the door, and the chef turned and slammed it shut, throwing the lock.

“There’s a panic room!” the chef said. She had a thick Russian accent, much like David had when he wasn’t pretending not to. She pointed with a bony finger toward the closet, and Cherry forced herself to her feet, her legs shaking and quivering like gelatin. She followed the chef to the closet, and they stepped inside.

The older woman shoved clothes off the rack and moved to the back wall of the closet. She pressed in a certain spot and a door swung inward. She went into the dark depths, and Cherry followed her. The chef shut the door and then lights popped on. The panic room was small, made of concrete and steel. The door locked audibly, and a computer screen in the wall glowed to life. The screen cycled through shots of the apartment. Cherry hadn’t even noticed cameras anywhere.

The view of the living room was distressing. The two guards David employed were both dead, along with the first man who had come through the door. The two other men were in David’s bedroom, looking for the two women.

“They can’t get in here, can they?” Cherry asked when the shot moved on to the living room once more.

“No,” the chef said, shaking her head. The light was dim, but Cherry could see tears snaking down the older woman’s cheeks. Cherry was then surprised to realize she was crying too. Her heart was pounding. Nothing had ever scared her so badly. She wanted David.

The men found the panic room eventually, but they couldn’t get in. There was a small keyboard built into the wall in the room, and Cherry tapped buttons until she got the view of the bedroom to stick on the screen. They could just see the men, in the closet, hammering on the wall. Cherry was surprised she couldn’t hear it in the room. The walls really must have been thick.

Cherry screamed and slapped a hand over her mouth when one of the men was suddenly shot. David stepped into frame, flanked by three other men, each with guns drawn. The other bad guy turned, but David put him down as well. The chef reached past Cherry and opened the door.

David rushed forward and took Cherry into his arms. She was crying even more than she had been before. David held her.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

Cherry couldn’t answer. She just cried.

5

David and Cherry were on his private plane, headed for a small island off the coast of Greece. David had many homes, but this was one no one knew about. Or at least, they shouldn’t.

It was the morning after he had gone to get things cleared up, and now they were practically in exile. He had underestimated Nathan. He had thought the man to be a small-time poser, but somehow the little shit had pulled many to his cause. He was making a play for it all: drugs, sex slaves, guns. He had his little fingers in every pie, and it had worked. David had gone from the top to the bottom. He had people loyal to him, of course, but Nathan had usurped almost all of the criminal power in Chicago. David didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew he had to do something.

First, though, he had to get Cherry to safety. She had become a pawn in all of this. Nathan had made his move—it had worked—but he still wanted Cherry dead. Now it was to teach David a lesson, so he knew not to fuck with Nathan. David wouldn’t let that happen.

His manor on the small Greek island was large and airy, with open windows where the breeze made the curtains billow. They landed on the mainland and took a cab to the ferry, which took them to the home.

Cherry hadn’t been able to go to her apartment to grab any of her clothes, so David had called ahead and had the maid do some shopping. He showed Cherry to a bedroom, where all the clothes had been laid out. The poor woman was scared, but she indulged David and put on an impromptu fashion show. She had him sit on the end of the bed and then disappeared behind a privacy screen in the corner. Each time she came out in a different outfit, David oohed and aahed.

The last outfit was a bathing suit, a black bikini that left nothing to the imagination. Cherry smiled upon seeing David’s hard cock pressing against the fly of his shorts.

“Like what you see?” she asked, and David nodded. “Follow me then,” she said, and she turned and left the room, swinging her ass as she walked. David was on his feet and following her without needing to be told twice.

She went downstairs and then outside. There was a pool there, the water heated and clear, with a blue tint. She stepped into the pool and then went under. David paused by the edge and pulled his shirt, shorts, and underwear off before lowering himself into the water. He waded out to the center of the pool, where Cherry had gone under and still hadn’t surfaced.

He felt her hands on his hips, could see her nude form under the water just as the black bikini bobbed to the surface. She took him into her mouth, still under the water, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing his ass.

When she pulled away and surfaced, David grabbed her, lifting her up so he could kiss her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he angled his hips forward, his massive, rock-hard cock pushing into her tight pussy.

David held her, supporting her body as she rocked back and forth on his cock. He stepped forward, over to the edge of the pool so her back would be braced against it. She leaned back, her arms on the edge of the pool, and he leaned forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking on it as it hardened against his tongue. Cherry laced her fingers through his hair, her hips bucking against his pelvis so quickly that she was churning the water around them.

Her orgasm caught her by surprise, and she called out in a long moan under the azure blue sky, her nails trailing painful lines down David’s bare back.

“Come for me,” he said in his Russian accent.

“I am,” she groaned as another wave of pleasure overtook her. David thrust forward as she finished, burying his cock deep inside her.

“I want to swallow your cum,” Cherry purred, and David was happy to oblige. He pulled out of her, and she set her feet down on the bottom of the pool while he lifted himself up and onto the edge, his calves and feet still in the water.

Cherry situated herself between his knees, his massive cock red and throbbing before her body. She cupped her breasts on either side and moved forward so his rigid member would slip between her tits. She bent her head to suck on the tip of his cock while she used her hands to lift her tits and lower them, the sensation of her slick breasts heavenly on his sensitive dick.

Cherry fucked David with her tits while sucking his tip until she knew he was about to come, and then she moved her breasts and lowered her mouth fully over his shaft, her lips pressing against his ball sack, the head of his cock dangling down her throat. She gagged herself but didn’t stop, pulling up so that only his tip remained inside her wet mouth until she slid down again, once more taking him in her throat. She moved quickly, not wanting to be sweet and caring, instead wanting him to absolutely fuck her mouth, until finally he grunted and put his hand on the back of her head, holding her in place, choking her as his cock jumped in her mouth and he blew his hot load down her throat.

She gasped when she pulled away, and then she started to laugh as some of his pearly white cum slid out past her lips. She slid her finger along her chin, gathering the spunk, and ate it once more.

David left the next day. They made love that night, in the bed, the windows open, the soft breeze rolling over their naked bodies. He was gone before she woke. It was just her and the maid in the large house, and Cherry found herself growing sad as each day passed and the man didn’t return.

Weeks passed before he came back. When he did, he was in a bad mood. He fucked her for five nights, hard and fast, filling her with his seed or forcing his cock into her mouth before he blew, even painting her tits and chin with it. She came too, of course, but he didn’t seem to care. She knew he was stressed, was in danger of losing it all. Then he left again, back to America. Back to regain control.

Cherry was pregnant. She found out three days after he left again. She had missed her period and had sent the maid to the mainland for a test. She took it and sent the woman for another. She took that one too, and it had the same reading. She was with child.

When David came back two weeks later, she told him as soon as she saw him. Anger flashed in his eyes. She had thought he would be excited. She had realized she loved the man, had fallen for him despite who he was, despite what he did. But when she saw that anger, she didn’t know.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” David asked, his accent thick. He hadn’t tried to sound American since they had left Chicago.

“No,” Cherry said. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I thought you were on the pill,” David demanded.

“I am.”

“What the fuck happened?”

“It can happen!” Cherry said. “Stop being angry.”

“Everything I have is gone! I’m fighting for it all, trying to hold on with my fingertips,” David snarled. “Don’t you understand that?”

“Fuck you,” Cherry said, and that was the end of the conversation. She went to bed alone that night. She woke up alone, before the sun was even out. She got out of bed and went down to the kitchen. Standing at the sink, she filled a glass with water and drank it. In the backyard was a small hut. The maid, a Greek woman in her thirties named Beth, which of course was short for something more exotic sounding, lived there. The light was on. Cherry could see through the window. There, bent over a kitchen table, was Beth, nude. David stood behind her, plowing her with his large cock. Tears swam in Cherry’s eyes, and she ran back upstairs.

She packed what she could, finding a small bag in the back of the closet. She hurried out the front door. The ferry wouldn't come by until later that morning, but there was a small row boat tied to the dock. She got in and set out for the mainland.

It took her hours, but she made it. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. She had taken money too, and she bought a room in the city. It was small and lonely, and she sat on the end of the bed and wondered what she was going to do next.

Her cell phone rang. It was David, and she didn’t answer.

Days passed, and he called and called. She didn’t answer or listen to the messages he left. He texted her, but she didn’t read those either.

One day Cherry was getting lunch at a small shop near the hotel when a man took her by the arm.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” the man snarled as she turned. He jabbed a gun into her ribs. “Don’t try anything,” the man said. He was American, and Cherry hadn’t heard anyone with that accent in days.

She nodded to show she understood and let the man lead her out of the shop. A car was waiting nearby, and he pushed her into the backseat. Nathan was there.

“Cherry, holy fuck, I had to come to Greece to get you,” Nathan said as the other man got behind the wheel and started driving.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“Where is David?”

So they didn’t know where he lived. They just had found out he had a home in Greece.

“If I tell you, will you let me go?” Cherry asked.

Nathan grinned and nodded. “This has grown beyond you,” he said. “You have my word. I’m over that earlier stuff. So you saw what I was planning. To be honest, you made me jump forward on my time table, and everything has worked out. I’ll even give you your old job back.”

Cherry considered it all. She didn’t know if Nathan was telling the truth, of course, but she didn’t care what happened to David, not after what she had seen.

“I’ll take you there,” she said finally, and Nathan grinned.

6

David was worried. He had been for days. He didn’t know where Cherry had gone. He had been rough on her—he knew that—but wasn’t she taking things too far? He would apologize; he would win her back. He had too. He loved her, and he wanted to be a father.

The bell rang. Beth had the day off, so she wouldn’t be getting the door. David went and pulled it open.

“Cherry,” he said, seeing her first, and then it dawned on him who she was with. “Nathan,” David growled, reaching for the gun he always kept on him, but Nathan already had his drawn.

“Mind if we come in?” Nathan asked sardonically, and David stepped back. Only one other man was with Nathan, but David had no way of telling if there were others out of sight.

“Where have you been?” David asked Cherry.

“I saw you two,” Cherry spat. “You and Beth. You fucked her!”

“I didn’t!” David said, and then it all dawned on him. He knew what she had seen. He could explain it to her, but he had bigger fish to fry at the moment.

“You did!” Cherry said, her voice full of hurt.

“Enough,” Nathan said. “I should have just killed you both right away, but I wanted you to know it was me.”

“You little shit,” David said. Nathan laughed and lifted his gun, aiming it at Cherry.

“You said!” Cherry said, her eyes going wide.

“I lied,” Nathan said, and then there was a loud bang.

Nathan crumpled to the ground, his head red and horrible, a bullet having slammed through the back of it.

Cherry turned as another shot rang out. A man in the doorway was stalking forward, limping, a gun raised. He had killed Nathan’s driver.

“Any more?” David asked the man while Cherry tried to take it all in. The man who had saved them looked almost identical to David. Same build, same square jaw, same color hair. It was uncanny.

“Who is this?” Cherry asked, looking to her David. She could see the differences, looking back and forth between the two men, but at a distance they would easily pass for one another.

“His name is Tom,” David said. “I hired him because he looks just like me. Safety precaution. He’s a double and a bodyguard. He was injured back home some months ago; I sent him her to recuperate. He and Beth have hit it off, to say the least.”

Cherry got it then. Tom had been fucking Beth, not David. She felt stupid, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. David stepped forward and took her hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About before. I’m excited about the baby. I am. I’m excited about you. I have a lot of work to do, and it isn’t pretty work, but I wanted you to know I’m in, if you are.

Cherry looked at David, keeping her eyes off the dead bodies at her feet. She nodded. It was a wild life and a wild world, and she didn’t know what she was getting herself into, but she knew David would always keep her safe. She kissed him.

“I’m in,” she said as she pulled slowly away.

*****

THE END

BWWM Romance - The Russian’s Secret Love Child: Octavia’s Story

“Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen,” said the Russian ambassador to the United States. “I am honored to welcome you to the Russian Embassy this evening.” The ambassador glanced at his most special guests. “I am particularly pleased to be able to welcome you, Mr. President, and your lovely daughter, Octavia.”

The president of the United States, Daniel Wahlberg, nodded in recognition as the ambassador continued. “I am very grateful to you for your support in the initiative our two great countries have embarked upon together. As you all know, terrorism is the number one threat to civilization in modern times. That is why it is so important we have agree on terms to set up the Russian - US Initiative to Prevent Nuclear Terrorism. Now I am sure you don't want to hear me talking all evening, so I would just like to say, I hope you enjoy yourselves this evening.”

The ambassador climbed down from the podium in the Russian Embassy in Washington DC and gratefully accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter.

“Mr. President, as I said in my speech, thank you for attending this evening.”

“Not at all. It is a magnificent initiative that deserves my support. If a terrorist got a hold of one of these weapons, it would be the greatest disaster that has ever befallen us.”

Daniel Wahlberg looked at the ambassador. He didn't like or trust him, but the president was an experienced politician who made everyone feel they were his friend. Stanislav Kuklov was a big man, probably six feet two and very broad. He had a round face with a scar down his right cheek. His eyes were particularly noticeable because they were gray, or very faintly blue if one was being polite. Unlike the president, he had a full head of black hair and sun-tanned skin.

“Mr. President, may I introduce you to my son, Slava. He's over here on vacation.”

“It's nice to meet you, Slava,” the president said as he shook the young man's hand.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” Slava replied.

“Have you met my daughter, Octavia?” he said, looking at his twenty-year-old daughter.

“No, sir, I have not. It is a pleasure to meet you too, Octavia,” Slava said as he lifted Octavia's hand and kissed it.

Octavia laughed at the manner of his greeting; she thought it old-fashioned but extremely quaint. “I can see you are a perfect gentleman,” she replied, referring to the hand kissing.

“Ah, where I am from, that is quite normal.”

“Mr. President, shall we leave these two young people to chat? I would like to talk to you about a matter that has been on my mind for some time.” The president nodded, and Slava and Octavia found themselves standing alone.

“If I may say so, Octavia, you look quite stunning this evening. I have of course seen many photos of you in the press, but in reality you are even more beautiful.”

Octavia looked at him before she replied. He was her age, around twenty, tall and dark, like his father. Unlike his father, Slava was handsome. She took an instant liking to his relaxed manner and blue eyes. When he smiled, it made her want to giggle, like a schoolgirl.

“It's very kind of you to say so. Is it customary in Russia to comment on a lady’s beauty so soon after meeting her?”

“If I have offended you, I apologize. It wasn't my intention to.”

“No, you didn't offend me. Your remarks made me feel wonderful. I only ask because it happens so rarely in the US. Mostly people are more interested in criticizing what I have chosen to wear.”

“I have seen your photo in many magazines and newspapers, and I can say, I have never seen you wearing anything I didn't like. It must be tough being the president's daughter. In the US, you are akin to royalty,” Slava said.

“It is not easy, you are right. But I am privileged, and that is something I mustn't take for granted. Most people in the world are less fortunate than me, and I mustn't forget it.”

“That is an interesting comment, one I have often used myself. However, I believe everyone has their problems, and just because they don't have worse problems than others doesn't make it any easier.” Octavia was impressed by his thought. He seemed different, someone who rationalized, unlike most people she knew, who were uptight and always ready to criticize.

Slava knew it was impolite to stare, but he couldn't drag his eyes from her. He loved black women, and he'd read many times about the president's beautiful daughter, but he hadn't realized quite how lovely she was. She was almost as tall as him, which made her five feet ten, although he noticed she was wearing heels. Her hair was combed to one side with long curls hanging down to her shoulder. He had the urge to kiss her neck. It looked so elegant and fragile. She was wearing a satin evening gown and a diamond necklace with matching earrings. He didn't want to look down at her body in case she noticed and moved away to talk to somebody else, but unable to resist, he afforded himself a quick glimpse. He'd seen many pictures of her in various magazines, and what he'd liked most about her was her beautiful shape. Her breasts looked heavy and inviting, and her hips and bottom were curved just as he liked. All the women back home in his social circle were tall and slender, with little bust and no hips. He was bored by them. Octavia was a real woman with all the attributes he craved. In fact, he would never admit it, but whenever he'd seen her picture in a magazine or newspaper, he'd stare at it for as long as he could.

“So what do you do, Slava? I mean for a living.”

“My father wants me to be a career politician or a diplomat like him. I am studying politics and economics at Moscow University.” Octavia noticed how his expression had changed when he'd mentioned his father's expectations.

“Your father wants you to be a politician. Is that what you want as well?”

“No. I want to sail,” he said, his eyes lighting up as his smile returned. “I love yachts, or, in fact, any boat. Most of all I would like to sail around the world and design breathtaking yachts.”

“And why don't you do that?” Octavia asked. “Sorry. That was rude of me,” she added quickly. “I'm afraid I already know the answer. You see, I'm in the same boat.” She stopped at the unintended pun, and they both laughed. “I mean my life seems to have a similar pattern. I'm studying law at Harvard, but I really just want to be a writer.”

“Really? What kind of things do you want to write?”

“Romance books. I love getting lost in silly romances. Please don't tell anyone, though. If it got out, the press would call me a lightweight.”

“I would never think you a lightweight, whatever you did,” he said. He was mortified to feel himself blush.

Octavia noticed, and she leaned toward him. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you so much.”

*****

“Hi, Slava. How are you?” Octavia asked as he appeared on her laptop. He looked every bit as handsome as he'd been when they'd met just a few short days before.

“I'm well. How are you? I can see you perfectly. Skype is amazing, isn't it?”

“Yes. Did you get back from the US okay?”

“It's a long way and a long flight, but I managed. I read some books and looked at a few magazines. You were in one of them.”

“Oh really? What was I doing?”

“You were interviewed about what it's like to be the daughter of the president of the US. It was interesting to read, especially now that I have met you in person. I liked the photos too.”

“Was I standing in front of a Christmas tree?”

“Yes. That's the one. Standing in front of a Christmas tree with a red hat on—a bit like one of Santa's helpers,” Slava joked.

“Thanks,” she replied ironically. There was a pause in the conversation, and then they suddenly tried to tell each other something at the same time. “Sorry, Slava. You go first,” she said.

“I just wanted to say what a lovely evening I had at the Russian Embassy with you.”

“I enjoyed it very much as well,” Octavia said. She wasn't wearing any of her expensive jewelry as she sat in her room at Harvard, but Slava found her just as stunning.

“Octavia?” he said, as if he were going to ask her something of the utmost importance. “What are you going to do when this semester ends in June?”

“I don't know. I guess my parents will have all sorts of tasks lined up for me. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to invite you on my boat for a few days.”

“Oh, that would be fantastic,” she said. “But hang on.” She had suddenly realizing something. “I don't know if my security will allow me to travel to Russia and get on a boat before they have checked it out thoroughly.”

“That's a good point. I didn't think of that. I suppose you have far more security than me. After all, you are the president's daughter. I'm just the son of an ambassador.”

“It's a perfect pain in the butt, all this bodyguard stuff. I can't move without someone watching me.”

“I tell you what: I'll charter a yacht in the US, and we will sail along the Eastern Seaboard. Your security will be able to follow at a discreet distance, and they'll be much more accommodating of the idea if you are in the US.”

“That would certainly help. Oh, I'll really look forward to that. Thank you for asking me. I took a boring exam today, and I'm not sure if I passed, so you have brightened up my day to no end.”

“Who needs stupid exams? You can sit on the boat and write your first novel while I sail us around. That sounds idyllic, doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does. How cruel reality is.”

*****

Octavia stood on the quay at the New York Yacht Club and watched Slava carry her bags on deck. “It looks like you chartered a floating palace,” she commented.

“She's a sixty-five-foot motor cruiser. Six bedrooms and more than enough luxury,” he shouted as he walked up the gangplank. The harbor was full of expensive boats, but it seemed Slava had managed to get his hands on the largest of them. Octavia watched him. His legs were long and thin in his white jeans. He was wearing a blue shirt that made him look every bit the sailor. His boat shoes were navy with white souls.

“Why do women always need so many clothes?” he asked as he came back for the final two bags. “You're going to be wearing shorts most of the time or swimwear. But I hope you didn't forget your cocktail dress,” he joked.

“I know it seems like a lot, but you never know who we will bump into when we put into harbor. I am a terribly important woman, don't forget,” she jested.

“What makes you think we'll put into a harbor? Maybe I'll turn into a horrible pirate and keep you hostage on the high seas.”

“I couldn't think of anything better,” she quipped, “but I think my bodyguard may have something to say about it.”

Slava looked at her and smiled. When she smiled back, there was a moment—a moment when they knew what was going to happen on the yacht and were looking forward to it.

“Has my bodyguard spoken to you?” she asked.

“Yes. He's briefed me. We are to stay in US waters, and we're not to exceed twenty knots so he can easily keep us in his sights.”

“Okay. Then when are we leaving?”

“As soon as I have put your extensive baggage into your bunk.”

An hour later, Octavia was standing at the bow of the boat as they set off. It was a beautiful day without much wind. Octavia hadn't done much sailing in her life, and she was slightly apprehensive about being sea sick. She'd put on a pair of white shorts and a pink blouse. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she'd added just the minimum amount of makeup. As Slava looked down at her from the bridge, he felt something he never had before. It was a fluttering feeling that burned right to his core.

When they left the harbor, the yacht began to sway gently. Octavia was perfectly at ease, and she sat down, tossed her head back, and looked at the summer sky. Her thoughts began to wander to Slava. She liked him more than any man she had ever dated, she thought. He was handsome and charming, and she was convinced she was about to find out how good a lover he was. She knew her parents wouldn't approve if anything came of their relationship. They wanted her to marry an all-American boy, preferably one with a political career ahead of him.

“Hey, come up here and keep me company,” Slava shouted when he saw Octavia lay down. “You don't think I'm going to stay here and drive all the time without having the benefit of your company, do you?”

She laughed and got up. She walked up the narrow staircase and onto the bridge. There were hundreds of dials and a few screens on a huge dashboard in front of Slava, but she didn't know the faintest thing about how any of them worked. Slava was sitting in the captain's chair. In front of him was a wheel and what seemed to be a lever that made the boat go faster or slower.

“Come here,” he said as he jumped out of the chair. “Sit here and take over.”

“I can't possibly do that,” she said.

“Nonsense. You can drive a car, can't you?”

“Yes, but...”

“Well this is the same, just a bit slower.” Octavia sat in the chair and held the wheel. “Now push that lever forward gently,” he said. She complied, and the boat’s engines began to roar. As their speed increased, he looked at her. “Shall we throw your bodyguard?”

“If we do, they'll only send someone to get me and the trip will be over. Do you know they're a real pain? Do you remember what you said to me, that evening in the embassy?”

“About people's problems?”

“Yes. Well, I've thought about it, and you are right. I feel trapped. I hate what I'm doing, and I hate being watched all the time, especially by a media that doesn't understand that when they print bad things about me, it hurts.”

“I understand,” he said as he watched her face become sorrowful.

“I never wanted to go to Harvard, and now I'm there. I actually hate it more than I thought possible. Most of all, I hate what I'm studying.” Slava put his hand on hers in a show of solidarity. Much of what she was saying applied equally to him. “I've spent hundreds of evenings sitting in front of my books, wishing they would go away,” she continued. “I have zero interest in the law, and even less interest in the type of people I'm studying with. Most of them are pretentious and shallow.” Slava thought he saw a small tear in the corner of her eye. “My parents are control freaks who think I should only marry a politician. I really don't think I can stand many more years in Washington. It's such a shallow existence.”

“Octavia,” he said as she quickly gathered the tear she thought he hadn't seen, “I really like you. You know that, don't you? I don't just want to be friends with you. I want more.”

She looked at him and ran her palm over his cheek. “And I like you very much too, and I have no intention of just being friends. You are far too handsome for that.”

Slava put his hand on hers and pulled back the lever she was holding until it would go no farther. The boat slowed, and eventually the engines cut. All they could hear was the water lapping under the boat and the odd seagull. “What did you do that for? We're just drifting now,” she said.

“Then let's do something about it. Pull that lever there,” he said, pointing to a long lever against the wall, to the side of the captain's chair. Octavia leaned across and pulled it. There was a loud sound at the bow and stern of the boat, and Octavia realized she had just lowered the anchor. “There. We won't move far now. We're about three miles off the coast and perfectly placed to pull into to Gladesville harbor for the night.”

“Why have we stopped?” she asked.

Slava didn't speak. He leaned toward her and kissed her. When Octavia stood up, he pulled her to him and kissed her passionately. She put her hands around his neck and held on to him. “Oh, I've wanted you to do that since the moment I saw you,” she said when their kiss ended.

“Me too. I have just kissed the daughter of the president of the United States, and she tastes wonderful!” he said, throwing his arms up in the air like a soccer player who had just shot the winning goal in the World Cup. “Come with me,” he added. He took her hand and led her down some steps to the lounge. It had a gold ceiling and a floor made of beautifully polished wood. There were gold-colored sofas down both sides and high windows, through which was a superb view of the ocean. Slava went down another flight of stairs and through a narrow door. It was the master bedroom, and even Octavia, a woman accustomed to luxurious surroundings, gasped.

The bed stood in the middle of the room, and it was round. Above the bed was a glass roof that looked up to the sky. The room was mostly blue. It had blue carpet, blue pillows, and a blue counterpane. On the walls were murals of dolphins and whales, punctuated by small portholes.

Slava pushed Octavia onto the bed, and as she lay down, he straddled her midriff. When she looked up at him, she saw a look of extreme concentration as he brought his hands to the buttons on her blouse. Once he'd opened two buttons, he leaned down to her and whispered. “I've been watching you. No. In fact, I'd call it stalking you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have countless magazines at home. Not because I like the magazines, but because they contain pictures of you.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Two reasons. First, I think you are the most gorgeous woman alive, and I can't get enough of looking at you,” he said. He returned to unbuttoning her blouse.

“You forgot the second point,” she reminded him.

“Despite all the material on the internet that a man could use to satisfy his urges, I am proud to say that I had no use for the internet whatsoever.”

“Do you mean you used my photos to masturbate?” Octavia said, not quite knowing what to think.

“Plainly put, but correct,” he said.

“I'm not sure if I should be flattered or shocked.”

“Dear Octavia, I am certain it is only modesty that prevents you from thinking about images of yourself, but I can tell you that in the world, there will be thousands of men who look at your picture every day while pleasuring themselves.”

A strange image flashed across her mind. “But you are the only one who will ever have me in real life.” She reached up and pulled him down to kiss her. Her tongue tasted sweet as it found his. Her lips were soft. As they kissed, Octavia ran her hands up and down his back, feeling how strong his muscles were. He pulled away and put his hands on her blouse again. He popped the remaining buttons open and watched as her blouse fell away. He'd been right in his appraisal of her photos: She did have a large bust. He put his hands on her bra and felt how full her breasts were, how her erect nipples stuck into the material. He sat on her and looked down as he undid his shirt. When it landed on the floor, Octavia sat up and was on him with her mouth. She kissed each nipple gently as she smelled his intoxicating scent. Her hands rubbed over his solid chest and down over his six pack. When she reached the bottom of his stomach, she pushed her hand inside his pants and felt for him. She found his warm shaft and felt how hard it was. “That must be painful, all squashed up like that,” she said as her hands reached for his belt. She undid it so expertly that Slava wondered how many times she had done it before. In no time, his zipper was open and her hand was on him again. She pushed his shorts down a little and pulled his penis out. As she looked down, she could see a tiny drop of pre-cum glistening back at her. She caught it on her index finger, looked him in the eyes as she opened her mouth, and tasted it.

It was a gesture that drove him wild. Before he pushed her back down, onto her back, he unfastened her bra and took if off. When she lay back, his tongue found a nipple and licked it. Her nipples were hard and sticking out in a most seductive way. Slava liked women with big nipples and big breasts, and he had been rewarded. He rocked back and looked down at the two mounds that seemed to be inviting him to play with them. He put a hand on each and rubbed his thumbs over the hard buds at their centers. Octavia groaned as his caresses shot wave after wave down to her damp center.

He stayed where he was and began to unfasten her shorts. When he was ready to open the zipper, he lay to one side of her and slowly pulled it open. He put his hand inside and discovered she wasn't wearing panties. His hand went straight to her pubic hair. He pushed a little farther, letting his hand slide over her moist lips. His fingers played in the folds of her vulva, and he leaned over and kissed her again. She kissed him like he'd never been kissed before. Her tongue darted in and out of his mouth and found every crevice. As he fingered her, he heard her breathing shift up a gear. She was finding it increasingly difficult to bear his insistent fingers without crying out. He stopped and pulled his hand from her. She almost came when he licked her juices from his hand and smiled at her.

Now he wanted to taste her for real. He got up and tugged her shorts down over her ankles, letting them drop to the floor. Still standing, he put his hands on her knees and pushed her legs open. When he saw her womanhood, his cock jerked in anticipation. When he lowered himself between her legs, the first thing he noticed was the beautiful aroma of her excitement. The second thing he noticed was just how excited she was. Her lips were wet and open for him. When his tongue landed on her most sensitive spot, Octavia screamed out and pulled his hair. He planted his mouth on her and let his tongue go to work as he reached up and squeezed a breast. She took hold of his hand and pushed it into her soft flesh.

A moment later, it was too much for her, and she cried his name as her back lifted from the bed and her groin thrust into his mouth. Slava licked hungrily at her fountain as she trembled, helpless and wanton.

“Come up here,” she said when her orgasm had subsided. She pulled him to her and urged him to lie on top of her and kiss her. His penis was sticking out of this pants and pushing into her belly. It was uncomfortable, and Slava quickly stood up and rid himself of his pants and shorts. Octavia let out a playful whistle when she saw him exposed for the first time. His thighs were strong and hairy, and she marveled at the size of what stood between them. Not just his penis, which was long and thick, but his balls, which looked swollen and tight up against his body.

Again he lay between her legs, and again he put his mouth on her. She tried to pull him up because she wanted him to fill her, but he wanted one more taste of her. When he felt her second orgasm coming, he slid up her and entered her. Her scream hurt his ears. She flung her legs around him and clasped her hands to his hard buttocks. He rode her hard with long, powerful strokes as her second orgasm flowed seamlessly into her third. He grunted as he devoured her, splitting her open and making her come time and again. Her dark hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, framing her face, which was glowing. He kept up his rhythm and leaned down and kissed her hard. She pushed her pelvis up and forward, wanting him to release his seed into her. He grabbed her hands and shoved them up above her as he lay fully on her. She gasped under the weight of him and screamed as his thrusts began to hit her clitoris. He closed his eyes and let his other senses take over. When he felt her begin to tighten again, he pulled himself up and opened his eyes. As he saw her beautiful face, his balls swelled and he cried out, pumping his thick semen into her. When every drop was spent, he slumped onto her, crushing the breath from her. She put her hand to his sweaty hair and stroked it.

After an age, it was Octavia who spoke first. “My God, if we have sex like that every time, I won't ever bother getting out of bed.”

“Just wait till I'm old and gray and can't get it up. You won't want to stay in bed all the time then.”

“I don't care. I will be old as well. We'll have to make do with cuddling each other to orgasm.”

Her hair was wet, and a few strands clung to the sweat on her forehead. He brushed them away and kissed her there. “I don't know about you, but I need to sleep a bit.” Octavia held him as he drifted off. She followed soon after.

They woke two hours later, still clinging to each other. Slava got up and turned on the shower. “Wanna join me?” he asked. She did, and when Octavia turned away from him, wanting him to soap her back, he couldn't resist bending her forward and thrusting himself into her once more.

The next day they lifted the anchor and sailed into the marina at Gladesville. As they got off the boat, Slava put his arm around her. There was a click as a camera went off.

“That'll be all over the tabloids by tomorrow,” Octavia said. “I tell you, it never stops.” They walked into a bar that served breakfast. It was dark inside and free of prying eyes. The exertions of the previous evening had left them in dire need of food, and they both ordered a breakfast.

“Tell me about your family, Slava,” she said.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes. Your father, what's he really like?”

“He's a bastard.”

Octavia looked shocked. “Do you mean he was born out of wedlock, or do you mean he is not a nice person?”

“Both. My father has no idea who his father is, and his mother was a prostitute in St. Petersburg. He was put into an orphanage and eventually rose to be where he is today. I don't know how many bones he's broken on the way up, but make no mistake, he is the most brutal of men.”

“Are you scared of him?” Octavia asked sympathetically.

“Yes, a little. He is quite capable of killing his own son if the mood takes him.”

“Surely you don't mean that? Slava, that can't be true.”

“Well, I wouldn't bet against it. He always gets what he wants, and nobody stands in his way.”

“And how does your mother put up with this kind of man?”

“She always says yes to him. He's beaten her black and blue too many times for daring to defy him.”

“That's awful. For you both. Have you ever seen him hitting her?”

“Yes.”

*****

Octavia looked at the doctor's face. When he nodded to her, she burst into tears. She’d been waiting for the test results in a small room in Washington's most expensive private hospital. A nurse came and offered her a handkerchief. She took it gratefully and blew her nose.

“Miss Whalberg, your car has arrived,” said the hospital manager. He'd been assigned the job of looking after the president's daughter during her short stay.

Octavia didn't want to see her parents, so she had the driver drop her off at Harvard, where she went into her room, closed the door, and curled up on the bed. When her sobs stopped, she fell asleep. When she woke, she turned on Skype.

“Hello, sweetie,” Slava said. “Do you know what time it is here? It's—”

“Slava, I've got some very bad news,” she said, silencing him. “I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm pregnant.”

Slava wasn't quite sure he'd heard correctly. “You're what?”

“Pregnant,” she sobbed.

“That's great. No, it's more than great. It's the best thing ever.”

Octavia was surprised. She'd thought he would be angry and afraid of what it might do to his future. “Are you sure you're okay with it?”

“Okay? That's a useless word to use under these circumstances. If I weren't thousands of miles away, I'd crack open a bottle of champagne. Oh, Octavia, this is fantastic news.”

“I'm amazed you are so happy. I thought you would be angry and worried about the future.”

“Why? There is nothing I want more than to have you as the mother of my children. You will be a perfect mother. Just one thing, though. We should keep it secret from my father.”

“Okay, but what are we going to do? I'm the president's daughter; I can't be pregnant and unmarried. It simply isn't an option.”

“Sod it. You're not happy at Harvard, and I'm not happy in Moscow without you. I have dreamed about doing this with you. Let's take my boat and sail away. I have more money than we'll ever be able to use in our lives and a great place to live: my yacht. You can write books while I sail us around. I can design yachts and sell the designs via the web. What do you say?”

Slava looked at his computer screen as Octavia fell silent. After two minutes, she responded. “There will be hell to pay. If I elope with you, my father will be crucified by the press, and he will suffer in the opinion polls. He will send the FBI and lord only knows who else to find me.”

“Octavia, you are a grown woman living in a free world. Nobody can drag you back to the US against your will. We won't be committing a crime. It's not eighteen hundred.”

*****

“Yes, what is it?” the ambassador barked as a small fat man entered his office. The ambassador's office was not as large as he believed his position deserved. His desk was covered in photos of him in various posts he'd been sent to over the years, and there was a Russian flag standing on a pole to the right of his desk.

“Ambassador, it's your son. I have just received notice from the State Security Service that he was seen leaving St. Petersburg in his boat two days ago.”

“Where was he going?”

“Nobody knows.”

“And I suppose the buffoons don't know where he is now, either?”

“That is correct, sir. There is one more piece of information. He was with a woman.”

“What woman? He doesn't have a girlfriend as far as I know. He's too busy trying to finish his studies.”

“The girl's name is Octavia Wahlberg.”

“What? That black girl that calls herself the president's daughter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get me General Toporov, now.”

The man nodded and left the office. Five minutes later the ambassador's phone rang. It was General Vladimir Toporov, head of the Russian State Security Service.

“You wanted to speak to me, Ambassador?”

“Yes, General. I want you to find my son and bring him back to finish his studies, and then I want you to deal with the woman he has seemingly gone off with. Eliminate her if you have to. Do you understand? There is no way my son will marry an American, let alone a black American. I don't want her having his children. She behaves like a prostitute. I hate prostitutes; they are dirty. “

“Ambassador, the woman to whom you refer is the president's daughter. We can't do anything about her and your son being together. It's a free world, and they are both consenting adults.”

“Have you forgotten what happened in Moscow in 1991? If you have, then perhaps I should get it put in the newspapers so everybody can read what an unpleasant character you are. Don't you remember those poor girls? They were just innocent students having a good time. Once you'd finished raping them, they couldn't walk anymore. Now, what do you say to my request?”

“I will do what I can,” the general said.

When his phone rang again, the ambassador swore. This time it was the president, Daniel Wahlberg.

“Ambassador, my daughter has given her security agent the slip and has been picked up by your son in a boat in Tallinn, Estonia. I will hold you personally responsible for anything that happens to her. I want you to contact your son and tell him to let her come home. She has her studies to think of.”

“Mr. President, I have no contact with my son. At the moment I have no idea where he is.” The ambassador sighed as if he were already bored with the news. “No doubt your daughter has led him astray. Much has been written about her, and not much of it good. She likes to—how shall I say it—put herself about a bit.”

“If you are suggesting my daughter had anything to do with this, you are sorely mistaken. Now get her back here or I will call your president and have you sent back to Moscow.”

“Mr. President, nobody threatens me, even the so-called most powerful man in the world. Be careful what you say. As I understand it, your daughter is in a very vulnerable situation at the moment.”

*****

Slava looked out of the bridge window as he maneuvered his boat out of the harbor in Tallinn. He looked at Octavia and knew he would love her forever. He would tell her when they reached London.

His boat was a sixty-five-foot luxury yacht called Serene. It had five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a sitting room, and a dining room. When servants were on board, they brought the food from the galley to the dining room in the elevator. The bridge where Slava and Octavia were sitting was full of all the latest gadgets.

“So tell me all about what happened,” he asked.

“It was quite surreal actually. I told my bodyguard I was going to spend the night with a friend. The security team has waited outside friends’ houses before while I've stayed the night, and this time was no exception.” Octavia took great pleasure in relating the story of her escape, and Slava could see it in her face. “All I did was go into my friend's house and then out via a bathroom window. I got a taxi to the airport and flew here.”

“No questions asked?”

“No. A few people recognized me, but nobody of any importance who could have stopped me.”

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Lots of times. But make the most of it. I'll soon have an enormous belly and you won't want to come near me.”

“You're wrong there. You'll be so sexy; I won't be able to keep my hands off you.”

“Where are we going first? I mean, we have the whole world see,” Octavia said.

“I have a surprise for my budding writer. All I'm saying is that we're going to London.”

“Not England; it rains all the time. Can't you take me somewhere warm?”

“Just believe me, you'll enjoy yourself there.”

“All right. I'll bow to your superior knowledge. Now can the captain's assistant get a kiss?”

“And who will you write your first novel about?”

“A man who is good looking and charming and who any woman could love without fear.”

“Me?”

She laughed. “Of course you.”

When the boat pulled into the Thames Estuary, Slava was weary. Octavia had gone to bed some three hours earlier, but he was determined to make it to Milby Marina in London before dawn. In the dark, one of the busiest rivers in the world was a tricky place to navigate, but despite fatigue, Slava kept his concentration.

Two hours later, the yacht was safely tied to the dock in London's most exclusive harbor. Slava climbed out of the captain's chair and went on deck to get some fresh air. He was disappointed to see that his yacht wasn't the biggest there. He consoled himself with the feeling it was, at least, the third biggest in one of the world’s richest cities.

The fresh air did him good, and he was soon ready to sleep. He hadn't had much time to think about what he and Octavia had done, but he was convinced they had done the right thing. In the bedroom, he quickly undressed. When he slipped into bed, he cuddled up to Octavia, who let out a little hello and promptly fell asleep again. When Slava put his hand on her swollen belly, he knew everything was going to be all right, and he drifted into a deep sleep.

“So, here we are in London,” Octavia said as she poured herself some coffee. “What have you got planned for me?” she asked, eager to know what secret Slava had been keeping from her.

“It's twelve o'clock. Let me get a shower and then we'll be on our way.”

“Okay. I'm coming to watch you in the shower. Will you...you know...?”

“If you want me to,” he said eagerly.

*****

“Slava, please tell me where we are going. We've been driving for hours.”

The man from the luxury limousine for hire company had told Slava he would send his finest limo and driver. It seemed he had kept his promise. They were sitting in a top-of-the-line Mercedes with leather seats, a TV, and mini bar. As Slava sipped his iced water, Octavia eye's drank in the English countryside.

“It's very green, isn't it? Quite beautiful. Unlike anything I've seen back in the States.”

“Or in Russia. I suppose it's all the water that falls from the sky. Look at that green field there; it really is bright green,” Slava replied.

After two hours they arrived at their destination. Octavia was extremely puzzled; they were in a village in the middle of nowhere. The driver pulled up, got out, and opened the door for Octavia.

“Slava, if you don't tell me where we are, I'm going to divorce you.” It just slipped out—a joke—but nonetheless, Slava heard it and took it as a hint of what their status really should be.

“We've come to look at a museum.”

“You dragged me all the way here for some stuffy old museum?” she said.

“No, not some stuffy old museum. Here, read the sign.”

“Jane Austen Museum,” Octavia read out loud. Then she suddenly realized: It was the home of one of the greatest writers of romantic fiction to have ever lived. “Oh, Slava, thank you. How thoughtful of you. I'm ashamed of myself for being so grumpy.” When she began to weep with joy, Slava took her in his arms and held her tightly.

“For you, my dear. May you become the Jane Austen of our time. Come on. Let's go and see what we can learn.”

They learned that they were in the village of Chawton in the County of Hampshire. They also found out that Jane Austen had spent the last eight years of her life in the house and had written three novels there. They spent two hours reading everything they could and soaking in the atmosphere. Slava observed Octavia as she looked around the tiny rooms. It was as if she were in a trance, lost in a world she dreamed of. He only hoped he could provide her with a life where she could relax, be calm, and have the clarity of thought to do what she wanted to do: write.

“That was fantastic,” she exclaimed as they got back into the limousine.

“Yes. We've got a lot of history in this country,” the driver said. “Next time you should go to Stratford upon Avon, the home of William Shakespeare.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” she said, still entranced by the world of Jane Austen.

Slava didn't like the look of the man lurking next to Serene when they arrived back at Milby Marina. He put a protective arm around Octavia and hurried her onto the boat.

“I'll be back in a minute,” he said. He walked back down the gangplank and up to the man.

“Who are you?” he asked directly in Russian.

“I'm Vasiliev Moltov. I have a message from your father.”

“How the hell did you find us here?”

“It's not difficult these days to track a boat of this nature, “ he said, pointing at Serene. “With all the signals it transmits, you were easy to find.”

“And what do you want?”

“I work for a man called General Toporov, head of the State Security Service of Russia. I'm the bureau chief in London.”

“You mean you're a spy.”

“Whatever you want to call it. I work on behalf of the Russian people to ensure a fair world and the safety of our nation.”

Brainwashed was the word that came to Slava's mind. “So answer my question: What do you want?”

“Your father is worried about you.”

“Then tell him I am fine and leave me alone.”

“It's not quite that simple. Your father has asked me to take the woman you are with and send her back to the US.”

Slava laughed. “You are certainly going to have to kill me before you can do that. She is in a delicate state, and if you so much as put one hand on her I will rip you into pieces, here and now.”

“Please calm yourself,” Moltov said, slightly worried that Slava was more than a match for him. “What do they say in English? Ah, yes, don't shoot the messenger. Your father has asked me to return the president's daughter to the US. If you don't comply, I will relay that back to your father and await further instructions.” His eyes narrowed as he thought carefully about what he was going to say next. “But your father is very disappointed that you have chosen to run off with an American, and especially one of such note. Your father has little regard for Americans, as indeed do I. They are trashy, loud, and lack sophistication. Given that, it's no surprise that she is pregnant out of wedlock.”

When Slava's fist slammed into Moltov's mouth, he saw a tooth fly out and plop down into the water below the pontoon they were standing on. Moltov sank to his knees, rolled his eyes, and passed out. Octavia, curious to know what Slava was doing, came on deck and looked at the man lying on the ground.

“Slava, what on earth?”

“He's come on behalf of my father. He wanted to send you back to the US. He was rude, so I knocked him out. I think I must have hit him very hard. Indeed, he's lost a tooth.”

“Oh my God,” Octavia cried. “They're going to split us up. I can feel it. They want me back in America and you back in Moscow. I'll never see you again. I'm going to call my father and tell him where we are. He'll get someone here to protect us.”

Slava went back onto the boat and took her in his arms “No. They'll take you from me. I couldn't bear that. We'll leave and go somewhere else.”

“But, Slava, if they found us here, they will find us any other place. At least my father can keep us safe.”

“Okay, but I want to speak to him as well.”

Octavia opened her laptop and dialed the number. The president’s secretary answered. “June, it's Octavia. Can I speak to my father?”

“Octavia, where are you? Everyone's so worried.”

“I'm fine. Obviously our secret service isn't as fast as the Russians at finding me. I'm safe and well.”

“I'll get him. Please wait.”

When Octavia's father came onto the screen, he looked ashen, and Octavia instantly knew that she had caused him a lot of anxiety. “Hi, Dad. Listen, I'm—”

“Octavia, for god's sake, where are you? Your mother is having a nervous breakdown, and me too come to that.”

“I'm fine. I just want to talk to you, if you'll let me.”

“Okay, baby, talk. You know we love you more than anything in the world and only want the best for you.”

“I know, and I love you guys too. This is Slava. Do you remember him?”

Slava shuffled along the sofa and into the president's view. “Hello, Mr. President.”

The president seemed as if he was going to explode into a rage, but he took a deep breath and controlled himself. “Yes, of course, Slava, I remember you. I would be grateful if you would please bring my daughter home safely. I could send a few armed men to get her, but none of us want that. Just bring her home, please.”

“Sir, I love your daughter and she loves me.” Slava was resolute, and it seemed he had no fear of who he was addressing. “I have all the respect in the world for you, but Octavia and I have made a decision. Neither of us wants to continue our studies. We are bored stupid by them. We each have a dream that we intend to follow. We ask your blessing in doing so.”

Again, the president drew a breath. “I understand. Maybe if we had all talked about this in the first place, we would have been able to work something out. I am first and foremost worried about her safety. It's a dangerous world, and somebody could quite easily kidnap her. I ask you to think of the consequences of that.”

“Sir, I have, and I understand.”

Octavia decided to intervene when she noticed her father's voice change. It had taken on a more conciliatory tone, one he used when he wanted to reach an agreement.

“Dad, what we are saying is give us a chance. Both of us have enough money, and we have a home. I don't want to be part of the political world. I'm artistic, and I want to write. Slava wants to sail and design yachts. We're not dropping out. We're just following what we really want to do.” She paused and decided she would tell him. “I'm having a baby, Dad. You and Mom are going to be grandparents.”

The president was torn between congratulating her and flying into a rage. “That's great, honey,” he said. “Listen, how about we make a compromise. Come home with Slava, just for a few days if you like. Come and talk to us. Tell us what you want, and I promise I'll support you in any way I can.”

“No tricks?” Octavia asked.

“None at all. Come home, talk to us, and, if you want, go off again on your boat. But one thing I will not budge on is the security aspect. We'll talk about that at the time, though.”

Octavia looked at Slava, and he nodded. “Okay, sir. Octavia will come home for a few days, and I'll join her when I can.”

When the president had gone, Octavia turned to Slava, angry. “What do you mean? I'm not going anywhere without you.”

“Listen to me. My father will have you killed. I am convinced of it after the visit we had. The last thing he wants is to see is me marry an American. He hates Americans and everything they stand for.”

“Jesus. Do you really think he'd—” She stopped mid-sentence when he nodded. “And how the hell would he kill me? You heard Dad; he wants to help us with security. Your father would never get near us.”

“Did you see how they murdered Andrey Yevchenko? They put poison in a cup of tea. Or what about Yuri Davydov? They stuck the poisonous umbrella into his ass when he was walking across London Bridge. There are so many examples where good people have been murdered and nobody noticed the killer.” He looked at her, at distress in her eyes, and decided then and there that he was going resolve the situation. “Listen, I want you to go back to your parents. They are good people; they will let you do as you want once it all has been discussed. I'm going to St. Petersburg.”

“No. You mustn't. What if I never see you again?” Octavia said, now more worried than ever.

“I need a few days there. I will have my father returned to Russia in disgrace, and then we will be able to get on with our lives.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

*****

Slava sat in an office overlooking the River Neva in St. Petersburg and looked at the young man in front of him.

“Slava, it's so good to see you. We haven't seen each other since graduation day at school. How are you?”

“Igor, I am very well. There are things happening in my life now that are so fantastic; I can't begin to tell you.”

“You must. How about dinner this evening?” Igor asked. Igor Krasnoyarsk had been born on the same day in the same year as Slava. They had gone to school together and had been inseparable friends. As often happened, their lives took them separate ways. Igor went to work as a trainee journalist in St. Petersburg, and Slava went to university in Moscow.

“You know why I'm here, don't you, Igor?” Slava said in a somber tone of voice. Igor was just five feet five, but he was handsome with his dark hair and blue eyes.

“Yes. It's time, isn't it?”

Slava nodded. “Yes, it's time. The day has arrived, as I knew it always would. He has to be stopped. My mother is exhausted by his regular beatings, everyone who works for him is afraid of him, and now he has turned on me.”

“Okay. I understand,” Igor said as he stroked his stubble. “How do you want to proceed?”

Slava laughed. “You're the investigative journalist. I thought you might tell me. But as you ask, here are the names and addresses of five people who can bear witness against him.”

“Do you think they would testify against him? Wouldn't they be scared?” Igor asked.

“They will be scared, but they are old now and have little to lose. I will provide them with all with the necessary security. And besides, the State Security Service won't protect my father once the accusations come out. They'll drop him like a piece of hot coal.”

“All right. I'll go and interview them all. What about other evidence?”

“I have a weapon, which the witnesses say was used at the time, and I have a shirt.”

“A shirt?”

“Yes. The one worn at the time. It's got blood on it.”

“Great. How did you come across these articles?”

“They were sent to me by an old woman named Petrova Abdulova. I also have the letter she wrote at the time.” Slava placed a bag on Igor's desk. “All the things you need are inside the bag. I know you will do me proud, Igor. Thank you for your friendship over the years, and I do hope our paths will cross a bit more often than they have in the last couple of years.”

“Let's chat about old times this evening. I'll pick you up at your hotel at seven.”

*****

“Octavia, oh, Octavia” her mother cried as the bulletproof limousine dropped her outside the White House. “What have you been up to? We were worried sick about you. Promise me never to run away like that again.”

Octavia didn't say anything. She looked at her mother, the First Lady, a woman of average height and above average looks. A brunette, not a hair out of place. She had married Octavia's father when she was just nineteen. She was more popular than her husband among the public, because she was always on TV to raise funds for children. “Your father has canceled all his appointments this afternoon. We're going to sit down and have a nice chat.”

Octavia hoped the “nice chat” didn't turn into a monolog lecture. She went up to their apartment and into her room. It was predominately white and full of cuddly toys that well-wishers had sent her at various points during her life. The journey from London had tired her, and she undressed, had a shower, and slipped under the sheets. She woke when her mother called her at around three p.m.

“Octavia,” her father exclaimed. “It’s so lovely to see you. Come here.” He took his daughter in his arms and hugged her. She was surprised by how warm he was toward her. They were in the sitting room in the Presidential Suit in the White House. It wasn't a large room; it was cozy. There was a large round window in one wall and double doors in another that lead to the rest of the suit. There were two sofas opposite each other and a glass table between them. Octavia's father sat next to her mother with Octavia across from them.

“Your mother and I are so happy you are having a baby. We're really proud of you, and we want to tell you we will give you all the support you need throughout your pregnancy. If you think Slava will be a good father and you love him, we will support both of you equally.” He looked at his wife, who nodded in agreement. “Where we do have a concern is with you traveling around unprotected.”

“Mom, Dad,” Octavia began, “I hate Harvard and law. I want to be a writer. I want it so much that I was prepared to run away from you. Slava and I have found a way to make our dreams happen. He wants to sail, and I want to write. That's what we'll do, live on his boat and follow our dreams.”

“All right, if that's what you want. But what about your baby? He or she will have to go to school one day,” the president said.

“Of course, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now we have our plan, and we're going to follow it.”

“Okay then. Now that we understand what you want, we can support you. Why didn't you tell us you were so unhappy at Harvard?” her mother asked.

“Because I was worried about what you would think. I could see the headlines: President's daughter drops out.”

“Leave the press to me. When I'm finished with them, they won't dare to mention you anymore,” her father said.

*****

As he was about to leave for the airport, Slava's phone bleeped. It was an email. He opened it and read:

Hi Slava,

Please find attached the first in the series of articles. I hope you like it.

Igor

Slava clicked on the attachment and began to read.

St. Petersburg 2015

Night of Knives - The First in a Series of Articles About the Unsolved Murder of a Woman.

She was a woman in her forties. A woman to whom life had not been at all kind. Neighbors remember her as being slight and extremely pretty. What stood out most, though, was her kindness. She was willing to help anybody, and she regularly looked after some of the older women in the street. The street she lived on was just like most of the other residential streets in St. Petersburg: full of apartment buildings and play areas. It was a close-knit neighborhood where people knew each other and took an interest in each other.

You could be forgiven for thinking that the woman in question worked in a local factory or shop, but you would be wrong. Illona Kuklov was a prostitute. On the night of January 13, 1985, it was bitterly cold, and she had just let her last client of the day out of her apartment. Somewhere around ten p.m., there was a scream. It was a scream that makes those I have interviewed about the incident still have sleepless nights.

When neighbors rushed into her apartment, they found Illona struggling for breath in a pool of her own blood. She had been repeatedly stabbed, and the weapon was still poking from her chest. Illona's murder has remained unsolved, but it shouldn't be. There is more than enough evidence to bring the murderer to trail. Several witnesses, a murder weapon, and a shirt are all pieces of vital evidence that have been ignored by investigators.

This newspaper has uncovered the truth about this gruesome murder, and we are able to reveal that the chief suspect in the murder is Stanislav Kuklov, Illona's son. He is better known today as the Russian Ambassador to the United States of America.

Follow each day this week as we exclusively reveal how this man has avoided arrest for so many years and what can now be done to bring him to trial.

Slava put down his phone and smiled to himself as his plane took off for New York.

*****

“But how do I hold her?” Slava said as he looked at the tiny bundle in his arms.

“Oh, I can see you've got a lot to learn,” Octavia said as she walked up the gangplank on Serene. “Bottle feeding and diaper changes—you can learn the lot.”

“Octavia, come here please,” he said. As he put his arm around her, he kissed her. “You have made me so a happy, I can't tell you. She is so beautiful. I'm afraid I will never be able to give her away to another man like your father did on our wedding day.”

“You will if he's as good a man as you,” Octavia said.

Later that day, Slava received a text message from Igor.

“Judge says he's an animal. Gave him thirty-five years.”

*****

THE END