Kosmos—our Vory owned club—is a no-frills establishment. Women and booze are the main attractions up front, and in the back, we run our operations. Today is the 3rd of the month, which means I am due to report for our monthly meeting.
I arrive early to socialize, as is custom, but the man I’m really seeking out is later than usual. Alexei has been preoccupied with his new blonde toy as of late. I think we have all cut him some slack since he’s long overdue for a female companion, and Talia seems to suit him.
Viktor approaches me during the social hour, his face drawn and his eyes tired. Many things have been weighing on his mind in recent weeks, and I can only hope I have not contributed to his worries. The pakhan to our Vory brotherhood, Viktor is the boss and our leader. He is mature in age and harsh in character, but overall, I find him to be a fair man.
“Kol’ka,” he greets me. “How are you?”
“I am well. How is your family?”
He nods and takes a sip of his scotch. “Well enough.”
There is a strained moment of silence between us in which I know what will come next, but I do not show weakness or make excuses. During our last meeting, I was promoted to the rank of avtoritet in my father’s stead. An honor on any other occasion, but I am certain my father does not see it that way. Especially not after I cut off his ear at the order of Viktor.
“Have you heard from Sergei?” Viktor scans the room for the man in question.
“No, we have not spoken since our last encounter.”
Viktor’s brows knit together. “I don’t suppose the events that took place that day bred good will between father and son.”
“I understand why it had to be done.”
“I will not stand for such behavior in our organization. Sergei took too many liberties with his position, and he did not deserve the title he bore.”
“I agree.”
I’m not saying so for the sake of pleasing Viktor. Sergei has always had a head too large for his shoulders, and it gets the best of him often. Familial blood or not, my loyalties lie with the Vory. If Sergei cannot live with our rules, then he is undeserving of the stars we bear.
“Any word on the Rembrandt?” Viktor changes gears.
“No,” I admit reluctantly. Lately, my time has been preoccupied with other pursuits. Most notably, the acquiring of Tanaka Valentini. The time and effort I have spent to bring her into my possession have become a distraction, and my Vory duties have fallen by the wayside.
I could describe what I do in many ways, but the truth is the most simplistic. I am a thief at heart with art being my specialty. I steal it, and I create it, and sometimes, I even destroy it. It is a job unique to someone with my talents. Gone are the days of gangsters shaking down local businesses to earn a nickel or two. In the modern world, times have changed and so have our practices. Priceless art has a large collateral value in criminal organizations, and it is often used for bartering. However, with Viktor’s blessing, I’ve chosen less primitive methods of utilizing the items in our possession to turn a profit.
Typically, the pieces I deal with are opportunistic ventures, but on occasion, I don’t mind a challenge. At some point, Viktor determined a stolen Rembrandt would make a lovely gift to his eldest daughter, should I be able to track it down, but he’s recently become more persistent.
“I don’t suppose she would settle for a forgery?”
Viktor smiles. “Don’t be daft, Kol’ka. She’d never know the difference, but I would.”
“Indeed,” I answer. I can respect that he only wants her to have the best. Something rare and priceless. And the hunt has always thrilled me. Finding something rumored to be lost for so many years gives me an adrenaline rush like no other. My travels have been extensive, and my recoveries worthy of a museum in my honor. But my position requires me to remain humble, no matter how big the score. Our clients value anonymity, and they would not pay such steep prices for something anyone could own. The stupidly wealthy are just another form of crooks, and they get off on the thought of owning stolen artwork, too. To be in possession of something so valuable they can only share it with their most intimate and trusted friends is a thrill that expensive trips or flashy cars can’t replicate.
Viktor glances at his watch. The meeting is due to start in several minutes, but he is not finished with this conversation, and already I am weary of what comes next.
“I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I have some questions for you,” he says.
“Of course.”
“Tell me about the girl.”
I drain the rest of my vodka and lime and dispose of the empty glass on the table. I have only been avtoritet for several weeks. What I did was ballsy, and some might say stupid, but in my eyes, I have earned my title and the power that comes with it. This was not an impulse decision. I have been waiting my whole life for answers.
“She is the daughter of Manuel Valentini.”
“I’m aware,” Viktor muses. “He has requested several meetings with me already. What I want to know is why she is with you.”
“Her father owes us a great deal of money. I am merely motivating him to pay it back in a timely fashion.”
Viktor’s dark eyes move to mine, lancing right through the half-truth. “Do not trifle with me, Kol’ka.”
My eyes move over the room and land on Sergei, who has finally made an appearance. His head is still bandaged where his ear used to be, and he is absent of the smug expression he typically wears. It’s safe to say he has come back with his tail between his legs.
“Does this have any relation to your father’s business dealings in the past?”
I return my attention to Viktor, affronted by the observation. Discretion is a quality I take great pride in possessing, and it never crossed my mind that he would so clearly guess my intentions.
“There have been many rumors over the years.” Viktor retrieves a cigar from his front pocket, pursing it between his lips as he speaks. “He once said himself that your mother ran off with an Italian.”
“That isn’t true.” My tone is careful and deliberate, but it makes little difference. The fact that I am defending my mother at all is the answer to his question. When she disappeared from my life at the age of ten, the only explanation I was given was that she was a liar and a whore, and I was never to speak her name again.
Viktor gestures for my lighter, and I hand it to him. He lights up and takes a few puffs of the cigar while he settles on the right words. “The truth is, I’m not certain what happened to your mother. She was a good girl. Too sweet to be caught up with the likes of your father. If you do discover the truth, Kol’ka, I would like to know myself.”
His words ground me. I did not ask for his blessing, but in his own way, Viktor has given it. He is aware of my true intentions, and I can do what is necessary now that we have come to an understanding.
Viktor checks his watch and abruptly decides this conversation is over. He announces that the meeting is about to start, and social hour is finished. The brothers file into the meeting room, and I walk beside the pakhan. Before we reach the door, one last thought occurs to him, and he halts me.
“There is just one thing I must insist on.”
“Yes?”
His nose wrinkles in distaste. “The girl is not Russian.”
“I’m aware.”
He flicks a piece of lint off his jacket, the gesture symbolic of a warning. “So don’t get attached to her.”
“Do you like?”
The Russian dancer leans forward to show off her new pair of tits while I smoke a cigarette. Her name is Mara, and I fuck her on Tuesdays. Lately, she’s been out of commission on account of the surgery. I haven’t seen her around for a while, and now I know why. Beneath her tiny bikini top, the implants look like grapefruits. They don’t move at all. I know because it came to my attention when I fucked her ten minutes ago.
Mara’s wondering why I didn’t touch them. She’s pursing her lips, and those look a little swollen too, if I’m not mistaken.
A wisp of smoke coils out from the corner of my mouth. “They’re lovely.”
Sometimes it’s better to lie. I’m a man who prefers sins of the flesh, not silicone. This will be the last time Mara and I meet. But while she’s here and it’s easy, I gesture to my dick, which is hard again.
The beautiful thing about a woman like Mara is that’s all it takes. We are both too jaded to believe in love. She uses me for the void that Daddy left her, and I use her because it’s uncomplicated. She does her best work on her knees, and there’s no shame in that.
Long red fingernails scrape up my thighs. When she sucks my dick into her mouth, I lean back on a sigh and finish off my cigarette while she bounces up and down between my legs.
I like a room with a view, which is why I requested her presence in the gym today. Around us, her work is broadcast and reflected by mirrors on all four sides. But my eyes aren’t on the mirrors or even her. They are on the door. And when it opens at exactly three o clock, I am not disappointed.
Honeyed eyes rake over me with contempt before settling on Mara’s head in my lap. Tanaka makes a point to look at my dick, and then she makes it a point to appear unimpressed. She is a liar and a snob. When my eyes dip to her chest, two hard nipples scrape against the thin fabric of her white leotard. Pure like her virgin pussy. I’d be willing to bet my left nut that she is soaked for me, but she does well to hide it behind her disdain.
Frustration drives me to fist Mara’s hair and shove my cock as deep as she can take me. I fuck her mouth while my eyes fuck the uptight ballerina across the room. The release is violent, and it happens sooner than I would have liked. Tanaka lost interest in my games before I could even get started.
My head falls back against the chair while my dick convulses in Mara’s mouth. She tries to draw it out, but I am well and truly done.
Across the room, Tanaka sets up camp with her water bottle and tote bag, making it apparent she has no plans to evacuate anytime soon. For such an obedient Italian girl, she seems to have no trouble defying me. Her ankle is immobilized with a brace, and she is still hobbling around on crutches, yet she attempts to maintain an exercise regime worthy of a concentration camp.
“What is she doing?” Mara scrunches her face in bewilderment when she spies my new toy stretching her leg on the padded floor.
“Who knows.” I zip up my pants and toss Mara her skirt. “But I have business to take care of.”
Tanaka dutifully ignores the spectacle as Mara dresses unabashedly. When it’s time for her to go, I do not give false assurances of another reunion, and she doesn’t ask. I retrieve some cash from my wallet, not for sex, but because she’s used to men taking care of her. She thanks me in Russian and leaves.
I should go too, but I find myself rooted in place, eyes on Tanaka. For two weeks, we have carried on this routine. There are no words exchanged between us. I spend my days with Vory business, and she spends hers chasing impossible dreams in this gym.
She came here without a fight, but with each day that passes, her resolve glows brighter. Ballet has been her life until now, and she has not yet come to accept that her old life is dead.
I lean against the doorframe and flick the lid of my lighter between my fingers. “Why don’t you find a new hobby?”
Her golden eyes flash with fury, and to my own irritation, it stirs my dick back to life.
“Find a new hobby?” she clips.
“Yes.”
“Are you truly that oblivious to the amount of my life I have dedicated to this ‘hobby’?”
I make a flippant gesture to her useless ankle. “Does it matter now? I think it’s time to stop beating a dead horse.”
Her nipples are hard again. Almost as hard as her jaw when she’s nettled. My eyes carve a path up the curve of her neck to the spot where her pulse thrums in staccato. She catches me staring and makes an unconscious effort to remain modest, tugging her skirt lower and the straps on her shoulders higher. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, and she lays into me with a voice like a whip.
“From the age of six, I have trained as a dancer. You think your mafia is exclusive? Try the ballet, Mr. Kozlov. I attended summer intensive programs that most could only ever dream about. The corps de ballet offered me a contract before I even finished high school. While other children played outside and experienced all that childhood had to offer, I was in the studio. I have ascended the ranks of this hierarchy in spite of significant odds, and if we were to compare our worlds, then you and I would be equals. My entire life, I have bled for this dream, and you believe it is your right to casually suggest I find another hobby?”
A forceful exhale concludes her rant, but it seems to have stolen her precious energy along with it. Perhaps it is the recovery, but regardless of her fiery temper, she appears almost lifeless after the smallest exertion. Her present state is at odds with her mind, considering the girl is anything but weak.
From the moment she laid eyes on me, she believed herself superior. But the reality is that she is a spoiled little bitch who has been locked away in her castle too long. This girl who compares her ballet to my mafiya is completely ignorant of the world and how much power I hold over her fate. I expected as much of her.
What I did not anticipate was that she would be so lovely to look at. When Manuel offered up his prized daughter as collateral for a debt, I had decidedly painted her as a gargoyle in his image. But in truth, she looks nothing like him.
A waifish girl, she is too thin for my tastes. Her body is the testament of a struggle between femininity and girlishness. Caught in the clutches of both, it’s undecided of which she wants or needs. But there is no denying the unnatural grace she carries. Whether it’s the subtle flip of her hand or the curve of her leg, she is almost inhumanly beautiful. She is elegant, manicured, and well groomed. In short, she is everything I am not. Yet when I first saw her, I was admittedly captivated to the soft-spoken beauty in a way that was unfamiliar to me. She is nothing like the Russian girls I am accustomed to. She is nothing like any girl I am accustomed to.
She is undoubtedly intelligent, but the level of her naivety gives me whiplash. There is an innocence about her that provokes doubts in me. Doubts that are at odds with every value I stand for. The longer I endure her presence, the clearer it becomes. I would do well to stay away from her because she is of no importance to me. And as shameful as it may be to see something so lovely destroyed, it might come to that in the end. I must remember this. Whatever fate befell my mother, so too will Tanaka’s be.