Alessia
“This?” The Russian picks up the tester kit. I blink, getting a better look at him now that I can focus. He has sandy blond hair, piercing blue eyes and multiple scars on his stubbled jaw. He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt that stretches over his bulging muscles and his arms and fingers are covered in tattoos.
Unfortunately, I find his look sexy. He’s the modern James Dean bad boy. Or the street version of actor Jeremy Renner.
I’m both terrified and turned on by him at the same time. Maybe it was just feeling all that raw masculine strength when he grabbed me. Maybe my hormones are on full blast after watching two of my siblings tie the knot.
My captor cocks his head and raises a stern brow.
“Yes, that. Untie me.”
“Oh, zaika. Let’s get one thing straight right now. You’re not giving the orders here.”
I shouldn’t find his thick accent sexy, either, but I do.
I give it right back to him, arching my own brow. “You need me alive. That means keeping my blood sugar stable. So untie my hands and let me test my glucose.”
“Nyet.”
Such a final-sounding word, the Russian no.
He examines the glucose meter, figuring out how it works while I watch without offering any help. He’s not a dumb man, though. He picks up the lancet. “From your finger, I presume?”
I don’t answer.
He grips my bound wrists and tugs one of the fingers away from the rest. His touch isn’t cruel, but I choose this moment to make my dissatisfaction known, and I use both hands to punch him in the nose.
Well, punch is a loose description. I can’t really punch with my wrists bound, nor can I wind up to make it effective. I sort of knew that before I tried, but figured it was still worth it as an act of defiance.
A signal of war.
I don’t break his nose. I don’t even make it bleed. Cristo, I’m not even sure I hurt him, but he reacts quickly, swiping my hands down and pinning them to the mattress, effectively dropping me to my side. He looms over me, eyes glittering.
Oh fuck.
Is he excited?
Too late, I remember his warning that he was turned on by wrestling me.
And my foolish body reacts, heat pooling between my legs as if this is some kind of mating ritual, and not a brutal kidnapping.
All right, maybe not that brutal.
“Don’t hit, zaika. You won’t like the punishment.”
Why does the word punishment get my feminine parts tingly?
I lick my lips. “What is it?” I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking, but I do.
His smile is wicked. He removes one of my pink pumps and tosses it to the floor. “Strike me again, and you lose your clothing privileges. The dress comes off, printsessa.” He removes the other shoe. I become distinctly aware of my damp panties and the fact that there’s only a thin piece of fabric between my pussy and those rough hands.
A slow throb starts between my legs, my nipples tighten. Fearing a hard blush come on, I speak quickly to distract myself and him. “What is zaika?”
His feral smile returns. “Bunny. Now give me your finger like a good girl.”
I lift my middle finger.
His eyes glitter, like he loves my challenge. A ripple of sexual tension hits me full blast when he holds it and jabs the tip with the lancet, then squeezes a drop of blood onto the test strip. He inserts it into the meter and turns the screen to show me the readout.
“Still too low,” I tell him. “I need insulin.”
He picks up a hypodermic needle and a bottle of insulin. Once more, he figures out how it works and fills the needle. “Where?”
This time I definitely flush. “You can give it in my arm.”
His eyes narrow as he recognizes my discomfort. “Where do you usually take it?”
I lift my chin. “None of your business.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Your ass?” he guesses.
“My belly!” I snap.
His eyes gleam and he reaches for the hem of my dress. “What, zaika? You’re afraid I’ll see your pink panties?”
Heat flushes up my neck to my ears as he slowly drags the hem up, exposing my thighs, then my panties, to my belly button.
He runs the back of one knuckle across the front of my panties, sending tremors down my inner thighs. “You think I didn’t already see these pretty things when you were in my trunk? Or tied up on my bed?”
My stomach flips. Oh Santa Maria. This is his bed? I am so screwed.
Maybe the full reality of my situation finally hits me. Maybe good sense returns and fear sets in, but for whatever reason, my eyes suddenly fill with tears. I look away, blinking. Pissed that he saw he got to me.
He pinches a small place of flesh on my belly and injects me, then cups my jaw. “Don’t cry. It you behave, you won’t get hurt. It’s your brothers I want to punish, not you.”
I meet his eyes, surprised at the sudden change in his demeanor.
He drops my chin and walks away, giving me his back.
I close my eyes, blocking out the sight of him. Of this room.
Of my new prison.
Vlad
“Wait.”
Shit. I need to get away from this woman. She’s too much of a temptation. I could look at her face all day and never grow tired of it. She’s that beautiful. And her beauty does stupid things to me. Like make me want to be nice.
And there’s no fucking place for nice here.
Worse, I don’t just want to look at her face. I want to bite those lips, fuck that mouth, watch her eyes roll back in her head when I pound her hard.
And I’m not going to do any of those things.
I don’t rape women.
I may not trust women. I may think they are manipulative liars who want to lure you into their lair and eat your heart out. But I still wouldn’t take what wasn’t offered.
I may make the little mafia princess think I’m going to, but I wouldn’t do it.
“What?” I don’t bother turning around.
“I have to pee. And I’m hungry.”
Fuck. I rotate and pin her with a hard stare.
A blush creeps up her neck. She may pretend to be tough-and I love it when she does-but I know the truth. She’s afraid of me.
And a little turned on.
“Okay, printsessa. Get up.”
She raises her brows and attempts to shimmy toward the end of the bed.
I watch for a moment, because it’s so fucking hot the way her dress rides up and I sure as hell want to see those pink panties again.
When she finally makes it to the edge of the bed, I walk over and untie her ankles.
“Go.” I lift her to her feet and slap her ass, hard enough to be a warning.
She squeaks and scuttles forward, then turns and holds out her bound wrists to me. “What about these?”
I shake my head. “Make do. Bathroom is there. Leave door open.” Her nearness thickens my accent, makes me drop the article before door.
“Fuck you,” she mutters as she moves away.
I smack her ass again.
Damn if she doesn’t toss her long thick hair and swish her hips as she crosses the room to the bathroom.
Adorable.
The girl is seriously something.
Definitely my lucky day. The Tacones couldn’t have given me a better gift than their beautiful, fresh-faced sister.
I go still, a prickle racing across my skin as a thought occurs to me.
No.
It’s a terrible idea.
I lift my eyes to Alessia, who compromised, leaving the door open six inches. Good. She knows I’ll carry out my threatened punishment.
I return to my terrible idea. Could I?
Probably not.
Should I?
Definitely not.
My burner phone buzzes. It’s Victor, my pakhan. The papa, or big boss of our bratva. The one who sent me away after Sabina pulled her tricks. He’s the only one who has this number, seeing as how it’s a new phone.
“Da, Pakhan.”
“Come back. Zima’s dead,” he says in Russian.
Zima’s the reason Victor ordered me to leave. Zima wanted me dead. Victor wouldn’t allow it. As the derzhatel obschaka-the bookkeeper of the organization-I’m too valuable to him. Or maybe it was out of respect for my mother, his long-time mistress. Either way, I was banished. Sent with the brigadier Ivan to set up a cell in Chicago. A shit job, and one I’m totally over-qualified for. So I let Ivan have his fun and kept working on my laundering schemes.
The toilet flushes from the bathroom.
My heart pounds with the audacity of my idea.
“Da. I’ll come right away. As soon as I get the paperwork in order to bring my new bride. I’m taking the Tacone girl as my own. They’ll pay me to keep her alive and well. It’s the very best revenge.”
Victor doesn’t speak for a moment. Marriage is forbidden as part of the thieves’ Code of Conduct, but one that involves revenge on an enemy is a different situation.
“Good. I want you here by Sunday. Business has become sloppy without you.”
“I’ll see you Sunday, Papa.”
He ends the call without a goodbye as I continue to stare at the bathroom door. When Alessia emerges with another haughty toss of her hair, my dick lengthens down my pant leg.
Yes.
No better way to fuck the Tacones up the ass than to marry into their family. Claim their baby sister as my bride and demand payment in the form of a dowry.
To keep her in the style she’s accustomed to, of course.
Not that I don’t have plenty of money already.
No, this is business. I’m marking my territory in the cruelest way possible. Making that link I was trying to forge before-between American mafia and Russian.
And claiming the most spectacular trophy possible in the process.
Alessia Tacone, my bride.
“Come.”