Vlad
In the bedroom, I untie Alessia’s wrists to check on the skin beneath. It’s chafed and raw, so I wind a scrap of one of my t-shirts around the area before retying her.
She’s quiet through it all. Withdrawn.
I pick up the glucometer to check her blood sugar before bed.
“You don’t need to check again. I should be stable now,” she mutters.
I ignore her and take the drop of blood anyway. She doesn’t strike me as the suicide type, but I’d rather not rely on her for all my information. She’s right, though, her numbers are in range, according to the range she gave me.
I make a mental note to research the hell out of her illness, so I can properly care for her.
Already a fierce protectiveness for her consumes me, which is unusual for me. I don’t trust women. In my experience, they are the most conniving, deceitful creatures under the sun. But this one happens to be completely at my mercy, which changes the dynamic significantly.
She’s also beautiful.
That shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.
Of course, Sabina was beautiful, and look what she did. Nearly got me killed. I still don’t know what her game was-why she’d want to set me up.
I remove Alessia’s ankle ropes and escort her to the bathroom. Find an unopened toothbrush in the drawer. “You can use this.” I drop it on the counter.
“How do you expect me to brush with my wrists tied?”
I shrug. “Your choice. Figure it out or don’t. And leave the door open.” I step out to the bedroom to give her a modicum of privacy.
She emerges a few minutes later and I tie her to the bed and turn off the light.
Then I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Lying next to her will make my dick so hard it will break off. But I’m not about to leave her to her own devices, either.
I do a quick check on Mika, not that the kid ever needs anything. He’s curled up on the sofa where he’s been sleeping and watching television. I don’t tell him it’s lights out time. He’s too self-sufficient to need that kind of shit. I just walk around and turn out lights like I do every night, leaving one on low in the kitchen in case he gets up.
“Dobri nochi, Mika.” I reach over the back of the sofa and squeeze his arm.
“Dobri nochi,” he mumbles sleepily and hits the off button on the remote control.
Upstairs I brush my teeth and kick off my shoes. I decide sleeping fully clothed on top of the covers is the best option. If I rub up against that soft, youthful skin of hers during the night, there’s no telling what I’ll do.
“What happened to Mika’s parents?” Alessia croaks in the darkness.
Christ. Was that why she was so quiet? She’s been thinking about Mika this whole time? A tight band squeezes my chest.
Fuck. I don’t want to find this woman so damn sympathetic.
“I already told you,” I snap, even though she doesn’t deserve it. Even though what I told her isn’t altogether true.
“Junior killed them?” Her tremulous tone forces the truth from me.
“Nyet. No. Boy had no father, as far as I know,” I admit. “His mother was a whore for the bratva. She and Mika came over here with Aleksi, one of the men in my cell. Then she ran away and left Mika with our cell. Aleksi looked after him. Your brother killed Aleksi.”
“His mother… left him with the Russian mafiya?”
“Da. Bitch ran off. Left her son as soon as they got to America. I guess she saw the trip as her ticket to freedom. She told Mika to be loyal to us so we’d take care of him.”
The kid is loyal as hell. But I sure as hell didn’t want responsibility for him.
“And you did?” Alarm rings in her voice.
“Da.” It is more or less true. Training brats off the street has long been a part of Russian mafiya. “I was gone when your brother killed everyone. When I came back, I found the boy surviving on his own. He’d eaten all the food in the house and was stealing from stores in the neighborhood to survive. He hid from the police when they came to search the place.”
“Oh God. The poor kid.” She’s silent a moment. “Has he been to school?”
“No.” Integrating the kid into American society was not part of my plan. He is no worse off than he would have been in Russia with his prostitute mother. His chances for survival-and even a decent living situation-went way up when he became my responsibility. I know, because he sticks me to like glue. He’s grateful as hell and does everything I say without question.
“He’s still learning English. And I chose to keep him with me, keep him close. It’s a short-term situation.”
“What’s the long-term one?”
Return him to lower ranks of the bratva. “Haven’t figured that out yet.”
“You’re blackmailing my family, right? Demanding money for me?”
“Yes.”
“Some of that money should go to the boy.” She says it fiercely, like she’s prepared to fight me on this. I’d like to say I’m unmoved by her compassion for the boy, but a twisting, guilty sort of feeling moves in my center.
This woman may not be the selfish, spoiled princess I imagined her to be. She is coddled, naive and soft, though, as a sheltered daughter would be. But I appreciate her passion for the kid.
“Da. Okay. I will set up an account for him. Off-shore, tax-free, of course.”
She rolls over in the dark, and looks up at me. I have to fight the urge to touch her. To brush that chestnut hair back from her lovely face. To run my thumb over those pouty lips. Shove it in her mouth and make her suck.
“Promise?”
“My word.”
She lays her head back down and sighs.
I can’t resist. I burrow my fingers into her hair and gently massage her scalp.
She makes a soft surrendering sound. I keep at it until she falls asleep.
Then I force myself to move away from her, to the far side of the bed, facing away.