“I wouldn’t kick her out, I’d kill her. As far as what’s on my mind it’s my tailor, Leonardo Bianchi; some low-level street punks are muscling him.” Glazov slowly shook his head. There was a sadness in his eyes Novak wasn’t accustomed to seeing. “If it was anyone else, I’d just send someone to do my dirty work, but the man has been a friend of mine for years. Yafon and I will be meeting him at his home for dinner tonight.”
Seconds passed before Novak answered; as if he was thinking about how to word what he wanted to say. It was a conversation they’d had numerous times, but that didn’t change the fact it always hit a nerve with Glazov.
“You know how I feel about you going on jobs. You have hired people to do your grunt work and you damn sure don’t need to be the one doing the killing. If you get locked up it means war. It’s just the way it is. No matter how well an operation is structured if the boss goes down the organization suffers. Every gangster in Louisville would be scrambling to take over if something happened to you.”
“It’s dinner, Novak, not a takedown. More than anything it’s a show of respect to a man who has managed to meticulously tailor my suits for years. We both know I’m not the easiest person to work for.”
“Well, we all know how picky you are when it comes to bespoke. More than once you’ve stuck a Glock to a tailor’s head. I was shocked the man was willing to work for you after the reputation you’ve gained for being so crazy. I’ve never seen a man who takes fashion so seriously.”
“I never play when it comes to my money, Novak. If I’m going to pay between five and seven thousand dollars for a suit, I expect perfection; the kind of perfection I get from Leonardo.”
“The way you have outfitted the man’s tailoring shop your suits should be perfect; I didn’t know a damn sewing machine could cost fourteen-thousand dollars. Include all the other shit you’ve paid for like a custom-made sewing cabinet and the man has quite the setup. I’m sure he’s the envy of tailors everywhere.” Novak made a clicking noise with his tongue as if resigned to the fact his boss was going, but still not in agreement with the idea. “I still don’t like the idea—it’s not a good neighborhood. It only takes one stray bullet. Maybe I should go.”
“You’re not going, Novak.” Now it was Glazov who was resigned.
“Why not?” Novak asked, watching the coin he was now weaving through his fingers as if the conversation was over, but his curiosity wouldn’t let it rest.
“Because you’re a zhopa—an ass. Tonight is a night I need clarity on who these little entitled shits are. It’s disrespectful for them to try and muscle in on my tailor. It sends the message you can fuck with Bratva employees and not suffer the consequences; completely unacceptable.”
“Now that I can agree with. Please be careful, though. You’re a jerk sometimes but you’re still the only brother I’ll ever have.”
Glazov stood and straightened his tie out of habit more than necessity. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going upstairs to fuck my wife, and that can be more dangerous than any gangster I’ll ever encounter.”
Novak just shook his head and laughed, “I’ll lock up when I leave.”
Novak sat for a moment still toying with the coin as he contemplated the conversation. He hated it when Glazov went anywhere without him being there as a backup. He wasn’t jealous of the fact Glazov was taking Yafon. Though it wasn’t uncommon for employees to become jealous of each other— in an effort to rub elbows with the Pakhan—Novak was secure in the fact no one could ever take his place. He trusted Yafon and knew firsthand how vicious the man could be. He’d worked with him on jobs and no one in Bratva was a better shot than he was. Novak just knew the importance of Glazov flying under the radar. He would succumb to the Pakhan’s wishes. If he wasn’t back in a time frame Novak felt comfortable with, he would go looking for him. God help anyone if this was a setup and Glazov got shot, or worse. God help them because no one else would be able to stand up under Novak’s wrath if anything happened to Glazov.
Chapter Five
Kathleen could feel his presence before she ever looked up from where she was seated on the bed working on her computer. It was always that way with her husband; he didn’t just walk into a room, he owned it. It was like he swallowed up everything around him until only he remained. She could have sworn she saw him lift his face just a little as if smelling the room for some hint of her arousal. He stalked over in her direction and she resisted the urge to bolt and run. The sex was as intense now as it had been in the beginning. Each time he made love to her he studied her body as if it would be future ammunition to use against her. Passion was a tool he used to ensure she stayed with him. It was always in the back of his mind that he couldn’t lose her. His obsession with his wife grew daily. To Glazov there was no love without obsession and Kathleen Glazov was the epitome of his. He watched her, he stalked her, he studied her, and he owned her. Anything less than complete ownership was unacceptable. Though Kathleen Glazov would never leave her husband, he would take no chances. Factor in the issue she had to be kept safe because of who her husband was and there wasn’t a detail about her life the Pakhan was unaware of. It was an obsession born of necessity as well as Glazov’s personality.
Glazov stared at Kathleen’s face as if seeing it for the first time; mesmerized. She still captivated him. He took the pad of his thumb and gently ran it along her jawline. He loved the way her skin felt beneath his touch; the way it heated under his gaze. The love they shared was the stuff legends were made of and kingdoms were built on. Her eyes held a mixture of innocence and concern as she looked him full in the face; attempting to read his thoughts. “You’ll never be able to do it, Ptichka. Still, waters run deep, my love.”
Kathleen chuckled, “I’d describe you as more of a storm in the making.”
“You would be wise to remain in the eye of the storm then.”
He touched her hand and brought it down to his tented slacks. He hissed as the heat of her touch bloomed in his groin. It intrigued him how something so feathery light could have such an intense effect on him. She was like a drug and he was hopelessly addicted.
“What’s going on Glazov?” She squeezed his shaft as if it would persuade him to tell her.
“Crafty little minx,” he said; reading her intentions. “Maybe I’ll tell you after I fuck you. I’m certain you don’t want me going out frustrated; it could mean an ass whipping for someone.”
Even though he was playing with her she knew sexual frustration could cause a man like Glazov to have a hair-trigger temper. The way he took his aggression out on her sexually only added to the intensity of their sex life. There were always new discoveries and she knew things with her husband would never get old or become mundane. Her fingers lithely loosened his belt and unzipped his zipper. He eased his shoes off and kicked the trousers to the side. She watched as he removed the rest of his clothing. She licked her lips as she viewed the reality of perfection; the man’s body was like a Greek god sent to earth for mere mortals to worship and adore.
A cruel smile crossed his lips when her breath hitched as he pushed into her. She was a velvet glove gripping him and demanding his seed. Even after having two of his children her body gripped him in need; as if letting go would torture her somewhere deep in her heart; a wound that could never be repaired. His hands held her face in place; forcing her to look him in the eye. She felt like he wanted to climb inside of her and consume her until he owned every cell.