“I mean, I’m not challenging you, Ravil. You know that.” Nikolai takes on a conciliatory tone. “I’m with my family.” He tips his head toward Dima. “But he’s also in the brotherhood.”
I give him a nod.
“Someone in Moscow could challenge you,” Maxim says. “Especially if Igor dies.”
Oleg’s meaty palms form fists, the frown on his forehead increasing. I think that means he has my back, but it’s hard to say. He was fucked by his own cell back in Russia. He’s been nothing but loyal to me, but I don’t know what his feelings on breaking Code are. And well, Oleg doesn’t communicate much.
“Would it be better,” Pavel starts, then holds up both his hands in surrender— “I’m not saying you should… but would they be safer if you left them alone? Kept some distance between you? You could keep her like a side piece, the way Igor has his mistress and daughter.”
“She stays here,” I growl.
My baby. His beautiful mother. In my building.
As it should be.
“I will protect them. And if any of you” —all the men immediately start shaking their heads— “want to challenge me on breaking the code…?” I slap an icy stare on all of them, even though they’re clearly not going to. “Good. Then you’ll have my back.”
“Always,” Dima murmurs.
“Da,” Nikalai concurs. Maxim and Pavel also give their assent.
Oleg nods.
“Thank you.”
I take a seat on the sofa beside Maxim. “Anything else of interest on that laptop?” I ask Dima.
“You can see for yourself.” He hands me my laptop, which was open beside him. “I made you a link to everything, but here’s some of the sites she landed on, if you want any pointers.” He grins as a smack and a cry sound from the laptop, and he flips it around to show us some amateur porn scene with a girl bent over the back of a couch.
“Mention this again, and you die,” I say coolly. “I won’t have her mocked.”
Dima instantly sobers. “Sorry. Of course not.” He ducks his head but not before I see his lips twitch.
Fucker.
Chapter 5
Ravil
Lucy doesn’t attempt to come out of the room when her massage is over, even though I haven’t locked the door nor stationed a guard. I’m still toying with how hard a line I draw with her.
I have to keep reminding myself that she wanted to raise our son without me ever meeting him. That she thinks so little of me, she does not think me worthy of parenting him.
Maybe I’m not. I had lowly beginnings. I was a poor son of a prostitute. I ran through the snow and slush of Leningrad in boots with the soles flapping open, stealing produce or digging in the garbage for enough to eat.
That was where Igor found me. Where I learned the Code of Thieves. Pay for nothing you can steal. Forsake all family for the brotherhood. Rise up through the ranks with my loyalty and courage.
The bratva became my identity. Within it, I am respected. Within my circles, I am God. Outside, though? On the streets of Chicago? A man covered in prison tattoos with a Russian accent doesn’t command a lot of respect.
I suppose that’s why I created the Kremlin. Bought this building in the most coveted area of Chicago and filled it with my own people. It’s why I demand everyone here practice their English. Learn the culture and laws, so they can be manipulated to benefit our kind.
Lucy’s rejection—knowing the beautiful attorney who is well-bred and well-respected in this city—didn’t find me good enough… Well, it stabs me where it hurts.
And so, I intend to hurt her a bit in return.
No one takes my son from me.
I step into the room where I find her standing at the window, looking out at the lights of the yachts out on the water.
My dick gets hard because she’s wearing nothing more than a pair of tiny shorts and a camisole, both stretched tight around her pregnancy curves.
Blyat.
I want her now.
But operating from desire is never a winning strategy. I adjust my straining cock.
She turns and looks over her shoulder at me, her mouth in a tight line.
“What happens to the baby?”
Ah. Finally the question I’ve been anticipating. And yet my answer to it has changed in my own mind several times. Still, I’m going to play hard-ball. She can work on softening me if she likes. She has four months to try.
“The baby stays here, in this building. If you wish to be a part of his life, you will play nice with me.”
She stands very still. Only the slightest flaring of her nostrils and tightening of her fingers show her ire. She expected this.
“You can’t—”
“You know I can, so let’s drop the pretense. Your laws can’t touch me. If you tried, I would go underground with the child in a matter of hours. You’d never see him again.”
I’m ready for any argument she throws my way. What I don’t expect is for her eyes to grow bright with tears.
It does something raspy and harsh to my insides.
She blinks them back without changing anything on her face. I don’t take her for a crier, but I’m sure the hormones make her more susceptible.
I’ll have to make sure not to push her that far again because I dislike how off-balance it makes me feel.
“You tried to keep our son from me,” I say, too harshly. I’m reminding myself as much as her. “I’m being far more generous with you. All you need to do is cooperate with me, and you’ll keep your son. You’ll get to nurse him and raise him. Teach him and watch him grow.
“All the things you wished to deprive me of.”
She turns away from me, back to the window.
I have the impulse to turn and leave. But it’s my room, and I chose to put her in here with me for a reason.
I need to tear her walls down… not strengthen them. Even when I want to build my own.
I go to her. Touching her before was electric. She’d been so responsive. More responsive than Valentine’s night. It was like her body was primed for me, waiting for my touch.
She may have not thought me fit to be a father, but I now know with total certainty how much she loved my mastery at Black Light.
I slide one hand under her camisole to cup her breast, the other across her belly, stroking lower. “There’s still your punishment to deal with,” I say against the shell of her ear.
I’m satisfied to feel the shiver run through her. She doesn’t answer, but I sense her body listening. Waiting. Like before at her apartment, she wants this. Or at least her body does.
I love seeing the transformation her body’s made with the pregnancy. Back in February, she was on the too-thin side. Like she held her body to a rigid standard for weight. Now she has curves—not just her belly and larger breasts, but all of her has a beautiful softness. I knead her breast gently.
“These are much bigger than before. Are they tender?”
“Yes.” She stirs against me—little twitches and jerks, like pockets of resistance absorbed into my hands.
I pinch her nipple, tug it into a stiff, beaded peak. She shifts on her legs, her breath quickening. I slide my other hand into her tiny pajama shorts, curling my fingers to mold them over her mons.