Page 107 of Death Valley
Izzy’s tight curvy ass is brushing my cock, making me hard. I allow my grasp on her to relax as I don’t want to turn her off due to my boner poking into her back. There are rules to be followed in society, and introducing oneself with a hard cock isn’t how I envisioned this. This is the only reason I allow Izzy to move.
“Yes, thank you. But what the fuck?” I’m close enough to feel the tremor running through her body. “No one ever did anything like that before, and we’ve been to plenty of clubs over the years,” she replies.
This is when I realize she’s not in the mafia world. Otherwise, she’d be immune to a simple stabbing. “He’s a stranger and thought he…he owned me.”
I send a questioning look to Kirill.
“This is Izzy.” He acknowledges Izzy. “And this is Alena, Mikhail Pasnov’s daughter,” he explains with a wry grin.
I assume correctly that these are the girls we were to mingle with tonight.
So, Alena is his boss’s daughter, and her father carries weight. No doubt the men tonight backed down over her presence. She has a direct ear to the top of the bratva, and her father would have their heads on a platter like a goat at an orthodox Easter dinner.
“I’m Izzy,” the shapely woman dressed in a beautiful off-white dress turns to me and politely extends her hand.
I take her petite hand in mine and ignore the tingles in my groin. “Dmitry.”
“Thank you again. I don’t want any trouble,” she murmurs. I lean in to hear her words as the music kicks up a notch, and it’s hard to hear.
Izzy is refreshing. Russian women have a harshness about them. They do what is in their best interest to survive, making them angry, miserable, and anything but loyal.
Women who know me always want more, which might be why I’ve never invested in anyone since my girlfriend died. If I’m with a woman, it’s only for a fuck. I’ve noticed lately that I’m beginning to feel empty after these encounters, and I’m often seen leaving clubs early to head home instead of hooking up with random strangers.
Plus, I won’t be pitied for the scars I’ve covered with tattoos. Knife fights always leave a mark. I’m good with them, and they are easier to carry than guns, but every pro has a bad day now and then.
“Let’s go to our table.” Kirill extends a hand, suggesting the ladies go first, and we follow close behind to guide them.
Everyone around the bar area returns to their drinks, and all is forgotten.
We settle around the table, and naturally, Izzy sits beside me. I’m beginning to suspect Kirill of playing matchmaker and tip my head back to observe him. Someone in my family probably told him I hadn’t been myself lately. I admit there hasn’t been much time to hang out with my brothers like I usually do, and now that Nikolay is married, I see less of him.
Kirill is acting as if nothing is going on. However, my interest is piqued. Why Izzy? Why her, of all the people here tonight? She blends in as a local, meaning she isn’t a targeted tourist, nor does she fit in as one of ours.
And the man who grabbed her arm? Was he sent here to create a distraction so someone could grab Alena? I study Kirill and wonder if he is guarding Alena under the ruse of a double date. I’ve heard she’s opinionated, and her daddy always has people watching her. I also know how daughters hate to have security details on them.
Kirill is pouring the girls champagne and refilling our shot glasses with vodka. Alena is no longer concerned with the incident, and she’s chatting with Kirill as if nothing ever happened.
The club is filling up, but I only have eyes for Izzy. I noticed her the minute she came into view. Izzy and Alena lift their glasses.
“A toast to the new graduates, cheers,” Kirill says as we tap glasses.
“Thank you for what you did,” Izzy says as she sips her drink.
“No problem. I’m sure he was just looking for trouble,” I say, knowing it’s a lie. Men don’t work to piss off the Russian mafia.
I’m convinced the goon wanted something. There would have been more questions if he were in the inner bratva. He’s a rogue, and he tried to intimidate Izzy. What was he after? That leads to more questions. Something’s not adding up, bothering me because I like details.
It would not surprise me to see a disgruntled employee make a move on Alena due to who her father is. However, I’m not sure anyone recognizes her as this is a new club, and mafia men keep their families out of the bratva limelight. They do social engagements and charity functions. The man tonight made a bold move. Or a desperate one. I’m not sure which. If anyone grabbed Alena like that, her father would see him dead before morning.
We listen to music and finish our drinks. Kirill pours more champagne into the girls’ glass flutes, and we both toss back another shot of vodka. I never drink much when I’m in a new environment. I’m always on duty. It’s ingrained in me.
I check the exits, and the group who caused the commotion is gone, but the bouncers are speaking into their mics which are clipped under their dress shirts. The wire between the ear and chest is the telltale sign of security. I’m sure the incident was noted.
“So, what’s up now that you’re out of school?” Kirill pushes the envelope, and I feel there might be some chemistry between him and Alena.
His flirting gives it away. He won’t risk fucking Alena without her father’s blessing. No, for him, he would have to court her formally. If Alena picks someone, it’s on her. But a man in his position should follow the proper channels unless he wants to end up face-down in a canal, and there are plenty of them here.
Smart, Kirill, keep the girls busy while I check the temperature of the room. I thought this would be a simple job, a mini-vacation. Now, I’m involved in whatever is happening in his bratva, and it’s more than the missing money. What am I missing?
