“Thank you,” I said quietly as the doors opened and he gave me another nod.
I had to wonder if he was truly as stoic as he appeared or if he knew of secrets he’d take to his grave. If only walls could talk, I thought as I realized the fifth floor housed the Presidential Suite. I was about to knock when the door opened.
“Well, well, well,” the member of his security said as he sneered at me, his eyes raking up and down my body. “If it isn’t the high and mighty Prima come crawling back. The boss has been expecting you.”
I recognized the man as one of those who’d witnessed my degradation at Nikolai’s hands that night.
“Take a picture. It will last longer,” I snapped
He gave me a smirk. “I think I’ll wait till there’s a little less blocking my view. For now, put your arms up.”
“Seriously?”
I didn’t receive an answer, at least not a verbal one. Instead, I was yanked forward then shoved up against the door, held in place by one hand as his other roved over my body. All pretense of frisking me for a possible weapon was discarded as his fingers pinched and squeezed my breasts painfully. Gritting my teeth, I didn’t allow so much as a hint of a whimper or the slightest wince to give him any satisfaction, I simply waited until he was satisfied or, more likely, bored with my lack of reaction.
He removed his hand from where he’d shoved it between my thighs and nodded. “He’s waiting.”
There was no need to ask who he meant. As far as this man or any of the others I saw in the room were concerned, there was only one he in their world. Again, I remained silent, stepping around his bulk and moving forward into the suite.
It wasn’t just a room; this place could easily hold two of my house and still have plenty of room to walk about. Halls led to other rooms, walls of a soft white and pillows and fabrics of gold and cream made the room seem bright and inviting… when it should be colors associated with pain and evil.
“Right on time.”
The words had me looking over to find Nikolai standing in a doorway, his jacket discarded, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He might be evil personified, but I couldn’t honestly state he was ugly in appearance. While he wasn’t as tall as Alek, or as leanly muscled, Nikolai carried his forty-plus years quite well. It wasn’t all that hard to understand why Kristin had practically been drooling when speaking to him on the phone. His looks, his air of power, his unlimited supply of both authority and money made a combination few could ignore. I hadn’t, and look what that had gotten me.
My eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and my brain gave me a hundred logical reasons of why I should turn and run. But there was one reason to carry on, and that reason was strong enough to have me open my eyes. One could say I was selling my soul to the devil. But I feared my soul was already long gone.
“I told you I’d come,” I said as calmly as I could. Walking slowly toward him, I smiled. “I really appreciate you understanding about yesterday… it was kind of you.”
He chuckled and grabbed my arm the moment I was close enough. Dropping his hand to my ass, he pulled me against his body, grinding his crotch against me. How I kept the smile on my face, I’d never know, but I managed… until he moved his hand from my ass to my shoulder and visions of the last time he’d done the same flooded through me.
“I don’t really give a shit about kind,” he said, the menace in his voice clear.
He tightened his fingers on my collarbone and began to walk me backward across the room, my feet tangling together and causing me to reach for him in order not to fall. I could feel the muscles bunched in his arms, knew the power this man had was not only that of his title of bratva boss. Nikolai was a fanatic at keeping himself fit.
I shuddered remembering the words he’d said when we’d seen a short documentary on the famous actor, Marlon Brando, who played Vito Corleone after we’d binge-watched The Godfather saga.
The only good thing about a mafia don letting himself turn into a blob of blubber is that it gives all that lead pumped inside him time to bounce about doing massive damage because the fucking bullets can’t find their way out.
I hadn’t bothered to point out that Brando’s character didn’t die from being shot but had passed away from a heart attack while playing in the garden with his grandson. Such facts were irrelevant in Nikolai’s world.