Page 9 of Baby for the Bratva

He chuckles. “And you think I’m on this cruise ship to have sex?”

I shrug, trying to play it off like I’m not supremely embarrassed. “It was just a joke.”

“There’s a bit of truth in every joke,” he replies, his eyes traveling up my legs and pausing at the hem of my cover-up. “Maybe that’s what you’re here for.”

I swallow hard, shaking my head. “No, just relaxing.”

“For a whole month?”

I nod. “A whole month. Sometimes that’s what you need.”

He smirks. “Well, if you ever find yourself needing more, you know where I stay.”

I’m at a loss for words, but he doesn’t give me time to regain my ability to speak before he makes his way further down the deck. My heart is thumping so hard in my chest that it’s painful, and I find myself unable to peel myself off the pool chair for several minutes.

His claim that he didn’t know what I was joking about was obviously false. He just wanted to hear me say it so that he could revel in my filthy words. I feel like I’ve been tricked, and he did it so smoothly I barely even noticed.

I let out a sigh. Either this is going to be the longest cruise of my life, or it’s going to go by in a blur of skin and sweat.

5

Yuri

Playing dumb always seems to work, but I suspect that it won’t go very far with Stella. She’s smart enough to see through my act, and tougher to crack than most other women.

But I like that about her. The price a man must pay climbs with the sweetness of the fruit, and Stella is as sweet as they come. I’ve never met a woman like her, and I’ve traveled thousands of miles and seen countries most people haven’t even heard of.

Looks are one thing, but the way a woman speaks and carries herself gives her a charm that casts a rose-tinted shadow over everything else.

A month couldn’t possibly be enough to enjoy her to the fullest, but it’s all we have. In another lifetime, I would make her my wife. In this one, though, she can only be a passing fancy. It’d be cruel to drag her into my business. Unfair to turn a perfectly happy civilian into a member of the most ruthless Bratva this world has ever known.

So, even if Stella is looking for more than a couple of weeks of incredible sex, and even if she hates me for leaving her just as quickly as I stumbled into her life, there can be no other way. It’s for her own good, and she’ll never know why.

She’ll remember me as an asshole, but I’ll always think of her as a goddess.

I light up a cigar as I wander the lower level of the deck, near the back of the ship, waiting for Chekhov to show up. The air is warm tonight, and the smoke tastes like the days I used to spend in Bolivia when I ran drugs down there. It felt like everyone smoked, but they’d always be jealous of my cigars and want a few.

I’m a generous guy, so I shared. Made some good friends, but times like that never last. I dream of the day when I can settle down and live out the rest of my days in peace like I did in Bolivia, but today isn’t that day.

Nor is tomorrow.

Or possibly… ever.

The world is cruel to men who desire so much. It’s easier to be a bum these days than to work for what you have, and the richer you want to be, the more you have to sacrifice. Many people seem to believe that with wealth comes some kind of satisfying gain, but in reality, it’s wrought by loss.

I’ve grown used to it, though. You have to when you’re the leader of a powerful Bratva Family, because the only way out of it is through the cold embrace of death. Sometimes, I even feel the reaper next to me, like we’re old friends waiting to be reunited in the afterlife.

And at night, I can practically feel his bony hands on my arm, urging me to let go early.

Chekhov would be pissed if I died, though. I certainly wouldn’t, but I rule over hundreds of men who have families, and they all depend on my leadership. Without me, their worlds would fall apart, and I would be to blame.

It’s funny to me that nobody is going to be sad at my funeral if it comes too soon. They’ll just be angry.

I roll my cigar between my knuckles, gazing out into the water as the sky turns violet. I can hear Chekhov walking down the metal stairs behind me, but I don’t turn to great him.

Just a few more seconds of silence.

Just a couple more thoughts of better days.

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