Page 36 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Kostin

Bonnie must think I’m stupid not to hear the sound of a burner phone being turned on, or her mashing phone keys in her new bedroom, but as a member of a criminal organization, I’d know the sound anywhere. By the length of the dial, I also know that she’s calling someone with a regular phone number, not the short and choppy 9-1-1 you’d normally get from a panicked woman in the hands of a Mafia boss.

However, I don’t think Bonnie is panicking, and she has no reason to call the police. We’re past that point, and she’s proven that she can hold her own in heated situations. She has more or less accepted her new role in the Russian Mafia, as my personal masseuse. There are worse fates that she could’ve experienced, in light of Jerry’s killing.

So, unless the police turn up to an address that she doesn’t even know, I’m in the clear. I’m curious who she might be calling, and why, but I assume she has friends at the club. She has no real family, as I learned with a bit of questioning, but it would be unlikely that she’s completely isolated.

I’ll let her have her simple pleasures. It’s nothing to a man who has ultimate control. With the snap of my fingers, her head could roll, or she could just as easily be sent off with a suitcase stacked full of hundred-dollar bills. Her fate is in my hands.

I break away from the wall, content to ignore whatever conversation Bonnie might be having in there. Tomorrow night, I will call her in for a massage, and then we’ll see what else I can get out of her.

I plan on having a very… interesting evening. The stress of work demands a different kind of release than just the pressure of a pretty woman’s hands on my shoulders, and my vacation time was cut short when I had to shoot Jerry. I’d like to get a little of that back and enjoy a woman for all that she is capable of doing.

The next daysees no new developments on Jerry’s weapons or the 37th Street Bratva, and aside from having Bonnie at the headquarters, it feels like business as usual. There’s plenty of busywork, but nothing especially pressing to prevent me from taking the evening for a nice massage.

That’s what Bonnie is here for, after all.

I find her at the pool, swimming laps and looking just as gorgeous as ever. I wonder if that’s going to wear off over time, or if I’m always going to find her irresistible. I’m betting on the latter. Bonnie is a keeper; it’s just a shame that I won’t be the one doing the keeping.

She doesn’t notice me for a few minutes, and I let her swim, choosing to appreciate her figure beneath the water rather than interrupt her. She’s a graceful swimmer, cutting through the water like she was born in it. I admire that level of skill.

Finally, after a few more laps, she spots me out of the corner of her eye, a smile appearing on her face the second she realizes that it’s me and not another guard. I told them not to hover around her too much, but I’ve caught a few staring at her.

I don’t blame them, but I also don’t like it. As long as she’s at my headquarters, her body belongs to me.

“Did you come here to watch?” Bonnie asks, bouncing up in the water as she comes toward me.

“I was doing a bit of that, yes.”

“Well, I’m about finished,” she says, coming to a stop at the edge of the pool.

She looks up at me with a sparkle in her eyes, and I can’t help but notice how full of life she looks. It’s nothing like the coldness in her eyes when I first met her at the club.

Something about it is familiar, too, like I felt before, but I still can’t put a finger on where I know her from.

“Your timing is good,” I say, squatting down by the edge of the pool. I’m aware of the little flicker her eyes do down to my crotch. “I came to ask you for a massage.”

“I might be available to do that in a moment,” she says, flashing a smile.

“Perhaps I should’ve phrased that differently,” I say, leaning in closer. “You’re coming to give me a massage… now.”

She stiffens, her smile disappearing. For some reason, I prefer that look to her flirtatious smile. Sure, Bonnie knows how to talk back, and I enjoy the banter, but at the end of the day I’m the one in charge; I like to remind her of that as often as I can.

“Get dressed in something nice and meet me in the massage room,” I say in a low voice. “It’s down the hall from your bedroom. You can’t miss it. The door is bright red.”

“Yes, sir,” she says with a slight hiss.

I smirk. She’s feisty – just how I like them.

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