Page 55 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Kostin

Ishouldn’t be poking through a woman’s belongings. I might be a crook, but I’m not a creep.

This morning, however, I must get to the bottom of Bonnie’s odd behavior. I heard her phone going off in her bedroom while we were having sex last night, and I’ve had enough of the secret calls and sudden bank wire requests. She lives under my close watch, and there’s nothing that she needs that she can’t get here.

Either she’s addicted to drugs, or there’s something else going on.

Honestly, I’d prefer the drugs over other alternatives I can think up.

But I promised myself not to jump to conclusions, before I have the evidence that I need. I want to find something – anything, really – to give me a clue as to what is going on with her. A woman doesn’t act like this for nothing.

She’s at the sauna right now, laying with her perfect, naked body in a pool of glistening sweat. Bonnie is like arm candy with the attitude of an experienced wife, but I’d like nothing more than to stick my cock inside her as many times as I can manage before I she leaves.

After all, I do have to let her go. I only said it was going to be three months, and she’s been more or less obedient this entire time. I’m not going to be unfair, although I have considered it. She’s worth keeping around.

And it’s not all to do with sex. I like Bonnie beyond that, which is one of the reasons I know she has to go. I can’t get myself all wrapped up in a woman like that. Falling in love was never a part of the plan, and it still isn’t. I’m not that type of guy.

It’s even possible that she has a boyfriend, or a husband, even though she denied that during the interrogation. She’s capable of lying, but for some reason I really don’t want her to be lying about that. I want her all to myself, something I never really cared about.

Back in the day, I’d fuck just about any slut with a pretty face and a nice ass, but I seem to have changed. I get a jealous pang in my chest, every time I imagine Bonnie’s perfect pouty lips wrapped around another man’s cock, and it’s physically painful for me to think of her with a fat diamond ring on her finger, wed to some man I’ve never met.

Shit. It’s eating me up inside, to think that could be a possibility, but what else would explain her behavior? The reluctance, the secretiveness, the sudden need for cash – they all point to someone else being in the picture.

God, I hope it’s just drugs.

I slip into her bedroom, the one that I gifted her because she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping with me. She’s spent the night in my room more than once already, but she still comes back to this one. She doesn’t trust me, or maybe she just doesn’t want to find herself falling for a Mafia boss.

But it seems as though she already has.

Bonnie’s room smells just like she does. It’s a sweet scent, but not overpowering, and I find myself longing for more of it, as though it would be perfectly wonderful to dive into her bed and inhale everything her body has left behind.

Concentrate. This isn’t about the good stuff. I’m after something rotten, and probably also disturbing to me. There’s no way I’m going to like what I discover, but I need to look for it anyway. I don’t like being in the dark.

I flip on the light switch, looking around the bedroom. My eyes linger on the red silk sheets that are still messy from the last time she laid in them. I can see the dainty outline of her body, and the way that she squeezes her pillow when she sleeps.

When she slept in my bed, she held me in much the same way, like she’d fall off the bed if she let go. It was cute, in a way I never thought I think of a woman.

Either it was my father’s misogyny or the fact that I’ve always been hungry for dominance that never allowed me to see the innocent side of women. They’ve always been something to conquer, to own and possess like trophies.

But Bonnie, she’s like the prize that I feel guilty for having, the one that I feel the need to set free… if it weren’t for my jealousy at the thought of her leaving. She’d find someone else, someone who wasn’t a beast of a man with a tendency of getting himself in trouble.

She needs someone better, really, and I know that. It’s why I’m searching for clues of the demonic nature I know from women. I’m so desperate to paint Bonnie with the same brush, to cast her into the bin with every other woman who has wronged me.

And so, my search begins. I start it in a calm way, trying to be quiet and sneaky despite the fact that I know Bonnie won’t be back from the sauna for at least another half hour. She only just arrived.

The first place I search are the drawers, sifting through lace panties and letting my fingers stay on the fabric for seconds longer than they should. I feel like a pervert, going through her stuff, but I remind myself there’s a good reason for it, even if it makes my cock stiff in my pants.

I’m on a mission, and it’s not just to touch her personal belongings. There’s something else for me here, something I doubt I’ll enjoy quite as much as a woman’s personal belongings.

The first discovery isn’t unexpected. My fingers close around a cheap plastic phone in her bottom drawer. She could’ve taken more precaution when hiding things, but I think she’s starting to trust me. It makes me feel a little guilt when I flip the phone open to check her messages.

They’re empty.

Interesting. She’s probably just making calls, then, but who is she talking to, and when?

Does she pull the phone from under her pillow late at night, whispering naughty things through the mouthpiece to a man on the other side? Or is she deleting the messages as she sends them, hiding the lude images of her body as she masturbates for someone else?

I must be fucking crazy, thinking she could possibly doing any of those things, but I need to know. It’s not like she’s calling the cops or anything. She knows that would only result in the death of more people, including herself. She’s not innocent.

Well, neither am I, but I make no attempts to hide it. I’m the one who killed a man right in front of her, and while I should regret it, I don’t. I’m the bad guy, and that’s the way it must always be.

I thumb through Bonnie’s not-so-secret phone, coming to the phone calls. As I expected, there aren’t any 9-1-1 calls, but there are a whole bunch to the same number. I hope it’s a landline, because I’m about to pay whoever the fuck that is a visit.

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