Page 1 of Tormented Heir

1

DIMITRI

SAN FRANCISCO

Two months ago

The man in front of me is begging. Crying. Snot running down his face. The woman next to him is silent, her eyes dry.

No one can hear his screams and his exhorting me to spare him. We are in the basement underneath my club, and the music from the bars and clubs up and down this street drown it all out. For extra security the place is soundproofed too.

“You see your wife?” I say to the man. “This is how you meet your end with dignity.”

She sucks in a breath, and her lips quiver, but still no sobs. No entreaties to let her live.

They’ve been stealing from us. From my stepfather to be precise.

No one can steal from the head of the Californian arm of the Bratva and expect to walk away unharmed. Jacob Rudenko isn’t here. He leaves the policing of his operation to me, his son. I may not be by blood, but I am by every other measure.

Legally too, as Jacob married my mother and adopted me so we could have a home in this country.

I will do anything for him. He is to me what my biological father never was: a father figure.

The wife lifts her chin and looks right at me. She’s hot. Older than me, maybe in her early forties, and sexy. Her eyes are large and dark, with gold flecks in them the color of the brandy in my glass.

I think it’s her bravery and defiance that have me hard.

“Let me live, and I’ll make sure you don’t regret it,” she says, licking her lips.

I glance at the men next to me, and they smirk.

Her husband’s face turns deep red. “You’re offering yourself to him? You fucking whore!”

She turns her face to stare at him dispassionately. “Why should I die for your sins? I didn’t steal from the Pakhan; you did. Why? To buy furs and jewels for your mistress. I don’t give a fuck what they do to you.” Then, bold as brass, she lets her gaze rake up and down my body. “Anyway, darling.” She smiles at her husband. “It won’t be a hardship. It will be like driving a Ferrari after spending years driving a clapped out old banger.”

Her husband shouts a string of profanities at her, but she doesn’t seem to be listening.

She turns back to me. “Let me live, and I’ll show you the best time.”

Her husband’s face twists into outright hate. Then fear, and then finally, a kind of dismayed defeat. He deflates like a balloon right in front of me, and the red-cheeked anger becomes pale-faced horror.

It’s that horror that makes my mind up. This isn’t usually my kind of thing, but the chance to really screw him up is far too tempting. Plus, it can’t harm my reputation if this gets out. Fuck over the Rudenkos and not only will you probably die, but Dimitri Baranov, their feared enforcer, will fuck your wife too.

I bite back my smile and watch him trying to process the offer his wife has made me.

This man deserves to suffer before he dies. He can’t move. His ankles are tied, and his arms are fastened, wrists behind the chair. He’s a captive audience.

My dick twitches. This is turning out to be way more fun than I’d imagined. I turn to my two guards. “Leave us.”

They frown. “But, boss,” one of them begins.

“Fuck off.” I jerk my chin toward the door.

The guard’s frown deepens, but he shrugs. He’s as wide as the door and must turn sideways to fit through it. His brains are as dense as his body, but he puts the fear of God into people, and that’s what he’s useful for.

The two guards close the door behind them, leaving me alone in the room with the husband and wife.

The husband is shit out of luck. Partly because he stole from us, but also because he reminds me of my previous stepfather. A man I couldn’t stand because of the way he treated Mamma.

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