Page 64 of Koroleva

I observed Andrey’s strong perfile as he walked into the bar

I had been doing so since the day I saw him leaning on the bar. At first, I didn’t know who he was, although I knew he wasn’t a regular. I would have noticed. Oh, I definitely would have noticed! I might even have hit on him if it weren’t for the fact that he was with another guy and because Dante told me he came in just seconds after a stunning blonde with whom the boss had been spending quite a while in the warehouse.

I added two and two, and it equaled Koroleva.

R flipped out when he realized that his future little wife came to the bar to hook up with one of his men the day before their wedding.

I discreetly glanced again at the profile before we approached the bar to talk to Dante.

The bastard looked like a double of Matthew Noszka, only with slightly darker, short hair, and that cleft chin. I was sure the Marbella sun would lighten it; I've always had a thing for blonds.

What caught my attention was that he never smiled, despite having very white and well-cared-for teeth. He also didn't speak much; it was hard to hear his voice with a deep Soviet accent that really raised my flag. He just kept his dark, liquid caramel gaze sweeping over everything and everyone.

When Romeo informed me that we would have to make room for him in our home along with his men, I tensed up thinking about the room distribution, as they would have to share them with us.

"I want him in your room," Romeo announced in a tone that brooked no argument. "Each of his men will sleep with one of ours, and you will be his fucking shadow. Don't give me the excuse that you sleep in a double bed because I will split your bed in two. I don’t care if I have to change the furniture. I want you glued to his ass 24 hours a day."

As if I wouldn’t want to be on the Russian’s ass.

That order was a fucking nightmare. Because I wasn’t going to tell my boss how much I was attracted to him. I know Romeo wouldn’t give three fucks about my sexual orientation. But being gay in a house full of guys who work for the mafia, where you have to kill before asking questions and being straight was assumed, wasn’t something I found amusing.

I socialized just enough with my colleagues, and I slept with guys who had nothing to do with the organization. I kept my sexual life separate from my work life, and so far, it had served me well. I was a killer, a torturer, an enforcer, and the right-hand man of Romeo Capuleto, the upcoming ‘Ndrangheta boss on the Costa del Sol. It’s not like a beautiful family life fit into my modus vivendi anyway. Serious relationships were out of my future.

If it itched, I scratched. Period. And now I had that torture sleeping in my bed every night.

When I showed him where he would be staying and he set his eyes on the wide double bed, I expected a "you're crazy, I'm going to the couch," or a "I'd rather sleep on the floor than share a mattress with you." I was wrong. He maintained that stony expression and simply asked which side was his.

The damn Soviet accent made my balls bounce, imagining him naked on top of me, panting like a psychopath over the black sheets. I expelled the image and told him to choose whatever side he wanted, as I wasn't left or right, I usually lay in the middle, so he could choose. I left him there and took off before he noticed that my pants were starting to tighten uncomfortably.

The adaptation was not being easy. Not because of the language, luckily, Koroleva's men spoke decent enough Spanish, as well as English and Russian. Nor because they were messy or dirty guys. On the contrary, they were rather clean and quiet. The problem was that they had put the enemy in our house, in our ranks. We were always told they were from the opposing team and now they were making us play the game with them and share locker rooms.

Romeo asked me to extract information from him, to stick to him like glue and find out his wife's intentions. At least he wasn’t blinded by the blonde's beauty. I also felt that Koroleva was not all wheat and no chaff, and that if she had agreed to the marriage, it was for some reason we did not know. I just hoped we'd discover it before it blew up in our faces.

The bar was packed. Dante was very busy, so he told us to have a drink while he served the others.

The first step was to get Andrey drunk, so that he would loosen his tongue without it affecting me. That's why I arranged with Dante that he would serve him vodka and me water. The Russians were known to hold their alcohol well and I needed a clear mind.

"To us," I raised my glass and clinked it against his. He tilted his head in acknowledgment and drank.

The shots kept coming until half a bottle was gone. I tried to strike up a cordial conversation, asking him about his past and his entry into the Korolev family.

He let slip small tidbits that hinted he would give his life for Nikita.

He was wearing the tank top that drove me wild and that he used for sleeping.

When Romeo called, we were in bed, so he just put on some jeans and laced up his military boots as soon as I told him we had to go to the bar to talk to Dante.

I parked my gaze on the necklace he never took off his neck, reminding him that he almost lost his life on the battlefield. He had some scars on his arms from shrapnel. That also appealed to me because it added a certain ruggedness that attracted me.

At night, he would go to bed before me. I usually waited an hour to enter with the light off and ignore his image among my sheets. It got too hard for me to sense him sleeping next to me, with that well-defined mouth and his scent of cleanliness.

I would wake up so aroused that I had to go out for a run and hit the punching bag, followed by a very cold shower before seeing him at breakfast.

"Do you know what Dante wants to tell us?" he asked, bringing the new shot to his mouth.

"No."

"Is it about Wednesday?" He was referring to the day of the shower that I couldn’t erase from my brain.

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