Page 2 of Arranged Marriage By the Bratva

The air always smells sweeter on the French Riveria, off the coast of Monaco, and it’s about as sweet as all these bare perky asses on our mega yacht.

Whoever said you can’t mix business and pleasure didn’t have a fun-size pair of tits dangling in their face. It’s a sultry evening on the Riveria, and the bass of the house music thumps through my chest, making me want to dance. The boat DJ is performing perfectly, and the intermittent lights lining the underside of the boat are a nice touch.

Carlotta, the beautiful bronze-skinned beauty on my lap is hot, much like all the other models, influencers, and thirsty opportunists sitting on my associates’ laps, but they’re all for entertainment purposes. By nightfall, I will have whet my sexual appetite with her two or three times over, offering her multiple orgasms, but nothing of the steel cavern that is my heart.

I rake a hand through my sandy hair, observing in amusement as she purses her botoxed lips together, sipping the wheat-colored liquid. “Enjoying your night, sweetheart?” I ask silkily, stroking her back. Her bright blue eyes stare back at me with a twinkle in them.

“I sure am.” Often when I attend such meetings, I wear the same thing. A crisp white-collar shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and sure, maybe a button or two undone for good measure.

“Good, good,” I reply as her manicured fingernail lands on my forearm. I flex it, wanting to show off a little for my lovely plaything. Common for me. Grinning, I keep flexing as she circles my tattoos.

“What’s this one for?” she whispers, pointing to the three skulls and the head of a cat.

Yegor, who overhears the question quirks an eyebrow, giving the young beauty a croaky grin.

“Good fucking question, Carlotta. What are those tattoos for?” Yegor, my right-hand man taunts. He knows exactly what they are for, the fucker.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you later,” I reply, not wanting to disturb the harmony amongst my business associates for the evening. Both the tattoos are Bratva related, the cat for more cunning, stealthy nature. I’m always a step ahead of my enemies and competition. The other three skulls are for shooting a few bad men in the head execution style. Mind you, I didn’t have all the skulls on my forearm, there were a few more on my back, but those were hidden from public view.

She giggles, none the wiser as I smile in her face. “Oh,” she says, putting a hand to her mouth, “a secret. I like that. Yep, tell me later.”

Yegor laughs as I swirl the remaining contents of one of Russia’s premium luxury vodka brands. “Alan, what do you think of this one? We can match it. Apparently, it’s been filtered over real diamonds, but I think that’s a gimmick,” I scoff to my American business associate.

“Yep, it has. It’s in the top ten of luxury vodka brands in the world, and if we want to stand a chance in the market, we have to be able to compete.”

“Yah, yah, but what do you think of it?” I press, letting the smooth burn scorch my throat.

“It’s smooth, but it’s still got an afterburn. The thing is we’ve got bigger problems than this afterburn.”

I turn my head a little more to look at him, side-eyeing him with curiosity. “What problem is that? Tell me, so I can eliminate it.”

“You and I both know we’re not going to be able to get this off the ground as long as those damn Mancinis are alive,” he grits through his teeth, his eyes darting around.

He’s right, but he’s wrong. The Mancinis do have a chokehold on part of the industry, but not all of it. “You mean because they control the lemon trade?”

Alan nods vehemently. “Fucking right. The lemon trade. If we want to branch out with new flavors and really expand and bring a different flavor into the mix, it’s going to impact us.”

I tap Yegor on the bicep, laughing at Alan’s fear. “Fuck that, Alan.” I turn my attention to the model on my lap who is listening to the ping-pong of conversation intently. “Sweetheart, cover your ears if you’re sensitive.”

Yegor roars in laughter as Carlotta stares back at me with a grin. “I’m not. I like danger.”

Winking at her, I respond to an exasperated Alan. “Their last don died. Before that we killed them both. The Mancini bloodline is about to disappear. This is precisely why it’s the perfect time to jump into the business. You see?” Holding my arms out wide, I’m confident and maybe a little too cocksure about the venture, but if you ask me, it’s a fucking no-brainer.

Casper who’s sitting a stone’s throw away and filling his face with hors d’oeuvres starts chuckling and shaking his head. “Nikk, I admire your balls, but the Mancinis are not going anywhere. No, no, no, not while Donna still lives.”

And I chuckle right back, draining the last nip of vodka. Yegor taps my thigh with a sneer as he says the word “Donna.” A fucking woman leading the Cosa Nostra. No fucking way in hell is that happening in the world of the Bratva.

“Well, no prima Donna is going to fuck up our operation, that’s certain. What the hell is a Donna anyway? Who the fuck made this shit up? Stupid Sicilians.” I hitch my shoulders in mock exasperation as Yegor’s eyebrows knit together, and he tries to hold in his laughter. “The only thing a woman should be doing is taking orders from me.”

“Yes, I agree. She should be a loyal, submissive wife if she wants in with the Bratva long term. No woman can withstand being in the Mafia. They’re weak little lambs, and it’s not the place for them. At all,” Yegor explains, echoing my sentiments.

Casper stops chewing, sitting back on the soft, all-white sofa, nodding his head in the direction of the onboarding plank. “Speak of the devil. I told you so.”

Turning my head to the direction of the entrance, I notice her legs first, because one of her shapely calves is visible from under her snow white, curve-hugging designer dress. Her physique is athletic, and there’s plenty to admire. Holding those beautiful legs up are a pair of black stilettos.

Fuck me. I could watch her all night. Her hair is sleeked back in a long brunette ponytail, her warm brown eyes full of promise. I adjust myself in my seat. She’s got my cock tingling in the best way.

There’s a sexy split in her dress. It’s not too high, but it’s enough to keep her audience of two wealthy businessmen captivated. Her smooth, deep olive tan sparkles as my eyes travel up to her round perky ass and carved out waist. I do nothing to hide my admiration and lust. I can feel Carlotta becoming miffed by my interest in her, but I don’t give a fuck. She knows her place; she’s only here for a good time in the first place.

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