Page 6 of King’s Promise

3

Nikolay

Ican’t refrain from checking out my soon-to-be wife’s curvy ass as she walks to the sink for my glass of water. Little Anya has turned into a woman, a pretty one at that. With each step, her heels click on the tile, but I’m more interested in how her designer shoes lift her butt cheeks, filling out her tight-fitting jeans. Judging from her sexy off-the-rack sweater, her father kept her on a meager clothing allowance, and most of it was spent on footwear. Maybe she’s not against our union as I assumed. Why else would she dress like this? I wonder if she remembers me.

My cock twitches in my pants. She’s sexy as fuck; my possessive growl is ready to erupt. I can’t wait to sink my cock in her. She’s mine. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll soon be begging me to fuck her. Her honey-colored hair bounces behind her as she returns. I stifle a groan. It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes above her voluptuous tits when she turns around.

She must be aware of her effect on men. Why else would she wear a sweater showing cleavage and a bare shoulder? I observe how the color of it sets off her perfect, porcelain white skin; her rounded breasts on display. When she bends over to set the water on the table, thoughts of what I’d do to her set my imagination on fire. I can’t wait to be sucking and nipping on her breasts and pussy. I won’t be satisfied until she moans with pleasure under me. I envision myself coming over her breasts before I lick her pussy, reveling in her sweet juices. I’ll relish the day she screams my name when she orgasms.

I chuckle at the gun she’s stashed under a fashion magazine on the table and having grabbed it, admire the fact it’s been tricked out. A stealthy, reliable revolver with two barrels. She doesn’t impress me as na woman who would own a gun so I assume it’s her father’s and she has it for protection.

“So?” Her eyes grow wide as I hold her back up plan in my capable hands. She sits in a chair across from me, crossing one long leg over the other before nervously bouncing her foot faster and faster. The rhythm of her movement and my excited cock remind me I’m horny as hell, but I’m here on business. I never once considered the fact she might be drop dead gorgeous. It’s my duty to make sure neither of us get whacked as I take my place as the head of her father’s business before absorbing it into ours. It’s dangerous, not knowing if a takeover is being planned, but either way, there are bound to be some casualties.

Meanwhile, I place her gun on the table. “Nice piece.” She could easily pass as a young woman. I’m not so sure I trust her when she says she knows nothing of her father’s business. No doubt she can pull the trigger on a loaded gun. The girl has to know something in my opinion. We all pick up more than we realize as kids. Plus, it would’ve been prudent of her father to make sure all the women in the house learned how to use weapons for self-defense. But that’s just me, and I’m from a family of men.

“Thanks, it’s my father’s,” she replies before she realizes she’s using the present tense. His death hasn’t fully sunk in. “I guess it’s mine now,” she adds wistfully.

I pause, realizing we both lost a father this week, but I can’t get lost in the past. I buried my loss, it’s what is expected of me. There will time to mourn my loss later.

I take a few gulps of water to quench my thirst, but after I’ve drained the glass, I’m still thirsty. I’m in a quandary when I realize my real thirst won’t be satiated until we’re married, or I’ve fucked her. I’m sure the fucking will happen first. I have no desire to find her with another man. I assume she’s still a virgin, it’s hard to date when your family has your marriage arranged. And no doubt her father knew her every move. We didn’t find a digital footprint on her, and I assume she has few friends. I’ve seen enough over the years to know how difficult is it being a girl in a mafia family. She’s a commodity.

“I assume you have heard of our,” my voice is calm as I move my right hand through the air, “arrangement.”

“Yes, only this morning. It occurs to me you can be anyone sitting here. I need to see some ID.” Her eyes are stern but adamant.

“Mm,” I murmur, as I contemplate her request. Damn. She’s right I suppose. I’d be leery if I was a woman and my father was murdered, too. Granted, my father just passed in similar circumstances but because his was a supposed car accident, a hit and run driver and a shooting which was considered to be road rage, we were able to bury him without a long wait.

I’m impressed she’s thinking rationally when she’s obviously under stress. Her sense of self-preservation is refreshing. “Fine.” I stand, slip my coat off and hang it on the back of a metal chair reminiscent of a 50s diner with a modern spin. I reach into my back pocket and tug at my wallet and pull out my identification. I dangle my ID in front of her eyes filled with curiosity.

She slips her fingers round it, and I purposely hang onto it longer than I need to, causing our fingers to collide. A bolt of energy shoots up my arm, reminiscent of static electricity, but more powerful. Immediately, I release the card so she can take possession of it, and she holds it like a chalice between her fingers, reading every line.

“Satisfied?” I sit again.

She hands the ID back. “One can’t be too sure of anything these days. I knew Papa was into something when he started working longer hours. He was stressed. I never saw this coming.” She sinks back in her chair and moves her leg to the floor.

“I’m sorry for your loss. It appears my father might have been doing the same. He was buried this week as well. The purpose of our union is to hold the Bratvas together,” I state without emotion. “I have to focus on business no matter what emotional toll is laid at my feet; I’ve been trained to run it.”

She nods pensively.

Even though I accept death in our business, it’s never a good situation when our own have been taken. Granted I’m here to take over the Petrov Bratva with our men in London, having done joint ventures over the years, it’s not a stretch. It was mutually beneficial for years, and we let Igor have a larger presence here. It made sense to work together since we weren’t rivals. Papa knew Igor was in trouble when he got into bed with people offering him too much money to take a job as a CEO of an oil company, unfortunately, my father owned some of the shares in the same company. Igor got greedy as he grew older, and I wonder if my father did as well. Maybe we’ll find answers when Dmitry is done scanning both of their encrypted computers.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmurs.

“Do you have any idea who might be behind your father’s death?” I inquire to be polite.

“There is no way to know. He never shared work with us.” She shrugs. “I wish he said something.”

“He likely didn’t see it coming. It’s the best way to make a kill, keeping the element of surprise,” I add methodically and spin my empty glass on the table.

Her face stiffens. Perhaps I shared too much.

“Is that what you do?”

Her question catches me off guard.

I shift in my seat, move the empty glass away and fold my hands on the table. “I don’t discuss my work.” I give her a wry smile. “It’s for your protection, and mine. However, we need to show a united front. We’ll be wed in two weeks, at my estate here. It’s a wedding gift from my mother,” I add to entice her to accept. It’s certainly better than living here in the burbs. Her flat is livable, but her father was cheap because I know he could afford to give her more. This place is a dump compared to what I offer.

The Petrov coffers will strengthen the Volkov Bratva. Once we marry, we’ll be powerful and feared here as in Russia. Granted, I’ll have to relinquish some of Igor’s businesses, like the dubious oil company and anything else which may have had something to do with our dad’s death. I want nothing to do with it, or its owners. I could be on the kill list as I’m poised to take over so I will divest all the stock and hope it closes the door on old business, and any future bullets aimed for us.

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