Page 46 of Brutal Promise

“Right?” She snickers.

“I don’t even want to think about how much we spent.”

“Don’t. As they say, you have to dress to impress,” she points out as the vehicle pulls into traffic and crawls through the crowded city streets. I don’t even own a car, parking is a bitch, and the cost of going over a bridge is highway robbery.

My phone pings, alerting me to a text.

Dmitry:How’s your day going?

Me:Good. You?

Dmitry:Fine. We’re going out to dinner tonight, just us. Eight p.m. Be ready.

Me:Fine.

“Let me guess, that’s the dashing Russian. I heard he’s as cold-blooded as a Siberian winter with his personality, but I imagine he’s hot as a brick oven in bed,” Alena teases.

“Hm. Well, he’s hot as Hades in the bedroom. And he has the longest dick I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve been with that many men, but I did watch Sex/Life streaming on TV. He’s like, that big.”

Alena’s jaw drops with a glint of envy in her eyes.

“I’m getting an education today. Holy fuck. Tell me more.”

“He’s very… demanding.”

“You’ve got the hots for each other.” She rubs her palms together, excited for me.

“Doubtful. We’re practically strangers. Plus, it’s a forced marriage, and I have no interest in going to Russia.”

“It’s kinda exciting, isn’t it? The dashing stranger with the big dick who knows how to use it.”

“Yes and no. I like that he’s very perceptive about people. But he scares me because I think he knows me better than I know myself.”

“I just hope the person I’m forced to marry is nice,” she says.

“Given what I’ve heard about the Morettis, I imagine the men bring that mean shit home, huh?”

“I don’t know what comes first. Do they start off violent or become violent? Lots of mafias started as street gangs. When the gangs form alliances with other families, they become a mafia. By sticking together and getting organized, they make more money. Along came RICO, and they diversified into money laundering and investing.”

“Yeah, real estate, shell companies, and legit businesses.”

I look out the window, and the plight of the homeless people on the street doesn’t go unnoticed. I could be out there. Maybe my mother was homeless at some point. I may never know what she lived through as a single mom. She was probably alone and scared, raising me by herself.

We were very close and did simple things for fun. I wonder what happened to her in New York. Was her death an accident or intentional? I may never know. Years have passed, and technology and forensics back then were primitive compared to what they are today.

The vehicle stops abruptly, and one guard opens the door and beckons that it’s safe to exit. The other guard opens the door to a nearby store, and we make the dash inside. This one is dedicated to outerwear, so it’s easy to pick out a trench coat and purchase shoes for every occasion. My weakness is my love of boots. I throw a few pairs in for me, then feel guilty about the added expense.

“Don’t be silly. He wants you to have nice things,” Alena says as we check out.

“Oh, by the way, I’m trying to get Dmitry to agree to a verbal contract. Y’know, I think we need some boundaries and to discuss our expectations.”

“If he does that, you’re ahead of the game. Arranged marriages are for alliances or to buy peace. And even those are done with a handshake. The less paperwork that can incriminate everyone, the better. You won’t find contracts. Everything rests on a person's word.”

“I never thought about that.”

We leave digital footprints everywhere. Hell, there’s probably a tracking chip in my underwear. How would I know?

We pile back into the vehicle and head to a late lunch at a place Alena suggests. As soon as we walk in, I can see that it’s upscale, so I’m glad to be dressed appropriately. There are white starched tablecloths on the tables and a quaint bar with dark wood that looks like it’s been here for a hundred years.

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