Page 30 of Brutal Promise

“Oh, that shit is for emergencies. Why don’t you two figure out what we want to eat for dinner? It’s getting late, and I think we should stay in. I’ll have my man, Anton, pick it up, but I’ll call in the order. Don’t use your phones.”

“Speaking of phones, I need to check them,” Dmitry says.

I open my mouth to protest, but hisdon’t fuck with melook makes me close it. Alena and I fetch our purses and bring them back to the table. I hand Dmitry my phone, and my fingers graze his. Like before, I feel a bolt of lightning, and goosebumps pepper my arms.

Dmitry pulls the cases off our phones, and Kirill runs a gadget over them. One more first to add to a surreal day.

“Clean.”

Our phones are returned.

Alena uses her phone to look up local eateries. I sit down next to Dmitry and stare at his profile. He’s the most intense person I’ve ever met and the only person I can count on to save me from the darkness that threatens to swallow me like quicksand. He’s also the only person I’d follow into the abyss if he told me I’d be safe. I know he’s not safe. He stabbed a man’s hand, shot a man dead and choked the life out of another. Who else has he killed?

“I think you guys are going about this the wrong way,” I speak confidently even though I’m not one to draw attention to myself. These guys can be intimidating, given the amount of testosterone between them. And they’re big. If they were any bigger, I’d suspect them of juicing with steroids.

Dmitry looks my way and cocks an eyebrow. He crosses his arms and leans back against the wooden dining room chair. His stillness makes me nervous, and my knee bounces under the table. He’s a statue as he waits for me to speak. His dark eyes lock on mine. Experience tells me mine are turning dark, like a storm on the ocean. My eyes always turn a dark blue when I’m excited, especially when it’s sexual.

“What do you mean?” His warm voice soothes me like a hypnotist, and I find myself free-falling into his smoldering eyes.

Even with clothes on, Dmitry is the embodiment of a perfect male specimen. Naked, he’s even more perfect, but that’s because he makes me feel like a horny teenager. I should be running from him. I’m in over my head with zero street smarts and no criminal experience. And as far as sex is concerned, nothing before him is noteworthy.

Dmitry is a wet dream and a savvy business mogul whether he’s in the bedroom or the boardroom. This man is on the chessboard of life, playing two moves ahead of his opponents. I hope he has an unbeatable track record because someone wants me. In fact, it might be more than one person. What did my mother do? Did she lie to me? And if she did, was it to keep me safe?

12

DMITRY

“Why not consider who has the most to gain if the Russian and Italian alliance doesn’t go through? If history repeats, the Russians and Italians will be at each other’s throats. Who would benefit from that happening?” Izzy asks, putting an elbow on the table and glancing at Kirill.

She could have been killed today, and that scares the shit out of me.

“All the other mafia families would benefit if the Russians went to war with the Italians.”

Damn, my arm is burning, and I’m tired of sitting.

“That’s right. Because our fighting will take up too many resources,” Kirill says. “The heat will be on us. The others would exploit it.”

“Why don’t you and the Italians get along?” Izzy asks, sending a quizzical look to Kirill.

Curiosity killed the cat. Maybe she’s testing the theory on the belief that they have nine lives. It’s a funny American saying, but nonetheless, everyone seems to love it.

In the past, women and children were off limits when retaliating between rivals, but it’s no longer a code that’s followed. If someone wants to get at my family, they can. That’s why we keep the names of the head of the mafia confined to our top two men. There might be rumors, but soldiers will never hear our names from a Brigadier’s mouth. It’s a level of security we maintain to protect ourselves.

Kirill thinks it would be a good idea for Izzy's protection if I married her. My name is known by all the European rivals and the dons in the States, many of whom we do deals with to keep products moving. We’ve expanded over the years, and sometimes we include other mafias in our deals.

I’ve never been able to trust Italians after what happened with Polina. It all started at a bar with some Italian talking shit to her. Things got heated, and Polina wanted to leave. We went outside, and the idiot followed, pulling out a switchblade. It was game on, and he ended up on the wrong end of a knife—my knife. I didn’t know that hispaisanohad snuck up behind Polina and slit her throat as retribution. When I saw her on the ground, there was nothing I could do to help her. The cops were on the way, and I had to leave her there, bleeding out. I never want to lose another woman like that.

I did what I thought was best for the Volkov family that night and killed the man responsible for taking her life. A message had to be delivered, and since that day, I have avoided places we don’t own. We survive by trusting no one, which means everyone is an outsider, non-bratva members, especially Italians, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t know why I had to have Izzy last night. She’s so damn perfect that I couldn’t help myself. It’s been a long time since I made love to someone. I’d sayfucking, but with Izzy, it’s special.

I’m not sure why I have this fascination for her. Somehow, she ticks all the boxes. I love looking at her when she’s sleeping and dancing, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Even now, I want to fuck her beautiful lips and have her swallow my cum.

We left the club thinking we were going home just to fuck. Only once we got into bed, I take my time with her, running my hands down her body and kissing her soft breasts, making her nipples stiffen under the slight brush of my hand. It thrilled me to no end to see her excitement build. She stirred emotions in me to a depth I’ve never known. I’m too possessive for her to ever be with anyone else. My cock marked her. It’s no different than if I branded her arm.

“The Irish have always been a pain in the ass, but the Albanians, now there’s a ruthless bunch.” Kirill pushes his chair back and stands. “The Albanians are moving more drugs today than ever before. They used to stick to guns and human trafficking. The landscape is continually changing,” he says as he begins pacing, probably to stretch his legs. We’ve all been sitting for over an hour.

My mind drifts back to Izzy, and I’m balls-deep in the mystery surrounding her when all I want to do is be balls-deep in her. I can’t wait to sink my cock into her again. Even now, she’s making me hard. I fight off the memory of her moaning under me last night to focus on what Kirill is saying about Santino Moretti.

I’ve heard of Santino. He was born in Sicily and moved to the States as a kid. The tradition of treating women as less than human continues in the land of opportunity. Sicilian women are expected to cook, clean, and breed, not give their opinion. They get knocked around by their man and get told to walk behind him, not beside him.

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