Page 58 of Brutal Promise

I shudder one last time before pulling out. I walk to the bathroom and grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water. I return to find her lying under the sheets, but I pull them back to wipe cum off her thighs.

“Good night.” I drop a kiss on her lips.

“You’re not staying?” Her sleepy voice sucks me in, but I have work to do.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I lie. I’m going to stay up and work. Besides, she’ll be asleep in no time.

I text my brother and learn the jet will be here first thing in the morning. I pour myself a vodka and use my laptop to cross-reference Moretti’s daughter, Martina, with Izzy.

I’d swear Izzy belongs to the Morettis. However, Martina passed away before Izzy’s birth. She was nineteen years old and died in a car accident in NYC. It must have been a bad accident because it was a closed casket. The funeral was held at a catholic church in the city. A brief obituary appeared in theNYC Timesnewspaper. After that, there was always tension between the Italians and the Russians.

It’s odd how the names don’t match, but speaking from experience, fake news reports can be bought. What is Santino up to? By all accounts, he has a son to take over after his demise. What happened between the two families that could not be fixed with a simple sit-down? When the Italians used Kirill’s mother to patch things up with the Russians, it only managed to stop the bleeding. It didn’t mend the wound.

I wonder why Alexsei isn’t more visible. There aren’t any pictures of him online, and information on where he went to school isn’t public. It’s safer living away from the spotlight, so is he trying to fly under the radar, or is he a recluse?

This is not unusual. The bratva men do not like to be in the media. They are a stark comparison to the Sicilians who run their side of New York City and are known to be flashy and vocal. You don’t have to be part of the mob to know about the Gambino crime family and the Teflon Don.

Looking at online images of Alexsei’s wife, Llea, it’s evident from her frozen face and puffy lips that she overdid it on the Botox and fillers. She’s had so much work done on her face that she could go into witness protection. Born in Russia fifty-five years ago, she dresses impeccably. She throws fundraisers to raise money to help inner-city youth. Ironic considering she’s part of the reason inner-city neighborhoods are riddled with drugs.

Sure, if we don’t supply the drugs, someone else will. The drug of choice is constantly changing. Twenty-five years ago, cocaine was big, and today it’s heroin. Europe is making coke popular again, but cheaper drugs like meth and fentanyl can be made rather than imported, keeping down our costs.

I down my vodka and close the laptop, disappointed I could not make a concrete connection between Izzy and the Moretti family. I’m not giving up. Merely shelving it for another day.

Tomorrow will be a long flight. The fact that Nikolay sent the jet is a generous gesture. Maybe he is excited about gaining a sister-in-law.

I turn out the lights, check the door, and ask Anton if the building is secure. Confident we’re fine for the night, I call Kirill.

He answers on the first ring. “What’s up? I saw you on TV. That’s amazing.”

“I hope it works, for now. I need to buy time to figure this out.”

“I have men watching the airport tomorrow. They’re new to the organization, and no one will recognize them. I have a contact who can get me a list of the passengers.”

“Sounds good, but considering how easy it is to get a fake ID, it’s better to have boots on the ground. A fake driver’s license is expensive, but anyone with the money will gladly pay whatever it takes to avoid leaving a trail.”

“Okay, keep me in the loop and text me when you are home.”

“Will do.”

I’ll leave my gun here, and Anton will dispose of it for me. The jet will have weapons for me in the baggage hold.

I crawl into bed next to Izzy and lie there, unable to shut down my overactive brain. I sigh, eyes wide open. I end up staring at the ceiling. I roll over, drape my arm around Izzy, and cup her breast.Fuck, I want to take her again. My cock twitches behind her silky soft buttocks. I resist the urge to fuck her and will my boner to go down. Izzy needs to sleep without interruption once in a while. I’m so screwed. How can I be expected to sleep beside her every night and not fuck her? My blue balls ache, and I wonder if she would be mad if I woke her.

A good fuck always relaxes the body. I’m sure it would help me sleep. However, I don’t want her to think I’m a Neanderthal and stick to my original decision to leave her alone. Closing my eyes, I imagine my new home in London with Izzy. I smile, knowing she’ll love it.

21

IZZY

Dmitry is dressed in tight jeans and a pullover that hugs his broad chest. He hands me a cup of cappuccino. I pull myself into a sitting position before I take the cup from him.

“Thank you. What time did you come to bed?”

“A few hours after you, why?”

“No reason, just curious.”

“Did you miss me?” He strokes his freshly shaved jaw with the back of his fingers. There’s a hint of mischief in his salacious grin.

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