Page 28 of Sinful Promise

ROMAN

How did I manage to pick the perfect pair of jeans for Dasha? I motion for her to board the plane ahead of me, my gaze on her curvy ass as she climbs the steep steps. The sight fills my mind with salacious thoughts. I’m such a bastard.

I’m greeted by the pilot. Overhead lights illuminate the spacious cabin. Dasha glances around and selects the leather seat closest to her.

“I’ll help you.” Leaning over, I buckle her seatbelt. My mouth hovers near her face, and electricity crackles between us.

I move away abruptly. I can’t let my guard down. She’s the enemy. However, I feel for her being alone and away from home, so I sit beside her. Alex enters last and sits to my left on the other side of the aisle.

I fasten my seatbelt for takeoff. Dasha tucks her long tresses behind her right ear and folds her hands in her lap. Nope, she’s never flown before. Fear rolls off her like sweat on a humid day. She nervously taps one foot on the carpeted floor.

She let her hair down hours ago. I quietly observe her with hooded eyes, so she won’t know I am watching her. I sit silently and pretend to be preoccupied with my phone, watching her shove bobby pins in her pocket. Maybe she thinks she might need to use them at some point on this journey. I imagine her handcuffed to my headboard, and my cock jerks. Why not? She is a willing captive. She was looking for a way out of her wedding, and I was looking for a way to exact revenge on her soon-to-be husband.

Arranged marriages are used to forge alliances, and the women are usually tucked away until needed. Dasha’s naïveté makes me believe she’s never been with a man before, and the fact that her eyes rove over me as if I’m the last man on a deserted island tells me she finds me attractive. She was shy when she changed clothes under her hideous wedding dress. A woman who’d been with more than one man wouldn’t be so modest. Hell, most of the women I’ve been with flaunt it, walking around in skimpy shorts and halter tops on foreign vacations. To them, their youth and toned bodies are meant to be enjoyed and appreciated. Their behavior is a respite from their everyday life, where they would be shunned for such transgressions.

Dasha is beautiful. Her high cheekbones and full lips are model quality. She should be dripping in diamonds—no, emeralds—to enhance her gorgeous green eyes.

The wedding dress she was wearing when we met hung off her. I assume she’s always dressed modestly. She wore socks and sneakers on her wedding day. Doesn’t she have a mother to help her dress? She’s all of twenty, if that. A mafia princess is usually pampered and sheltered from the prying eyes of enemies. The glimpse of her voluptuous white breasts gave me a hard-on. I doubt she’s ever had a tan, and I can’t wait to see her in a bikini. I imagine what it would be like to run my hand down her taut back and over her curvy ass. The thought brings to mind that it’s been a month since I’ve fucked anyone, and I’m long overdue. My cock twitches as I plan to deflower my enemy’s bride. She was sheltered and there is no way her father would let her have a boyfriend. I’ve been around women long enough to read the innocence in her eyes. She’s not used to sitting close to a man who isn’t a family member because her body language speaks volumes. She sneaks looks at me with hooded eyes.

I shouldn’t touch her. She’s been saved for my enemy, but fuck Ratmim. He took something that was mine, and I will take something of his. Besides, I can’t trust her. She’s not Russian. I remind myself that she’s a means to an end.

The captain interrupts to announce safety features. The overhead lights dim, the engines rumble, and the floor vibrates as we taxi down the runway.

Dasha grabs my hand, which is resting on the armrest between us. My breath catches in my throat. Her petite hand squeezes mine, causing me to look at her. Her once-rosy lips are pursed, and they are the color of a pale slice of watermelon. She wasn’t lying. It’s obvious she’s never flown.

“It will be fine,” I reassure her.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she replies, looking at me for reassurance as the plane jerks and moves ahead. With a powerful thrust, the plane’s nose is off the ground.

“There,” I say, “how was that?”

“My tummy tickled a bit, like driving over a road with an unexpected dip. It might have scared me more in daylight. I can’t imagine what it’s like to look at the world from up here.”

I chuckle. “I think you would enjoy it. There will be more opportunities.”

I’m surprised by my remark. I’m talking to her as if we’ve known each other for years. Why am I so at ease with her?

Seeing the world through her eyes amuses me. I was a child the first time I flew, and I am reliving that experience. The whole family was on an Aeroflot flight to England. My father acted as if it was nothing and told us boys never to show fear.

Back then, there was no service on an Aeroflot plane. If you smelled food cooking, it was the crew heating their meals. Nothing for the passengers. I remember an older man tried to bring his rooster on board, and when the crew said no live animals were allowed, he killed it and brought it anyway. Maybe that’s what I smelled cooking in the aft galley.

Dad acted as if it were nothing to board a commercial airliner to England.

Dasha nervously returns her hand to her lap. I liked holding her hand, and I didn’t mind reassuring her. Strangely, I’m used to these adventures. Now, I realize that I’ve taken them for granted.

We own many luxurious cars, and we have personal staff. We also own homes in foreign countries. We’ve managed to amass our billions steadily over the years. It takes a healthy chunk of rubles and Euros to keep it all going, another reason the stolen guns piss me off.

I never stop to think about how far the family has come from the little farmhouse in Úglich. Grandpa started the family business selling items to tourists in the big cities, magnets and nesting dolls and the like. He expanded his reach beyond our borders when the country changed. His connections afforded him the ability to join others who were selected to align with newly elected officials. Shortly after that, Dad took over the business and entered the real estate market, competing against his rival, Andrian Abramov.

Dad knew how to corner the market on luxury homes and gained more connections, and Andrian was stuck in Belarus with family when the world changed and wasn’t allowed back in. Igor rubbed elbows with new contacts in London and acquired shares in gas companies. Eventually, he brought Dad into the mix.

Dad was swayed by the incredible profits. He had no way of knowing that Igor had refused those company stocks at a loss to raise money for his cronies when called upon. He knew better than to refuse but was greedy when he should have been complicit.

We don’t know who set up the hit that came in the form of a deadly car accident. Dad never trusted large companies due to government involvement, and ultimately, he proved himself right. We divested ourselves of the stock after his death, and the rest is history, as they say. However, the money Dad made off that deal wasn’t worth his life. He and Igor should have given the government what it wanted. We can’t fight those above us. They own us like everyone else.

“It’s weird,” Dasha says, interrupting my thoughts. Her focus on the darkness outside the plane seems to calm her. “It’s night, and we’re flying through the sky.

“I don’t think about it much.”

---