Page 34 of Vasily the Hammer

“Vasily,” she moans as I collapse over her, our sweat-slicked bodies fusing together as her cunt continues to milk me to the point it starts to hurt, but I don’t give a fuck. Her body is jelly beneath me, completely boneless, her arm and leg flung off the side of the sofa because she can no longer hold me. “Vasily, your phone.”

It’s only then that I hear it too.

“Let it go,” I grumble, more concerned with whether I need to get off her or if the sofa has enough give in it that I won’t crush her to death.

“It keeps ringing. You gotta answer it.”

“Nooooo,” I whine, although I reach for it.

Kind of.

Ana may be jelly, but I’m feeling more like molasses.

A great, monstrous sound rumbles out of me as I roll off her, nearly fall off the edge of the sofa, toss her over me, and slide more securely onto the sofa so I can throw my arm over the coffee table to grab my phone. Ana, to her credit, starts to grind on me like her pussy didn’t just suck the life out of me.

I’ll probably drag her down to the office after this phone call and make her put on a show. If I drag it out enough, I might be able to resurrect my dick again for her.

“Fuck,” I mutter when I see the name on my phone. Benedetti. The very idea of talking to her while I’m slick with Ana’s cum churnsmy stomach. No honest explanation of Benedetti will make Ana happy. But I answer the call just to stop the buzzing. “Make it quick.”

“I’m in the silo. You need to get your ass over here.”

At least her tone is abrasive enough that nothing Ana hears will have her questioning if Benedetti and I have fucked. “Nah, I’ll send—” Shit. I sent Vlad, one of my guys from the old Flagstaff brigade, back to the home town when I first found out about the issues happening there. When I talked to Kseniya, I sent Janson, too. With his FBI background, I figured he’d be good to investigate what happened to Alex.

If Alex is dead, it’s going to be a bloodbath.

“Kostya’s back in town. Get him.”

“He’s already here, and I think he’s going to kill this guy. If he does, he’s going to start a war with the Mafia. You need to get here, Vasily. Before it gets ugly.”

“This better be good,” I snarl at Benedetti as I storm through the warehouse at the silo, rolling up my sleeves as much in preparation for acts of violence as to hide the fact that I’m rumpled from head to toe. I should have been in the office today. As much as I answer to no one anymore— the closest I have to a boss is a loose network of other Bratvapakhansand allies at the top of their pyramids in their respective regions— I’ve given my entire life to building this empire. I work every single day. Even if I didn’t, it’s Tuesday.

Everyone works on Tuesday.

I threw on the first components to a work suit I laid my hands on, not even an undershirt or briefs, and then spent the drivewishing I’d hopped in the shower for the thirty seconds it would have taken to soap up. I reek of sex.

Pretty sure that’s the widening of Benedetti’s eyes once I breeze past her, but she scurries after me as I head into the storage closet.

And then through the secret door in the storage closet.

The work room behind it is cliché as fuck, all exposed ducts and concrete walls and a single lightbulb bright enough to blind the sun hanging down in the center of the room, the shell around it narrow enough to make a spotlight of it, casting all but the chair directly beneath it in shadows.

On that chair sits a man I’ve never seen before, but he reeks as strongly of Mafia as I do sweat and Ana’s pussy. And despite having been here the half hour it took me to get here plus however long Kostya and Benedetti were here with him before that, he’s in better shape than I am.

“Who the fuck is this asshole?”

“Angelo Fiorini,” Benedetti says before he can answer for himself. “My second cousin.”

I wheel around on her. I hadn’t really looked at her before, it wasn’t something I was thinking about, but now I notice that as much as I’m rough around the edges, the bigger shocker here is the fact that she’s in civvies. Comfy leggings, a plain tee-shirt, a thin knit cardigan covering her arms. She’s in hiking shoes, and they’re actually scuffed and dingy like they’ve touched real dirt and not just gym and sidewalk.

Her hair is in a clip atop her head, big lazy curls flopping out of it. Huh. She always has her hair straight or pulled back in a face-lift bun. She’s not as tall as I’d imagined she’d be in flats either, and she has freckles, thin lips, and no eyebrowsto speak of.

Huh.

But plainclothes Benedetti doesn’t excuse this.

“Did you call me here to save your goddamn cousin?”

“Fuck no! Guy’s a mook. Pain in my fucking ass. You kill him after this, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

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