You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 2) (4 page)

‘Drug dealing?’

‘I used to. I still have good contacts and I can arrange a major deal.’

‘Drugs kill people,’ I whisper.

He looks at me completely unrepentant or ashamed. ‘Drugs are not produced in Russia. I was just the middle-man. Find out who guards the opium fields in Afghanistan and South America then come and lecture me.’

I bite my lower lip. ‘So what did you do? Prostitution?’

‘That’s a great money making model, but it’s not for me. Too messy. I don’t like dealing with people and all their dependences, obsessions and compulsions. I like clean operations.’

I nod. Relieved. ‘What else did you do?’

‘Arms dealing.’

I suppress the frown that wants to knit my forehead. ‘Gun running?’

‘Not just guns. After the fall of communism there was a lot of government arsenal for sale. Long range missiles, tanks, submarines, everything.’  

‘Did you sell to the terrorists?’

‘Does the butcher care who buys his meat? I sold to the highest bidder, but I’ll tell you this: the greatest terrorists are governments since I mostly I sold to government-funded terrorists.’

‘If all this is in the past what do you do now?’

‘I specialize in cyber crime.’

‘What kind?’

‘We use sophisticated software to get around the security of banks and the credit card companies, take over their systems, and transfer money into thousands of different accounts that we control. We then move the money so fast and zigzag it through so many different continents it becomes impossible to track.’

I look at him doubtfully. ‘Really? Hackers get caught all the time.’

He shakes his head. ‘The media make a huge fuss over the handfuls of small time hackers operating from their parent’s basement that the authorities catch because they know they can never touch the real criminals. Banks will never reveal how much they are losing because if you knew how many billions are stolen every year by organized crime you would never keep your money in the bank.’

I clear my throat. ‘Is that what you are doing with Lenny?’

His face becomes suddenly stony. ‘I warned you before. Don’t get involved in my business, Dahlia. The less you know the safer I can keep you.’ 

A sudden fear drops into my stomach. I think of the elaborate security measures that are in place around him. ‘Even you’re not completely safe are you?’

‘It comes with the territory,’ he dismisses. ‘There is also someone who is ready to betray you, who wants what you have.’

‘Why did you chose this life? Constantly being on guard for your life and the threat of prison looming in the horizon.’

‘I didn’t have much of a choice.’

‘You told me once that ultimately everything is a choice. Some are more difficult than others to make, but it’s a choice nevertheless.

‘I had as little choice as you had when I used your sister as my bargaining chip,’ he says quietly.

I feel light headed. ‘What happened to you, Zane?’

Something flashes into his eyes and for an unguarded instant he looks haunted. ‘I don’t want to talk about the past,’ he mutters, and starts swimming away from me.

‘Why won’t you let me in, Aleksandr Malenkov?’

Aleksandr Malenkov

(Mama)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KmzFDEu2RoA

W
hen I wake up my whole body is in so much pain I just want to huddle up and cry, but I force myself not to because Mama is lying next to me and watching. My mama is purer than a white swan. She has black hair and blue eyes like me. She is perfect except for one dark tooth and a broken jaw, which makes her mouth look ever so lightly lop-sided.

She broke her jaw when a door hit her in the face before I was born, and the tooth went dark when she fell down some steps and banged it. She told me it happened one night when she was pregnant with me. Mama said she was very lucky she did not lose the tooth or me. She said I could have fallen right out of her stomach that night. I have put my finger in mama’s mouth and I know that the dark tooth is loose. It rocks in her jaw the way my front tooth did before I pulled it out.

‘You’re alive,’ I say in wonder and reach out to touch her swollen face.

‘Of course, I am,’ she smiles.

‘Mama your tooth!’ I gasp. There is a hole in her smile.

‘It’s gone,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’m glad. It was rotten.’ She pushes her tongue through the gap. ‘It’s saved me a trip to the dentist.’

‘Does it hurt?’ I ask worriedly.

‘No. Not even a bit.’

I touch her broken lip. ‘Does this hurt?’

‘No. Some things look worse than they are.’

‘Shall we put a bandage on it, mama?’

‘No,’ mama says with a small laugh.

I stare at her. ‘Are you sure? It looks painful.’

‘Yes, I’m sure. You know I would never lie to you.’

I nod. That’s true. Mama never lies. ‘Where is papa?’ I whisper.

Her blue eyes look sad. ‘He’s gone out.’

‘Has he gone to work?’ My papa works odd hours. Before his accident, when he hurt his head and the doctors had to put metal plates in back of his head, he used to go away for days. Mama says he works for the government. She says what he does is secret, like James Bond, so we can never ever know where he goes. All my friends are frightened of my father. Their parents smile at me a lot, but they always look nervous when I am in their house.

‘Yes, I think so,’ mama says softly.

‘Is he still very angry with me, mama?’

‘Oh my dear, dear Aleksandr, he is not angry with you at all.’

‘Yes, he is. He thinks I’m a coward, because I cried. I tried not to cry, but I couldn’t help it, mama.’ The tears are trying to come, but I blink them away.

‘You’re not a coward, my little star. You are braver than most people I know.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, that is the absolute truth.’

‘But papa doesn’t think so.’

‘Papa loves you and just wants you to be a great fighter like him, but sometimes he can’t control his temper. He is not himself. It was accident. It changed him. Remember I told you about it.’

‘Yes, I remember.’

‘One day he will get better. You’ll see,’ she says.

‘I hope so.’

‘I know so,’ she says fiercely.

‘I’m sorry he hurt you, mama. It was my fault.’

‘He did not hurt me and it was not your fault. Never say that again.’ Mama smiles softly.

I nod. ‘Mama,’

‘Yes, my love.’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t start my training yet. Maybe we should wait until papa is better.’

Tears fill mama’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, my darling, but you will have to train. You are a man now. Papa will expect it. It will only be once a week, maybe twice. It will get better. I promise.’

She lays a gentle hand on my ribs and I gasp with the terrible pain.

She pulls her hand away quickly. ‘Did I hurt you,
lyubov moya
?’

I shake my head. ‘No, mama. You’ve never ever hurt me.

Mama presses her lips together and her eyes are so sad I want to wrap her up in cotton wool and hide her in a place no one can ever find her.

‘Come we will play the piano together,’ she chokes out.

Slowly, very slowly, because I am in so much pain, I get out of bed and together we stand. She holds out her hand and I put mine in it. It is hard to take big breaths. We begin to walk out of the room and I see that she is limping.

I stop and look up at her anxiously. ‘Is your leg hurt, mama?’

‘No,
lybo moya
. I have a lazy leg. It just went to sleep. I feel no pain.’

‘Me too, mama. I feel no pain either.’

We sit at the piano together and mama looks at me. ‘What shall we play?’

‘You choose, mama.’

‘Shall we play something happy?’

‘Yes, let’s.’

‘How about Chopin’s Spring Waltz?’ she suggests brightly.

‘That’s a good idea, mama.’

‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

We begin to play and music fills the air and enters my body. It is so beautiful tears roll down both our cheeks. This is the only time mama ever cries. We play happy songs and we cry and cry. We are allowed to because the music mama and I make together is so beautiful. So very beautiful. We can escape into it and say to each other what our lips dare not say.

Listen …

Dahlia Fury

I
am first to arrive at Jamie’s. Someone is having a birthday party and it is hot, crowded, and very noisy. Fortunately, a couple stand to leave just as we arrive and Noah immediately swoops down on their table even though they are still in the process of getting into their coats. The woman gives us a dirty look, but her man says nothing and avoids any eye contact with Noah.

‘Want me to get you something to drink?’ Noah offers when they are gone and I am seated.

‘Nah, I’ll wait until Stella gets here. Thanks,’ I say with a smile.

‘No problem. I’ll be over there at the bar,’ he says jerking his chin at one corner of the bar.

‘OK,’ I say.

Stella and I love coming here. It’s a bit of a dive but the booze is cheap, the atmosphere is great, it’s close to our apartment, we know the staff, they always play a fantastic selection of songs, and there is a small dance floor at the back that we always dance the night away on.

I am dressed in jeans, a pair of brown boots, and a emerald sweater, but Stella swans in dressed in a stripped black and white mini dress, a short white faux fur jacket, her new Jimmy Choos and her hair cut short and dyed Little Mermaid red. She looks stunning and heads are turning all over the place.

‘Jesus, Stel. Your hair,’ I squeal, standing up to greet her.

She strikes a pose and tosses her head this way and that so I get to see her new hairstyle from all angles.

‘You look like a freaking star,’ I tell her.

‘Don’t I just?’ she mouths, grinning cockily.

‘And what have you done with your face?’ I ask. ‘Your skin is glowing.’

‘Honey, baking soda, and lime juice mask,’ she throws nonchalantly as she air-kisses my cheeks. I watch her put her purse on the table, slide into her seat, and fix me with stern, narrowed eyes. ‘You don’t look so hot though. What’s with you?’

‘Tell you in a minute. First, what are we drinking?’

‘Who’s paying?’

I grin. ‘Not us.’

Her eyes shine. ‘Bubbles have no calories, have they?’ she asks impishly.

‘Absolutely not. They are just round bits of clean air covered with a negligible film of champagne,’ I say virtuously.

‘In that case,’ she says with matching virtuousness, ‘we really should be good and stick to bubbles.’

‘Excellent choice, Miss Spencer. I’ll nip over to the bar and get it, and in the meantime you can go say hello to Noah. He’s over there.’ I nod towards the edge of the bar where Noah is nursing a bottle of beer.

Stella jumps up and practically skips over to him. I watch her throw her arms around his neck like a big kid and wonder what to make of this new fun and full of joie de vivre version of Stella. It is like the girl I met for lunch the other day is a totally different person. Then I suddenly remember that she used to be like this when I first met her, before she started crushing on Zane and going about with a long, depressed face.

Andy, the barman looks surprised when I order champagne. ‘Celebrating?’ he asks.

‘Just treating ourselves,’ I reply.

He finds a bottle at the back of a fridge, plunks it into a narrow plastic bucket, and pushes it and two glasses towards me. I pay him and carrying my loot, I go over to where Noah and Stella are standing. Stella has one hip pushed out provocatively and Noah’s eyes are roaming her body as he talks to her.

‘Want to join us, Noah?’ I ask.

‘No, I’m all right. You girls go ahead and have fun.’

‘You sure, big boy?’ Stella pouts.

He looks her up and down, his eyes assessing in the way only a man’s can be. ‘Don’t play with fire, babe.’

Stella takes my wrist in her hand. ‘Ooooo, promises, promises,’ she taunts cheekily and starts walking backwards away from him.

He just shakes his head and turns back to his beer.

‘Why are you flirting with Noah like that?’ I ask when we get back to our table.

Stella shrugs. ‘Just something to do, I guess.’

‘What?’

‘Well he’s hotter than a brick shit house, but he’s always so controlled and professional I kind of like provoking him to see how far I can go before he snaps,’ she says giving a sly sideways glance in his direction.

‘But wouldn’t you like to date him though?’ I persist hopefully.

‘I never really thought about it, but I don’t think I’m his type.’

I look at her curiously. ‘How do you know you’re not?’

‘Come on. When a man really wants you it oozes out of his pores.’

‘I don’t know. From what I saw he seems to like you well enough,’ I say, tearing the foil on the champagne bottle.

‘Enough is the key clue. I don’t want enough. I want desperately, can’t live without, dying for, madly, deeply, etc. etc. You know, the kind of stuff you have with Zane.’

I ease the cork out with a quiet pop. ‘What should we drink to?’ I ask.

‘Hot men,’ she says with an impish grin.

I fill our glasses and we clink glasses.

‘Hot men,’ we say in unison and giggling like two naughty schoolgirls let the bubbles slide down our throats.

‘Oh God, yes. Mmmm … Heaven,’ Stella moans and rapidly flutters her eyelashes to indicate just how blissed she is with the taste.

‘Come on tell me how your date went.’

She pulls a face. ‘Ugh … he was an insufferable idiot.’

‘Really? What did he do?’

She leans in. ‘He asked me out to a restaurant and proceeded to gobble up everything in sight including my leftovers. I swear he was like a bloody turkey. When he was not eating he was boasting about himself. Brag, brag, brag. How much money he had. How good he was at his job. How much property he owned. God, you should have heard him. Anyone would have thought I was sitting with Warren Buffet.’

I smile at her.

‘Honestly, I’ve come to the conclusion every father should tell his son what my granddad told my brother. When a man starts bragging he’s compensating for something small between his legs. The consequence of that small heart to heart between my granddad and brother is: my brother never brags.’

She pauses to take a sip.

‘Then, when this turkey had just about talked my head off he called for the bill and started tapping and fumbling about in every pocket he could find on himself.

So I was sitting there watching him and,’ she taps her hair, ‘you know the brain underneath all this pretty, was going, oooo this guy must think I fell off an Irish turnip truck.’

I start giggling. I can almost picture the scene.  

‘After he had tapped the shit of all his pockets he looked at me all innocent and astonished and told me he must have left his wallet in the side pocket of his car door. Then came the big ask: would I be so kind as to get the meal first and he would see me all right later? Mind you, it wasn’t like it was an expensive place or anything.’

‘What did you do?’ I ask her.

‘I looked him in the eye smiled really seductively and said, “You run along and get your wallet and I’ll wait right for you, honey.”

‘Wow, you’re really brave to call him out like that. If someone did that to me, I’d just pay for the meal and never take his calls again.’

‘No way. I’m a pretty laid back person, somebody calls me a bitch and I’m like, true, but I’m not down with what he did. Paying for that meal would have been encouraging him to go out and do that to another poor girl. It was a matter of principle,’ she says firmly.

‘And just in case he was planning on doing a runner, I scratched the inside of his thigh and told him I had something super special planned for him when we got back to my place. To seal the deal I looked at him as if he was going to get the best damn sex of his life.’

‘Stop, you’re killing me,’ I say.

‘What a blinking idiot. He actually thought he could stiff
me
with the bill. I mean, I’m all for women’s lib and everything.’

She takes a sip of champagne.

‘I hate a man opening a door for me as much as the next girl. Not. But for fucks sake don’t invite me out for dinner and then pretend you’ve left your wallet in the car.’

‘So did he come back with his wallet?’

‘Of course he did. He was out of that restaurant like a bat out o hell and back in six minutes.’ She toggles her eyebrows meaningfully. You have no idea how powerful my thigh scratch is.’

‘So he drove you home …’

‘At breakneck speed.’

‘And then?’

‘And then … I got out of the car and told him the next time he decides to be such a cheapskate he should just suck his own dick.’