Alexei: A Mafia Love Story: Dark Erotic Romance (8 page)

She was disconcerted as she searched through the underwear only to realize there wasn’t a bra anywhere. She frowned at the discovery, shaking her head in annoyance. The other drawers revealed everything from practical socks to silk stockings so fine they must have been handspun. There was an abundance of sleepwear, from serviceable gowns to almost nonexistent negligees that wouldn’t last five minutes if she wore them for Alexei, but still no bras.

Irritated, she went to the racks of clothes, finding a section of dresses. Each one had a built-in bra, and several tops did as well. Apparently, he intended for her to wear breast support only in public.

Vaguely, she remembered him saying something about no bras, but she had thought that was simply more of his dominant male bullshit. She didn’t appreciate him completely taking the choice from her, but if she were honest with herself, she would admit she didn’t particularly care about not wearing a bra around home.

Not that this was home. This was Alexei’s house and her prison until she found a way to escape, but the principle was similar. In her own home, she often lived in yoga pants and T-shirts, skipping bras for days at a time unless she had to go out somewhere. It was one of the joys of working from home, and if she’d had a pile of bras from which to choose, she still probably would have skipped wearing one.

That didn’t mean she was going to just accept this easily, and she made a note to mention to Alexei that she should have a few bras for whatever occasions might arise. By buying this extensive wardrobe, she dared to hope that perhaps at some point in the future, he planned to at least allow her out of this room. Otherwise, why would she need fancy cocktail dresses and even a couple of ball gowns? Unless he wanted her to parade around as his own personal fashion plate?

That thought held little appeal, which led her to deliberately selecting the most comfortable clothes she could find. There were no yoga pants, but there was a pair of cotton leggings, and she paired it with a white tunic that was slightly oversized. She definitely wasn’t sexy, but she supposed that didn’t matter. Alexei wouldn’t be deterred by her simple outfit, and it wouldn’t take much for him to inspire her to shed the clothes and join him in bed.

Briskly banishing all thoughts of sex from her mind, or at least attempting to, she returned to the bedroom area and walked out to the balcony. A breakfast tray awaited her there, and she sat to soak in the sunshine and breathe deeply, appreciating fresh air more than she ever had in her life.

The fresh air stimulated her appetite, and Tara finished her breakfast quickly, feeling pleasantly satisfied when she taken the last bite. She stood up from the patio chair, carrying the glass of orange juice with her to the railing to look out and down. She was curious about Alexei’s estate, but she was also interested to see if there were any weak points that she could observe from her viewpoint.

A sense of disappointment crept over her as she surveyed the rugged landscape around her. As she had remembered correctly from the first night he’d brought her here, there was a large wall encompassing the grounds near the house.

There were guard towers at each corner, and even in the daytime, men walked the perimeter of the high fence. She did her best to avoid making eye contact with any of the three men walking the circuit, deliberately gazing over them to the open space beyond. It couldn’t be more than an hour outside the city, but it was like living in a different world entirely. Rolling hills and trees met her gaze as far as she could see, and it was clear that if she somehow managed to escape the house, the only way out of here would be in a vehicle. She was no survivor-type, and she had nowhere near the skills required to make her way back to the city through the forest between her and the concrete jungle.

With a small sigh, she returned her gaze to the inner perimeter of the wall, examining the other aspects of Alexei’s home. It was a large brick building, and she estimated at least four stories. The grounds included a tennis court, swimming pool, hot tub, and carefully landscaped vegetation.

The only hint of messiness in the perfection was a garden patch currently occupied by an older man, who was digging with enthusiasm, though perhaps not a lot of skill. As she looked down at him, he happened to glance up, and their eyes met. Looking into his lined face, it was like a distorted, aged version of Alexei, and she assumed it must be his father. She smiled down at him, and he lifted a hand to wave at her.

“Good morning,” he called up to her. “Stop dawdling and come help me plant these bulbs,
myshka
.”

She looked around, wondering for a moment if perhaps he was actually talking to someone on the balcony above hers, but his gaze appeared focused on her. “I’m not sure I can,” she said, raising her voice enough to be heard.

He waved a hand. “I’ll send Yuri to fetch you.” Turning his head, he spoke in Russian to someone out of her line-of-sight.

She didn’t think it would actually happen, but she nodded and continued chatting with the older man as the minutes passed. It must have been somewhere around fifteen minutes later that she heard the door of her room opening. She glanced through the balcony door, expecting to see Alexei instead of Yuri. Her heart clenched with fear as she remembered he probably wasn’t her biggest fan, since she had kicked him in the chest. There was no sign of any emotional reaction in his expression, other than a bit of impatience when he gestured her forward.

Feeling slightly confused, but hopeful that she was actually going to get out of this room, she paused long enough to put her now-empty orange juice glass on the patio table before walking toward Yuri. “Hello,” she said nervously.

He inclined his head. “
Gospodin
Varnakov wishes to see you.”

She nodded and followed him, uncertain if he was referring to Alexei or the senior Varnakov. The answer became clear after she followed him down three flights of stairs and out a side entrance, before stopping at the gardening area where the older man was puttering with his supplies.

She nodded her thanks to Yuri and was surprised when he took up a post just a few feet from them, clearly there to guard her. She wondered if Alexei knew she was out, but assumed he must. It seemed unlikely Yuri would have let her out on his own, even on the orders of the elder man.

“Hello,” she said again as she knelt in the dirt beside the older man. She held out her hand, and he stared at it for a moment before taking it in his. He wasn’t wearing gardening gloves, but she bit back an instinctive urge to tell him that was unsanitary. He wouldn’t care about toxoplasmosis in the soil, and as a grownup, he didn’t need someone mothering him. “It’s lovely to meet you. My name is Tara.”

“I’m Ivan Varnakov. Help me plant these bulbs,
myshka
.” It was a command, but given gently, and even the use of the unknown word didn’t feel insulting or condescending.

“I’m not much of a gardener. I’ve tried, but all I seem to do is kill everything I touch.”

Ivan chuckled. “Don’t be so modest, Dorothea. I remember the roses you used to grow.”

She bit her lip, uncertain how to proceed. Clearly, he thought she was someone else. It seemed like a bad idea to pretend she was or go along with the delusion, so she tried to be gentle when she said, “I’m not Dorothea, Ivan. My name is Tara, if you remember? I’m a…friend of Alexei’s.”

His dark eyes looked clouded for a moment, and then he blinked and nodded. “Of course you are. Dorothea died seven years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, squeezing the hand that still held hers for a moment before letting go to reach for a bulb as a means of distracting herself and him from the moisture collecting in his eyes. “Who was Dorothea?”

“Dorothea was my wife, and the mother of my sons and daughter. She was a wonderful woman, kind and patient, and she put up with more than she should have.” His expression appeared lucid for the moment, and he spoke with authority tinged by sadness. “She deserved better than me.”

She couldn’t resist the urge to pat the older man on the shoulder. “I can see you loved her very much, and I’m certain she knew that as well. I doubt she would have agreed that she deserved better than you.”

He blinked again, a lone tear streaming down his cheek, and he ignored it. “I hope you’re right,
myshka
. What did you say your name was again?”

“Tara.”

He nodded, saying her name a couple of times under his breath and just barely audibly, as though committing it to memory. “Very well, Tara. Let’s get these bulbs in the ground. They won’t plant themselves.”

“It’s too bad they won’t, because as soon as I touch them, they’ll likely curl up and die.” She kept her tone and interaction light with the older man. He seemed to like her, and perhaps he would have interceded on her behalf with Alexei, but that would feel wrong.

He was clearly struggling with some sort of health problem, likely something such as dementia or Alzheimer’s, and it would be unethical to use someone who was incapacitated if she tried to twist him to suit her own ends. That was dishonest, and she didn’t want to hurt the older man. He had been exceedingly kind to her already, and she could certainly use a friend in this unfriendly place.

***

Alexei glanced out his office window, watching his father gardening with his lover. He was deliberately avoiding looking at Vadim Kasilli, wanting the other man to squirm and be reminded that as things stood, he was of lower rank in the
vory v. zakone
than Alexei—unless Vasile changed that, of course. Finally, unable to put it off any longer, he turned to face Kasilli. “Why have you come to my home, Vadim?”

The older man clearly disliked his tone, judging from his straightened posture and the curl of his lips. Still, he had more sense than the call Alexei on the perceived lack of respect. “I come seeking answers, Lyosha.”

Alexei’s mouth tightened, and he glared at the older man. “You will call me Alexei or Varnakov, but you do not have permission to use the diminutive of my name.” Allowing him to use his nickname would put him in a precarious position, one that would give the illusion of Vadim having more power than he did. Plus, he genuinely disliked the man across from him, and he didn’t like to hear his nickname on the other man’s lips. It hinted at familiarity that didn’t exist between them.

Vadim nodded once, but didn’t apologize or repeat his name in the proper form. He simply said, “Slava has gone missing.”

Alexei stood across his desk facing Kasilli, who had not sat down. Unless or until his uninvited guest took a seat, he would remain standing as well. Any perceived imbalance in power would not suit him. “Slava isn’t missing. I know exactly where he is.”

Vadim’s eyes widened, and he looked slightly surprised. “Very well. Will you please tell him to return to service?”

“I won’t be able to tell him anything of the sort, Kasilli. Slava is dead, because he defied my order to stop the shipments of human cargo. We will no longer be engaging in that business.”

Vadim’s expression turned sour. “I wish to see your father.”

“My father is unavailable, and you’re dealing with me. I am acting
Pakhan
of the city, and I say there will be no more slaves. We’re getting out of that sordid business.”

Vadim shook his head. “You’ve lost your mind, Varnakov. Do you know the kind of profits we pull in from selling sex slaves? Not to mention the long-term revenue generated by keeping our own stable in brothels around the city.”

“I’ve found a way to replace that income and then some, by a very generous margin. Human trafficking is too hot. It’s the kind of business that will bring the feds down on all of us. I don’t intend to serve life in prison for it.” Alexei took a hard line, underlining the selfish reasons why they should not be engaged in the skin trade.

It was all true, but it wasn’t his primary motivation. He found the idea of selling people distasteful. Having toured the brothels of which Vadim spoke a few times, back when his father was still in charge and in full possession of his faculties, Alexei had always been disquieted by what he’d seen. He had sworn as a younger man, barely in his twenties, that he would see the end of that filth in his city as soon as he took over. He had not forgotten that personal vow, and he was in the process of phasing it all out, except for the legitimate businesses.

His mouth curled slightly as he acknowledged the IRS would probably not consider the strip clubs and the brothels lawful, but they were legitimate enough for him as long as the people working there were doing so of their own volition. He had personally vetted everyone who worked at the clubs and the three brothels located throughout the city to ensure the sex workers were there by choice and not by slavery. He wasn’t about to see that change on the whim of Vadim, who had clearly been the one ordering Slava to continue bringing in slaves.

“I’ve made a decision here, Kasilli. You will abide by it. As the
Avtoritet
, it’s your duty to follow my commands. I trust you need nothing more than a verbal reminder of that?”

Vadim stiffened, his anger palpable, but he nodded jerkily. “Of course,
gospodin
.” He bit out the last word with sharp sarcasm, but Alexei let it slide.

“No more skin shipments. No more people flooding our city who don’t want to be here. There are still work agreements that can be arranged with people who can’t afford to immigrate the traditional way, but we will no longer be selling sex slaves or forcing men and women to work in the brothels. We certainly won’t be accepting underage girls for any agreements. Do we understand each other?”