MARRY THE RUSSIAN
1
“We’re not looking for short-term profit, Mr. Boriskov. We seek long-term partnerships,” the South African says.
“As do I.”
“Your loyalty to the Italians bothers me.”
“It shouldn’t,” Ivana, the business leader of my organization, says, and I watch the man’s gaze lock on her elegant neck and follow her necklace down to the pearl nestled in her cleavage. Suppressing a smile, I lean back and let her work him, regretting I hadn’t pressured her former boss and my friend Nikola to hand her over before the feds got on my ass.
Ivana picks up the pearl and twirls it, and I think the guy might just cum inside his pants. “Loyalty to one partner is essential, and we have proven that. Disloyalty should worry you, not the other way around.”
Six months ago, Nikola, Ivana’s former boss and cousin, came to my office to tell me he took my niece without any regard to what I thought of it. So I seized his right-hand woman. He presumed I wanted her the way he wanted my niece. I’m not stupid. Ivana isn’t coming anywhere near my dick. Businessgives me pleasure. Women and business combined give me headaches and pain, so no, thank you. I’m good with watching her make me money.
“We’re talking about the diamond trade, not the arms trade,” the man finally says and peels his eyes off her chest. “We require proof of loyalty, and my father will not accept dealing with someone who doesn’t have a personal interest in this trade.”
“What kind of guarantee are you looking for?” I ask. I know what he’s suggesting, but I wanna hear him say it and then see what Ivana does, namely how she reacts, because I got a feeling she hasn’t told me everything about this deal. I’m not interested in marriage and definitely uninterested in kids. The risk of marrying a woman who would later get sick of the lifestyle and cause me problems is too great. No, thanks.
“A marriage,” Ivana says with a sly upturn at the corner of her mouth.
Yup, she set me up, put me on the spot. Motherfucker. The things I put up with from her. I swear… I crack my neck, trying to distract myself from images of snapping hers.
We’re not the first or the last organization to arrange a marriage between two partners to ensure smooth business transactions or sometimes a transition of power, but I dislike that Ivana’s cornered me, knowing I can’t back away from the deal or anything this guy offers, though I’m certain we’re getting maximum profit since she’s taking a percentage of the profit instead of a lump sum up front.
Under the table, where the guy can’t see it, I tap my fingers on my thigh. “I see.”
She’s forcing my hand, making me cave because we have to show a strong united front. Some days I wanna strangle her, and today is one of them. She knows damn well I’m never getting tied up on paper with another person. Contracts make me itch all over, which was why I grabbed her from Nikola in the first placeand gave her permission to do all that. If they want a marriage to seal this deal, she can get married all she wants.
Decision made, I glare at the guy. “Go deal with the cartels and watch them slaughter you from the inside. Good luck.”
“You might wanna reconsider,” Ivana says, when she knows damn well I will not reconsider.
I’m at the office door, holding it open for Ivana, who’s giving me a death stare.
The man leans forward, grinding his teeth. “You said he would agree.”
“He will,” Ivana says, then extends her perfectly manicured hand and pets his, squeezing it. “Trust me.”
I roll my eyes. She’s fucking playing him. I ought to give her a medal for all the men she’s played since seventh grade. Finally, Ivana stands and moves past me. “Come along, Boss.”
Christ. Her plan to turn my criminal organization into an investment company that’s gonna revolutionize the way we prosper in the future comes at a price. Namely my tolerance for the shit she pulls.
I make my way out of the hotel’s penthouse office space and into the living space, then cut a corner and open the suite’s door for Ivana when a woman steps out of the room on the other end of the massive suite. She’s wearing black shorts, a gold tank top that clings for dear life to her tits, and a smile that immediately makes me wanna smile back. Even her big brown eyes are smiling, and I’m impressed I see them given all her other assets.
My face nearly splits, and I show her all my teeth. “Well, hello there,” I say.
She’s moving toward us, all mile-long legs and heels and tits and I bet an ass I’d love fucking.
Ivana tugs my elbow, tries to yank me to the side so the woman can exit the suite, but I’m a mountain, baby, unmovable. Frozen solid, I’m staring, feet planted firmly on the ground.The woman can try to squeeze them tits between me and the doorjamb, rub all that hot body all over me.
“Hi,” she says and stares up at me. Tall, maybe five ten or more, she’s just the right height for my six three so when I lift her right leg and press her against this door, I don’t have to bend too much for my dick to enter.
She drops the smile, and her gaze traces the scar over my eye. I grit my teeth. Most people dislike it or are plain scared to even look. I’m an ugly fucking bastard with or without the scar. The women either want money and dick or both from me, which is fine and why I don’t do commitments or relationships or mornings or cuddles. Especially not the cuddles, though I have some sort of weird gut feeling about this girl.
She makes my heart race. Am I scared? Excited? What the fuck is going on here? She’s standing, and I’m standing, and neither of us is going anywhere, as if we’re stuck in this moment while time ticks by. I hear the clock on the wall.
There’s some sort of warmth coming off her, and I haven’t felt that since…my mother died. That’s fucked up fifty ways, so I stop thinking altogether and bend my head. I’m gonna kiss her. Just do it.
