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A Russian name. A man with power and a dominant presence, one enough to scare the shit out of Steven that’s for sure. If I was a gambler I’d be putting my money on mafia right now.

But the only question is, will this gamble end up costing me everything?

3

DMITRI

The Mercedes takes the bend like it was built for it…

Two seats. Low. Vintage.

Chrome and black paint that still turns heads even out here, where the city has already given up and the roads start to empty.

I keep the window down. Cold air cuts across my face. The engine answers every demand I make of it.

I should be thinking about Maxim and Nikolai. Instead I am thinking about him…

Elias.

Not Lyle.

Elias.

He lied to my face within seconds of meeting me and still had the nerve to look up at me like he might get away with it.

Green eyes. Long lashes. Skirt hitched when he hit the floor. That mouth….

He should have been removed from the club. He should have been made an example of.

Instead I covered for him.

That was a mistake I will correct.

The image comes fast and filthy: I have him in a room with no cameras and no staff. I tear the cheap work shirt open. Buttons scatter. His pecs and chest are mine and I pull on his perfectly pink nipples until his knees buckle and his breath breaks.

I tell the boy to get on the floor. He does.

I tell him to bark. He hesitates. I take a fistful of his hair and make the choice for him.

He barks. Again. Louder.

Only then do I let him crawl. Only then do I put him over my thighs and spank him until him ass is red and he is shaking and the lie about his name is the last thing on his mind.

Forgiveness is not given. It is earned.

My cock is hard against the seam of my trousers. I shift in the seat and force my hand back to the wheel. Not now.

The road straightens. I put the fantasy away the way I put a loaded gun back in its holster. There will be time for the boy later.

First I have to keep myself alive long enough to have the boy.

Maxim Kovalev and Nikolai Checkov have been useful. The accords bought us time. Time in which my businesses grew and theirs did not get in my way.

That time is over.

The Lucci are not circling for sport. They wanted my routes, my hours, my security. They paid one of my own men to deliver it.

That is not a warning. It is a declaration.