Page 7 of Mafia Prize
All year, I’ve thought about Andrei. About the way he tied me down, made me come, and then fucked my mouth. I’ve masturbated to that memory more times than I can count. I only have to close my eyes and I’m transported to that private room, to the moment Andrei Sidorov stood next to me and whispered his warning into my ear. “Be sure,” he said, a dangerous promise in every syllable. “Be very,verysure.”
I’m not sure of very many things in my life right now, but my desire for him? That’s never been in doubt.
“If I remember right, that wasn’t what you said.” I remove the pins from my hair and let the strands fall free. “Your precise words were, ‘There are many things I want from you.’”
“But none of them are owed.”
“What if I want those things too?”
He takes a deep breath. “Renzo Caruso loathes me,” he says. “He tried to encroach into Sidorov territory, and I stopped it.”
“I know.” I begged Uncle Renzo not to test Andrei. He wouldn’t listen. It was a painfully expensive mistake, one that wiped out a year of olive oil profits. “Nothing has changed. All I have to offer is one night.”
I wait, heart racing, for him to respond. He doesn’t move for a very long time, and I start to wonder if I’ve misread the signs. Andrei’s been photographed with many beautiful women this year. Maybe he’s involved with one of them. Maybe he’s even engaged. Maybe this was a mistake.
Then he gets to his feet and holds out his hand to me. “One night with you is better than a lifetime with anyone else, Mirabella,” he says. “Shall we go find a private room?”
6
“What do you want?”
We’re in the same private room as last year, but the decor’s been updated since we were here. This time, the walls are covered with mirrors. The furniture is different too. A Saint Andrews Cross is in the corner, but it’s not what catches my attention. No, it’s the chair in the center of the room. Underneath a spotlight rests a steel chair with stirrups and straps that wouldn’t look out of place in my gynecologist’s office.
I swallow hard and move toward it. “I think the more pertinent question is, what do you want.” I run my hand over the cold metal. “This is intimidating.”
“Are you afraid?” Intensity radiates off Andrei in palpable waves. He takes off his jacket, and undoes his cuffs, placing his diamond-studded cufflinks on a shelf. His rings follow. All except the signet ring of the Sidorov Bratva, a thick platinum ring with a carving of a firebird in flight on its face, which he leaves on the ring finger of his right hand. He loosens his tie, never taking his eyes off me, and rolls up his sleeves tohis elbows, his tattoo-covered forearms coming into view. “Do I frighten you?”
Yes. No. There’s something dark about Andrei tonight, something that terrifies me and excites me in equal measure. “I don’t know.”
He stalks toward me with a whip in his hand. The scent of him washes over me, something earthy and musky and very male. “You talked last time about choices,” he says. “About how you have very few.”
“I remember.” The butterflies in my stomach riot. He’s holding a whip, one he’s going to useon me.And once again, I’m not sure if I’m afraid or if I’m aroused. Or if there’s even a difference between the two emotions.
“And now you’re here.” He flicks his wrist, and the tails of the whip scour his forearm. “Submitting to me. If I wanted to whip you, I could. If I wanted to wrap my hand around my throat and choke you, you wouldn’t be able to stop me. Isn’t that right, Mira?”
There’s a hard edge in his voice that sends a shiver through me. My skin prickles with desire, and my breaths come in short and shallow gasps. My breasts heave, and Andrei’s eyes fall to my cleavage. A thrill runs through me. I found my dress in Venice, in a boutique in Dorsoduro, designed by Rosa Tran, the same designer who made Lucia Moretti’s wedding gown. It’s a corset dress, deep red velvet in color, the neckline scooped lower than I usually prefer. The skirt is floor-length, with a long slit up one side, and when I tried it on in the fitting room, I knew I was going to buy it and wear it for Andrei.For him to tear off my body.
“Answer me.” An order, cold and commanding.
His fingers brush the swell of my breasts, and the ache in my core intensifies. I can’t think; I can’t breathe. It takes mea second to remember his words. “You’re right,” I agree. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“Unless?” he prompts.
I search for the answer, and then it comes to me. “Unless I use my safeword.”
“Yes.” His eyes rest on me. “There’s a lesson here, lisichka, and you would do well to remember it. You’re in a cage of your making. If you feel trapped, then remember that you are the jailer.” He grabs my wrists and pushes them behind my back. “You can leave anytime you want. You just have tochoose.”
“That’s easy to say and a lot harder to put into practice.” Sandro Biraghi is hopelessly old-fashioned and will refuse to associate with the Caruso if our family is headed by a woman. Manuel will not choose Elisa over his family. If I take over from Renzo, I’ll be putting my happiness ahead of my sister’s. Even if I was willing to do that, the only way I’d become the head of my family is over Renzo’s dead body,and I will not kill my own flesh and blood for power.
“That sounds like an excuse, lisichka. You’re better than that.” He releases my hands from his grip and circles me slowly as if deciding what he’s going to do with me. “You never did tell me what you want.”
You.“I want you to fuck me.” Even that answer is too revealing. “Please.”
He laughs cruelly. “My cock is a privilege, Mirabella. One you need to earn.”
“How?” I lick my lower lip. “Can I earn it with my mouth?”
“No. You earn it with your obedience.” He stops behind me. “Take off your panties and hand them to me.”