His Queen of Clubs (Vegas Underground 6)

Vlad

The girl just orgasmed.

I admit I picked Alessia as my hostage because she’s easy on the eyes, but I never in a million years thought I’d see anything this hot. If I sold tickets to this show, I’d make a half million in a day. Not that I would ever, in any lifetime, allow another man to see what I’m seeing. No, I already feel fiercely possessive of her.

Alessia Tacone is the stuff fantasies are made of. She’s got the face to launch a thousand ships. The body to bring a million men to their knees. And this display of wanton sexuality just forever ruined me for any other woman.

Good thing I’m keeping her.

“Blyat,” I rasp in her ear. “You’re making my balls ache so bad, they’ll fall off.”

Her sweet, soft body continues to tremble against mine. I want to reach between her legs and bring her to orgasm again. I know it wouldn’t take much, she’s still on the edge, ripe and ready for it.

But if I do that, I will end up ripping down her panties and pounding into her until we both raise the roof, and I can’t do that.

Not while she’s still my prisoner.

Not until she’s my wife. Safe and sound at my estate outside Volgograd.

Not unless I’m sure she wants it.

I don’t rape women.

So I force myself away from her and slap that delicious ass again. “Get in shower.” My accent is so thick, it’s a wonder she can understand me. “Leave door open or suffer the consequences.”

She stumbles toward the shower and doesn’t look back, stepping behind the curtain without turning on the water or taking off her underclothes.

She’s so fucking compelling. It’s not just the beauty, it’s the mixture of ripe innocence and sass. The courage and pride, despite her circumstances. The compassion she showed Mika.

I want to possess her in every way. Spank her, dominate her, spoil her. I want her on her knees, looking up at me with those big, Sicilian eyes, eager to please.

And I’m now compelled to earn the trust that scene would require. To teach her to obey and honor me and reward her for her efforts.

Lavishly.

With orgasms, riches, attention. Praise. More orgasms.

Can I make her like Russia?

To want to stay?

Because if I don’t, I already know I’d be incapable of keeping her against her will long-term.

I’ll take her brother’s money and set her free, eventually, if she won’t stay.

But what if she stayed?

She drops her panties outside the shower curtain and I hear the water start up.

Out. Get the fuck out.

I force myself to back out of the bathroom, squeezing my throbbing dick through my jeans. I’ll have to jack off before the day is through or I’ll definitely be rolling her to her stomach and fucking her from behind in the middle of the night.

But right now, I have business to take care of.

Passports to make, documents to forge. Private flights to book.

I take her dress and lock it in the false bottom of my suitcase with my other valuables, then return to my laptop. I’m almost finished altering the electronic trace for Anya Popov, Mika’s mother. I’ve changed her age to twenty-eight and swapped her photo to one of Alessia that I pulled from her Instagram account. Girl should be more careful about her privacy settings, not that I couldn’t hack them. Now it appears the bitch who came over and abandoned her son is returning to Russia, taking her son and their suddenly no-longer expired visas with her.

Hacking was a skill taught to me at a young age by Igor Ivanovich, head of the cell I was placed with when my mother became Victor’s mistress. It’s a skill I might consider teaching Mika. It would keep him off the street, give him a trade he can use to forge his way in the bratva. To make himself too useful to ever kill. And rich, too, if he’s smart about it.

I have money squirrelled away in accounts all over the world, under too many names to list. I’ve set up elaborate money laundering schemes for the top dogs in the bratva, for the crooked politicians, not only of Russia, but of the Ukraine, Slovenia, and South America.

Getting money out of the Tacones isn’t a necessity. It’s just my preferred revenge.

Money’s always been a game to me. Numbers on my screen, in my accounts. Transfers and dividends and passive income not only kept me alive this long, but made me incredibly wealthy. A wealth I mostly keep hidden from those around me, even the bratva. Only Victor knows how much I really have. I was transparent with him because if he found out otherwise, he would assume I’d stolen it from him.

Despite my grudges, the twelve-year-old boy in me still needs his approval. He’s still the papa of the organization and of my life.