Tainted Vow: An Age Gap Dark Russian Mafia Romance Read online

  Grigor looks distracted. He furrows his brow, trying to think. “Uh, yeah, that’s right. Never thought about it.” His eyes widen as he catches on. “So the komissiya accepted a different family member as a successor. Why?”

  “It turns out,” I say, pulling a file from the bookshelf, “you can nominate any blood relative, but there are some conditions that the nominee has to meet.”

  I hand the file to Grigor, and he opens it, quickly scanning the document inside. It’s the minutes of a meeting held many years ago, and the interesting part is under the heading marked ‘reasons for acceptance.’

  Grigor takes only a minute to read the notes. “Maxim, if you could meet these conditions, I would nominate you. There’s precedent for it. It’s here in writing.” He takes the document out of the file, folds it, and puts it in his inside jacket pocket. “But you can’t.”

  I sigh and take the file from him, placing it back on the shelf. “So when will you tell Ivan?”

  “When he gets back. He’ll be a few days, but I have to speak to him in person.”

  “That’ll be fun,” I say. Grigor makes for the door, and I get ahead of him, opening it. He stops in the doorway.

  “Did you figure out what happened with the money?”

  “Yep, that cunt Jefferson has been stuffing his mattress with our hard-earned cash for quite a while.”

  “Deal with that,” Grigor says. “I won’t tolerate sloppy subcontractors. That’s how the rot sets in. People find out that the staff is shirking, and before you know it, the grapevine is buzzing with the news that I’m losing control. And we can’t have that because...?” He looks at me, waiting for me to finish the phrase I’ve heard a thousand times.

  “Because control is everything, Boss.” I smile. “I called him and gave him a good fucking fright. He’s already sent it back.”

  “Well, it’s a start.” Grigor narrows his eyes at me. “Maxim, it’s up to you, but I’d consider at least maiming the prick for his nerve. Take something from him he’ll really miss, like one of his balls.”

  “I’ve got it in hand.”

  “What, his ball?” Grigor laughs, but it catches in his throat and he coughs again.

  I do nothing except wait for him to get it together. Grigor doesn’t want my pity. I know him well enough to be sure of that.

  He thumps his chest, waving at me as he goes.

  “I’ll see you at the club later, da?”

  “Da, do svidaniya,” I say. “See ya, Boss.”

  Grigor walks into the waiting area of my office, and I hear him talking to someone, wheezing slightly as he does so.

  “Good afternoon, dear. I’m sure he won’t keep you waiting long.”

  The door bangs behind him, and he’s gone.

  I lean around the door frame to see a woman sitting on the sofa. She’s fiddling with the buckle of her Mary-Jane shoe, and her long red hair is hanging down, covering her face.

  I go back into the office and sit down.

  Ah yes.

  Harper Jefferson.

  Interned for me a few years ago, when this office was busy with staff working on our many legitimate contracts. That was before I proved capable of managing the money laundering and reduced it to just me and her fucking thieving cunt of a father.

  The man was such a weasel on the phone. Begging and bitching. I hate to see a man reduced to that, but at this rate, I’ll see him reduced to a rotting corpse, so I guess he’s got everything to play for.

  He mentioned his pretty daughter at a most opportune time. I like to let fate have a turn now and again, but only if I can stack the deck in my favor first. This time it looks like I might just clean up.

  “Come in here,” I shout.

  I hear Harper’s shoes clacking across the marble tile, and a moment later, she’s standing before me.

  Her hair is like fire, tumbling in unruly curls, setting off her pale skin perfectly. The sensible pencil dress she’s wearing hugs her body, making me wonder what she would look like without it.

  She’s like a Renaissance painting. Botticelli’s Venus, if she’d worked a nine to five.

  I live a fairly solitary life, but I’m not a monk. And thank fuck for that, because if I was, it would take a shit-ton of prayer to atone for what I’m thinking right now.

  I stand and extend my hand to her.

  “Miss Jefferson?” I say. “Thanks for coming. I’m Max. We met when you were last here.”

  Harper takes a few steps toward me. Her eyes are everywhere - the desk, the ceiling, the floor - but she’s avoiding looking at me. She tucks her hair behind her ear as she reaches for my hand.

  “Yes, I know, I was…” her voice trails off as her honey-colored eyes meet mine for the briefest moment. “Sorry. I’m just kinda nervous. Thanks for the job offer. The timing is good because…”

  I let go of her hand and sit down quickly. She doesn’t move. Instead, she stands perfectly still and falls silent.

  She’s waiting for me to say something.

  Deep inside me, something flares. A spark daring me to fan it. Daring me to feed it, make it blaze.

  No. No.

  Too late. I should behave like a fucking normal person and ask her to sit, but it’s not what will happen. Not yet.

  “There’s a drink cabinet in the kitchen. Pour me a straight vodka.”

  I’m willing her to say no, ask me why, or call me an asshole and leave. Even if she hesitates, that’d be something.

  She turns, and she’s out of the room. I hear her heels again as she crosses the hallway and heads into the kitchen.

  I lean back in the chair and close my eyes.

  This is the best and worst idea I’ve ever had. All these years, I tried to keep the beast locked up, and now he’s trying to break out…

  Harper is back, with a good measure of vodka in a cut crystal glass. She hands it to me.

  “You didn’t say whether you wanted ice.”

  “Correct, I didn’t,” I say, taking a sip, “so I appreciate you didn’t put any in. I like chilled vodka, but without ice. Is that clear?”

  She nods.

  “Sit,” I say, and she’s back in the chair, sitting on her hands.

  I’m so fucking hard right now. I have to tell her what’s going on, but I just want to keep getting her to do what I tell her, starting with making her get on her knees in front of me, mouth good and fucking wide…

  I cough and sit up straight, fixing her with a stare. She shrinks a little before me, hunching her shoulders.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” I ask.

  3

  Harper

  “If you’re asking me that question, then I have to assume that I don’t know who you are. I thought I did, but…”

  My voice fades out, and I wither under his scrutiny. He stares at me intensely, and I feel so vulnerable. The wall I built around me doesn’t seem high enough to keep him out.

  “My name,” he begins, swilling the vodka around in the glass, “is not Max Atikin.”

  His voice seems different. I pick up an accent that he must have been hiding before. Now he’s dropped his guard, and I can hear it. He sounds-

  Oh no.

  I clap my hand over my mouth.

  How could my father do this to me? And how did I not see this coming? I’m such a fucking fool.

  Max sees the realization on my face and laughs.

  “So you’re finally getting it. Good girl.” He throws back the vodka and puts the glass on the table. “I am Maxim Bartanov. And your traitorous prick of a father rinsed me for five million dollars. Believe me when I say I’m not fucking impressed.”

  He looks over my shoulder, and I look behind me to see a pale grey dog padding across the carpet. It sits beside Maxim, and he rests his hand on its head, his fingertips scratching as he talks.

  “Your father is only alive because he did two smart things. He sent every single dollar back first.” The dog nuzzles its nose into his palm. “Second, he realized that ther
e was no way on earth I’d settle for that. And here you are.”

  I watch him stroke the dog. His hands are large, but he’s gentle, rubbing the soft spot behind its ear. It tips its head, leaning into him as he pets it.

  There’s a buzzing in my ears. I’m used to it. It happens when I get the urge to freak out. Pushing my feelings down only works for so long, and it’s been a bad day.

  “Please tell me why I’m here,” I say. “I don’t know what the hell is going on. My father didn’t tell me anything because he knew I’d never agree to come here if I knew who you were.”

  “Why?” he asks. “You’re the safest you’ve ever been in your life. I have plans for you, and only an idiot would try to interfere, you included. So listen.”

  I fix my eyes on his tie to stop them from darting around. My hands are free, fiddling with my hair, and I push them below the desk and under my legs.

  “Look at me, Harper.”

  It doesn’t seem wise to refuse.

  This man is Bratva. A member of the Russian mafia. And he wants something from me.

  I drag my eyes upwards to find a wry smile on his face. Something about me amuses him, and I feel a flash of anger under my anxiety.

  Maxim crosses his ankle over his knee and leans back, his hands behind his head.

  “So this is what will happen, angel. Your father was laundering money, but obviously, he won’t be doing that anymore. So I need you to do a vast pile of paperwork so I can clean just over one billion dollars in the next three weeks.”

  I blink rapidly, trying not to look away from him. A billion dollars?

  “I’ll hire you legit,” he continues. “I’ll pay you a reasonable contract rate plus a finishing bonus of two million. That’s what this is worth to me.”

  I swallow hard. That’s more money than I ever imagined earning in a lifetime. I could get Mom into private hospital care, get her safe and sober, get the treatment she needs…

  “And,” Maxim grins, “there’s another thing. The most important part.” He sits forward, leaning his elbow on the desk as he points at me. “You will marry me.”

  There’s a long silence.

  I misheard him, surely. He’s about to say something else. Then all this will be clear.

  The dog wanders away across the office and lies down on a rug.

  “I thought you’d have some questions about that,” Maxim says.

  “I do,” I manage, my voice quivering. “I thought it was a joke, or I’m going deaf.”

  “Okay,” he begins. “So I have to get married in the immediate future, for reasons that are no business of yours. But the marriage needs to remain in place until our first anniversary, after which you’re welcome to divorce me and forget my name.”

  It’s too much. My hands are by my face again, twisting my hair into a rope beside my ear. “This isn’t, I mean, you can’t… take me for yourself, just like that? I’m a person. I have a life of my own.”

  He holds me in place with his eyes. I’m sure Maxim will destroy me and everything I care about if I walk out now, but even without that to worry about, I don’t think I could stand up and leave if I tried.

  “Yes, I fucking can, Harper,” he says. “I only have to make a phone call, and your father will disappear. I won’t even dignify him with a final resting place where you can visit him. Men like him don’t deserve it.” He smiles at me. “But you? All you have to do is work for me for under a month, take a lot of cash in payment, and stay married to me for a year.”

  He stands and walks around the desk until he’s standing behind me. He bends down to speak, his mouth beside my ear.

  “It’s all for show. I need a wife, and you need your father to not get murdered. Nothing more to it unless you think there should be.”

  I turn to look at him, but he doesn’t move away. His face is inches from mine, his gray-blue eyes pulling at me again.

  This is the closest I’ve ever been to Maxim. When I worked here before, there were many office staff, and he was a distant presence, gliding like a ghost from his office to the front door and back again. He may not have spared a word for me, but it didn’t stop me from thinking of him on those hot, lonely nights, touching myself while I imagined his body pressed against mine, his lips on my breasts, his tongue in my pussy…

  I can feel my skin heating as I flush at the memory. Maxim smirks, and I’m sure he knows what I’m thinking.

  He straightens up and steps back, cocking his head slightly as he takes me in. I realize I’m breathing a little heavily, my chest rising, and I catch the flick of his eyes as he steals a look at my tits.

  This is fucking ridiculous. How can I still have the hots for this asshole, knowing what I know?

  “Harper, I expect specific things from you,” he says, striding back to his chair behind the desk and sitting down again, “because I’m very particular. I like things a certain way, and I’m difficult as fuck to be around when my needs aren’t being met. I expect you to meet my needs and assist me in whatever way I see fit, or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

  His hand is resting on the desk. I watch it as it twitches, his fingers curling. When I look at his face, he’s staring at me, his eyes focused and unblinking.

  I don’t understand, no. But something inside me knows more than I do.

  His attention is overwhelming, and I feel drowsy, as though I’m fighting off some kind of hex he’s trying to put on me.

  “I think so,” I say.

  “Good. Be here at nine a.m. sharp. I’ll know if you’re late, and I’m always on time - I live in the apartment upstairs.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Now go. I have stuff to do.”

  4

  Maxim

  I can’t decide whether I’m glad that Harper has gone.

  Seeing her respond to me like that when I got close. Fucking hell. I had to sit down before she noticed my erection and ran out screaming.

  Would she run away, though? Somehow I’m not so sure. In fact, I think there’s a good chance I could have pulled out my cock and told her to put her mouth around it, and she’d have done so without a thought.

  I remembered she was gorgeous, but I didn’t know she was so… submissive. I had to order her to look me in the eye, and she did.

  Because I told her.

  Shame she’s the daughter of a thieving moron, but at least she’s unlikely to pull any shit with me. She’s got too much to lose.

  And by that logic, I can ask whatever I want of her. Hell, I can fucking insist. What can she do about it?

  The thought does nothing to dampen my arousal.

  I undo my zipper and free my cock, stroking it as I think of her. I can do whatever I want in my imagination without risk or consequences.

  I want to grab a handful of that red hair and push her head onto my cock. I want to choke her on it, pump myself into her throat, mess up her mascara.

  And I want to make her look at me while she does it.

  No, not now. I have somewhere to be. I’d rather indulge myself later on when I have time to add some light and shade to this hot little scene I’ve got going.

  Reluctantly, I zip up and take my glass to the kitchen, pouring out another measure of vodka. Nikita follows me, arching her back to stretch as she waits for me. I tap my leg with my palm, and she comes to my side, wagging her tail as we go upstairs to the apartment.

  A quick change and I leave for Grigor’s club.

  The club isn’t usually the place to find Grigor on a Friday, but it’s extremely well protected. I assume he’s paranoid about someone seeing his weakness and taking him out before he gets his affairs in order.

  I pick my way through the crowded bar and through the door in the padded velvet wall behind the stage, ignoring the stripper as she shakes her tits at the men gawking at her from the sidelines. The suite is upstairs, a mezzanine with a good view of the pole dancing.

  Grigor is in his armchair. A rough-looking woman sits on his lap. She’s probably only in
her early twenties, but she looks much older. Swapping hopes and dreams for meth and money will do that to a girl.

  Grigor shoos her away when he sees me, and she rolls her eyes at me as she leaves.

  “Who’s that?” I ask.

  “That’s Gigi,” he says, passing me a drink. “You don’t know her. New girl.”

  “She’s on crank, you know,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Grigor says with a frown, “Lev has been trying to help her get off it. Fucking filthy stuff.”

  “Is Lev here now?” I ask. I didn’t see him on my way in. He sometimes moonlights as Grigor’s bodyguard, but I didn’t know he was working tonight.

  “Yeah, he’s just rechecking the perimeter. I told him to keep it tight.” Grigor gestures at the chair opposite him. “So, who was the girl visiting you today? Nice little piece. Did you find out whether the collar matches the cuffs?”

  I enjoy pretending not to understand when he uses euphemisms in English.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  He huffs at me. “You’re being fucking wise. I know it. I’m talking about whether she has a big red bush to match her hair.”

  I suppress a smile. “I don’t know. But maybe I’ll find out. I’ll marry her if you’ll give your blessing.” I sip my drink. It’s fucking warm. What a joke.

  Grigor laughs. “You kept that quiet. Where did you find her?”

  “She’s Derek Jefferson’s daughter. You know, my light-fingered accountant. She’s gonna work for me and marry me just to keep her worthless father out of the obituaries.”

  Grigor is silent for a minute.

  A brief rap at the door, and Lev opens it, sticking his head into the room.

  “Dobryy vecher, how goes it, Max?” He says.

  “Don’t ‘good evening’ me, you fucker,” I say. I stand up and walk over to him, slapping him on the shoulder.