listening.
I marvel at what women will reveal to their hairdresser. My father hasn’t just taught me about the ins and outs of Bratva, he’s taught me about women. Things like knowing how to read them, how to tell if they’re lying. These are things a man needs to know in my world. Our women play an important and often non-traditional role in our lifestyle. Though there are some things my father is old school about, women and their role in Bratva business aren’t in that category. My sister is every bit as involved in the business as I am and she is a force to be reckoned with. Even Natasha, the woman my older brother has been enamored with from childhood, is Bratva; she’s our cleaner, and I don’t mean housekeeping. Her years of forensic science studies have come in handy more than once. She cleans up our bloody messes, eliminating all evidence of our more unsavory activities. Loose lips to a “civilian” hairdresser would be a problem; loose lips with a Bratva personal services employee like Svetlana is just another source of information. No, I haven’t slept with Becky, baby.
I saunter over to Logan and lift her chin with a finger, coldly assessing the results of her time with Svetlana. I meet Svetlana’s eyes and nod in approval and gratitude. Yes, I am pleased. “Come with me,” I say to Logan as I turn and walk to the door. When I look back over my shoulder and see the beautician wink at her, I know my claim on Logan will be a topic of speculation long before we enter the ballroom tonight.
In Bratva, the women you fuck and the woman you marry are two very different things. We will pass the time screwing sexy bombshells and think nothing of sending them on to a friend or associate when we’re done; this is nothing new. But Logan is not my usual type, and I won’t be sharing her. She’s obstinate and mouthy, slim and athletic, and, fuck me , but those sweet little tits are real.
In my world, actions speak louder than words. Having her on my arm in public will make it clear she’s off limits. No man who wants to stay alive will attempt to talk to her, much less fuck her. I’m not in the habit of bringing women to Bratva events; in fact, this is the first time. I can only hope my father will show mercy to this woman who is etching herself into me at the deepest level. She has no way of knowing she has become my obsession. But I have no doubt Glazov will see the truth at a glance.
I’ve always admired what my mother and father have—magic, pure and simple. Their marriage is unconventional, based on a visceral, intense bond that seems almost mystical; but it is, nonetheless, a real and profoundly deep connection they share. As for me, I’ve never considered claiming a woman for myself. Until now.
Logan follows me down the hall to my bedroom and I gesture for her to precede me into the room. As I close the door, she takes in the details of the room’s décor, no doubt looking for personal touches that will give her some insight into my psyche. The investigative journalist in her is trying to get a read on me. Her arms are folded over her chest and her back is ramrod straight. Hmm, she’s closed off, guarded, but that’s okay. I’ll enjoy breaking through that cool façade and generating some real heat soon enough.
I walk toward the mirror as if I’m not tracking her every move. I pick up my bow tie and lift my chin as I smoothly move through the steps my father taught me. After a final tug to straighten it, I add a set of onyx cufflinks that finish off the formal look that is expected for tonight’s gathering.
“That looks like the screen that was in the dressing room earlier,” Logan says in a puzzled tone.
“Yes, I bought one for you, for modesty’s sake,” I say with a small smile. “Now go behind it and slide that gown over that hot ass little body of yours.” I lock eyes with her, chuckling when she blushes. She hurries behind the screen in an effort to escape my gaze. This screen
I marvel at what women will reveal to their hairdresser. My father hasn’t just taught me about the ins and outs of Bratva, he’s taught me about women. Things like knowing how to read them, how to tell if they’re lying. These are things a man needs to know in my world. Our women play an important and often non-traditional role in our lifestyle. Though there are some things my father is old school about, women and their role in Bratva business aren’t in that category. My sister is every bit as involved in the business as I am and she is a force to be reckoned with. Even Natasha, the woman my older brother has been enamored with from childhood, is Bratva; she’s our cleaner, and I don’t mean housekeeping. Her years of forensic science studies have come in handy more than once. She cleans up our bloody messes, eliminating all evidence of our more unsavory activities. Loose lips to a “civilian” hairdresser would be a problem; loose lips with a Bratva personal services employee like Svetlana is just another source of information. No, I haven’t slept with Becky, baby.
I saunter over to Logan and lift her chin with a finger, coldly assessing the results of her time with Svetlana. I meet Svetlana’s eyes and nod in approval and gratitude. Yes, I am pleased. “Come with me,” I say to Logan as I turn and walk to the door. When I look back over my shoulder and see the beautician wink at her, I know my claim on Logan will be a topic of speculation long before we enter the ballroom tonight.
In Bratva, the women you fuck and the woman you marry are two very different things. We will pass the time screwing sexy bombshells and think nothing of sending them on to a friend or associate when we’re done; this is nothing new. But Logan is not my usual type, and I won’t be sharing her. She’s obstinate and mouthy, slim and athletic, and, fuck me , but those sweet little tits are real.
In my world, actions speak louder than words. Having her on my arm in public will make it clear she’s off limits. No man who wants to stay alive will attempt to talk to her, much less fuck her. I’m not in the habit of bringing women to Bratva events; in fact, this is the first time. I can only hope my father will show mercy to this woman who is etching herself into me at the deepest level. She has no way of knowing she has become my obsession. But I have no doubt Glazov will see the truth at a glance.
I’ve always admired what my mother and father have—magic, pure and simple. Their marriage is unconventional, based on a visceral, intense bond that seems almost mystical; but it is, nonetheless, a real and profoundly deep connection they share. As for me, I’ve never considered claiming a woman for myself. Until now.
Logan follows me down the hall to my bedroom and I gesture for her to precede me into the room. As I close the door, she takes in the details of the room’s décor, no doubt looking for personal touches that will give her some insight into my psyche. The investigative journalist in her is trying to get a read on me. Her arms are folded over her chest and her back is ramrod straight. Hmm, she’s closed off, guarded, but that’s okay. I’ll enjoy breaking through that cool façade and generating some real heat soon enough.
I walk toward the mirror as if I’m not tracking her every move. I pick up my bow tie and lift my chin as I smoothly move through the steps my father taught me. After a final tug to straighten it, I add a set of onyx cufflinks that finish off the formal look that is expected for tonight’s gathering.
“That looks like the screen that was in the dressing room earlier,” Logan says in a puzzled tone.
“Yes, I bought one for you, for modesty’s sake,” I say with a small smile. “Now go behind it and slide that gown over that hot ass little body of yours.” I lock eyes with her, chuckling when she blushes. She hurries behind the screen in an effort to escape my gaze. This screen
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