Page 45 of Ruthless Savior
She called me an ass. I blink, wondering if I’m right that she’d feel obligated to keep fucking me if we did it once. She’s clearly not afraid that I’ll withdraw my help by her standing up to me.
But sex is different. I know it is. I’m experienced. Much too old for her. I’m a mafia boss, and she’s a civilian, an ordinary woman caught up in all of this. She’s a virgin who should be choosing someone her own age for her first time, not giving it to a man much too old for her who has too much power over her.
There’s a list of reasons why it’s wrong before I even get to the financial aspect of our relationship, and whether or not she’d feel obliged to give me what I want to protect her mother.
But all I can think about as I stand there is how she looked at me, how defiantly she made it clear that she wants this, too.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes me harder than I've been in months. Hard enough that I ignore the fact that it’s dinnertime and lock the door behind me, sinking onto the piano bench and breathing in the lingering scent of Leila’s perfume as I wrap my hand around my aching cock.
I’d rather be christening this spot with her, fucking her in this room, in every room of this mansion that I’ve never fucked in. Instead, I grit my teeth and close my eyes, stroking myself to an unsatisfying release that barely touches the well of my frustration.
This is getting worse. My need for her is getting worse.
And there’s no clear end in sight.
12
RONAN
My phone goes off at four in the morning, jolting me from the first real sleep I've had in days. Finn's voice is tense and urgent, waking me fully within the first few words he says.
"We have a problem, boss."
I'm already sitting up, the covers thrown aside as I rub one hand over my face. "What is it?”
“There’s a rumor De Luca is planning to make a move on the estate. Try to pinch Leila and take her back. One of our men spotted someone taking photos of the garden. He might have snuck in through the woods. We chased him, but he got away. Word is, De Luca is getting together a team for an attack.”
I’m already halfway dressed before he finishes speaking. "Double the perimeter security. I want regular patrols and additional ones in the woods and the roads leading here. No one gets within five miles of this house without my knowing about it."
"Already done. But boss, there's more. Sorokov wants a meeting. Today."
Ilya Sorokov is the pakhan of the Boston Bratva. Our alliance with the Russians has always been tenuous, but itexists. Sorokov is no great friend of my father’s or mine, but he recognizes that we’re stronger together, especially since the Italians hate us both.
But he also rarely wants to talk outside of specific business deals. If Sorokov is calling for a meeting now, it means the pressure is mounting.
“Set it up. I assume he’s called my father as well?”
“Yes.” Finn pauses. "He's not going to like flying up from Miami in December."
“You’re not wrong about that.” I let out a heavy breath. “Especially when he was just here for Siobhan’s funeral.”
My father’s irritation is one more thing I don’t need right now, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Instead, I get up, focusing on what’s ahead of me today—a meeting I’m not prepared for and a situation that I’m going into mostly blind. I’m sure Rocco De Luca is going to be the topic of conversation, but I have no idea what Ilya will have to say about it all.
Two hours later, I’m sitting across from Ilya Sorokov in the back room of one of his restaurants. He’s flanked by four men at the back of the room, all thick, heavily muscled Russians who could snap me like a twig. My father is sitting next to me, his jaw tight, and I feel every muscle in my body wound tight with anxiety.
Ilya is my age, thepakhanfor two years now, since his father’s death. He’s coldly handsome, with light blond hair and ice blue eyes, his demeanor hard and unflappable. He surveys me without a shred of emotion on his face, although there’s a hint of disapproval in his eyes. It’s a reaction I’m seeing more often lately than I’d like.
I’ve worked tirelessly since I was old enough to begin to learn from my father, to earn my place. I’ve striven all my life to be worthy of what I’ve inherited. To be everything his heir shouldbe. I’ve sacrificed and obeyed, over and over again. And it feels like, despite all of it, it’s still not enough.
"Ronan," Sorokov says, his accent clear despite being raised here in Boston. "You look like shit."
I don’t let my expression change. "It's been a long week."
"I can imagine. This business with De Luca is becoming a problem for all of us." Sorokov leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. "The Italians are putting pressure on my operations, thinking we will side with you in this… disagreement."
“They killed my wife and child.” My jaw tightens. “We have an alliance, Sorokov. I assumed you would.”
Ilya’s expression hardens at my intentional use of his last name. “If it were only about the murder of your family, O’Malley, of course, I would. The murder of a wife and child is unconscionable. A personal attack instead of business. He escalated too quickly. But it’s not only that, is it?”
