Forced to Cooperate Read online

  “You can fight all you want, but there is no one who will hear you. Tonight. But I can parade you in front of others if that would please you,” he said in a low register, the words almost inaudible.

  Taunting me.

  Violating me.

  “Whatever.”

  He nipped my earlobe, every muscle in his powerful thighs used as he thrust in and out of my asshole.

  The anguish had already disappeared, replaced with the kind of intense warmth that filled every cell, further igniting the fire shared between us. Yet I kept repeating words of hatred in my mind, perhaps trying to convince myself that there was no attraction in any manner. With every intense thrust, I willed myself to make no sound, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

  Even with the dim lighting, the reflection of the man told no lies.

  I was a challenge he hadn’t anticipated.

  I could tell he was close to coming, his chest rising and falling, every breath more of a primal growl. All I wanted was for this atrocity to be over, so I did what every naughty girl would do.

  I squeezed my muscles.

  His entire body began to shake, his fingers digging in even more. After three hard plunges, he threw his head back, the guttural sound strangled.

  “Fuck!”

  I closed my eyes, finally panting, watching the steam from my heated breath fogging up the window. Using just my pinky, I wrote him a catching, sweet little note, all spelled out in big, bold letters.

  DIE

  I heard the same dark chuckle as before when he pulled away, raking both hands through his disheveled hair. Oops. Had I rattled his cage?

  Aleksei adjusted his attire, taking two long strides away from me. Bending, he grabbed my clothes, tossing them in my direction. “Get dressed.”

  “No after passion small talk? No sweet nothings whispered in my ear?” I drew a heart around the word, able to tell he was watching every single thing I was doing.

  He moved back toward his drink, polishing off the entire contents, slamming the glass on his desk with a hard thud.

  I turned around to face him, smiling as his gaze shifted to the word again, satisfied I’d made my point.

  “Make no mistake, Willow. I take what I want, when I want. You’re right on several levels, including the fact I’m a cold-hearted bastard. You obviously believe this to be a game. Then so be it; however, there’s something else you need to keep in mind. I never lose. The welfare of your brother depends on how quickly you learn to obey me.”

  “Is that so?”

  He adjusted his diamond-studded cufflinks, forcing me to notice his manicured nails, just as perfect as the rest of him. I pulled my clothes close to my chest, disgusted with my nakedness.

  “Discipline is an art, cherie, and I am a consummate perfectionist. There are dozens of very painful punishments that can be inflicted on a human body, many never leaving a mark of any kind. The amount of anguish I will impose will depend on your choices, and you will be required to make several outstanding selections.” He took slow and even steps in my direction.

  Every inch closer he came, the harder my heart thudded, my pulse skipping. “If you lay a finger on my brother, there won’t be a rat-infested hole you can climb into or an alligator-filled swamp you can swim in where I won’t find you. And when I’m finished, there won’t be enough of you left to feed a swarm of insects. I suggest you keep that in mind.”

  His smile was as charming as ever, the glimmer in his eyes malevolent. “It will be my absolute pleasure to use you, fuck you, train you and when I’m finished...” He allowed his statement to linger as he closed the distance. “I. Will. Break. You.”

  Chapter Three

  Aleksei

  Three hours earlier

  Barbarian.

  I’d heard the expression more than once when I’d walked into a room. Perhaps I was, savage in nature and unforgiving in every way. What those working against me believed had no bearing on me in any manner.

  I couldn’t give a fuck what they thought.

  Enemies.

  I was a man who should look over his shoulder every day, prepared for some form of retaliation for one or more of my merciless decisions. I never did. That wouldn’t suit either my family or my way of life.

  Especially my father, a man I respected who others feared. He was truly the barbarian in the family, exactly like the stories I’d heard about my grandfather, both living through horrid conditions and with savage methods of dealing with anyone who dared to challenge their way of life.

  We were Bratva and we were brutal. We weren’t only merciless in business, cold-hearted in every manner; we also refused to stand for anything but total and absolute submission from our women. Were they adored and protected? Fiercely. Were they punished for stepping over the line?

  Absolutely.

  While my father fashioned himself to be the king of our portion of the underworld, I’d taken over almost the entire helm, boosting our business and our wealth by a solid two hundred percent. I was no one’s friend and lovers meant little to me, eye candy and a necessity for certain traditional events and celebrations.

  A special meeting had been called of the five bureaus, the offer to hold it in my city an honor. I knew this meant an act of retaliation was being requested. We were the sons of the five mafia kingpins holding court in the United States, all powerful and influential killers. I chuckled at the thought as I shifted the Mercedes into fifth, making a sharp turn and enjoying the feel of the engine.

  By all rights, the five of us shouldn’t have formed an alliance. We were supposed to be rivals. Our fathers certainly wouldn’t approve. Still, working together had certain benefits, including additional soldiers as necessary. Even our enemies continuously crossed state lines.

  Sons of Darkness. I wasn’t entirely certain which one of us had coined the expression but the term certainly fit.

  I was late, something I refused to tolerate from any of my business associates, but my father’s earlier request didn’t allow for a denial. He was worried about our export business. Someone was stepping on our turf.

  That wasn’t going to continue.

  I pulled the car into the valet parking, the tires squealing as I applied the brakes. As I climbed out, fastening the single button on the tuxedo jacket, there wasn’t a woman or man who didn’t turn and stare. The majority of people in the great city of Philadelphia knew my lineage, but they had no idea what I was capable of. Tonight, the gawkers were more interested to see if I was a celebrity. I’d been to this hotel before, the Ritz the number one destination for various celebrations and political events. Tonight was no exception, honoring the mayor’s recent reelection.

  With my father’s influence of course.

  In return, we controlled the police force, allowing for a more peaceful time. Crime was low, the streets safer.

  What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. We simply had a very personal way of dealing with those who got out of line.

  After dropping my keys into the valet’s hand, I strolled into the lobby, heading straight for the secluded and posh bar. I knew the others would be waiting. I barely acknowledged the bartender, although the lovely female had served me on several occasions and knew exactly how to prepare my drink.

  She took a moment to admire the suit as I walked by, and I could almost hear her heavy breathing. The private room had been reserved for our use, even though our meetings generally took thirty minutes or less. When I strolled in, I could hear a heated conversation between Dominick and Lorenzo, princes of the New York Lugiano and Chicago Francesco families respectively.

  They were usually at each other’s throats, something I found amusing.

  “Well, well, the Russian arrives. Fashionably late or should I just say fashionable?” The man’s laughter often got on my nerves, but Kelan Rock, the infamous actor had garnered a heightened level of respect in the recent months. He’d finally accepted not only his real name of Michael Cappelini, he’d also embraced his t
rue lineage, taking over as mafia don for his father. Los Angeles had no idea how savage the man could be.

  “I apologize. I had other pressing business.” I noticed that Miguel was unusually quiet, sitting by himself and swirling a half-consumed drink. I’d heard about the various dangerous elements facing the Garcia reign in Miami. The recent bloodshed had been horrific.

  “At least you’re here,” Lorenzo said, giving Dominick another harsh glare.

  As the door opened, I couldn’t help but smile, the lovely bartender bringing in my refreshment herself. Her look of admiration continued. Everyone would remain quiet until she left. I held the glass of vodka in front of me, the Russian liquor exactly what I needed.

  I allowed our fingers to touch as I inhaled the sweet scent of her exotic perfume. My mouth watered at the thought of what I could do to her in one of the hotel rooms. However, as with all our settings, the hired help was completely off limits. When she walked out, closing the door with a soft click, my cock twitched.

  “Seems you have an issue on your hands, one that is extending into Francesco turf.” Dominick was always the voice of reason, even more so since his marriage to a New York senator’s daughter.

  “And what issue would that be?” I asked before taking and savoring a swallow of the cold vodka.

  Lorenzo walked closer, giving me a hard once-over. I could tell he’d already had too much to drink, a weakness in my mind and the man had several.

  “Shipping. Export. Drugs.”

  I chuckled and took another sip before moving to one of the chairs, easing down and studying him intently. “In that particular order?”

  Huffing, Lorenzo cursed under his breath. “You have an asshole claiming to be from Philadelphia trying to muscle in on our business and using the inroads from Canada.”

  I hated to admit that I had limited idea with regard to what he was talking about. I prided myself in knowing about every aspect of my competitors, but business had taken me out of town recently, appeasing certain clients. “And who is that?”

  “Church Exports.”

  I eased the glass onto the table, leaning forward as I thought about what my father as just told me. “Church Exports.” I repeated the name, my entire mind grasping onto the fact that some lowlife piece of trash had managed to slither his way into making a dent in our business. My father had kept the information from me for far too long. Party favors were his part of our world.

  “Peter Church. He’s certainly been in the news lately.” Dominick lifted a single eyebrow.

  With that, Lorenzo yanked a copy of the New York Times from his jacket, tossing it in my direction. “Even making the news in Dominick’s part of the world.”

  “I spent a good portion of the morning gleaning information. Peter Church is a bottom feeder, his import-export business bringing in various pieces of art,” Michael stated. “From all appearances, he’s on the up and up, the majority of pieces going to high-end collectors. He pawns himself off as legitimate, gaining not only notoriety but clout amongst lenders, corporate leaders, and even politicians.”

  I shifted, angry with myself for not paying closer attention. The second page headline was damning enough.

  Is Church Exports Powerful Enough to Slide into New York?

  Slide. The word was interesting. I scanned a few paragraphs, studying the man’s glossy photo. A few memories began to settle in. I’d heard about an incident when I was merely a Capo, a small organization attempting to muscle in. I thought my father had taken care of what had been a single small issue over three years before. No wonder he’d been pissed as hell earlier. The one thing you didn’t do was attempt to make Aleksandr Petrov look like a fool.

  Even though I’d been able to tell that my father had been hiding important details. I’d left the meeting wondering whether he had merely been testing me, ensuring I was prepared to take over the reins. This was something else entirely. A real threat.

  I took a deep breath, pushing the paper away, putting certain pieces together. “So Mr. Church had set his sights on Chicago and New York as well as Philly?” I glanced from Dominick to Lorenzo, both men confirming with a nod.

  “He fashions himself to be a real player, even sniffing in Miami,” Miguel offered. “Michael is right. He is seen as nothing but reputable. The man and his operation are brilliant if you ask me. Plus, he’s well connected. Everybody likes the guy. My sources tell me that the heroin he is bringing in is almost pure and getting into the hands of minors. He is clever in that he’s moving everything in during the middle of the night.”

  Brilliant. I exhaled, rubbing my jaw. The word I’d use was calculating. Minors. I loathed the concept. I was a man of honor, refusing to allow our Bratva’s drugs to get into the hands of children. Snarling, I knew the situation had to be handled with extreme caution. If Church Exports was stationed out of Philadelphia, naturally it was believed that I would take care of the situation.

  And there was another problem.

  My guess is that heroin wasn’t Church Exports’ only import the man was bringing in. The options were endless. All of which could prove damning and expensive for the Petrov empire. From all appearances, Peter Church had maintained a legal operation in Philadelphia while setting up franchises in other cities.

  Fortunately, Mr. Church didn’t know about my relationship with the other families. He would learn soon enough.

  “And he has enough manpower to handle additional merchandise?” I asked casually, although I was seething inside, burning with anger.

  “The word on the street is that he’s developed quite a following, both in investors and in those now under his employ. Peter Church is not to be underestimated, the people he employs just as dangerous as any of our soldiers,” Miguel stated, choosing his words carefully. He eased into a standing position, handing me a folder. “Everything I’ve been able to collect on the man and his growing empire. Mr. Church is cagey, but a damn good businessman, protecting himself and his interests carefully.”

  I eased my glass down, taking a look through various files, including photographs of some influential people on the corporate and political side. I was honestly stunned that the man had been able to stay under the radar.

  My radar.

  My father had every right to be angry, seeking revenge. He had even mentioned several unexplained deaths at raves, creating heat on our establishment. The police would find answers given the push from the parents. Thankfully, news hadn’t hit the streets.

  Yet.

  This kind of bullshit my family didn’t need.

  “Notice the amount of money in offshore accounts. Seems the man is doing very well for himself,” Miguel said under his breath, cursing in Spanish. “It’s an intricate operation, obviously in the works for years.”

  “The information has been corroborated by several sources,” Dominick added. “Mr. Church needs to be dealt with before this gets out of hand. We can’t allow our people to know we’ve lost a handle on this. You know what would happen.”

  Anarchy.

  We’d lose all credibility.

  Rage rose like nasty bile, choking me. I was appalled at my own weakness, working on other areas of the business. I tossed the file, grabbing my drink once again. Seething.

  I already knew what had to be done.

  Eradication.

  “Given you gentlemen seem to know Peter Church better than I do, what do you believe are his weaknesses?” I glanced from one to the other, demanding in my tone.

  Lorenzo snorted, lifting his glass. “Squeaky clean, other than a few parking tickets. That’s why he is brilliant. The man has been playing us for years.”

  “Everyone has a secret. You know that better than most,” I directed toward the brooding Italian.

  The entire room was quiet for a full minute.

  “He has one weakness that I have found and the other reason for our meeting,” Miguel moved to a standing position, pulling a photograph from his pocket. As he slid it across the table, he gave
me a hard look. “His sister. Obviously, the man standing beside her is Peter Church. She isn’t listed on any of the corporate papers and as far as I can tell, has no social media presence. However, her reputation is fascinating. If the reports are true, then she could prove to be an issue herself.”

  I studied the picture, fingering the lovely young woman’s outline. I had seen her once before in passing but had never been introduced. My attraction to her two years before obviously hadn’t waned given my twitching cock. Certain instincts were starting to kick in. This was exactly what my father had brought me into his office about. A cagey motherfucker. One easy to take out. “Why fascinating? I could simply arrange to have her taken, use the woman as bait.”

  “Not going to be that easy, Aleksei,” Dominick said, a certain look in his eye.

  “Meet Willow Church, one very dangerous woman.” Miguel smiled.

  “And why is that?” She seemed almost demure, standing in a sparkling long gown, a drink in her hand, laughing from something her brother was saying.

  “Because she is an assassin; her specialty is gunning down soldiers, mafia soldiers.”

  What. The. Hell.

  I’d heard rumors over the years, tales of an unknown assassin capable of wreaking havoc. To think a woman had the capability of infiltrating operations, getting close enough for a kill? Yes, I was fascinated indeed. Perhaps I even admired her. Two of my soldiers had been killed about the same timeframe as I’d seen her before. While we’d blamed the bloodshed on a drug deal gone bad, I’d had my doubts, especially given the tall tales another one of my soldiers had insisted occurred.

  A woman firing the shots.

  I shot a look in Miguel’s direction, my cock instantly twitching. I did so love a good challenge. “You’re right. Truly remarkable.” Evidently, Peter had been nursing a plan for years. He must have balls the size of melons to think he could get away with this.

  “Don’t let her looks fool you, Russian,” Lorenzo said quietly. “She’s already taken out two of my soldiers, men who protected my shipments.”