Cruel Paradise - A Mafia Romance Chapter 22

I hold the doors open for her when we reach the main floor. “He’ll be waiting for you outside.”

She glances at me. “Aren’t you leaving, too?”

“I have to go down one more floor. My car’s parked there.”

“Oh. Okay.” She hesitates. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Something like that.” I’m in a hurry, but I’m not a dick. Not enough to literally throw her out of the building no matter how much I need her to get going. And I’m lingering only partly because I’m still entertaining fantasies of fucking her up against the mirrored elevator walls.

She backs out of the elevator and the doors close on her piqued eyebrows. The post-sex high is dwindling slowly, but there’s a certain focused clarity that I haven’t felt in forever. Who knew sex was the solution I needed this whole time?

I slide into my Aston Martin Valkyrie and, in less than fifteen minutes, I’m pulling up outside Alcazar.

I toss the keys to Bruno, who’s on valet duty, and head inside. The entry passage is a dark, soundproof tunnel that swallows you into the belly of the club. When I emerge, I see bare walls, unadorned save for old black-and-white street portraits of New York City in its heyday, all exquisite mansions and palatial public buildings that marked the city’s Gilded Age in the late nineteenth century.

One of my bouncers, Jeremiah, stands at the end of the passage manning the arched metal door.

Constant vibrations run down its heavy surface, caused by the state-of-the-art sound system that cost me a cool half-million.

Jeremiah offers me a deferential nod. “Boss.”

He opens the door and I’m immediately swallowed up by the lights and music pulsating through the four-thousand-square-foot venue. Neon lights hit the walls at steep angles and ricochet onto the high ceilings. The dance floor is the centerpiece of the space, but it’s the VIP boxes up on the balcony that I have my eyes on.

Kirill comes sauntering up. He’s got a lager in hand, though his eyes stay fixed on the corner-most VIP box on the second mezzanine. I follow his gaze.

“Is that Vadim?” I growl.

Kirill’s purses his lips. “He came in ten minutes before you. Made a beeline straight for Adrik. I thought the old bear was gonna scare him off, but—”

“They look way too fucking friendly for that to be the case.”

Kirill nods curtly. My suspicions are on full alert. Uncle Vadim is not the kind of man who would ever go against the family. Still, I prefer to operate under the belief that people are unpredictable. And Vadim certainly has enough resentment against me to justify doing something as desperate as fraternizing with the enemy.

Although enemy strikes me as the wrong word. It implies a legitimate threat and there’s nothing about Adrik that I find remotely threatening. But since we’ve been pitted against each other from the very beginning, there’s no chance that ingrained sense of competition is going to let up any time soon.

“Should I go up there or do you wanna handle it?” Kirill asks.

I thump him on the back. “I got this.”

Both men are so absorbed in conversation that they don’t see me coming until I’m right on top of them. “Ah, Ruslan!” Adrik greets as though we’re fucking camp buddies.

I glance at my uncle, whose smile seems stiffer than usual. “Uncle.” Then I turn to Adrik. “Pretty sure you’re in the wrong club, Makarov.”

He smirks and shrugs. “Must have mistaken it for mine.”

“The day your club is half this full would be the best day of your fucking life.”

He runs a hand through his short-cropped blond hair and scowls. “Mine’s just a bigger spot. Makes it look emptier.”

“It figures you would be one of those men obsessed with size. Explains a lot.”

Vadim clears his throat. “Perhaps Adrik is just here to learn from the best.”

Adrik’s eyes narrow as he glances between the two of us. “I didn’t come here to be ganged up on, that’s for damn sure..”

“Why did you come, Adrik?”

He shrugs again, but his eyes keep flitting around too much for the gesture to come off as nonchalant.

“Why not? I mean, we’re practically family.”

“Family?” I balk. “Now, you’re overreaching.”

“Overreaching is how I earned my reputation. And my empire.”

I crook an eyebrow. “‘Empire’? Are you referring to the two failing businesses you own? Or the ghost town you call a nightclub?”

Adrik gnashes his teeth together. “You have no fucking clue—”

“Careful, Adrik.” Vadim speaks up finally. “It’s a wise man who knows when to defer to his betters.”

I spare Vadim a dismissive glance, still annoyed with the buddy-buddy exchange I’d interrupted between them. “Why don’t you lead by example and go see to my other VIPs, Uncle?”

Vadim’s jaw clenches, but he nods all the same. “Of course. Whatever you need, nephew.”

Adrik’s nostrils flare as his gaze veers from Vadim to me. “You may have the lion’s share of power now, but I’ve beaten you in the past and I can do it again.”

I smirk. Now, I’m really amused. “Are you referring to the arms deal you stole off me four years ago? Remind me again. Wasn’t that the same company I obliterated by coaxing all your buyers to sell to me?”

His jaw relaxes, then clenches as he breaks eye contact. “I’ll keep that in mind while I’m drinking your booze and enjoying your women.”

I suppress a scowl, annoyed that he’s not taking the hint and leaving. But I’m not about to give Adrik the satisfaction of kicking him out and making a public spectacle. The man loves an audience.

“Let’s call it a truce for tonight,” Adrik declares. “Right now, we’re just old friends catching up. Come—let’s drink and enjoy the night.”

Two cocktail waitresses enter the box with fresh trays of drinks and Adrik’s gaze zones in on the leggy blonde in the pink bustier.

“I gotta hand it to you, Ruslan: you have a great selection.” He licks his lip and throws her a wink.

I rest my hand on his shoulder, interrupting his intense leer. “Keep those wandering hands to yourself. I have a zero-tolerance policy for guests who harass my waitresses. Is that understood?”

“Of course.” He sneers. “I wouldn’t even think of crossing the mighty Ruslan Oryolov on his own territory.”