Alexei: A Russian Mafia Story
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Daphne Anders
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1,2M
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39
Chapter 1
ANASTASIA IVANOVA
The sunlight pierced through the sheer curtains, cutting across my face. I groaned, rolling onto my stomach as I dragged the pillow over my head to block it.
I didnât even want to glance at the clock. I knew it had to be late afternoon by now.
I had barely made it through the door at five fifteen a.m., heels in hand, toes blistered, thighs aching, and my mind tangled up in somethingâor someoneâI couldnât seem to shake.
Alexei Sokolov.
His name alone had started to echo in my head lately. It was just another night as a server at the Russian club where I worked, and yet another long shift serving overpriced vodka to entitled men in suits with too much money and not enough decency.
My feet throbbed just thinking about it. Ten hours in five-inch stilettos, maneuvering through velvet booths and faking flirty laughs for larger tips.
It was brutal, but worth it. I made bank. A little over a grand, in fact. Most of it from one man.
From him.
Alexeiâthe new Pakhan of the largest Russian mafia syndicate in New Yorkâhad been sitting in the far corner booth again with his men. Light brown hair framed his forehead, always perfectly styled, even at midnight. His sharp jaw looked even more carved than usual, and his eyesâthose piercing blue eyes that cut through everything.
They didnât soften, not even for a second. But last nightâlast night, he looked at me differently.
I had walked up to his table, confident as could be with my tray balanced carefully in one hand. I smiled, trying to keep my heart from bursting out of my chest as I pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on me.
But I did. God, I noticed.
He didnât smile. He never smiled. But he didnât look away either.
âYour vodka,â I said, placing the glass down.
He gave a curt nod. Then his fingers brushed against mine as he slipped folded bills into my palm.
I didnât open my hand right away. I just smiled, thanked him, and moved to the next table.
But his eyes followed me across the room. I could feel them like a forbidden touch.
Later, when I finally unfolded the bills in the bathroom, I nearly dropped them. Two hundred-dollar bills wrapped around a stack of fifties.
It wasnât the first time, but it was the most heâd ever tipped me before. He didnât say a word. Not even a flirtatious comment. Nothing.
Just that lookâlike he was balancing on control. And I couldnât lie, it made my heart race in a way Carter never could.
Carter.
I sighed, dragging myself upright in bed and combing through my long, blonde, tangled hair. My boyfriend, if I could still call him that, was the perfect man on paperâresident doctorâstableâeducatedâAmerican.
A complete one-eighty from a Russian man. He cared about recycling and told me I was beautiful without needing me to dress up.
It shouldâve been enough. But he didnât set my skin on fire. He was boring.
Maybe thatâs what scared me about Alexei. I didnât want to fall, especially not for someone like him, a Russian man, but not just any Russian manâa Pakhan.
A loud knock tore me from my thoughts.
âGood morning, sunshine!â Natalyaâs voice rang out before the door even creaked open.
âItâs too early for joy,â I muttered, flopping back onto the bed and dragging the pillow over my face again.
âOh, stop it. We both worked until dawn, and Iâm still smiling,â she teased, sitting on the edge of the mattress and sipping from a massive coffee cup.
âHow do you do it?â I groaned.
âCaffeine and delusion.â She grinned. âAnd I have shopping therapy planned for us, so get up. I need a new dress, and you need to stop wearing the same three outfits at work.â
âFine,â I grumbled, dragging myself out of bed.
As I shuffled into the kitchen, I poured myself a scalding cup of coffee and leaned against the countertop lazily.
âSoâŠhow much did you make last night?â she asked.
I hesitated. âA little over a thousand.â
She nearly gasped. âShut up.â
âNot joking,â I said with a shrug.
âOkay, I am definitely going blonde again. Men love blondes. Russian men, especially!â
But I knew better. It wasnât the tables. It was him.
It was Alexei.
âYouâre so lucky,â Natalya sighed. âMeanwhile, I barely cracked four hundred. I swear, they like you better. Youâve got that innocence thing going on, makes you look like youâve never been fucked before.â
I laughed. If only she knew the thoughts running through my mind last night.
The way my breath hitched when Alexeiâs eyes slid down my body like a physical touch. The fact that I hadnât properly orgasmed in months, even though Carter and I had sex plenty of times.
But the way Alexei looked at me made my body explode. The kind of explosion I needed.
âYeahâŠmaybe,â I muttered, sipping my coffee.
Natalya quickly got to her feet. âIâm going to get dressedâfifteen minutes. Youâd better wear something warm, or Iâll call our ancestors to shame you.â
âDa, da, Mother Russia,â I teased, and we laughed.
I stayed in the kitchen a little longer. I pressed my fingertips to the edge of the counter and stared out the window.
I thought about the stacks of cash hidden in my closet, rolled tight in rubber bands. I thought about Alexeiâhis silence, his control, his hunger.
He scared me. But more than thatâŠhe intrigued me.
He looked at me like all men do, like they want something, but there was also something more to his gazeâsomething deeper.
And I wasnât sure what scared me more, that I didnât know what it was or that I wanted to give it to him.
