Alexei: A Russian Mafia Story

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 didn’t even want to glance at the clock. I knew it had to be late afternoon by now.

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.

Alexei—the new Pakhan of the largest Russian mafia syndicate in New York—had 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 eyes—those piercing blue eyes that cut through everything.

They didn’t soften, not even for a second. But last night—last 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.

He didn’t smile. He never smiled. But he didn’t look away either.

“Your vodka,” 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 didn’t 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 two-hundred-dollar bills wrapped around a stack of fifties.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the most he’d ever tipped me before. He didn’t say a word. Not even a flirtatious comment. Nothing.

Just that look—like he was balancing on control. And I couldn’t lie, it made my heart race in a way Carter never could.

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 paper—resident doctor—stable—educated—American.

A complete one-eighty from a Russian man. He cared about recycling and told me I was beautiful without needing me to dress up.

Maybe that’s what scared me about Alexei. I didn’t want to fall, especially not for someone like him, a Russian man, but not just any Russian man—a Pakhan.

A loud knock tore me from my thoughts.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Natalya’s voice rang out before the door even creaked open.

“It’s too early for joy,” I muttered, flopping back onto the bed and dragging the pillow over my face again.

“Oh, stop it. We both worked until dawn, and I’m still smiling,” she teased, sitting on the edge of the mattress and sipping from a massive coffee cup.

“How do you do it?” I groaned.

“Caffeine and delusion.” She grinned. “And 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.”

“Fine,” 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.

“So…how much did you make last night?” she asked.

I hesitated. “A little over a thousand.”

She nearly gasped. “Shut up.”

“Not joking,” I said with a shrug.

“Okay, I am definitely going blonde again. Men love blondes. Russian men, especially!”

“You’re so lucky,” Natalya sighed. “Meanwhile, I barely cracked four hundred. I swear, they like you better. You’ve got that innocence thing going on, makes you look like you’ve never been fucked before.”

I laughed. If only she knew the thoughts running through my mind last night.

The way my breath hitched when Alexei’s eyes slid down my body like a physical touch. The fact that I hadn’t 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.

“Yeah…maybe,” I muttered, sipping my coffee.

Natalya quickly got to her feet. “I’m going to get dressed—fifteen minutes. You’d better wear something warm, or I’ll call our ancestors to shame you.”

“Da, da, Mother Russia,” 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 Alexei—his silence, his control, his hunger.

He looked at me like all men do, like they want something, but there was also something more to his gaze—something deeper.

And I wasn’t sure what scared me more, that I didn’t know what it was or that I wanted to give it to him.