Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Maksim

Standing in the back street was not the most popular thing to do today. Meeting with shady Croatians who are laundering money for my father’s business wasn’t high on my agenda. Yet there I was, waiting for the lazy motherfuckers to get their asses out of bed for the meet. Tiresome, but I am the only one my father trusts enough to get the job done.

My sister, Alexi, never gets involved with the family business. She is merely the princess in our family, after my mother, that is. The same mother who is either high on coke or taking pills to avoid the marriage she has with my father. Many times I have tried to support her, and tried to get her to leave him. It’s not that simple to be married to a man like my father. He would slit her throat first before allowing her to leave.

One day, I will get her away from the mausoleum of a house she lives in with him. Thankfully, she is too wasted for him to even bother wanting sex with her anymore. No, he has a string of women he visits. Fucking whores. They have no respect for my mother. And yet, she is the one woman who gave him three children.

Alexi is the baby at twenty-two. Headstrong, defiant, and brings chaos with her. If there was an Olympic medal for her kind of chaos, she would win gold every time.

Vulkran is the eldest. He is in his late thirties. He is the meet-and-greet man with my father. Together, they take on new business; they make the deals that matter to my father. It’s also Vulkran who takes care of those who shit on our doorstep. I need not say more. You get the picture. Hanging bodies from barn rafters, guts sliced, fingers missing. He is fearless and powerful. People like to step out of his way on the street. Can’t say I blame them.

Me, on the other hand. I run the legal side of my father’s business, until that is he asked me to come to Croatia for him, to handle this business. Fuck’s sake. The heat has been disgusting, clinging to me like a hand around my throat.

Scrolling on my mobile, minding my own business, I glanced up at the glint of something high up on one of the buildings. It intrigued me. It moved slightly, and it screamed sniper. Wouldn’t be the first time, and no doubt it won’t be the last. My skin crawled.

I wasted no time getting my people onto it. By the time they had got to the top, there was nothing to be found. Only a black bandana with skulls on it. Like the silly bitch doesn’t know that I know who that belongs to. Does she really think she has been invisible to me?

The daughter of Nico and Lucky Santangelo has never bypassed my radar. The tan, inked skin. Those luscious, plump lips of hers that I want to bruise with my cock pulsing in and out of it. That smart mouth I’ve overheard at parties and galas, when she thinks I don’t even see her.

I am a Silov; I have eyes and ears everywhere. I hate that her body does things to me, that she can get me worked up wanting to take my cock in my hand and stroke myself until I explode hot cum on the tiles of my shower. I hate it all. Yet, she intrigues me.

The question thus begs an answer. Why the fuck was she on a rooftop in this part of town in Croatia, instead of at her father’s offices in New York or Atlanta, or even her mother’s business in Arizona? What the hell does Valentina Santengelo with the ice blue eyes, I want to see deepen with darkness as I fuck her hard into oblivion. She is one woman I want to have on her knees; I want her to scream out my name.

I want to break her, like a rare and wild stallion.

“Open the fucking door, Santangelo,” I command in my thick Russian accent. I don’t try to hide it. Fuck her and her tempting body and mouth.

I know she can see me. I’m betting she is wondering how the fuck I managed to get right up to her door. She has guards, of course she does. But I am Maksim Silov, and we are linked to the Croatians. She doesn’t have her U.S. team with her. Men are easily bought. They have no loyalty to Valentina. They have loyalty to my family, to me.

The door opens. She stands there boldly in a black lace bra, the swell of her tattooed breasts threatening to spill out, and tiny black panties. Fuck, my cock goes hard in my pants. Her waist dips in, my palms itch to touch her skin.

She leans against the door with one arm propped up on it above her head.

“What the fuck do you want?” she asks me, icily. That pout, I want to fuck it so hard she gags on my swollen cock. What the hell is going on? She is a Santangelo. I am a Silov. I know what my father did to her father.

And that is when the penny drops. I know why exactly she was on that rooftop with a sniper rifle aimed right at me.

“You came to Croatia to kill me, котёнок” (kitten)

She tilts her head, exposing that long, slender neck of hers. I want to trace the outline of her tattoos with my fingers. I refrain from doing so. She is the enemy.

“Yes.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Her dog has his eyes on me. I know with one command or hand signal it could tear my throat out. It doesn’t scare me. I don’t scare that easily.

“And yet, here I am still alive. You missed.”

She lets out a false laugh.

“I never miss, mother fucker.” The sass makes my dick want to delve deep into her until all she can do is beg for mercy.

“And yet you did.” I can’t get enough of looking at her. Those breasts rise and fall. The tension between us is electric; it’s charged. I can smell her arousal and her sex.

“That’s what scares me, котёнок.”

“I am not your kitten. Now, get the fuck away from me. And, Maksim. Next time, I won’t hesitate. Watch your back.”

She remains standing against the door. She’s bold; I have to give her that. Defiance is in her eyes; the strength of both her parents shines through. She is for sure a Santangelo. She is her father’s daughter.

As I go to wrap an arm around her waist, her dog growls at me. I lay my hand out flat. She looks alarmed when she notices her dog stop growling instantly, but she says nothing. With speed, she hides the surprise.

I pull her to me, loving how her breasts feel pushed up against my hard chest. Then I lower my head, our lips merely millimeters apart.

“There won’t be a next time, котёнок.”

She slaps my face; it stings.

“Oh, I promise you, Silov, there will be a next time.”