Nikita

The nights are always the same.

The thump of the bass from the DJ's music rattles the walls, even in the back of the club, much to my annoyance. But a club is the best way to do business. Or a butcher shop, for the old-school types. But the stench of uncooked meat and blood makes my stomach sour. I'd much prefer to be surrounded by scantily clad woman than lamb ribs and pork chops.

"Boss, we got a situation," one of the bouncers says, standing in the doorway.

With a low growl that rumbles from deep within my chest, I stand up from my desk and make my way to the main room. The blue neon lights, the thumping of the newest pop hit, and half naked girls who can barely hold their drinks crowd the room. When one of the drunken girls invades my space, I use my forearm to guide her away. These reckless college girls are not to my liking. Not in the slightest.

The bouncer leads me over to the bar where the lead bartender, Krissy, is mouthing off to a customer. My gaze travels to the man on the other side of the counter. Blood covers his face and broken glass is scattered over the top of the bar and on the man's shirt.

I groan and walk up to Krissy. "What happened?"

With flailing hands, Krissy glares right at the guy and answers, "Motherfucker felt it appropriate to grab my tits. So, I reciprocated."

"By cracking a bottle over his head?"

Krissy turns and meets my gaze, but doesn't shrink or falter. She's tough. It's one of the reasons I hired her. The other being that she's my cousin. Family protects family.

"You bitch. I'm going to sue you and this club," the bloody man spits, his face mottled crimson, his eyes popped, his tree-trunk neck strained. His words are spat out with the ferocity and rapidity of machine-gun fire.

Without wiping the spit from her face, Krissy leans closer, perfectly composed, and speaks her next words just millimeters from the man's face. "See if I give a fuck."

The man explodes with unrestrained fury. But Krissy doesn't care to stick around and watch him melt down. With a barely concealed smirk, she turns on her heel and walks away. My mess to deal with, now.

Always start with diplomacy.

"Sir, I think it's time for you to leave. Don't worry about the bill; your drinks are on the house." I hate giving away free shit, but it's better than being sued.

"You think free drinks are gonna stop me from suing this place?" the man staggers a bit.

I straighten my spine, my lips pressing tightly together. I can't stand dealing with drunken idiots. If he wants to be difficult, fine. I can deal with that just as easily.

When diplomacy fails, move next to the veiled threat.

"I can always call the police, check the cameras, and then you could be going to jail for sexual assault. Choice is yours, but choose quickly."

The man's face turns crimson once again, but no words come out of his mouth. Instead, his friends drag him out of the bar after giving me a nod of understanding.

The fool doesn't realize how lucky he is to have friends like that. Because I wouldn't have been calling the cops. No. Left to my own devices, the man would've disappeared, for good. No one messes with my business or my family. Hell, I would've had him killed if Krissy had come to me first. But of course she insisted on handling it herself. A smirk lights up my face. The Lavrin blood runs strong in her veins.

"Clean up the bar. I'm heading back into the office. And make sure Krissy doesn't get herself in any more trouble for the night," I say to the other bartender, before turning and walking back down the hallway.

Back in the sanctuary of the office, I make myself a glass of gin, just like my father used to do.

I've had so many thoughts of my father tonight. Very unlike me to be so sentimental. But murdered men have a way of remaining in the hearts and minds of their sons.

It's hard to forget my father when his presence is everywhere around me. The desk, the art, the chair I'm in-all of it was once his. I claimed this office after his death, just as I claimed his position at the head of the Lavrin family.

Right after I ended the life of every Scuderi motherfucker who took my father from me.

Our enemies, the Scuderis, spilled my father's blood, so I spilled theirs ten times over. Scorched earth. No survivors.

But the damage they did to my family was permanent. My father gone, my mother hospitalized with an emotional breakdown, never to recover quite fully. I did what I had to do to avenge them. And in the process, I taught this world one simple rule:

Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.

Knuckles rap against the door again. Not even ten fucking minutes to myself. "What?"

Vinny and Tommy, two of my subordinates, drag in an elderly man and throw him in front of me.

For a moment, my breath catches in my chest. The man is facedown on the expensive rug that spreads from wall to wall. As he struggles to pull himself back to his feet, I have the strongest sense of foreboding.

The man looks exactly like my father.

But then he shows his face to me and the likeness fades away. It leaves a sticky, sour taste in its path, like blood on my tongue. I can feel a bead of sweat on my forehead. The ghosts in my brain are acting up tonight.

Vinny's voice cuts through the haze and drags me back to reality.

"Boss, he hasn't paid his protection dues for the past month," Vinny says, kicking the old man in the thigh.

"Mr. Lavrin, please," the old man whimpers. "Business has been rough. With the chain supermarket, I don't have as many customers coming in."

Fucking Christ. This is the one part of the business I can't stand. Part of me wants to help the man to his feet, dust off his jacket. He looks like he needs a night off, not a mafioso beating. But you can't run a business on mercy. The rules must be upheld.

"Not my problem," I tell him. "You asked for protection, so you pay for what you've been given."

"Please, Mr. Lavrin, I'm begging you."

I hold up a hand to silence him. "You knew the deal you entered. You have wasted my time and the time of my men who were forced to drag you before me. Bring me my payment by the end of the week-no, double it. A penalty for the frustration you have caused here tonight. Next time, you won't receive a second chance. If this happens again, your payment will be your life."

I nod curtly to my soldiers at the door. We are done here. The old man's eyes bulge and he cries out as Vinny and Thomas each grab an arm and pull him through the door and out of sight. I hear the sharp slap of knuckle on skin and the whimpering stops.

Silence takes over again after they're gone. The remnants of that haunted feeling still linger in my chest. For a split second, the old man looked just like my father ...

Another rap on the door. "Come in."

In walks Eitan Aminov, my top advisor. I throw back what's left of the gin in my glass. When it comes to Eitan, there's no chance I'll be enjoying my drink. He's all business, all the time.

"Nikita, so good to see you," Eitan shakes my hand and walks over to the chair by my desk. "We have much to discuss."

It's been a long night already, and there's still far more to come. But I just want to fucking go to sleep. Between Krissy and the old man, I'm not sure how much more I can take tonight. How did my father deal with this stress for so long? Everyone wanting things from me, all the time. I'm not even thirty and I'm looking forward to retiring.

"You okay, boss?" Eitan asks.

"Yeah. Krissy gives me a headache." I plop down into my chair and rub my temples.

Eitan laughs. "Girl's tough. One day, she might be running the business."

I snort. "She's too quick-tempered. She'd do something stupid and have the cops crawling all over the place."

Eitan nods solemnly in agreement. "Always start with diplomacy," he intones. My father's words. "So, to business. We need to discuss the auction."

The auction. Flesh trafficking. A highlight of the yearly calendar for the criminal elements in the city, and a hefty paycheck for the ones in charge-namely, me. When I was a younger man, I used to look forward to the auctions. So much beauty, all for sale to the highest bidder. But this time, I don't have the same excitement. This time, it's nothing more than business.

Opening up the spreadsheet on my computer, I scan through the list of names of those I invited. Those who possess the type of money needed to participate. "Who have you heard from?"

He begins to rattle off names. "Gino, of course. First one to respond. The Mendoninos. They always splurge. A few assorted businessmen of distinct taste," Eitan says.

I turn the monitor towards him and push the keyboard in his direction. "Just check off everyone you've spoken with."

Eitan taps at the keyboard while I massage away the headache in my temples. When he's done, I notice over three-quarters of the list have agreed to come. And high rollers as well. This might be the most lucrative year yet. But there's still too many moving parts that we need to handle.

"What about the venue?"

Eitan leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. "Checked it out myself. The downstairs room is very secure, with two emergency exits if we need to get away. Access to the club upstairs. Cops shouldn't know what's going on. Staff has been instructed properly; discretion, as always, being the better part of valor. No tolerance for violence on the evening as well."

"Good," I say.

Thank God for Eitan. The man has been with the Lavrins for a long time, since my father was a boy. He knows the ins and outs of our business as well as I do.

"What about the girls?"

Eitan blows out a long breath and runs his hand through the thinning salt-and-pepper hair on top of his head. "The Travoras are managing that aspect of the evening's operations. They assure me there will be no problems. But ..." He raises an eyebrow. "I've heard rumors of some struggles on that front."

My neck tightens in response to his answer. "What's the issue?"

"Supply, as usual. And apparently, some issues with a trade partner in the Eastern European block. There are always the drug addicts and runaways. But the pickings are slim and some of these girls ... not worth putting them up on stage," Eitan says. "I've sent men across the border in Canada to see what they can find," he adds.

"Good. Just make sure to keep on top of them. Last thing I need is for one of them to fuck up and get the FBI involved."

"I'll station some of the men in the club on the evening of the event. One never knows what may straggle in at the last minute." Eitan winks and folds his hands in his lap. "There is one last matter I want to address. You have an eager lieutenant, Augustin Molotov, who shows a lot of promise. He's chomping at the bit for more responsibility."

I tap my forefinger to my lips. "Molotov? I think I know the name."

"He handled the drug issue with one of Gino's men last month," Eitan says.

"Yes, that's right. Kid did a good job keeping the peace and getting our money." I click on the computer screen and open up my calendar. I'm more than happy to delegate some responsibility to those looking for it. "We have the Greeks delivering the weapons shipment next week. Let Augustin handle it. But make sure he understands how we run our business. And make sure he understands the consequences if he fucks up."

Eitan nods.

Weapons shipments aren't as easy as they look on TV. Something always goes wrong. Forget about the cops; half the time it's Mother Nature and her moody weather interfering with schedules. And once those schedules fuck up, all the precautions put in place get fucked up as well. Then there's the seller who always decides to haggle last minute, and of course that just ends with a dead body I have to get rid of.

"Be on call in case Augustin runs into any issues. The kid hasn't had to dispose of a body for us yet. First time's always messy, but there's no need to reinvent the wheel. You know how we clean up our messes."

"Understood." Eitan stands and pulls on his jacket to straighten it. "Have a good night, Nikita. I'll keep you updated."

"Good night, Eitan."

Eitan turns and walks out the door. Finally, some alone time.

But just as I start to lean back in my chair, there's yet another knock at the door. These interruptions are putting me in a foul mood.

"Nikita." Sophia pokes her head into the office. "May I come in?"

Sophia is one of my earlier purchases. She wasn't a runaway or a drug addict. No, she was an abused housewife looking for safety, though I'm still unsure what type of safety she felt a sex auction would offer. She's smart and drop-dead gorgeous. Even the skintight blue dress that shows off all her assets doesn't do her justice. And when I laid eyes on her, when I saw the mottled bruises circling her nose, I wasn't letting anyone else purchase her. And I'm glad I didn't. It doesn't hurt that the blonde can suck cock like her life depends on it. And she's been invaluable at keeping the rest of my harem in line.

"What do you need?" I'm so tired tonight. Weariness blankets me.

Sophia steps into the room and closes the door behind her. She's been with me for the past four years, and for the past three years she's been in charge of my harem girls. She knows when my door is closed not to bother me, so if she's poking her head in, something might need my immediate attention.

"It's Thursday." She smiles as she glides toward me, her long tan legs covering the distance fast.

Fuck.

"Ah. Right. I completely forgot. Eitan had me so busy with some upcoming business," I tell her.

"I figured. You look really stressed." Sophia stands behind me and runs her hands over my shoulders. "Maybe a quick massage while I update you on the girls?"

I'm not going to argue with her. My shoulders are tense, and Sophia is a licensed massage therapist, with skilled hands. She's one of the few in my harem I allow to run a business-as long as I get a cut.

Sophia's hands begin kneading my aching muscles and I let out a sigh. She giggles and then gets right to business. "The heat in the room on the third floor isn't working. Tina mentioned it to Vinny, but he slapped her and never fixed it. I stopped by and the place is freezing. I mean, isn't part of his job to be the super for any of the apartments the girls are in?"

"I'll talk to Vinny."

Sophia's hands travel down my chest, her nails grazing over my nipples. While I'm totally okay with a relaxing massage, sex is out of the question right now. I stir in my chair, attempting to sit up straight.

"Also, Lori was upset. Cried about how Vinny and Tommy beat some old man up at the little market down the street earlier. She said the old man looked dead." Sophia leans forward, pressing her ample breasts against my head as her hands extended down my abdomen.

I cringe. The old man.

I push myself out of the chair, away from Sophia's kneading hands, and pace around the room, running my fingers through my hair. Every nerve in my body fires and my blood boils. Fuck. Why couldn't the old man just pay? Why'd he have to wait until last minute to say anything? But I can't be weak. Not with everyone looking. I have no fucking choice.

Sophia walks up to me and presses her body against mine. Her fingernails gently scrape against my scalp as she licks her full lips. "Nikita, you're stressed. Let me take care of you."

Her hand runs over my dick and she holds my gaze. But I'm not interested. Not tonight, not with everything going on. Not with an old man-a man who looked to be about my father's age-lying beat up in the street. "Sophia, not tonight. If there's anything else about the girls, tell me now. Otherwise, you can go."

Sophia yanks her hand back, blinking rapidly as if I just smacked her across the face. She's not used to being turned down. Especially by me. She takes care of so much for me that a good fucking is the least I can do in return. Out of appreciation, if nothing else. But tonight, God himself could be standing in front of me demanding a hard-on, and I'm just not going to be able to perform.

"There's nothing else to report. Have a good night, Mr. Lavrin." With that, Sophia turns and walks out of the room.

Mr. Lavrin.

She knows better than to be openly disrespectful, but she can be subtly spiteful in her own right. She knows just how to walk the line between following my rules and letting me know when she's angry. I'll have to buy her something tomorrow and make it up to her. The last thing I need right now, on the eve of the auction, is a mutiny taking place in my bedroom.

I walk back over to the gin and instead of pouring it into a glass, I put the bottle to my lips and gulp as much of the liquid down as I can, hoping the alcohol will ease my mind. And after a few minutes, it does. At least a little bit.

But the image of the shopkeeper on my floor still haunts me. I did that to him-I hurt him. I took his money.

Just like my father taught me.

Chapter Two

Annie

I wrap my hair up in a messy bun, sling my bag over my arm, and head out the glass door of the math building. Finals are over. Thank God. But I'm not as relieved as I'd expected. I'm not sure if that's because this last accounting final made me nervous or if it was the way the TA ogled me that rattled my nerves. Either way, I'm out of the building and heading home for a nice, relaxing night of binge-watching my favorite medical drama.

I pull my coat tight around me and brave the heavy winds as I walk toward the apartment building I share with two other girls. I can't believe I only have one more semester left before I graduate. I swear, I thought school would never end. But my stomach churns at the thought of the real world waiting for me-adult life, a job, responsibilities. Of course, I've already met with my career counselor, and I'm lucky enough to have some people in mid-level accounting firms eager to interview me once I graduate.

But I know not to rest yet. Don't count your chickens before they hatch, yada yada yada. One step at a time.

I shrug the strap of my bag higher onto my shoulder and jog across the intersection. On the other side, I see a homeless man leaning against a dirty corner.

He gives me a broad, toothless smile as I approach. "Good evening, Mizz Thornton," he says in a raspy voice. "How'd your tests go?" Henry tilts his head and smiles. "You musta done good. You a very smart lady."

My cheeks heat at his words. "Thank you, Henry. I think I did well. But I still have to wait and see." I reach into my bag, pull out half of a turkey sandwich, and offer it to Henry. "I couldn't finish this with being so nervous about the exam. And I know how much you love turkey and mayo."

"Aw, thanks, Mizz Thornton. I truly appreciate your kindness." Henry smiles wider and takes the sandwich. "You betta hurry along, Ms. Thornton. It's cold tonight."

I frown and stare at Henry for a second. "Promise me you'll go to the shelter if it gets too cold?"

"For you, Mizz Thornton, I promise. I don't wanna see any worry in those pretty brown eyes."

I smile and wish Henry a good evening before continuing down the street toward the apartment. Tears fill my eyes when I wonder about who will take care of Henry once I graduate. Most of the college students don't pay him any attention. Hardly anyone offers to buy him a meal or give him a bottle of water. And once I graduate, I'm leaving the city. Henry will be left by himself.

I wipe my eyes as I climb the stairs to my building. Swiping the keycard, I push open the door and walk up to the second floor. Please God, I hope Wendy and Jenna are gone. I just want some peace and quiet.

But no sooner do I turn the key and push open the door than the shrill tone of squealing women floods my ears. At least they're down the hall. Maybe I can slip into my bedroom without them noticing.

I carefully close the door and tiptoe down the white hall, avoiding the creaky spot on the left side halfway down. This ain't my first rodeo. Ever so softly, I close my bedroom door.

Hallelujah. Unnoticed.

Sighing with relief, I let my bag slip to the floor before I shrug off my parka and hang it on the hook. I walk over to my bed and plop down onto the mattress just as Jenna bursts into my room.

"Annie, oh my God, why didn't you tell us you were home?!"

"Long day," I murmur as I curl up into my blanket.

"Oh, no, you don't, lady!" Wendy chirps as she walks in to join us. "You are not going to bed. We are going out to celebrate that finals are over."

"Guys, I'm super tired." I feign a yawn, hoping they'll just let me be. Dr. McDreamy and my bed are calling, and I am more than ready to spend all night long with them.

Jenna puts her hands on her hips and juts out her chin as she fake glares at me. "Nope, no way. These past four years all you did was study, study, study. And even when I went to visit you over the summer, you were taking extra classes at the local university."

Wendy crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Listen, Little Miss Bookworm. You are coming out with us. And if you try to back out, we're just gonna stay here and keep pestering you."

I groan and slam my hands down on the comforter. I've been through this routine before. They're in top form tonight, and when they get jazzed up like this, resistance is futile. "Fine."

The two girls smile from ear to ear as they bounce up and down on their toes. I can see it in their eyes already. They've been planning my makeover.

Ugh, what did I do to deserve this?

The last time they made me over, two years ago, I was hounded all night by drunken fools. I don't care for being the center of attention. Or attracting the attention of any man, really. Partying has never been my thing. I'd much rather wear my jeans and turtleneck sweaters over some skimpy dress that barely covers my butt.

But my two friends are the exact opposite. They're not brain-dead, like some of the hard partiers around campus, but they definitely do more than their fair share of getting dolled up and hitting the town.

Wendy and Jenna start whispering to one another, and I fling my legs over the side of the bed and sit up. Time to set some boundaries before this gets too out of hand. "Listen, the two of you: I agreed to go out with you tonight. But I don't want a repeat of the last time you both played fashionista with me."

"Don't worry, Annie. We promise to be a little more modest," Jenna says.

"Yeah, last time no one paid attention to us at all." Wendy rolls her eyes and pouts. "Do you know how gorgeous you are? I mean, you hide that killer body in oversized sweaters. Not to mention, I'd kill for your naturally wavy hair."

"Thanks, Wendy," I say, looking down at my feet. Heat crawls up my neck to my cheeks. Accepting compliments has always been hard for me. As if I've always believed them to be a lie. I'm not ugly by any means, but I just don't place importance on looks. Grades are what's important to me.

"Now, go get that butt of yours in the shower," Jenna says.