“Yes. Put it on the desk in front of my son,” he replied.
She walked to the desk and set the tray on it. As she bent forward, Milan smiled at the sight of the tops of her breasts through the gap in her blouse. “Congratulations on your graduation and your boxing title,” she said as she began to open the bottle.
“Thank you. I'm Milan,” he said.
“Jessie,” she replied. “Shit,” she exclaimed as she cut herself on the wire around the bottle top. It was the first time that had ever happened. She'd opened thousands of bottles and not once had she ever had an accident. She knew why it had happened, though. She'd been concentrating on Milan and not on what she was doing. How could she concentrate when six-foot-four of solid muscle was looking at her breasts? she thought.
“Here, let me help,” Milan said. He stood up and took her hand in his. He felt inside his jacket and found a clean handkerchief, which he wrapped around the cut finger. “There. That should keep it clean for a while.”
She looked into his eyes. They were Mediterranean blue. The scent that drifted from him made her want him in her bed. She felt the warmth rising from her neck to her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said.
When she was gone, Milan was unable to concentrate on the conversation. “Milan's miles away,” Dima said. “I think Jessie's charmed him.”
“She charms us all,” Limonov said. “So beautiful,” he added, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Who is she, Pop?” Milan asked.
“Remember Ronnie, the butcher?”
“Yes. The guy who saved your life when you'd been shot and were lying in the street.”
“Yes. It's his daughter. He died, and I promised him I would look after her.”
“Jesus. He was short and fat. How could he have a daughter like her?” Milan asked.
“His wife was an Italian bombshell. Jessie's the spitting image of her.”
While Milan poured the champagne, his thoughts wandered to the beautiful butcher's daughter.
*****
“Get off me, you asshole,” Jessie screamed as Dritan pulled her from the sofa by her hair. “You're a bully. Leave me alone.” She tried to push him away, but he was far too powerful for her. He looked like the thug he was. His head was shaven, and his eyes pointed in slightly different directions.
He pulled her onto the floor and knelt on top her, his kneecap pushing painfully into her stomach. “I've told you before, nobody finishes with me. Least of all a tramp like you. Now say sorry.”
It was her evening off, and Jessie had told him once more that she didn't want to be his girlfriend. As usual, he'd exploded. She been trying to finish their volatile relationship for weeks, but each time she mentioned it, he flew into a rage, scaring her into silence.
“No, I won't. It's over this time,” she hissed as his knee pushed farther into her soft belly. The slap that followed stung her face and caused blood to flow from her nose. The punch that followed that caused her eye to swell. She began to cry.
“Stop your crying. Tell me you're sorry,” he said.
“Sorry. Please don't hit me anymore,” she sobbed. He threatened to punch her again, and she turned her face away, but he'd had enough and stood up. He picked up his car keys from the coffee table and left the apartment.
Jessie pulled herself up by the sofa and hobbled to the bathroom. Her stomach was on fire, and she got little relief when she threw up in the toilet. She ran the cold tap and dabbed the places on her face that hurt the most. When she looked in the mirror, she was black and blue.
“You've got to finish it,” she said to herself. “He's gonna kill you.”
An hour later Dritan phoned and cried through the line. “I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me. You know how wound up I get sometimes. Forget it. Let's carry on as normal.”
She agreed because she was too tired to argue and she feared another wild beating.
*****
Dritan walked into the casino and changed a hundred thousand in cash for chips. It was a large amount, but it didn't concern security; they were used to him. Invariably, he blew the lot in an evening, and on the odd occasion he was able to beat the house, he lost it again another day.
Since the argument with Jessie he'd drunk half a bottle of vodka and was now in the mood to gamble, a lot. After he lost twenty grand on the roulette table, he swore at the croupier who ignored him. It wasn't the first time Dritan had sworn at him. Dritan walked to the blackjack table and sat down. After twenty minutes he was another twenty grand down.