“You wanted me to. I think you're sorry for what happened.” Surprising confidence rang in her voice.
Surprising, because it was fake as shit. She thought she could grab me by the balls and give them a good twist by looking me in my blue eyes, pretending to be stronger. I had to play along, even though I would've liked nothing better than to pop outta my chair and slam both fists on the glass. It was tempting to remind her who was in control here.
Would she topple over, giving me a perfect view of those sweet tits beneath her sweater? Or would she high tail it to the door, shaking that fine ass, leaving me to grip the ever living shit outta my stress ball?
Later, I promised myself. Keep your cool and maybe you'll find out. Maybe you'll get to do things to little Miss Ligiotti that'll make your brothers cry with jealousy.
“Sorry? Whatever. I agree it's good to start over,” I said coldly, flashing her a thin smile. “I'm ready to be a good boy this afternoon. Are you ready to listen?”
She nodded, a fresh new notepad in her hands. “Let's take a different approach. I know, we've already figured out you don't do remorse, regret. So, do you actually feel proud of the things you've done? The bombing?”
Good question. I leaned in, tightening my fists, pausing just long enough to see the nervous uncertainty light up her eyes.
“I'm proud of serving my family. My people. This fucked up world doesn't have many places for men anymore. I can't run off to the battlefields like gramps did for the motherland. I'm American through and through. Haven't been to Moscow since I was a baby. Still, the values are the same, especially here in the land of opportunity. Best thing I can do is make my family proud, doing what we do best.”
“Yeah?” Her eyebrows lifted. “And what's that?”
“Making bank. Spilling blood, sweat, and tears, getting our piece away from the rest of the mad dogs chomping at the bit in this town. You ever heard of the Red Eagle?”
She shook her head.
“It was a little vodka bar my Uncle Volodya started right off Fulton, back in the late nineties, about the time I figured out I could do a whole lot more with a woman besides stare at her pretty dress.”
I dropped my eyes, a blatant attempt to catch some tits hidden behind that fabric. It was too high to see any skin, but fuck if it wasn't tight enough to see her curves, make out the plush outline of those tits my hands burned to ravage.
Shit. It was way too early in the interview to let my dick get this hard, snapping at my orange pants, too stupid to know throwing her to the wall and fucking her wasn't an option right now. Not just yet.
Good thing reporter girl was just as flustered. Her cheeks got a little brighter, and she lost my gaze, darting to her notepad and then back up, trying to clear the steam throttling her brain – or maybe oiling up her *.
“Uncle Volodya tried to go legit. He was a good guy. Funny, generous, dedicated to his work. He got rave reviews and tons of tourists. He was making money hand over fist, and for awhile my old man was looking at getting into the biz himself. Then one day a pack of Yakuza put three neat holes in his chest and popped about as many heads as they blew vodka bottles. You wanna talk about massacring innocents? This family lived it. We let our guard down. After Uncle Volodya, we learned there was no going back.”
I paused. She scribbled furiously – probably trying to keep her pure eyes off me. I sure as shit didn't keep mine off her. No, it was the perfect opportunity to watch her tits bobbing underneath that shirt, watch her plucking at her glossy bottom lip with those little teeth.
I'd suck that sweet flap between my lips ten times harder. Fuck, I'd bite it, sink my teeth in, taste her and memorize it before we fucked ourselves crazy.
“Tell me about your brothers. Family's obviously important to you.” She looked up, tucking a loose strand of that silky black hair over her ear.
“Lev and Daniel are my blood. They've got my back and they always will. I watched them come up behind me as a kid. They cried just as hard as I did when our parents died. They celebrated like fucking maniacs right along with me every time we won something new for the family. They're my brothers, in blood and spirit. The shit we've done...it brings you close, Sabrina. Closer than anybody living a nice, quiet life on the outside will ever understand.”
There was that nervous flash again in her hazel eyes. I smiled. She didn't know that I knew exactly who her family was. Just like she didn't realize I was staring at my ticket to a family reunion really soon.
“I want you to give me a moment,” she said, twirling the marker against her lips thoughtfully. “Sometime when you knew this was the life for you, and there was no turning back. Was there one?”