The Crescendo (The Musical Interlude) (2 page)

Alek

She reminds me of an angel as she lies here in the bed beside me, her curves silhouetted by the black silk sheets. My angel, a woman who has managed to take my life and turn it into something I never thought I’d ever be able to
have. Closing my eyes, I inhale her scent, my cock hardening at once. That’s what this woman does to me. It’s also the reason I’ll maim or kill anyone who ever grows enough balls to ever try and hurt her. The small moan coming from Erin’s lips makes me open my eyes then, propped up on my hand, I wait for her to open hers.

“Good morning, sexy Maestro of mine,” she whispers, her voice groggy with sleep, yet still sexy as hell.

“How do you feel this morning?” I ask. The bouts of dehydration she’s been fighting worries me. Erin’s a tough woman, the kind who doesn’t whine or complain. I literally have to threaten the status of her health out of her. Lately, she’s been overwhelmed by anxiety and has even suffered an asthmatic episode for the first time in months. I hate that I’m the cause of the uncertainty surrounding her right now; however I cannot allow my past to interfere with our plans for the future.

Lowering my head, I place my mouth on hers, the heat firing through my body and straight to my
cock, the painful pressure filling me. I’m that horny, and yes, I want her that much. I have no doubt that I could easily spend the rest of my life with this woman and never grow tired of waking up beside her and glancing into her eyes. At first, she returns my kiss with just as much passion as I offer, her hips automatically moving to grind against mine. I weave a hand through her hair, holding her head in place so she can’t pull away, and then ease my arm around her back with the other one.

“
It looks like somebody has been waiting on me,” she says with a smile, sliding her gaze down to where my hard on has grown to epic strength.

“Patiently waiting as always,” I answer. Almost as soon as the words escape my lips, I regret saying them. Erin’s face becomes guarded suddenly and her body tenses up.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. I’m opening myself up to trouble, I know; but I’m willing to do whatever I can to make Erin happy.

“We never talk about your past,” she says, her eyes lowered. This topic
—the desire to have me open up more about what has happened during my years as a gangster—comes up more often than not between us these days. Each time it does, I cringe inside. For all my riches and worldly possessions, I still sometimes wonder why this extraordinary woman has chosen to align herself with the likes of an ex-con.

“There’s nothing to discuss.” I shift between the sheets, fighting an urge to get up and make an excuse for what I know is coming next.

“Alek. I think... and this is just me brainstorming, that talking about the things that happened to you during that time would be, I don’t know... enlightening or something,” Erin explains.

“Enlightening?” I
inquire.

“Yeah. Like maybe then you’d feel better about us sharing our new life together... soon. I mean, if you felt I could understand you better.” She bites her lip and smirks, waiting for my explosion, I assume, because she’s right on point with her assumptions about me.

There’s something about bringing Erin, and especially any children we might have, into my life of blood debts created by a man I no longer speak to or hear about—my father, Sergey Dostovsky—that feels wrong.

I narrow my eyes, looking straight into her gorgeous dark ones, using the gift of analysis I
’ve inherited from my mother, and say, “Didn’t some great American say something about allowing sleeping dogs to keep doing so, yes?”

“They did.
However, I don’t think they had an awful lot going on in their lives. Sometimes I think you need to peck the dog in his head—just the tiniest bit, enough to wake him up—and then run like a bat out of hell so you can watch his reaction and study him from a distance,” she explains. I love this woman. Her wit and beauty, but most of all that rich imagination of hers, amaze me on a regular basis. I can’t help smiling, even though I know this conversation won’t end well… for me.

She’s getting impatient with my inability to commit to a wedding date, and she has the right to feel this way. If I could open up to her about my past I’d do so
, yet the less she knows about the things that have happened during my stint with a Russian gang ten years ago, the better. Debts still go unpaid. Bad feelings still hang in the air. The Phoenix, the man known as the Master who has been extradited back to Switzerland—or so I’ve heard—last summer still remains a threat. I suspect his boss and head of our gang, Vladimir—a first name only man that we’ve never met but have still felt the influence of his presence in the way he’s dealt with traitors and enemies among the various groups—has been the one who sent the goons to handle me six months ago, meaning that suddenly his interest has shifted toward me again after eight years. Also, God only knows what my father’s mysterious dealings will eventually send our way. Erin wants children, mostly because I think she’s afraid of losing me. I haven’t softened up to the idea yet. We both share our own set of insecurities, a fear of losing the other one to some unforeseen element of our past. At some point, one of us must give in.

First, I need to make sure there won’t be any additional incidents such as the one we experienced at Black Butterfly six months ago, the
day I almost lost my life. The day my fear of never seeing the face of the woman I love ever again fueled my dissension into darkness as my life slipped away. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, and I’m almost certain Erin felt the same way; or still does, which fuels her desire to hasten our engagement. The way to solve our dilemma begins with me finding and figuring out what my father has been up to over the past eight years since he has been in hiding. For now, however, I need to concentrate on easing the mind of the woman I love.

“I know what’s going on here,” I say, pulling the sheets up around her shoulders.

“You do?” she asks.

“Of course. We need to set a date. I’ve neglected to do so. I’m an ass.” I touch her cheek, enjoying the feel of her soft, creamy skin under my fingertips.

“Okay, so I was, um, thinking of a spring wedding,” she says brightly, her dark eyes beaming with happiness. “Like maybe a St. Patty’s Day wedding. Green could be the theme. You like green.”

I lower my eyes, blinking, not wanting to show my lady love the things I’m feeling inside my chest each time she puts pressure on me this way. I shuffle to a sitting position, and she does the same thing. “I don’t care for green. You’ve mistaken my tastes for my baby sister’s obsession, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Adriana’s the shamrock girl.”

“Erin, you know that St. Patrick’s Day is too soon.
It doesn’t give us enough time to properly prepare,” I suggest, trying to lighten the situation.

“Right. Then what about Easter? You always enjoy seeing me dressed in pastels,” she reminds, her voice flat. I can sense the life draining out of our conversation and the tension taking over. “Or hell, maybe a Memorial Day or Father’s Day or even a Fourth of July date might work. Then we could celebrate our patronage by having our guests dress in red, white and blue and paint their faces in those colors while they’re at it.”

Kill me now and get this moment over with.

“There’s more going on than a need to sit around and scour over dress designs and lengths of wedding trails. Other things have to be resolved,” I state firmly.

“You meant to say trains, not trails,” she corrects as she stares at the sheets.

“Of course, since I’m a wedding expert. I need to resolve a few things. We’ve discussed all this before.”

“How long will these resolutions take, Alek? And what are you resolving? I don’t have to rush into signing a piece of paper, but I don’t want to feel like I’m on the outside of us and looking in forever. No relationship can last under those conditions and especially not a marriage.”

Damn, she has a point.
Sighing deeply, I pull her into my arms and kiss her hair, inhaling the combined faint scent of shampoo and sweat from our lovemaking. “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t realize how much this has been affecting you.”

She wraps her arms around my waist and says, “Don’t apologize, Alek. Just let me in sometimes. Help me understand your fears. Show me the things you left behind in Moscow by opening up to me. That way we can resolve these issues together and finally move on.”

“You know what? You’re right. I promise to try and work harder toward working with you in the future. Be patient with me.” She is right as always.

“A famous Maestro once told me
that I was well worth the wait,” she reminds, glancing up at me and smiling.

“You mean the guy who waited months for a single kiss?” I ask, recalling the way I longed for one kiss from Erin who had sworn off any type of affection that involved a showing of intimacy outside of hard core fucking. By the time I won her over, I swear that kiss was probably the single best one
I’ve ever had.

“That would be the guy.” She glances deep into my eyes. I could easily lose myself in the shadows of those dark and intriguing irises
; her bedroom eyes. “Now I’m the one who’s telling you that I believe with all my heart that you’re well worth the wait, too.”

Lowering my lips to hers, I kiss her with all the promise I have in me. I haven’t mentioned the letter I received from my older brother, Dmitri, detailing the things he and Father have been doing while hiding out in a remote village in Siberia
as well as warning me about watching my back since some of my old enemies have been on the move. They’ve been stirring up trouble back home because the leader of my old gang was arrested six months ago.

Who’s the real villain in this picture, though? I can’t help but to wonder. Father has been silent, his indirect presence the same as a dead man since we left Russia eight years ago. I won’t let my family ruin things for Erin and me. I will kill or be killed before anyone touches the woman I love. My family has caused her enough pain already, and I refuse to be the source of the sadness in those gorgeous black eyes ever again. I don’t want Erin to worry. I’m doing enough of that for both of us.

As the heat from her kiss consumes me, the passion inside her goddess-like body tilts my woman toward that mystical part of sex that has intrigued me before—when I was once a swinger—ensnaring me now that I’ve committed to one woman. I give in to the touch of her hand on my abs, and the sharpness of her nails as they rake down the skin on my back.

In return, I lower my lips to the skin beneath her chin, nibbling and kissing together as I move down to her bosom. “Oh, Alek,” she moans, her
voice dark with passion, her hips grinding against mine. “I want you inside me. I want it rough. I want it as raw as you are.” I grow hard at once, my need to be inside her body and as close to her heart as possible is an insatiable depth of desire and longing.

I lift up and move on top of her, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. Her legs fall apart for me and I inhale her scent, that musky-sweet smell that drives me insane, just before I position my cock at the opening to her sex. Erin falls into these deep, jaded moments every so often
—times when she wants our sex rough and wild and raw—so I give it to her.

I push my cock inside her, savoring the feel of her tightness and warmth around me. “Is that what you want? Or do you need more?” I don’t give her a chance to answer. Instead, I pull out and shove back inside her, closing my eyes and giving in to the sensation of being pleased by a woman whose desire
, and yes, even her ambition matches my own. We shove together, gasping and moaning and then we come together. When we’re done, we collapse on top of each other; my exhausted body spent but completely relaxed.

I’m a lucky bastard
, however a woman like Erin Angelo won’t wait around forever. I need to get my shit together.

And I know exactly what I have to do.

Alek

“Punch that bag any harder and I am almost certain it will burst,” my comrade and confidant, Nikolai Belikov says to me. Inside
Studio 51
’s training room, I take my frustration with myself—as well as my father’s timing to suddenly grow an urge to care enough about my well being to contact me for the first time in years—out on the punching bag.

“Better a bag than someone’s face,” I answer, making sure to keep my swings cohesive and my thoughts focused on the face of the man who has screwed up my life and Nikolai’s
—the Phoenix. In my opinion, he’s gotten off easy. What’s serving a few years inside a Swiss prison? He’ll be made into a celebrity. I would’ve felt easier if Mother Russia’s Black Dolphin, the prison that houses some of our greatest criminals, would have been his assigned location.

“I hear Katerina has hired a tour manager,” Nikolai says.

I do stop punching this time, dodging and then securing the one hundred pound bag as it swings my way. “What? Why do we need a manager?” Mother has never hired someone to book our shows before.

Nikolai smirks. “
It’s the same thing I have been asking myself. I figure it has something to do with all the upcoming venues we have been requested to perform inside,” he suggests, although I have a feeling there’s more to his news and my comrade knows exactly what that might be.

“Perhaps she desires to appear as a professional. Especially now that she has officially established her company,” he suggests.

I narrow my eyes at my friend’s shrugging and how hard he is working to keep a nonchalant air about himself. “You know something. A secret you’re not willing to share.”

“Nonsense.”

“I can be patient,” I remind him. We stare each other down a few short moments. We’re completely opposite in appearance with my wavy black hair, blue-brown eyes (the result of a medical condition) and bronze skin; whereas my comrade has straight, golden locks and a more effeminate structure to his jawline, giving him a softer look that someone could easily mistake as being kind if they didn’t know him as the assassin I’ve witnessed in action on several occasions. Nikolai Belikov—my comrade and closest friend for almost thirteen years—has risen above a life of neglect and abuse. A life that, ashamedly, is a situation arranged by several members of the family he has left behind in Russia. Despite this, he has become a successful dancer and lead choreographer of his own ballet troupe.

“I have an idea,” Nikolai says suddenly, his bluish-gray eyes lighting up with mischief. Across the gym, a group of three women around our ages
have taken notice of us. My friend doesn’t miss the attention we’re receiving, either. “Let us discuss the reason you have decided to punish the gym’s equipment with such fervor.”

“Bad idea,” I say, preparing to return the bag to its punishment position. I’m not in the mood to talk about Erin and me and the wedding that doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to happen.

“All right. You may continue to pulverize the bag as we talk,” he offers, moving to the opposite side of the bag as I punch, and staring at me with a look that’s a cross between a smirk and a smile.

“You’re such a considerate friend. What would I do without your suggestions?” I joke and start swinging at the bag.

“I know you, Sasha. You are worried. You believe more people from our past will interfere with our new lives,” Nikolai says as though he has just ripped my thoughts and fears out of my head. I slug the bag harder, my muscles tensed so tight they hurt. “I have updates on our group mates. Would you like to hear them?”

When I don’t reply, my comrade says, “Ah, the silent confession. The most profound of them all.”

“As if you need my permission to do anything,” I gasp out between punches.

“Indeed. I hear that our old comrades
—Smoke, Hawk, and Crow—have returned to the clique, turning it into a sort of a vigilante type of outfit. For the most part, all of them are active members of the underground revolution back home. They have even recruited a new member; a mystery person simply known as Ghost. How appropriate.” He hesitates after saying this, his eyes unfocused as he ponders his inner thoughts, a hint of a smile playing on one corner of his lips. He’s talking about the codenames for the other boys that were in Vlad’s and the Phoenix’s combined gangs, a group that consisted of mixed ethnicities and nationalities, including two Americans—the ones called Crow and Hawk. Even though I’m pretending to be focused on punching my bag, I’m just as curious about this new member of the reformed gang as Nikolai appears to be.

“All they need now is for the Phantom and the Scarlet Phoenix to return,” he says, refocusing on me as he reminds me of our old codenames. I was the Scarlet Phoenix because of my temper and abilities to overpower someone three times my size while Nikolai was the Phantom, the one who walked in shadows just before striking with deadly force. The differences between our lives of prestige and fame that we have today and the type of existence Nikolai and I both experienced ten years ago
, makes our existence sometimes feel ethereal. As though someone will come and rip the curtain from our faces and the past will leap out from inside the shadows, taking everything we’ve fought to achieve along with it.

Damn
ed if I’ll ever let that happen.

Whack! Thwump! Thwump
!
Whack! Thwump.

I keep my gaze focused on the bag, the faces of my enemies drifting before me
; the Master, the bastards from Black Butterfly, the men who almost took my life... my father.

It could easily have been Erin lying on the shop’s floor six months ago if she had insisted on coming along with me the way she wanted to do in order to keep me from beating the shit out of her boss, Luca Martuccio, for sleeping with my sister. She had no idea I already knew about and had accepted my sister’s new relationship status, even though her happiness brought about the sorrow of my friend.

It’s no secret among my new family that Nikolai’s feelings for my sister, Adriana, run deep enough to have made him choose to form his own company and align himself with an investor who’s known for his nasty deeds.

For about five minutes, I mercilessly attack the bag, ignoring Nikolai’s comments. Suddenly, he grabs the object of my frustration, shoving it aside
as he steps in front of me.

“What the fuck? Are you trying to get knocked out?” I ground
out, the testosterone raging through my veins. “Never step between a man and the object of his frustration.”

“Of course. Noted,” he answers. “Look at you, Sasha. You are wound
as tight as a pipe bomb. I am worried. Talk to me.”

I turn around, my body still wired, yank the boxing gloves off and toss them to the floor. Agitation along with gratitude at my friend’s interference mingles together inside me, and I’m not so sure he’s not in danger of taking the place of my punching bag right now.

“What do you want to hear me say?” I ask, shoving a hand through my hair. “That I’m worried something will happen to her? I am. That I have doubts about rushing into a lifestyle I wasn’t quite ready to embrace? I do.”

“Sasha... Maybe you two should wait. Take some time to enjoy each other. What is a piece of paper anyway?” Nikolai shrugs.

“Wait for what? Normalcy? I stopped believing in that concept long ago. I have to try, for Erin’s sake. That’s what love’s all about.” I scoff as I listen to my self-preaching about an emotion that has been foreign to me up until a little under a year ago.

“Love is overrated,” he answers.

“You say that because you’re bitter. You’re pissed because you didn’t have the balls to try harder to win Adriana’s heart.” My friend lowers his head. I’ve hit too hard. “Kolya, I’m sorry,” I say in our native Russian tongue.

“You are right,” he says after a long moment, his gaze now locked on the women who keep
staring at us. “I should have pushed harder. But I did not because of love. Instead, I chose to step aside for Adriana’s sake. Only now do I realize the mistake I have made.”

“It’s not too late to fight for her,” I suggest, still feeling like an ass.

“I am not the man for your sister. You know this. I, however, am the man who intends to rule the world someday.” He gives me a wicked grin with a gleam in his eyes that tells me I can believe every word he has just uttered. “I am only saying that you have found something the rest of us only dream about. Seize it. Or walk away until you can. Do not make my mistake.”

Sighing, I prop my hand on my hip and say, “I need to go home
—back to Russia. I have to ensure that the threats to my fiancée and my family are over.”

“Bad idea.”

“What would you have me do then?”

“We cannot spend the rest of our lives glancing over our shoulders, Aleksandr.”

“We can’t risk it. More thugs could show up.”

“And if they do, then I
would suggest we handle them. Put them out of our misery... permanently. Everything else including peace of mind will follow,” Nikolai says, his gaze hard and locked on mine. Here lies the main difference between Nikolai and myself. Where I’m the type of man who will kill in order to protect the ones I love, Nikolai would do so without abandon or a conscience to show him that boundary—a line all assassins face at some point or other. It is a place I’ve never thought about going because, like my comrade, I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back.

“Katerina will make sure everything is all good. I am almost certain she will increase protection for the family,” Nikolai suggests. “Now, if you are calm
, I should like to attend to a certain issue standing across the room. Some of us still have the matter of horniness to deal with.” He gives me a wicked grin and then turns his smile toward the two women.

“Right. Enjoy yourself.”

“Oh, I intend to do so,” he answers and strolls away toward the women standing in the corner.

What can Mother do against whatever might be waiting in the darkness? Father ticked off a lot of people, Vladimir has suddenly come out of hiding
, and the Phoenix has only served to heighten all that by joining him. Maybe Nikolai’s right—I should learn to enjoy the good that has finally come my way—but it’s in my nature to be suspicious of anything that doesn’t require extreme pain or some type of sacrifice to enjoy it. Sometimes, when you’ve experienced life inside the shadows for so long, it’s hard to trust the first rays of the sun, even though they’re beaming down on you with warmth and promises of happiness.