Watching Lorenzo Berlusconi finger fuck the шлюха (whore) on his lap made Dmitri nauseous. The old fuck had gone on and on about this one, how they had been so innocent before he had gotten his bony fingers into them. She was pretty, but she had to be fucking stoned to be writhing around like she enjoyed it.

"Дмитрий, ты свободен," (Dmitri, you're dismissed,) his father ordered, knowing his son had a distaste for watching him when he was like this. The women surrounded them like buzzards, one already getting too close to him, her half-baked, red-rimmed eyes making it clear that, yes, they absolutely were stoned out of their minds. The sharp glare he gave her was enough to scare her away, aiming for his father, who was already unbuckling his belt.

"You sure about that? They're all fine pieces. Brought them here for everyone to enjoy," Lorenzo chimed in, pushing the girl off his lap and onto her knees. The woman let out a pained whine before she started pawing at his crotch like a feral animal.

"My son has other business," Ivan answered swiftly, eager to get Dmitri out. слава, блять, богу (thank, fucking, God).

Maxim followed close behind, leaving at least five of Ivan's men still inside, along with several other men from other families. It was one of those meetings, the annual get-together where all five seats met and discussed business. Business usually meant a few hours of actual business, and then a night of getting high and grinding on one of Lorenzo's крэковых шлюх (crack whores).

It had been the worst fucking meeting he'd ever been to. Forty-five minutes into it and his Pakhan had arranged a marriage for him with an Irish princess. A fucking arranged marriage when Ivan knew he didn't want that. все это имело смысл (It all made sense). Why he was stuck here at their den when he could have been literally anywhere else.

Walking out of the den, he and Maxim get into the Escalade. He pulls out his phone and scrolls, "шлюха (whore)," he mumbles, showing the few pictures he had just received from Natalia to Maxim, "Она думает о моем члене. (She's thinking about my cock)."

The drive is fifteen minutes to his home, but before they even make it to the first light, the SUV gets slammed into from the back, jerking everyone around and throwing them into high alert. Maxim and the driver get out first. The blood in Dmitri's body boiled, keeping him behind for just a moment. The vein in his forehead was prominent. When he finally got out and slammed the door shut, he had become his father's son. Murderous.

"Что это за хуйня?! (What the fuck is this, huh?!)" he asked—no, shouted—as he stormed over to the old death trap this nobody had rammed into the back of his ride. Too much! Too much shit in one day! His fists were so goddamn ready!

He opened the driver's side door; his hand reached in to pull this fucker out and... Well, this fucker wasn't really a fucker at all. She was goddamn beautiful.

The anger dissipated and he knelt down, "you're driving this death trap around and you're running into some very bad people, you're gonna get yourself hurt, красавица (beautiful)," he said with a soft, husky tone, giving her a smile that did nothing to betray the thoughts swirling around in his mind.

Who knew all he'd need was a little diversion to get his mind working, planning toward a different future. A future very different from what his Pakhan had planned.

"Come on, let me help," he murmured, before looking over at his cousin, "Maxim, избавься от этой машины. Она ей больше не пригодится. (Get rid of this car. She's not going to need it any longer,)" he ordered as he helped her out. "Don't worry, I got ya. You and I are gonna take a little ride in my SUV, ok?" he asked, so soft, it was unsettling for him.

In two seconds, this sweet little stranger was stuck in the back of his Escalade with the doors locked. His face lost all emotion as he leaned in, "What's your name, принцесса (princess)?"