Page 16
Story: Stolen By the Don
Yes.Another person my father stupidly trusted. At this point, I’m starting to think the man I knew…wasn’t the man he was. I learned almost everything I know from my father—he was ruthless, nearly unforgiving, and had hard boundaries.
He must’ve slipped in his older age, letting them get to him.
It doesn’t matter.Weak or not, I intend to avenge his death. One by one, everybody who played a part will pay.
Marco Ricci is the cherry on the cake.
“I need you to find out where his kids are. Have someone go there and send proof while keeping an eye on them.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies.
The door opens slightly, and Marge pokes her head through. “Didn’t want to disturb, but Billie Russell says he’d like to see you. Something about an idea for next quarter. Where do you want me to put him?”
Leo chuckles darkly. “Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear. Put him in the conference room, Marge.”
“Sure.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” he tells her as the door closes again. Then he turns to me, adding when I tilt my head in question, “I didn’t think you wanted a clean-up crew here for the second time in two days. Besides, it’s soundproof.” He stands. “I’ll make the call. Give you some room.”
I flex my knuckles as he leaves before getting to my feet. My eyes wander to the spot where Alex begged for mercy, his pitiful wails like a stain that’ll never wash out.
When he begged…he begged.
Unlikeher.
The parting comment before I left was supposed to scare Isabella into staying put, but even if it frightened her, she didn’t let it show.
And last night…I thought she might’ve cowered. Or found an excuse to keep me away so she could use one last Hail Mary to reach her father.
Instead, she invited me to come along.
“You wanna go first? Or walk behind?”Her words echo in my head, teasing me. “I’m sure you can work something out. You’re big and strong,after all.”
A starfish.
A knowing smile curls my lips. If—no,whenI take Isabella to bed, she won’t just lie there. I don’t intend to show her affection or tenderness, but I’ll make herbegfor more.
For my touch. For my head between her thighs and my cock inside her. Her sneers will become broken, ragged moans as she clings to me, and the only thing on her lips will be my name as I use her.
I take a deep breath, and the image of Isabella in my shirt comes to mind again.
Weak buttons. They’d snap easily under my hands, falling to the ground with ease. Her soft skin in my hands, her breasts spilling out, and her legs spread.
She’d make a pretty sight.Pretty, pink, and very fuckable. When it happens, I don’t intend to hold back.
Marge knocks again.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, pushing Isabella out of my head. Soon. I’ll have her carrying my last name and my child.
For now, I have other things to attend to.
“One last thing,” I mutter as I reach into my desk drawer. My fingers touch something cold and hard, and my smile widens as I remove it and tuck it into my waistband.
Billie hurriedly stands when I walk into the conference room. “Mr. Volkov,” he addresses me. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Sure,” I reply, nonplussed, taking my place at the head of the table. “You said you wanted to discuss something pertaining to the next quarter?”
His head dances as he nods, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s nervous. Either he knows something is coming his way, or he’s drowning in guilt.
He must’ve slipped in his older age, letting them get to him.
It doesn’t matter.Weak or not, I intend to avenge his death. One by one, everybody who played a part will pay.
Marco Ricci is the cherry on the cake.
“I need you to find out where his kids are. Have someone go there and send proof while keeping an eye on them.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies.
The door opens slightly, and Marge pokes her head through. “Didn’t want to disturb, but Billie Russell says he’d like to see you. Something about an idea for next quarter. Where do you want me to put him?”
Leo chuckles darkly. “Speak of the devil, and he’ll appear. Put him in the conference room, Marge.”
“Sure.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” he tells her as the door closes again. Then he turns to me, adding when I tilt my head in question, “I didn’t think you wanted a clean-up crew here for the second time in two days. Besides, it’s soundproof.” He stands. “I’ll make the call. Give you some room.”
I flex my knuckles as he leaves before getting to my feet. My eyes wander to the spot where Alex begged for mercy, his pitiful wails like a stain that’ll never wash out.
When he begged…he begged.
Unlikeher.
The parting comment before I left was supposed to scare Isabella into staying put, but even if it frightened her, she didn’t let it show.
And last night…I thought she might’ve cowered. Or found an excuse to keep me away so she could use one last Hail Mary to reach her father.
Instead, she invited me to come along.
“You wanna go first? Or walk behind?”Her words echo in my head, teasing me. “I’m sure you can work something out. You’re big and strong,after all.”
A starfish.
A knowing smile curls my lips. If—no,whenI take Isabella to bed, she won’t just lie there. I don’t intend to show her affection or tenderness, but I’ll make herbegfor more.
For my touch. For my head between her thighs and my cock inside her. Her sneers will become broken, ragged moans as she clings to me, and the only thing on her lips will be my name as I use her.
I take a deep breath, and the image of Isabella in my shirt comes to mind again.
Weak buttons. They’d snap easily under my hands, falling to the ground with ease. Her soft skin in my hands, her breasts spilling out, and her legs spread.
She’d make a pretty sight.Pretty, pink, and very fuckable. When it happens, I don’t intend to hold back.
Marge knocks again.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I say, pushing Isabella out of my head. Soon. I’ll have her carrying my last name and my child.
For now, I have other things to attend to.
“One last thing,” I mutter as I reach into my desk drawer. My fingers touch something cold and hard, and my smile widens as I remove it and tuck it into my waistband.
Billie hurriedly stands when I walk into the conference room. “Mr. Volkov,” he addresses me. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Sure,” I reply, nonplussed, taking my place at the head of the table. “You said you wanted to discuss something pertaining to the next quarter?”
His head dances as he nods, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He’s nervous. Either he knows something is coming his way, or he’s drowning in guilt.
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