Page 8 of Bound Vows (Empire City Syndicate #3)

Andrei

Blood on my knuckles tends to make negotiations more productive, though I prefer starting with charm before moving to violence.

“Mr. Torrino, please, sit down.” I gesture toward the leather chair across from my desk while noting how the restaurant owner’s hands shake as he fumbles with his fedora. “Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Something stronger?”

“Just water, thank you.” His voice carries the tremor of a man who knows he’s entering a lion’s den but has no choice except to keep walking.

Maya is sitting in the corner of my office, ostensibly reading a book but actually paying attention to every word and gesture that passes between us.

She’s wearing a cream silk blouse and dark slacks that make her look like she belongs in a boardroom rather than watching criminal negotiations unfold.

The silk latches onto her curves in ways that make it difficult to concentrate on business, and every time she crosses her legs, I'm reminded of how those thighs felt wrapped around my waist yesterday. The way she turns pages without reading tells me she’s catching everything.

Smart woman. I expected nothing less.

“Alexei mentioned that you wanted to discuss your monthly contributions.” I pour Torrino’s water from the crystal pitcher on my desk and take my time to let him sweat while I play gracious host. “Something about adjusting the amounts?”

“Times have been difficult, Mr. Volkov. The pandemic hurt business, and now with inflation?—”

“Stop.” I set the glass in front of him with enough force to make water slosh over the rim. “Don’t insult my intelligence with excuses about circumstances beyond your control.”

Torrino shrinks in his chair as my accent thickens with irritation. Maya’s book lowers a bit, and I catch her studying my face with renewed attention. She’s learning to read the warning signs my men have recognized for years.

“Your restaurant grossed four hundred thousand last month.” I open the folder that contains his financial records and toss them across the desk where he can see every documented transaction.

“Your expenses totaled two hundred and sixty thousand, leaving you with a profit of one hundred and forty thousand dollars.”

“How did you?—”

“Know your exact numbers? I make it my business to know everything about the people who work with me. Your accountant is very thorough, Mr. Torrino. Almost as thorough as my people who review his reports.”

The man’s face goes white as he realizes the depth of my surveillance.

Behind him, Maya closes her book and sets it aside, no longer pretending disinterest in our conversation.

When she leans forward, the silk blouse gapes just enough to reveal the lace of her bra, and my cock stirs at the memory of her perfect breasts in my hands.

“You want to reduce your monthly payment from fifteen thousand to ten thousand,” I continue as I pull out a calculator and make a show of running numbers. “That represents a thirty-three percent decrease in what you contribute to our partnership.”

“Partnership?” Torrino’s voice cracks on the word.

“Of course. I provide security for your establishment, ensure no competitors muscle in on your territory, and guarantee that health inspectors find no violations worth reporting. In exchange, you contribute a reasonable percentage of your profits to support these services.” I smile in a way that makes his Adam’s apple bob nervously. “It’s a very fair arrangement.”

Maya adjusts herself in her chair, and I notice how she watches Torrino’s body language. She reads fear the way I do, by recognizing the subtle signs that separate genuine distress from manipulation.

“Mr. Volkov, please understand?—”

“I understand perfectly.” I steeple my fingers above my desk. “You believe that because business is challenging, you deserve a discount on essential services. You think hard times entitle you to renegotiate agreements that were made in good faith.”

Torrino opens his mouth to respond, but I continue before he can speak.

“Let me explain why that thinking is flawed. When times are difficult, security becomes more valuable, not less. Desperate people make desperate choices, and desperate choices often involve targeting successful businesses like yours.” I stand and walk around the desk, noting how he flinches when I approach.

“The protection I provide becomes exponentially more important when economic pressures mount.”

“I’m not trying to cheat you?—”

“No?” I perch on the edge of the desk in front of him, close enough that he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact. “Then explain what you call attempting to reduce your payments while maintaining the same level of service.”

Maya watches this exchange with fascination, and I can see her mental gears turning as she evaluates my methods. The way her fingers drum against the book’s cover tells me she’s either impressed or disturbed by my approach.

Possibly both.

And then her eyes darken with what looks like arousal, and I remember how she responded to dominance yesterday in the gym. Oh, she’s turned on, all right.

“Business has been slow,” Torrino repeats weakly.

“Your business has been exceptional. Would you like me to read your weekly receipts aloud?” I tap the folder with one finger. “Or should we discuss the private dining events you’ve been hosting for certain city council members?”

The blood drains from his face. Those private events aren’t quite legal, considering they involve substantial cash payments for favorable zoning decisions and building permits.

“You see, Mr. Torrino, I don’t just provide security.

I provide comprehensive business consulting that ensures your operations remain…

uninterrupted.” My voice drops to a whisper that makes him lean forward to hear me.

“Attempting to reduce your contributions suggests you no longer value these services.”

“That’s not true?—”

“Then we understand each other.” I return to my chair and open a folder containing photographs of his restaurant taken at various times over the past month. “Your monthly contribution remains fifteen thousand dollars, due on the first of each month as agreed.”

Torrino stares at the photographs, and I see the moment he recognizes surveillance shots that document his daily routines, employee schedules, and delivery patterns. The message is unmistakable: I know everything about your operation.

“Of course, Mr. Volkov. Fifteen thousand. No problem.”

“Excellent.” I close the folder and slide it into my desk drawer. “Alexei will escort you out. Please give my regards to your lovely wife, Sofia. How is her garden club doing? I hear the roses are particularly beautiful this year.”

The mention of his wife’s name sends Torrino stumbling to his feet with panic written across his face. He mumbles thanks and apologies while backing toward the door, desperate to escape before I decide to make additional examples.

Once he’s gone, Maya sets her book aside and fixes me with an unreadable stare.

“Subtle,” she comments, but her voice has dropped to a husky register that makes me want to bend her over my desk.

“Subtlety is wasted on people who mistake kindness for weakness.” I pour myself a glass of vodka from the bottle I keep in my desk drawer.

“Mr. Torrino needed clarification about our business relationship.” I let my gaze travel down her body before meeting her eyes again. "Much like you did yesterday."

Maya's breath catches at the reference to our encounter, and I don’t miss the way she clenches her thighs. She clears her throat and tries to change the subject. “And threatening his wife provided that clarification?”

“I didn’t threaten anyone. I simply demonstrated my awareness of his personal life.

” I raise the glass in a mock salute before taking a sip.

“Knowledge is power, Piccola. The more people understand how much I know, the more they want to please me.

" The way I say “please” makes it clear that I'm not just talking about business arrangements.

Maya uncrosses and recrosses her legs, a gesture I’ve learned signals her internal debate about whether to challenge me or simply file information away for later use. But now, I also recognize it as a sign of arousal; she's trying to relieve the pressure building between her legs.

“Your accent gets thicker when you’re angry,” she observes, then adds with deliberate provocation, "It's quite... effective."

“Does it? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, I think you have. You use it like another weapon.” Maya stands and walks to the window overlooking Central Park, her hips swaying in an unconsciously seductive way. “The more Russian you sound, the more dangerous you become. It’s quite effective.”

I join her at the window and stand close enough to catch the jasmine in her perfume but far enough away to avoid crowding her. “You’re very observant.”

“I’m very motivated to understand the man who’s holding me prisoner,” she replies, but there's challenge in her voice now, along with invitation.

“Studying your captor for weaknesses? How practical.” I step close enough that my chest almost brushes her shoulder. "Find any yet?"

Maya turns to face me, but her green eyes hold speculation rather than fear. “Everyone has weaknesses, Andrei. Even you.” And then her gaze drops to my mouth, and my cock springs to life.

In just that moment, Alexei enters without knocking—a privilege reserved for emergencies or information too sensitive for delays.

“We need to talk,” he announces before glancing meaningfully at Maya.

“Speak freely. Maya is part of this organization now.”

Alexei’s disapproval is obvious, but he doesn’t argue. “Max Mastroni has put a five-million-dollar bounty on your head. Open contract, any taker.”

Maya’s face remains impassive, but I catch the slightest intake of breath that suggests this news affects her more than she’s willing to show.