Iosef Arkadayevich Petrov was a man that often aroused fear in those he called upon. His personal visits to debtors were infrequent to say the least, and all those who had taken money from the Russian mob knew that when you answered the door to his cold, icy eyes, death was imminent. By the time he came knocking on your door, there was no more chances. You have already been threatened, roughed up, and beaten. Now it was time for punishment. You would be killed, you assets seized, and your body mutilated and thrown into the Hudson.
So it was partly understandable that Peter Franklin trembled against the wall of the kitchen like a frightened child. But this did not stop icy blue eyes from raking over the shaking man with utter disgust. Franklin was standing against the wall, ringing his clammy hands in front of him and waiting for the final verdict. He was pathetic in both his physicality and mentality. He was small, thin, and greasy. He begged and pleaded for more time, trying to reason with a man who could not be reasoned with. There was a fleeting moment when he almost cried, his face contorting and his body crumpling where he stood. His pointy shoulder bent forehead, his neck was arched downward, and he cowered against the wall, is if it would save him.
He stood with his family surrounding him, his wife to the side holding two children in her arms. There was a boy on the other side of the room, who Iosef Petrov had not given much thought to. The only thing he found odd was that the boy was separated from the rest of the family. He appeared to be detached from the entire situation. He sat, staring down at the floor between his feet. His thick, black, curly hair fell in front of him, covering his face from view. He sat incredibly still, and it was difficult to see even the rise and fall of his chest and back as he breathed.
In an unending sense of paranoia, Yakov Aleksandrovich, the six foot blonde from St. Petersburg, stepped toward him, nudging the boy’s foot with his shoe. The boy looked up from the floor toward the mean looking Russian. His green eyes were wide in a frightful trepidation. Petrov looked away from the boy once seeing his face and looked back to Franklin brandishing and cocking the berretta.
“Mrs. Franklin, I would ask that you bring your children into the other room,” Petrov said, each accented word breaking through the room’s silence like a bullet. The woman made to move to leave and Petrov reached into his suit pocket. He nodded slowly, twisting on the silencer with a mock pout on his lips. “Very well.”
He extended his arm, the gun aimed directly at Franklin’s quivering chest. His long, elegant finger moved from the trigger guard to the trigger. Only the slightest bit of pressure would be needed to fire the gun, but Petrov always took the time to enjoy his kills. He could personally kill too infrequently, that when he had the chance, he relished in it.
“Wait!” the man cried out, holding his hands over him and sliding to the floor. Petrov snarled his upper lip curling in disgust. “I have a way to get you the money!”
Petrov moved the gun a fraction of an inch lower. He waited, saying nothing, but moving his eyes over him slowly.
“You make quite a bit on prostituting out young boys right? Take Michael!”
The boy seated next to Yakov reacted immediately to the words. He jumped up, and was about to make a step toward him. His journey was cut short when the massive blond to his right shoved him back down onto the chair.
“That!” Petrov exclaimed pointing his gun toward the boy. “You think I can make money off of him?”
“He’s a virgin!”
“And you would know that how?” Petrov asked and pointed the gun back at him.
“Please don’t kill him!” Michael said standing up again. Yakov blocked his way but did not keep him from standing up.
“This family is full of surprises,” Petrov mused. He looked over at Michael, inspecting him carefully for the first time. His gun was still pointed at Franklin, and the trembling man remained on the ground with his hands up.
“His age will bring in what his looks wont,” the third Russian in the room spoke. He looked identical to Yakov and it did not take a genius to gather that the two were at least brothers if not twins.
“What’s stopping me from killing you, and taking him at the same time?” Petrov finally asked Franklin. He looked down at him, unable to keep the disgust from his face.
“You good nature and compassion,” Franklin said. Petrov almost laughed. Almost. He glanced back at the boy. He had thick curly hair, bright green eyes and a smooth face. He was a little too skinny, but that easily dealt with. He had the kind of eyes that men liked focused up at them when they had their cocks sucked, and Petrov was sure that he would make lovely noises in bed.
“He buys you time. Nothing more,” Petrov said. He jerked his head at his muscle and the two blonde grabbed Michael, one arm each, and he was dragged to the doorway. Michael put up no resistance but stared at his adoptive father in shock. Petrov removed the silencer form his gun after uncocking it. He shot one last disparaging look at Franklin on the floor before turning away.
“Three months, Franklin,” he called as he walked toward the door. “And I sincerely hope you will have my money then.”
He heard nothing else as he shut the door behind him and walked down the apartment building stairs. He checked his gold Rolex as he did, letting out a deep sigh. Michael nearly fell down the stairs due to the hold the men had on him. Luckily, the very forces that nearly made him fall, kept him on his feet.
“Bring him to the warehouse in the Brooklyn,” Petrov told Yakov and his brother Adrik. “I have other business.”
“Please, Mr. Petrov sir –”
“Did he address you?” Yakov barked, shoving him hard on the chest. Michael fell backward into the black Cadillac and fell silent. Petrov ignored him and got into a car parked a few feet away. The moment he stepped into the back seat the car sped off. Michael was shoved unceremoniously into the back of the black Cadillac, and one of the massive blondes, Michael could not tell which, got in next to him. The other got into the driver’s seat and they left the Bronx apartment building and headed toward Brooklyn.
“Whose genius idea was it to drive from the Bronx to Brooklyn at five thirty?” Yakov asked form the front seat. He was speaking Russian, and the pale boy in the back did not understand. He did not even seem to have heard them speaking. He was staring off in a daze, shocked and confused, but unable to voice his concern.
“I told you to go through Queens,” Adrik replied. “You always get stuck on the Upper East Side.”
Yakov hit the steering wheel in frustration as they came to a stop. He leaned against the door, holding his head up with his fist and checked the rear-view mirror.
“Watch this,” Yakov said and swung his door open. A bicyclist hit the door at an amazing speed, sending him falling to the ground hard. It broke Michael from his daze and he jumped. The two Russians laughed and Adrik shoved Michael into the car door. He winced in pain but said nothing, glancing down at the bicyclist as he got up from the ground.
“What the fuck is your problem!” he screamed at Yakov as he got onto his bike.
“On your way,” he said in English and the man seemed to turn pale. In this city, no one liked hearing Russian accents anymore. He shut his car door and finished the wait in traffic. Michael had no idea how much time past, but it was beginning to get dark when they got to the large, abandoned warehouse. As he walked inside, flanked by the two blondes, he saw a handsome man with auburn hair walking toward them. His eyes were dark, and intense, and they sent a shiver down his spine. He looked mean, despite being in a crisp, clean suit and having short, clean cut hair.
“Solovyov,” Yakov said as they walked by. The man ignored them, not even glancing in their direction, and walked form the building.
“Fucking prick,” Adrik bit out under his breath.
Michael was shoved in a small carpeted room on the second floor, which contained only a chair and table. He was placed inside without a word from his captors and left alone. His body trembled slightly and his mouth was dry. His body ached and there was a sharp throbbing above his eyes that he could not shake. He hated to admit that he was not surprised his adoptive father had thrown him under the bus so quickly. But he certainly did not accept his new situation. He was terrified to say the least, afraid of death, torture and rape. The Russian mob was one thing, but to be thrown into the hands of Iosef Petrov himself… it was unfathomable.
He buried his face in his hands as he thought. He could not possibly deal with this situation. It was too much. Just shy of eighteen he had never done anything remarkable in his life. For a boy who had spent most of his life in the foster system he was rather sheltered. He had never gotten into trouble; he had never been on any type of adventure in his youth. He had kept his head down and gone through life trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible.
And despite always following the rules, never starting fights, never being rude or mean, he was now at the mercy of the most ruthless, cruel man in New York City. Perhaps the most cruel man on the entire eastern sea board. He tried to keep tears from his eyes. He had been through a lot in his life, and had not cried since he was a little boy. Still, he felt the tears of desperation peck at his eyes. They fluttered closed and he hunched over in his chair, burying his head between his knees.
He had no idea how much time passed before the door opened. One of the blondes, Yakov, stood there and merely stared at him a moment. When he finally spoke he told Michael to follow him. The boy did so reluctantly, but he put up no fight. He realized it was futile, and he did not have it in him to fight.
“I’ve never done anything wrong,” Michael said softly as he was brought to another set of stairs. He was made to climb them first and waited for Yakov to lead the rest of the way when he reached the top. Yakov brought him to what looked like a long conference room one would see in an executive’s building. There was a long, glass window that was on the far side of the room, and as Michael was pushed inside, he was able to see that it overlooked the main floor of the warehouse. He was seated at the long table by himself, and Yakov left him alone once again. Michael was about to make himself comfortable when the door opened once again. He looked up, expecting Yakov, and nearly fell out of his chair when he saw Iosef Petrov walk into the room.
“You look like you have seen a ghost,” he smiled. His smile was not one that calmed someone, but put you on high alert. All of the hair on Michael’s neck and arms stood up on end and he said nothing. Petrov came around the side of the table and Michael could see he was carrying something in his hands. Held in one hand was a shot glass and in the other a bottle of vodka. Michael could see it had just been removed from the freezer, judging by the droplets of water running down the side. Keeping his hand wrapped around the top, Petrov poured a shot, took it, let out a breath and poured another.
“You look like you need one,” he said and brought the shot over to Michael. He placed it in front of the boy, standing next to his chair, leaning over him imperiously.
“Will you not drink it?” he asked. His voice was low, and the way the words sounded leaving his mouth inspired the most frightening sort of dread in Michael’s gut.
“I’m seventeen,” Michael breathed.
“Hmm,” Iosef said. “drink.”
Michael nodded and reached out for the shot. He held it in his hand a moment, before raising it to his lips. He took a sip, his face contorting and the Russian laughed. The shot glass was removed from Michael’s hand and placed back on the table. Michael watched as Petrov refilled it.
“You take it all in one go. You do not sip. Again,” he said and held the shot glass in front of Michael’s face. Michael took the glass from him and, with a grimace, knocked the shot back. He placed the glass on the table with a contorted face. Petrov chuckled in amusement. He spun the cap back around the bottle until it was tight and slid it down the table.
Michael was seated directly to the right of the head of the table. Petrov took the seat at the head of the table so they were perpendicular to one another. He crossed one of his long, Armani clad legs over his knee and leaned back in the chair. He looked over Michael lazily as he thought.
“You’re cute, but I would hardly make enough to feed and clothe you,” Petrov mused. “You see, there is a common misconception that virgins make more. Most men that pay for sex want a whore, a slut. They want someone who can see to their needs. Your little virgin ass would be ripped to shreds in a week.”
Michael felt a warmth in the bottom of his stomach and the more Petrov spoke the further it travelled through his body. By the time checked his watch and then looked back up at Michael , the warmth was creeping into his extremities.
“Luckily for you, I happen to be between lovers. I assume you have heard of me before today?”
Michael nodded frantically, afraid he would insult the Russian if he had not.
“Well then you may know that I myself am a homosexual. Well, to an extent,” he smiled. “I do not discriminate between the sexes.”
He paused and stared at Michael a moment.
“No one will ever say Iosef Petrov is a rapist. So,” he said and unbuttoned his suit jacket. “You may choose. I have two cars waiting outside. One goes to my house upstate, the other to Brownsville, in Brooklyn. I might also add that should you not choose to come with my upstate, and resist in your journey to Brownsville, you will find yourself strapped to cement blocks and thrown into the East River… alive.”
“I… I want to go with you,” Michael said and timidly licked his chapped lips. Petrov nodded.
“Good choice,” he checked his watch and stood. “I will see you in a few hours.”
He stood, leaving the bottle and glass on the table, and left the room. Moments later Yakov stepped in and motioned for the boy to follow. Michael went obediently and silently. He had no ambitions to go swimming tonight, and so he got into the car that Yakov shoved him toward.
The car ride to upstate was long, and despite how tired Michael grew, he could not fall asleep. His stomach was in knots and his head was now pounding. He closed his eyes for a while, trying to imagine himself in a happier time, but that did nothing. He had no happy times.
By the time they arrived at the house, a large manor type home miles from its closest neighbor, Michael’s muscles were tight and rigid. He was locked inside a bedroom on the second floor. He lay down on the bed, face down, and covered his head with his arms. He tried to wrap his head around where he was and what he was doing but he could not. It all seemed so surreal. He supposed he was in shock of some sort.
At some point well into the early hours of the morning, the aching in his head ceased, and he fell asleep.
Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Michael was woken up the next day the sound of his door slamming shut. Opening his tired eyes he found a plate of food resting on the dresser and heard the sound of the click of a lock. He stood, padding over to the dresser, and took the plate of steaming eggs back to the bed. As his situation came back to him he inhaled the eggs on his plate, finishing them in only a minute or so.
The day went by agonizingly slow, made even worse by the fact that Michael had no idea of knowing what time it was. There was no TV, computer or clock in the room he was locked in. He searched in vain, but gave up within an hour. It was well into the evening when his door opened again, and when he looked up expecting a meal, he was shocked to see Petrov standing there. He got off the bed and stood up straight, as if an army commander walked into the room.
“You must forgive Adrik and Yakov,” Petrov told him. He pulled a gold ring from his right hand and placed it on the bureau. “They are rather overzealous. I gave no order for you to be locked up all day. You must be hungry.”
Michael only nodded.
“Come with me,” he said and left the room. Michael followed him into a dining room downstairs and sat down at the seat Petrov motioned to. Food was already at the table and the two blondes were already seated and eating. There were two other men seated, a mean looking man with a jagged scar running along his cheek, and a young looking man that had clearly had his nose broken at some point in his life. As Iosef sat, he pointed at each man at the table and said their names.
“Yakov, Adrik, Igor, and Ivan,” he said. “Michael.”
“Hello,” Michael got out. All the other men just stared at him. Michael swallowed thickly and looked down at his plate. They were eating some type of Russian meal, and Igor and Ivan were eating like they had gone without food for years. The moment they finished they rose and left the table without a word. The conversation flowed between English and Russian without effort for the men speaking, and Michael was thoroughly lost. He struggled to keep his food down as he ate, his stomach a mess of tightening nerves and discomfort.
“Yakov, can you go get the boy a drink,” Petrov finally said. “It looks like he’s going to be sick.”
“I’m fine,” Michael protested, but Yakov was already up and on his way to the kitchen. When Adrik came back he had a glass of water in one hand and a shot of vodka in the other. Michael shook his head at the shot.
“I can’t have a shot right now,” he breathed as he reached for the water.
“It will loosen you up,” Petrov said and sipped at his wine.
“No, I don’t want the shot,” Michael said, feeling better as he sipped at the cold water.
“You will drink it,” Petrov said sharply and Michael flushed red. He nodded and grabbed the shot glass. Glancing at the two blondes he knocked back the shot. Again he grimaced at the taste and the burning of his throat. He placed it down and took a gulp of water. “Have some wine.”
Petrov poured Michael a glass of wine and, despite his queasiness, Michael reached for it and began drinking. By the time he was finished he was not drunk, but instead comforted by a warm glow and a small feeling of contentedness, despite his situation. When Petrov grabbed his hand and lead him upstairs he did so willingly and without the dread he would no doubt have felt had his system been void of alcohol.
He was brought into a room that was warmly decorated, modern looking, and consisting of a giant king size bed. Petrov watched him with hot eyes as he removed his suit jacket. He flung the coat onto a nearby chair and pulled at his tie. Michael sat down at the foot of the bed and looked up with the Russian.
“I am gay,” Michael said. “I think that’s why he was so quick to sell me out.”
“Your father?” Petrov asked. He had his tie removed at his point and was sliding off his shoes. He placed them neatly in the closet.
“Yeah. I was adopted,” Michael muttered.
“I thought as much,” Petrov told him. He approached Michael and placed his hands on either side of the boys face. Michael looked up at him with questioning eyes.
“I will be gentle with you,” Petrov promised. Michael nodded at him.
“Thank you,” Michael breathed out. Petrov’s hand brushed through Michael’s thick head of hair, pushing his hair out of the way and revealing his face in full.
“You really are quite cute,” Petrov told him. “Stand up.”
Michael stood and let Petrov remove his shirt and unbutton his jeans. Petrov tilted Michael’s face up toward his and he pressed his lips to the boy’s. Michael’s reply was timid, and his hands shyly went up to hold onto the lapels of Petrov’s jacket. Petrov’s hand roamed over his small, lean body, feeling his ribs underneath the pale skin of his chest. Petrov kept the kisses rather chaste until his hands went to Michael’s unbuttoned jeans, and began to tug them down over his narrow hips.
Michael’s jeans hung around his knees and he kept his lips parted for Petrov’s tongue. Petrov’s hand slid inside Michael’s boxer’s, palming his tight ass and pulling the boy’s pelvis toward him. Petrov’s erection brushed against Michael’s more limp member, and his teeth closed around the boy’s plump bottom lip.
Growing bored with kissing Petrov shoved Michael back onto the bed and pulled his jeans off the rest of the way. Next he pulled off Michael’s boxers, leaving him naked against the tan comforter. The boy tried to cover himself, and his pale skin flushed in embarrassment. Petrov smiled as he removed his dress shirt and white t-shirt. He crawled on top of Michael when he was in nothing by his trousers, and once against placed his lips to Michael’s. This time he reached in between them and grabbed onto Michael’s member, gently messaging it to an erection. When he was satisfied with the hardness of Michael’s cock he grabbed Michael’s hand and pressed it to his crotch.
Michael was breathing heavy when his hand was placed to Petrov’s throbbing cock. He could feel its size through his trousers, and Michael found fear once against pushing its way into the front of his mind. Petrov struggled to unbuckle his belt and remove his trousers from on top of Michael, but he soon managed. He was panting by this time, and placed Michael’s hand back on his erection.
He wore boxer-briefs, but when Michael looked down he could clearly see the outline of Petrov’s cock. The mobster’s body was hard and light tan. His body was covered in lean muscle, and he was infinitely attractive. His thick, black hair contrasted sharply with his icy blue eyes and his body was one that you could look at for hours. Had he not been so dangerous, Michael might have been truly enjoying himself.
Petrov placed a rough, firm kiss to Michael’s mouth before rolling over onto his back. He reached into his underwear and pulled out his erection. He grabbed the back of Michael’s head and brought it down to the throbbing organ. Michael’s mouth remained closed, out of fear, embarrassment, or disgust, he did not know. The head of the Russian’s cock rubbed against his closed lips, leaving behind a sheen of pre-cum.
“Open your mouth,” Petrov ordered gently. He pulled Michael’s head back by the hair, and lowered it back down onto his throbbing member once Michael’s lips were parted. Michael wrapped his mouth around the head of the Russian’s erection and, as Petrov pushed his head farther down, struggled to take him all into his mouth. He felt a poke at the back of his throat and he gagged, trying to pull himself away. The hand in his hair allowed him to pull back some, but did not let Michael remove him from the erection entirely.
“Not ready for that then, hmm?” Petrov mused, looking over Michael’s beet red face. “Do not stop.”
Michael looped his tongue around the head of the penis and then looked back up at Iosef for direction. There was a small satisfied smile on his lips, but he gave no instructions for Michael to follow. Hesitantly Michael dragged his tongue from the base of Petrov’s erection up to the tip, and took it back into her mouth. Petrov groaned softly, and pumped Michael’s head up and down.
“I do not like sloppy cock suckers,” Petrov told him when he finally pulled Michael off. Saliva joined Michael’s mouth with Petrov’s now slick cock for a moment before Michael wiped his mouth. “All that spit flying about…. I find it very unattractive.”
“Sorry,” Michael muttered and wiped his mouth off more thoroughly. Petrov reached over into a drawer and grabbed a bottle of lube before motioning Michael toward her. He did so, and Petrov moved Michael onto his back. Petrov spread Michael’s legs and positioned his hips upward as he kneeled in front of the frightened boy. Petrov smiled at the sight, eyeing his small, pale body as he did. He smeared a liberal amount of lube onto his hands and pressed it to Michael’s tight opening. Michael grimaced as he did, and let out a strange noise. Petrov felt his ass tighten around his fingers and shushed the frightened boy.
“It will hurt more if you do not relax,” Petrov told him. Michael nodded, closing his eyes, and doing everything in his power to relax. Still, he remained clenched and tight around Petrov’s fingers. The Russian was patient, though. He massaged the tight hole, moving his finger in and out slowly, adding other fingers only when enough room had been made, and watched Michael’s face intently. Eventually, Michael relaxed and Petrov withdrew his fingers.
“Are you truly a virgin?” Petrov asked. Michael’s eyes fluttered open and he nodded. “If I find out you have lied to me I will pluck your eyes from your head. I will give you another chance to answer. Are you a virgin?”
“Yes,” Michael replied, his throat constricting.
“Good,” Petrov said and rubbed lube over his naked erection. “It’s not the same with condoms.”
Petrov pushed Michael’s thighs against his chest, opening up Michael’s ass to Petrov. Petrov pumped his cock one last time before placing the tip at Michael’s opening. Michael did his best to remain relaxed as Petrov slid into him. The lube made it easier, but it was a strange feeling that Michael did not know if he liked or not.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Petrov bit out as he slid into him. He was met with resistance as Michael’s body tensed in fear, but eventually was buried deep in the boy’s body. The look on Michael’s face was one of the sweetest things Iosef had ever seen. It was an irresistible mixture between pain and pleasure that met with an exquisite harmony over his features. His lean smooth body trembled underneath him and the way his hands were clutching at his arms for support made it nearly impossible for Petrov to remain still. Luckily for Michael he managed.
“I change my mind. I could make a lot of money off you,” he said. Michael did not react to the declaration, for he was struggling to adjust to the foreign object stretching him apart. “Ready?”
“No,” Michael whimpered. Despite his words Iosef began pulling his hips away from Michael’s body. He pushed back in slowly, earning a delicious moan from the boy beneath him. With each thrust he moved with more force, enjoying the whirlwind of emotions spattering across Michael’s face. One moment there was fear, the next pain, then ecstasy. By the time Petrov had finished, there was evidently more pain written over the boy’s features than pleasure, but no real damage had been done. His powerful thrusts had only drawn the smallest bit of blood and despite all this Michael’s cock was still hard.
Petrov came inside of him hard, his body spasming slightly as he felt the orgasm rip through him. He revered quickly and wasted no time grabbing onto Michael’s erection and jerking him to an orgasm. He was still inside of Michael when the boy came onto his chest, and remained there a few more moments as he admired the look of the boy.
His hair was wet with sweat, his lips swollen from the blow job and his face flushed red. His pale body contrasted with the dark blue sheets, and his torso was so thin and smooth that Petrov could not stop himself from reaching out and gently running his hand over him, smearing his come over his skin.
He pulled out of Michael with a pop and moved to the bathroom to clean himself off. When he returned, Michael was completely passed out on the bed, sound asleep.
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
The next morning Michael was slow to wake up, and his entire body was sore and tense. It had little to do with last night’s activities, for he was only vaguely aware of the pain in his bottom. He had a searing head ache, and pulsing throbs were shooting up and down his neck and shoulders. Rolling his head in circles, attempting to reduce the stiffness, he came to the conclusion that it was stress that was keeping his body so tight, and did his best to talk himself down. The attempt naturally failed, and as Michael slid out of bed and collected his clothing from the floor, the pain seemed to intensify. It did not take him long to find the note on the dresser and as he read it he twisted his body slightly, earning a few loud cracks form his spine.
You may go downstairs to eat and watch T.V. Adrik is in charge. He has orders you are not to leave the house. Don’t do anything stupid.
Michael put the piece of paper back on the dressed and ran his hands through his hair. He did not want to go down stairs where there were undoubtedly more Russians, but neither did he think he could stand another day stuck inside another bedroom. He was growing claustrophobic and needed to stretch his legs. There was some disappointment that he would not be allowed outside by his Russian baby sitter, but a few loops around the house wouldn’t hurt. He stepped outside of the bedroom, glancing around to make sure no Russian’s saw him leaving Petrov’s bedroom, and wandered aimlessly down the halls. He was completely unaware of which way to go, how the house was laid out, or where he was going to end up, but his legs sang his praises as they stretched out.
He eventually found a set of stairs and paused as he began to descend them. He could hear voices down stairs, Russian voices, and he felt a tightening of the knots in his stomach. The pain in his head, which had lessened some since he had awoken, intensified, and he let out a long, shaky breath. When he finally garnered up the trouble to go downstairs he found himself deposited in the living room, where Igor, the ugly scared man from the night before sat, speaking to Adrik in the other room. He glanced at Michael, gave him one of the most terrifying looks he had ever received, and then looked back toward the TV.
Michael scratched the side of his face nervously as he looked around. He did not want to be alone with the frightful man, and was rooted to the spot for a few moments. Igor never once turned to look back at him, and Michael was able to successfully walk past him without completely pissing his pants. When he got into the kitchen Adrik was leaning against the counter speaking to his brother in hushed tones, his icy blue eyes landing on Michael the moment he entered the room. Yakov, seated at the bar stool, turned to glance at Michael before turning back and continuing their conversation.
“Can I help you with something?” Adrik finally asked when Michael continued to stand in the doorway staring.
“Can I get something to drink?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Can you?” he asked. Michael flushed and timidly walked over to the fridge. He poured himself some milk, all the while attempting to keep his quivering hands from spilling onto the counter. When he remained at the counter with the two blonde Russians they ceased speaking and simply stared at him. It took Michael a moment to realize this new turn of events and his mouth when dry as he looked at them.
“Don’t you have some place to be?” Adrik asked him and Yakov smirked.
“Igor scares me,” Michael said softly.
“Igor scares everybody,” Yakov told him with a wink. Michael tried to smile.
“Most insane people do,” Adrik murmured, glancing in at the TV room. He looked back to Michael. “Stay away from him.”
“I plan on it,” Michael said nodded and took another gulp of milk. He wiped his mouth nervously, letting out another nervous sigh.
“When you are ready, Mr. Petrov wants you to go onto the computer and order yourself from clothes,” Adrik said. “You can’t keep wearing that.”
He looked with distaste over Michael’s clothing, which consisted of a pair of jeans two sizes too big for him, and a lose t-shirt riddled with moth holes. Michael’s face flushed as he nodded.
“Can I ask you a question?” Michael asked Adrik and Yakov timidly. They both just stared at him, waiting for him to speak. “What are the chances of me being killed at some point in the near future?”
“I’d say about twenty five- seventy five,” Yakov told him.
“Against,” Yakov replied. The color drained from Michael’s face and he nodded. Yakov snickered as he left the room.
Michael sat at the computer, looking through the sites Petrov had designated for Michael to buy clothes from. All the prices were rather astronomical, and to Michael, rather ridiculous. He railed to see how any t-shirt could be worth ninety-five dollars. He had glanced through the polos, but four hundred dollars for a few yards of fabric seemed too insane. When he searched through the jeans, he scarcely knew where to begin.
Were jeans not just jeans? What did boot leg, relaxed, slim, super slim, straight leg, flare, boot, even mean? They all looked like jeans. He tried to find the tag on the jeans he was wearing, to simply by the same ones, but he could not find a type written on them.
“Four hundred dollar pair of jeans, give me a break,” Michael muttered. “God help me.”
“I am sure he will should you pray.”
The sound of Petrov’s voice sent a violent shock through Michael’s body and he jumped, the tops of his legs slamming into the computer table in front of him. He felt Petrov come closer to him, and tried to shrink into himself when his arms came over either side of him as he looked down at what Michael was doing. His chest was pressed against Michael’s back, and his arms boxed him in, as he read over his shoulder. When his hand landed on the mouse in order to view the history, he was pressed even closer to Michael. Michael hated to admit that whatever cologne it was the Petrov was wearing smelled amazing, and the warmth his body emitted was welcoming. Michael glanced to the side momentarily to look at him but quickly turned away.
“You little shit,” Petrov breathed in amusement. “I send you to the nicest designer clothing stores online and all you buy a t-shirts and jeans.”
Michael watched as Petrov went through and purchased more clothing for him, keeping the size settings Michael had set. He bought him some pants, real pants Petrov called them, some sweaters and coats, along with a few pairs of shoes. Michael was thankful when Petrov still bought everything that he had picked out before Petrov arrived, and thanked him softly for the clothing.
“Yes, well, as much as I might enjoy it, I cannot have you running around naked,” Petrov replied. “Come along. I wish to shower.”
Michael obediently followed Petrov up stairs and into his bedroom, but stopped in the doorway of the bathroom. Iosef removed his suit jacket and tie before turning to look at Michael expectantly.
“Well?” he asked. “Undress.”
“I can shower afterward,” Michael said and Petrov’s jaw clenched.
“You could,” he said. “But you won’t.”
He removed his shirt. Michael stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, but hesitated when it came to removing his clothing. Petrov’s back was to him as he turned on the shower and did not turn to remove his trousers and boxer-briefs.
“If I turn around and you are not naked you will receive a sound whipping,” Petrov spoke and, as if to make a point, tossed his belt backwards at Michael. The boy jumped out of the way of the belt and removed his clothing quickly. When he was naked he held his limp member in his hands, doing his best to remain covered up. Petrov seemed to have no problem with his nudity and when he turned it was with a proud erection pointing toward Michael. The laugh that left the Russian’s throat frightened Michael.
“Why so shy,” he teased and reached out to grab Michael’s wrist. Michael was led into the shower, pushed under the hot spray, his hand still covering his erection. The shower itself was a beautiful, two walls covered in smoked glass and the rest a foggy blue tile. The shower head was large and sprayed the hot water evenly over Michael’s body. Had it not been for Petrov’s body pressing into him behind, Michael might have hummed in pleasure.
The Russian’s hand gently massaged Michael’s chest and abdomen, and his mouth placed little kissed to his shoulders. Slowly, as Petrov began to gently suck on the skin just over Michael’s pulse, his hands moved to the boys growing erection. He smiled as he felt the stiffness and nipped at his ear.
“Ow,” Michael breathed out, his body arched in pleasure, unsure of what he was supposed to do.
“You’ve got the sweetest, tightest little ass,” Petrov said, placing a slap to the pale skin. “I think I’ll order you some jock straps. Now that would be a lovely sight.”
He grabbed some soap, squeezing it onto his hand and continued to message Michael’s cock. The boy leaned into him, the back of his head resting on Petrov’s shoulder.
“You just open up like a flower, don’t you?” Petrov mused with a smile. His other hand played with Michael’s balls and the boys hips jerked. He breathed out deeply, trying to gain some control of himself, but the way the Russian’s fingers played with his balls, and the feeling of his slick hand pumping up and down his length was too much. Like any red blooded teenage boy he had jerked off but nothing had ever felt this amazing. Even last night it had not felt this good.
“You’ve been a good boy,” Petrov breathed. “You can come.”
As if it were the last thing holding him back Michael felt his orgasm wash over him, and Petrov kept pumping his hand as he came.
“My turn,” Petrov said as Michael came down from his high. Michael lowered himself to ground as he turned around and a satisfied smile came to Petrov’s face. He leaned against the tile, pushing his hips out slightly, and watched Michael take his cock into his mouth. Petrov kept his hands at his side as he watched Michael work on him, moving up and down the length of his cock, employing a rather skillful combination of liking and sucking.
“Were you pretending last night,” Petrov asked and Michael looked up at him in confusion. “Or are you just a quick study?”
Michael tried to take his mouth off of Petrov to speak, but the Russian’s hand stopped him with a hand to the back of his head.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Petrov scolded. “Task at hand.”
Finally, Petrov took his cock from Michael’s mouth and began to jerk himself off. He grabbed Michael’s head when the boy just kneeled their staring, and brought his face to his balls. The boy understood, and worked on him there as he had just done his erection. It did not take long for Petrov to come and he remained against the bathroom wall after letting go of Michael’s head. Michael stood up, wiping his mouth off, and nearly slipped and fell when Petrov’s hand jutted out and grabbed him by the chin.
“Don’t ever wipe your mouth off of me again,” He snapped and Michael nodded frantically, his eyebrows raised in fear.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered and Petrov let him go. The Russian grabbed some soap and lathered himself up, ordering Michael to get the back of his legs, ass, and back. Michael was just finishing his back when the Russian turned around, already sporting another erection. Michael had no time to reaction before he was shoved against the bathroom wall, his stomach and chest hitting the wall hard. He felt Petrov’s hand part his ass cheeks, rub his soapy fingers against Michael’s asshole, before sliding into him with no preamble. Michael cried out in shock more so than pain.
Petrov’s arm was pressed into the back of Michael’s head to hold him in place, his free hand on his hip. He did not last nearly as long as he before, and as he slid out of Michael, Michael slid down onto the floor. He was crying softly as he pressed himself into the wall and flinched when Petrov knelt down next to him.
“Oh, shhh,” Petrov said and ran his fingers through Michael’s wet hair. “It’s alright. Did I hurt you?”
Michael nodded. Petrov ran his knuckles over Michael’s cheeks.
“Poor boy,” Petrov murmured. “Poor little Mischa.”
Michael sniffled, looked up at Petrov, but said nothing. Petrov stood, rinsed himself off, and stepped out of the shower. Michael remained on the floor, letting the spray wash over him.
“Mischa?” Petrov asked.
“Yes?” Michael called to him.
“I will have lunch sent up, but I want you to stay in the room, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” he whispered.
“Yes, sir,” he said more loudly.
Michael heard the bedroom door shut, and slowly fell to sleep.
Chapter 4: Chapter Four
Some torture and abuse in this chapter
Michael woke up to the sound of large bang radiating throughout the house. It was not a gunshot, that much he knew, but the sound was ominous, and loud enough to shake him from his sleep rather violently. The spray of the water hitting him was freezing cold and after scrambling to shut it off, he stood still and listened. There were a few more dull thuds, softer than the other, before silence filled the house. He dried himself off, snatched up his clothing, and then went into the bedroom. Everything was oddly still, and a heavy sense of foreboding filled Michael to the brim.
He approached the door slowly, tried the handle and finding it locked pressed his ear to the door. He listened for anymore noises, but heard absolutely nothing. Not even the T.V playing downstairs. He felt his heart leap into his throat and wiggled the handle again. If everyone had left, and he could get out of this god forsaken room, he could escape. He didn’t think Petrov would try to find him, and if he got a train up to Canada or something, no one would ever be able to find him. He’d get a job at a restaurant or something and finally be free of everybody.
When he realized the door would not be opened he went in search of something that could help him get out. He ransacked the drawers, digging in them frantically, but could find nothing. He found a safe in the closet, one that he had no hope of ever getting into, and swore softly. Biting his lip in thought he glanced around the room and shoved his hands into his pockets. Doing so, he felt something in his jeans pocket. He paused, silently asked God if he was that lucky, and pulled out a paper clip.
He remembered when he was younger in one of the more abusive foster homes he had been put into, an older boy had taught him how to pick locks. It was necessary in this house, where the sadistic “parents” would lock kids in closets for the slightest offense. Michael examined the paper clip, tried to remember how to bend it, and walked over to the door. He chewed slightly on his lower lip as he did so. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he could practically hear the blood swirling around his ears.
As he knelt down next to the door, sliding the paper clip into the lock, he felt his mouth go dry. With every wiggle of the paper clip he would say a prayer, his eyes shut and his teeth grinding. He felt some bile raise in his throat and his breath hitched as he continued but he could not stop. If he stayed he would be killed. He could not just sit around and wait for that to happen.
“Come on.” He ground out. “It works in the movies. It works in books. Everyone can fucking do it in movies.”
He mumbled angrily to himself, moving the paper clip around with no real direction. On his last word he heard a faint click. He stood there a moment, staring at the door knob.
“Did that actual work?” His voice was a whisper and he wrapped his hand around the knob and paused. With a deep breath he turned the handle and pushed. When the door swung open Michael did not know if he wanted to cheer or throw up. His nerves were so tight he was trembling from the inside out, his entire body affected. He pushed himself up to his feet and poked his head out into the hallway.
Again he neither saw nor heard anything, except maybe his heart beast in his head. He stepped out into the hallway, gently shutting the door behind him, and walked toward the stairs. Luckily for Michael the house was brand new, and so the floors did not creak as he slunk down the hallway, close to the wall. To Michael, even the sound of his breathing was incredibly loud.
When he got to the top of the stairs he heard voices and he nearly fell against the wall. He held his breath as he strained to hear what was going. He could hear Petrov and Adrik, but there was another voice he did not recognize. Michael licked his lips and, against every voice screaming at him in the back of his head, he slowly crept down the stairs.
He hugged the corner of the second flight of stairs and could see the back of Petrov, Adrik, and Igor. He knew they were looking at someone but he could not see. He glanced to his right to see all their backs were to the door. Michael, who had never been proud of himself in his life, found pride in his little bit of courage, and he slowly rounded the corner to walk down the steps. If he could only get to the door…
He tried to ignore Petrov’s voice as he spoke to whoever it was they were looking at, for it suddenly came clear what was going on. Michael, who had thought stories of people being paralyzed in fear was ridiculous, literally froze in his spot and looked at the three Russian’s backs.
“Please, Mr. Petrov, don’t do this,” a fourth man wept and Michael understood what they were looking at.
“I am a compassionate man, Mr. Tucci,” Petrov’s voice was mockingly sympathetic. “I give you chance after chance after chance. I pay you money, I take out your rivals, I even had the cop that was t testify against you murdered, and this is how you repay me?”
“It’s just a minor setback, Mr. Petrov, I can get the money,” Tucci tried to reason with him.
“Hmm, and where are you going to get 3.5 million dollars, Mr. Tucci? The casinos?” Petrov was not amused. He turned to walk a few feet to the right, and it was miracle he did not turn to see Michael. Michael saw this as one more chance to either try to escape or turn and run back upstairs, but his body would not move. His feet had turned into cinderblocks, and his brain ceased to function.
“Do you remember our terms, Mr. Tucci?” Petrov asked looking at his nails. He now appeared completely disinterested with this integration.
“Yes, that’d I’d have the money by the fourteenth but –”
“Of what month Mr. Tucci?” Petrov spoke as if he were speaking to a small child.
“Of January, but –”
“And today is?”
“The nineteenth of March,” Tucci said and hung his head. Tears leaked from his eyes. Petrov nodded with a sour smile.
“Igor break his arms and legs, then throw him in the Hudson. Make sure he’s found,” Petrov ordered and Michael noticed the crowbar in Igor’s hands. Michael let out a gasp that only Mr. Tucci heard, and as Igor approached him, Michael was revealed to him. His eyes widened and he began to call for Michael’s help, begging him to come to aid.
Michael watched in horror as all three Russian’s turned on them, Igor and Adrik in surprise, Petrov in a rage. He whirled around, his eyes finding Michael immediately, and Michael could see murder in his icy blue eyes. Igor reacted first, placing duck tape over the mouth of screaming man and silencing him. Petrov stared at Michael, and the force of the gaze seemed to push Michael backward. He backed up until he hit the back of the stairs and he fell backward, his back slamming into the wooden steps.
“Boy,” Petrov breathed out, his voice shaking with rage, but trying beyond all comprehension to stay calm. “go upstairs.”
Michael remained on the steps, staring the Russians and watching the man flail against the ropes that secured him to the chair. His mouth dry, his head throbbed, and his entire body refused to move.
“Michael!” Petrov barked when he did not move. Michael tried to tell his legs to move but they wouldn’t. He felt tears sting at his eyes as he realized he was about to die.
“Adrik,” Petrov finally said and the blonde wasted no time in acting. He stalked toward the boy on the ground, his face grave, and when he reached him, he heaved Michael off his feet and practically threw him up the flight of stairs.
“Go,” he hissed and Michael rediscovered his ability to move his legs. He stumbled up the stairs, and in a panic, began to run from Adrik, hoping to lock himself in a room. The Russian seemed to understand Michael’s plan and chased him down, grabbing him before he could get anywhere. His strong arm wrapped around Michael’s throat and tightened. Air was cut off from Michael and his legs gave out. When his face began to turn purple, and he ceased struggling Adrik let him go and tossed him into a guest bedroom.
“What did you get out with?” Adrik hissed close to Michael’s face. Michael reached into his pockets as he struggled to regain his breath, tears coming down his cheeks. He handed Adrik the paperclip. The blonde scowled and stood up straight.
“What’s… what’s going to happen to me…?” Michael asked, rubbing his throat. He was on the floor by the bed, hardly able to push himself into a seated position.
“You’re going to be killed,” Adrik told him and Michael’s face crumpled into sobs.
“And Michael,” he said as he got to the door. “It’s going to be painful.”
The door shut and Michael heard the lock stick. He was too lightheaded to stand and he crawled into the corner of the room. He could find no door that would lead to an adjoining bathroom, and he settled on the corner. He pressed his forehead to the floor, his legs folding underneath him, and tried to calm himself. He tried to figure out how he could avoid behind killed, but before any ideas could come to mind, he heaved and began to vomit. He continued to vomit until there was nothing left in his stomach, and continued even after that, his body trying to expel what was not there.
Petrov sat on the couch, his legs crossed, as he watched Yakov and Adrik removed the blood stained carpet form the living room. His fist was pressed to his lips and he calmly stared off into space, sorting through the best course of action for the most recent events. He was not a man who enjoyed acting on impulse, and so he did everything he could to remain calm and seated.
Yakov and Adrik glanced at each other but said nothing. It was well known my Petrov’s inner circle that when Petrov was mad, it was better to remain silent. He liked quiet when he was thinking, and judging by the way he sat, the way he held his chin in his hand, and the way he was staring off into space, he was thinking.
Petrov glanced at his watch and tried to guess, calculating traffic into the equation, if Igor and Ivan had dumped the body yet. He figured they still had some time left to go, and gave himself another half hour before he went up to deal with the boy. He sighed a moment, uncrossed and then recrossed his legs, and removed his gun from behind him. He removed the magazine from the run, removed the bullets from the magazine, and placed the magazine back into the gun. When he was done and placed the pulled down next to the berretta on the nearby table. He kept one bullet in his hand, staring at it as it rested in his palm.
“Yakov, tomorrow you are going to set up a meeting with Vincent and Anthony,” Petrov said calmly.
“Yes, sir,” Yakov, who was usually on a first name basis with Petrov, decided to defer to a more respectful title for the moment.
“Then, I want you to go to the clubs in Brooklyn and Queens, look them over, and tell me if how Solovyov is managing them.”
“Yes, sir,” Yakov said again.
“Adrik, you are going to make phone calls to Boris, Vladimir, and Roman. I want them in the city by the fifteenth.”
“Sure thing,” Adrik told him. Petrov checked his watch again. He stood and removed his belt with calm, controlled movements. Adrik and Yakov watched him closely, but silently.
“I want you to also keep a close eye on the boy,” he said folding the belt in half. “Keep his wounds clean.”
Adrik nodded but said nothing. Petrov snapped the two sides of the belt together and took a deep, slow breath. The snap that filled the air was gave Adrik and Yakov a hint of what was to come for poor Michael. As Petrov slowly climbed the stairs they stared at each other.
“Not going to kill him,” Yakov said.
“Kid must be one good screw.”
Chapter 5: Chapter Five
Petrov entered the guest room Michael was held in and was bombarded with the vile smell of vomit. He found Michael huddled in the corner, directly next to the soiled carpet, in a small ball. He swung the door shut and as the bang filled the room Michael’s head popped up. His face was pasty and white. His eyes were swollen from crying, and his hair ruffled. There was some vomit on his shirt and he looked an absolute mess. Petrov advanced on him, grabbed him by the back of the shirt and tossing him away from the vomit. He ripped off the boys shirt and threw it into the soiled corner.
“I’m sorry! Mr. Petrov, Sir, please I’m sorry!” Michael cried, holding his hands up in front of him. He cried out when the belt licked his back and tried to wiggle away, but Petrov had a strong grip on his hair and held him in place. The belt left purple welts covering his back, arms, once hitting him across the face and leaving a rather nasty cut to Michael’s cheek.
The boy raised his hands to defend himself, and the soft skin of his hands split under the violent force. The belt, now slick with blood, glided over Michael’s skin as he sobbed. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity to Michael, Petrov’s blows slowed and came to a stop. The Russian breathed hard as he stared down at the boy, who appeared to be one big welt. Petrov tossed the belt to the side of the room and stared down at the sobbing boy.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Petrov, please don’t kill me! I’m sorry!” he cried.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Petrov said evenly. This seemed to calm some of the crying down. In truth, Michael did not feel too much pain at the moment. He had been too worried about his imminent death to really register the pain, and his tears seemed to dry up almost immediately.
“You’re not?” he asked softly, his lower lip trembled.
“You need to learn obedience,” Petrov said dangerously. Michael shrunk in on himself. His eyes lowered, finding Petrov’s neatly polished leather shoes just inches from his face. At the same moment, both considered how easy a vicious kick to the jaw would be, but it never materialized. Two fat tear drops fell onto the leather shoes when Michael closed his eyes.
Petrov looked over him and with no other words turned to leave. Michael watched him go, not daring to hope that he was not to be killed. He ignored the searing pain in his hands, the beginnings of a radiating pain in his back and watched him go. The moment the Russian stepped out of the room he let out an awful scream in Russian and the door was slammed shut hard behind him.
He waited in a sort of limbo for him to return, with a gun, or a knife, or a club, something he could use to kill him with, but the Russian did not return. Michael could hear shuffling going on outside the door, but had no idea who or what it could be. All he knew was that he wanted to stay out there, and not come into the room with him.
When he gathered the strength he sat up and pushed himself onto his feet. He expended enough energy to get him over to the bed before laying on his stomach and pressing his face into the cool comforter. His cheek was bleeding, but he could not feel the blood oozing down his cheek. His pain was to readily focused on his back, which was striped with purple whip marks.
When the door finally did open, Michael looked toward it to see Adrik. Before he could start to panic he saw the first aid kit in his hand and relaxed some. The Russian said nothing as came to the bed, but, scrunching up his nose he glanced to the corner. He almost rolled his eyes before ordering the boy to come with him. Michael followed Adrik out of the vile smelling room and into another free bedroom and had Michael sit on the bed.
“You are lucky,” Adrik mused as he glanced over the welts. “This will hurt.”
Michael groaned and ground his teeth together as Adrik wiped some sort of liquid onto his back.
“Lucky?” Michael asked. “I’m in so much pain.”
“The pain will be worse in the morning. You’re adrenaline is pumping, you are in shock, your body is protecting you right now” Adrik told him. After Michael’s back was tortured by Adrik’s so called cleaning solution he moved to the cuts on his hands.
“How can a belt do that to my hands?” Michael asked him, indicating the fact that the flesh was not merely bruised, but completely split open.
“Hands are so soft, they split under extreme force, like the face,” he said motioning to the cut on Michael’s cheek. “Even a blunt object can to that.”
“Oh,” he said.
“What possessed you to come down stairs when he explicitly told you not to,” Adrik asked as he wrapped Michael’s hands up in gauze.
“I was trying to escape,” Michael said and narrowed his eyes as Adrik laughed. It had to have been one of the most pretentious, condescending laughs he had ever heard. “How’s that funny.”
“You think every door leading to the outside does not lock automatically when shut? No one gets, no one gets out with the key,” Adrik told him. “I think Petrov thinks you were just being an idiot kid wandering around the house. Don’t let him know you were trying to cut out or their will be hell to pay.”
“This isn’t hell?” Michael asked softly. Adrik made Michael look at him.
“The last boy that crossed him was tied down and burnt with cigars,” Adrik trailed a finger down the side of Michael’s untouched cheek. “all over his pretty, young face. That is more along the lines of what Yakov and I were expecting. This… this is nothing.”
“Feel like something to me,” Michael complained.
“Well, whatever you are doing keep it up,” Adrik told him. “Although, I think it’s obvious why he didn’t go after your face.”
“He did,” Michael said pointing at the gash on his face in confusion.
“He did not mean to do that,” Adrik said dismissively. “If he wanted to damage your face it would be lying on the floor somewhere right now. That was an accident.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to hurt my face?” Michael asked him.
“Because he likes it,” Adrik said as if he were speaking to a monkey. Michael blushed deeply.
“You don’t have to be so mean to me,” Michael said quietly, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.
“I will offer you some advice as penance,” Adrik said sarcastically. “When Petrov comes back to see you, be real, real sorry. When he asks you what you saw, you tell him you saw nothing.”
“But he knows I saw –”
“It doesn’t matter if you actually saw it, Michael!” Adrik snapped. “What matters if he thinks you will tell anyone. Someone sees a Russian shaking someone down on the street, what do they say? ‘I didn’t see nothing’ they say and they walk along. We all know what they saw, they know we know, the cops, know, but no one says a thing. That’s how this world works, and you need to learn it pretty damn fast if you want to survive in his house.”
“Did he send you in here to check on me?” Michael asked him. Adrik nodded.
“Did you not hear him scream? That was for me. I tell you, I haven’t heard screams like that since KGB,” Adrik responded and Michael’s jaw hung open slightly.
“You were in the KGB?”
“Of course I wasn’t,” Adrik said. “I’m too young, but Ivan was.”
“Wow,” Michael said. “So he like… tortured and spied on people?”
“Don’t act so star struck about the KGB around Petrov. He doesn’t like them.”
“I won’t,” Michael said. That went without saying. Adrik closed his first aid kit and heading for the door.
“Adrik?” Michael asked as he got to the door.
“Can you tell Mr. Petrov I’m sorry for ruining his carpet?” Michael asked. Adrik almost smiled.
“Yes,” he said gently, nodding at the boy. He looked so pathetic Adrik felt bad for him. Most people who get involved with them deserve what they get, but this kid was thrown into it in a whirlwind, with no say. It really wasn’t fair for him.
“Oh and Adrik?” Michael asked. Adrik turned around again to see him.
Adrik had been right about the pain. By night fall the pain was unbearable, his hands strung, his back aches, and the cut on his face was unexplainably itchy. He thought laying down on the plush bed would ease some of the pain, but it in fact did the opposite. He was almost better off standing. She brushed against the sensitive parts of his skin, causing new waves of pain with each movement. He slept in his boxers, well, tried to sleep in his boxers, to keep any additional fabric from touching his skin, and laid on his stomach all night.
At some point in the night as he lay, desperate for some type of relief to the pain, he realized how lucky he actually was. And a belt whipping was not completely unfamiliar territory for Michael. In foster care he had taken a few belts before… a cane… a hair brush… and a vacuum cleaner pole. True it had never actually been this bad, but considering the man who did it was about to throw a man into the Hudson with broken legs and arms, he was rather thankful.
When he awoke from his fitful and erratic sleep, he found the bandages on his hands slightly bloody and wet with another substance that he assumed came from a popped blister. He was examining his hands with some intensity, pulling up the bandages to look at them when Adrik came in with a tray.
“Adrik can I come down stairs and –”
The tray was left on the table and Adrik left without a word.
“Be that way,” Michael mumbled as he examined his hand. He eventually made the effort to get out of bed and make it over to the food. He was insanely stiff and his back was on fire. Every step hurt and he grimaced when he picked up the plate, moving his stinging hands in a poorly thought out motion.
Michael was left in the room alone for over a week and the same pattern emerged. Adrik came in with his meals at nine, twelve, and six. He would then arrive a half our later to collect the dishes. Michael had come to the conclusion as he thought about Adrik’s words, actions, and interactions with Petrov, that while on the outside, at least to Michael, he appeared to be little more than a slave, he held an important position in Petrov’s brotherhood.
In the whole week and a half Michael was stuck in the room Adrik never once said a single word to Michael, and the boy found himself going slightly stir crazy. As his welts began to heal, he was able to move around more and his energy returned to him. He tried to talk to Adrik every time he came into the room, even asking some rather inappropriate questions in an attempt to get a response, but the Russian was a stone Michael could not crack.
All he really had to think of during the week was if Petrov really planned on keeping him alive. He had not come to see him, which meant he clearly did not want sex from him, and that was the only think keeping him alive. The only other option would be to sell him into prostitution after all. That he did not think he could take. He’d kill himself first… well, I would if he had the balls, which deep down he knew he didn’t.
Michael came to the conclusion about five days into his isolation that Petrov was going to kill him or sell him off. It was inevitable. How could a man like Iosef Arkadayevich Petrov, murderous and amoral as he may be want someone like Michael? Petrov was charming, handsome, rich and powerful. Almost anyone he wanted could be his in a heartbeat and yet Michael thought he would settle on some skinny, pale, orphan that no one had ever loved before in his life?
One of his foster brothers had no problem telling him how ugly he was. His eyes were too big, his mouth to small, his nose too crooked, anything he could get his hands on. Eventually Michael began to believe it. Michael had always had a suspicion that he had been cursed at birth, and not he was beginning to believe it. He was going to die alone and unloved. Just like everyone always told him he could.
Michael curled up into a ball, and began to cry.
The truth of the matter was Petrov was not trying to torture the boy psychologically at all, and merely wanted time to think away from the boy. After he had left Michael the week prior he had felt that he had been too lenient on him. The more he replayed the boy’s disobedience over and over again in his brain, the more he regretted the clemency he had shown the boy. But he could not go back now. Petrov had always believed himself a fair man, and now that the boy had been punished, and so much time elapsed, it would be unfair to go and add on more punishment.
Had he known the things that were rushing through Michael’s head at the moment he would have run upstairs and put an end to them. He liked the boy, wanted him to remain with him for a while longer, and did not wish him think, nor thought him to have, any bad thoughts of himself.
That would have been punishment enough.
But when he decided that he was in enough control of his actions to see the boy, he left his study and walked up the stairs. He stopped at the door before entering, a small frown settling on his face. He pressed his ear to the door, and heard the faintest sound of weeping. He did not like the thought of the boy being in pain, and a lone unsettle him. He didn’t care about such things. It was his body he cared for, not him.
But something in the boy’s demeanor had been so timid, and pathetic even, that it aroused in Petrov the feeling similar to when you looked upon a dog with no leg or a missing eye. You want to comfort it and tell it that no matter what it’s still as special as it used to be.
He remembered the look on the boy’s face after he had taken him in the shower; rather roughly he had to admit. He looked so hurt, and frightened. Perhaps, the boy did not need force and sternness, but affection. A dog, no matter how many times it is kicked, always wants his master’s love, no? Perhaps he had been going about this completely the wrong way.
Petrov, with a resolution in mind, slowly opened the door and stepped toward the crying boy.
Chapter 6: Chapter Six
Michael heard the door open, but he did not look up from the pillow to see who it was. He was sure that it was Adrik coming to give him his evening meal and merely sniffled and wiped his nose. His back was to the door, his legs curled up to his chest and he tried his very best to keep his tears at bay while Adrik was in the room. For whatever reason, he did not want to appear as a child or a baby in front of the Russian. Not out of any sense of manliness or not to appear weak, but he did not want Adrik to dislike him.
“Adrik?” he asked when he heard the door slowly close shut. He could still hear someone in the room. “Will you please talk to me?”
His voice was soft and sad, filled with a loneliness that Petrov could actually feel as he heard them.
“Adrik has the night off.”
Before Petrov could even get through Adrik’s name Michael recognized his voice and nearly threw himself onto the other side of the bed, hoping the piece of furniture separating them would prevent his untimely death. His lower lip trembled and his eyes were puffy. His eyes had turned a vivid green, which usually occurred when he cried, and Petrov admired them as he crossed the room and sat down at the foot of the bed.
“He has a woman he wanted to see tonight,” he explained but Michael only moved against the wall, trying to appear as small and unthreatening as he could. The Russian let a small, amused smile come to his face. He spread his legs as he sat and motioned to the spot on the floor between them, giving Michael a pointed look.
“Come here, Michael,” he said softly, almost affectionately. Michael hesitated, thinking it a trap, a way to lull him into a fake sense of security and then off him. His eyes fell to Petrov’s waist, where the black leather belt remained securely buckled around his hips.
“Come now, Michael,” Petrov said when he did not move. “We are both adults here.”
He had a small, warm smile on his face that at first calmed Michael, but as he took his first step forward he was suddenly back in his old apartment. Was that not the very same smile he gave his so called father and mother when he entered the kitchen? He enjoyed hurting people it seemed, and what if he was not smiling to comfort Michael, but at what was to come. Petrov waited patiently as he watched the confusion and hesitance cross over Michael’s features. He did not want to frighten the boy any more than was necessary to ensure his obedience.
What finally got Michael to cross the room and stand in front of Petrov, was remembering that when Petrov had beaten him before he had come in swinging. He was calm and collected now and did not seem angry in the least. There was nothing in his eyes that suggested malice, and Michael really did not know what other choice he had. Perhaps if Petrov thought he was being obedient, he would not be harmed again.
When Michael came to stand in front of Petrov the Russian placed his hands on either side of Michael’s face gently, examining him. The cut was almost healed and Petrov was satisfied that it would not scar. Adrik had been correct in his assumption that Petrov had not intended to land any blows on Michael’s face, no matter how angry he had been. No matter his anger, smart men would not damage their property, and he never really considering killing the boy.
Michael’s eyes fluttered closed as the finger tips glided over his cheek bones and jaw, examining him gently. The softness of the touch was welcome, and Michael could not help but be soothed by it. His neck was checked for bruises, but those had cleared up completely by now.
“Turn around, Mischa,” Petrov said gently, a small smile on his lips. Michael turned around, and winced slightly when Petrov touched the healing welts he found there. They were significantly better than the night they were caused, but still painful to touch and a nasty looking purple.
“Your clothing came, four days ago,” Petrov told him as his fingers slid down the outline of Michael’s spine, earning a shiver. “I will have a shirt brought upstairs for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Michael whispered. Satisfied with what he saw, Petrov took hold of Michael’s jeans covered hips and turned him around.
“Adrik did not speak to you?” he asked and Michael shook his head. “Good. Your legs are unharmed?”
“Yes, sir,” he said again, wincing as Petrov took hold of his still bandaged hands.
“Some advice, Mischa,” Petrov said. “When are you receiving a beating, not to say you will ever deserve one from me again, but it is wise not to put up your palms as your defense. Use your forearms, like so.”
He brought his forearms together, bent his head, and protected his face.
“Far less damage done that way,” Petrov mused, picking up Michael’s hands again. He let out a deep sigh as he surveyed the damage.
“I’m sorry you made me do this,” was Petrov’s apology and Michael only nodded. He supposed that would be the best apology he would ever get out of the Russian.
“I am too,” Michael told him, and Petrov smiled. “I should have listened to you.”
Petrov looked at him a moment and patted the bed next to him. Michael sat at the spot indicated, and looked down at his hands.
“Do you seek my forgiveness?” he asked and Michael turned his head to look at him and nod.
“Yes, yes,” Michael rushed out. “Please forgive me. I was stupid, I should have listened.”
Petrov nodded, his hand affectionately brushing Michael’s hair back. The caress felt so good to Michael, he almost leaned into it. He might have if he was still not so frightened.
“When you ask for forgiveness you will receive it, Mischa. Now, tell me what you saw?” he asked gently, a hand stroking his forehead. The boy hesitated, his eyes conveying panic to Petrov as he thought. Petrov continued to stroke hair, a soft, gentle expression on his face, but behind his eyes laid a dark apprehension and suspicion. “It’s ok.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Michael finally whispered and Petrov smiled at him. This smile was genuine, replacing the previously rehearsed smile he had been giving him before.
“I am glad to hear it,” he answered. He wrapped an arm around Michael and was amazed as the boy immediately fell into him. It was as if all the tension left his body and he just collapsed against the Russian’s strong body.
“You alright?” Petrov asked him, his lips in his hair, and Michael nodded. “Come with me.”
Petrov stood and in a tender gesture took Michael by the hand. He led him out of the guest room, past the room the beaten had occurred in, and into Petrov’s own bedroom. As they passed the room the beaten had occurred in Petrov turned to look at him.
“I have to have the carpet ripped up,” he said with teasing seriousness. Michael blushed deeply, looking at his feet in shame and embarrassment.
“I’m really sorry,” Michael answered. Petrov shook his head as they entered his bedroom. He shut the door behind him and watched Michael look around nervously.
“I know what you need,” Petrov said with a smile and once again grabbed onto Michael’s hand. He let him into the bathroom and, beside the walk-in shower, was a beautiful, roomy bathtub that he turned on.
“Would you like a bath?” he asked and Michael nodded. The room he had been in had not had an attached bathroom and he had not been able to shower for over a week and a half. The only reason he did not smell horrible is because he was wiped down with those disinfectant wipes ever day by Adrik.
Petrov unbuttoned Michael’s jeans and pulled them from his hips. Michael stepped out of them, yanking his boxers down with them and placed them to the side. Petrov’s hot hands slid up his bare arms and settle on his shoulders, kneaded them softly. Michael let out a soft moan.
“Does that feel good?”
Michael nodded. Petrov took a step back and removed his tie and jacket, neatly laying them across the sink, before kicking of his shoes.
“If you would be so kind, Mischa?” Petrov asked and Michael took the shoes and placed them right outside the door so the leather would not get wet. When he came back Petrov had removed his belt, and still had it in his hand. Petrov noticed Michael’s fear and motioned him over with it. When Michael stood in front of him he tapped Michael’s lip with the belt.
“It won’t happen again, unless you deliberately disobey me in something of such consequence again,” he assured him, and when Michael nodded he tossed it to the side. “Could you, Michael?”
Michael nodded when he motioned to his trousers and he removed his trousers and boxer-briefs. Petrov gently caressed his face in thanks and motioned to the bathtub. The water was hotter than he would have preferred as he slid in, but Petrov seemed to enjoy the temperature and so he said nothing. Besides, the heat was good for his muscle, and while some of his welts protested at first, it was eventually soothing. Petrov slid in behind him, so Michael’s thin body leaned into his. It was oddly comforting have his strong arms around him, cocooned in the warm water, his body momentarily voice of pain.
“Want to tell m why you were crying?” Petrov asked his hands roaming up and down Michael’s arms, messaging them.
“No, I don’t,” Michael said softly. Petrov chuckled softly.
“I want to know.”
“I was crying because I’m ugly,” Michael murmured, cupping some water in his hands and raising them into the air. The water splashed gently against the tub water as he gently released it through his hands. “And when you find someone better looking or I piss you off again you’re going to kill me.”
“Why would I kill you when I can sell you?”
“Because I won’t cost that much,” Michael muttered.
“My earlier evaluation of you was uneducated. Now that I have sampled the product I must say you would fetch a fine price,” Petrov said, not really making Michael feel any better, but the feel of his hands running up and down his sore body felt exquisite.
“I’m still not nice to look at. Who would be turned on looking at me?”
Michael’s voice was so forlorn and lost that Petrov actually felt a tug at his heart strings. His hands moved to Michael’s hips and positioned him so he was just over his erection.
“I’m rather turned on,” Petrov teased in his ear. “If you think it has nothing to the naked boy in my bath you are sorely mistaken.”
He saw Michael almost crack a little shy smile. The muscles in his face all were all poised to pull his face upwards, but he fought them well.
“You are a beautiful young man, Mischa, you should take pride in that,” Petrov told him gently.
“I saw the look on your face when my father suggested taking me,” Michael responded simply.
“Your looks are… unconventional. You are too skinny, which can be fixed easily. But you have a thick head of curls, and the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. And that is honest.”
“Thank you,” Michael whispered. “What’s Mischa?”
“It is a pet name for Michael in Russian,” Petrov told him. Michael smirked.
“Sounds like a girl’s name,” Michael said.
“It is not.”
“Sorry,” Michael mumbled out when he got the curt reply from Petrov. Petrov slid his hand down Michael’s chest and his finger tips danced over the head of Michael’s cock. Michael’s back arched and leaned into Petrov, who smiled into his cheek.
“I can be quite affectionate when I wish to be,” Petrov told him, one hand running over his chest, his fingers rubbing Michael’s nipples softly. Michael squirmed slightly, but at the pleasure that was shooting through his body. His bottom pushed backward onto Petrov’s erection and it was his turn to squirm slightly. He continued to stroke Michael’s cock, earning little moans from his as his body moved.
“Those noises alone could get me a few thousand,” Petrov breathed in his ear. Michael only vaguely heard the comment and it both pleased and bothered him. When Petrov removed his hand from Michael the boy almost whined. “get up.”
Petrov gently pushed on Michael’s back, which stung slightly, but Michael stood up and stepped out of the tub. Petrov followed, telling him to lay down on the mat on the floor.
“On my back?” Michael asked as he got down onto his knees. He waited for an answer; he really did not want to be lying on his back right now. Petrov looked at the floor and then over to his right.
“Here,” he said and moved over to a built in bench right beside the shower. He sat down and motioned for Michael. When Michael finally got to him Petrov had his erection in his hand and pulled Michael closer.
“Straddle my lap,” Petrov told him and Michael did so obediently. “Ready?”
“No lube?” Michael asked, fear in his eyes. Petrov shook his head, a firm grip on his hips.
“You won’t need it,” Petrov said softly and Michael looked terrified.
“Mr. Petrov, I know I’ve been bad but please don’t do this to me,” Michael nearly cried and Petrov paused.
“Michael, you’re wet enough,” he said holding him up over him.
“Mischa, you have to trust me,” he said sharply and Michael paused. When he placed his hands on Petrov’s shoulders, the Russian lowered him onto his cock slowly. It was not easy going, but eventually he was inside of Michael, and the initial discomfort passed.
“Look at me,” Petrov said softly. Green eyes clashed with blue. “Are you alright?”
He nodded and Petrov leaned back against the wall.
“Go on,” Petrov said running his hands over Michael’s back. Michael slowly drew himself up, groaning at the friction. Lost in a type of daze, and rather ignorant, Petrov had to stop him before he pulled himself off completely and push him back down.
“Am I doing it right?” Michael breathed.
“Oh yes,” Petrov breathed, palming Michael’s ass. “very right.”
Oddly pleased with the praise Michael continued, lowering himself up and down. Petrov watched him smug satisfaction as pleasure coursed through him. He’d had virgins boys before who had no idea what the hell they were doing, and they were timid and shy, and he’d had boys were sex maniacs that would do anything to please, but he had never had a boy with such a pleasure mixture of both. He was timid and shy, but had an eagerness to please that Petrov did not think even Michael realized about himself.
“Jerk yourself off,” Petrov ordered when he felt himself growing close to orgasm and Michael obeyed. It amused Petrov that Michael came before him, but said nothing, and let his climax overtake him without putting up any resistance. When he finished Michael leaned into him, resting his head on Petrov’s shoulder. Petrov stood with Michael still holding on to him and brought him into the bedroom. After depositing the tired boy on the bed he returned to the bathroom to clean himself off. When he returned he put on a pair of flannel pajama pants and threw a cloth at Michael.
“Clean yourself up,” he said shortly. Michael did so and then waited with the cloth in his hand.
He turned to look Petrov over, looking at his finally toned body and lean Russian features when he noticed something strange. When Petrov turned to take the cloth for him, he saw Michael’s gaze but said nothing. Instead he turned on the T.V and tossed the cloth into the hamper.
“Can I put on something?” Michael asked.
“No,” Petrov replied lying down on the bed and crossing his legs over one another. Michael frowned.
“Ok,” Michael said. He glanced hesitantly at Petrov’s body. “Well can I ask a question?”
“You just did,” Petrov replied. “but yes.”
“What are those?”
He was pointing at the fading black marks on parts of Petrov’s chest and arms.
“They’re nothing,” Petrov said and Michael knew it would be better to leave it alone.
“Looks like something,” Michael muttered and Petrov looked at him. He would have been mad, if the look on Michael’s face was not so adorable.
“They were tattoos, that I had removed so I could forget about them,” he said pointedly and Michael nodded. Petrov went back to watching T.V and Michael scooted closer on the bed. He was seated cross-legged, doing his best to cover up his member. Timidly, with a glance at Petrov who was watching the local news station, he reached out and gently touched Petrov’s side. Petrov glanced at him, and watched as he traced one of the more noticeable marks.
“It was a ship with five sails,” Petrov sold him. “it was too big to get completely removed. It was painful too.”
“Why a ship?” Michael asked him.
“It’s a Russian prison tattoo. A sail for each year you spend in prison,” he replied.
“You’ve been in prison?” Michael asked and went pale.
“Michael I kill people, is whether or not I was put in jail for it really important at this point?” Petrov asked, confused as to why he was suddenly so frightened.
“but you didn’t… we haven’t…. I could get AIDs!” Michael yelled and Petrov understood. He smiled softly.
“I’m clean. Why else do you think I cared whether or not you were a virgin? I wouldn’t have fucked you bare if I didn’t believe you.”
“Promise?” Michael asked, looking like he had just been told he had the plague…or…AIDs.
“Promise,” Petrov said and leant up slightly. He took Michael by the back of the neck and pulled him down to the bed. “Getting my bed wet.”
“Sorry,” Michael mumbled as he lay his head on the pillow. Petrov said nothing and continued watching the news.
“Go to sleep Mischa,” he said after a few minutes, but he was already dozing off.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, his green eyes fluttering open.
“No, you may stay here,” Petrov told him. There were a few moments of silence and Petrov thought he had fallen asleep. But just as he was about to get up and go back downstairs he felt Michael’s naked body scoot closer to him. His curly head moved to rest on Petrov’s shoulder. Petrov stroked Michael’s cheek a moment before looking back to the T.V. He didn’t need to go downstairs anymore.
Chapter 7: Chapter Seven
The next day Michael woke up naked, but warm and comfortably wrapped in a soft down comforter. His nose was pressed into something hard and warm, and he felt completely at ease. His body was oddly void of pain in those first few minutes of waking up. Inhaling deeply he was met with a pleasing masculine scent and he nuzzled his nose closer to whatever it was. He smiled softly, pressing his forehead into the heated wall in front of him.
“That tickles,” a voice said in front of him and his green eyes fluttered open. He was face to face with the bare chest of his Russian captor.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and despite not wanting to be close to the Russian he was too comfortable to move. He felt Petrov shift slightly, and realized his arms were wrapped around him securely. For a person who had could hardly remember the last time he had been hugged, the feeling was too nice to move away from. It mattered little who was giving the hug, he would receive it. He cuddled closer into the Russian’s arms, who received him warmly, and kissed Petrov’s chest.
The moment was ruined by a loud knock on the door and a barrage of Russian words being yelled from the other side. Petrov’s head popped up, and the arm lying over Michael was removed. Michael watched Petrov check the clock and then shifted onto his back. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a dramatic sigh. The arm still underneath Michael bent up and he brushed a hand through Michael’s hair.
“Da?” he asked staring up at the ceiling. There were a few seconds of explanation in Russian and Petrov threw the covers off of him. He slid out of bed and went to the wardrobe, snapping something back in Russian. Michael sat up and watched Petrov pull himself into a suit quickly. He did not ask what was going on, because he did not think that it would be a good idea at the moment. When Petrov was finished dressing he scooped some pajamas from his wardrobe and tossed them at Michael.
“Get dressed and come down stairs,” he told him and left the room abruptly.
“And bring me a comb!” he yelled from the down the hall. Michael dressed and went in search of a comb in the bathroom before leaving the room. He walked down timidly, chewing on his bottom lip as he did. The last and only time he had tried walking downstairs he had received quite the beating for it.
When he got into the living room he saw Adrik, Ivan, Igor and Petrov standing in the living room. It took him a moment the spot the man on the floor, but when he did he turned to run back upstairs. He froze when he heard Petrov call to him. He walked back around the corner, the look of a deer stuck in the headlights on his face.
“My comb,” he said simply. Michael walked into the bathroom, trying not to look at the man on the floor and handed the comb to Petrov. When he finally did glance at the man his eyes widened slightly.
“What happened!” he cried and fell to his knees by Yakov’s head. He reached out to touch the bloody gash on his forehead but Adrik grabbed him and yanked him up.
“Don’t touch it,” he snapped.
“I would like his question answered,” Petrov stated dryly.
“Yakov hit Ivan. Ivan hit Yakov. Yakov on floor,” Igor said in broken English.
“Yes, thank you, Igor,” Petrov said sarcastically and then turned to Adrik and spoke in Russian. He broke of mid sentence and pointed at Michael. “You, go to the kitchen and get something to eat.”
Michael wandered off into the kitchen, looking back at Yakov, whose chest was rising and falling evenly. He came back into the living room with an untoasted bagel and a glass of orange juice. Petrov looked at him, his arms crossed, and stopped listening to Yakov.
“I meant for you to stay in the kitchen,” Petrov told him.
“You didn’t tell me that,” Michael said standing back up. Petrov waved his hand dismissively and he sat back down again, taking a large bite of his bagel.
“Is he OK?” Michael whispered, leaning over to Ivan. The man, who looked to be in his fifties, and looked mean as all hell, just stared back at him. Michael’s attention and fear was interrupted when Igor was snapping at him from a few feet away. Michael looked up at the ugly looking scarred man.
“He not speak English,” Igor told him.
“Is this going to be a distraction?” Petrov snapped, glancing from Ivan (who was still staring at Michael) to Igor and Michael. Igor threw up his hands and turned away from Michael but said nothing. Michael quietly apologized. Petrov went back to speaking to Adrik, quite angrily as far as Michael could tell. Michael motioned for Igor to come towards him.
“Shouldn’t we get him off the ground?”
Igor glanced at Yakov and then shrugged, stepping away. Michael frowned and took another bite of his bagel. Petrov said something in Russian and then turned to walk away. Adrik followed him into a room on the other side of the house, shutting the door behind them. Michael watched as Igor and Ivan lifted Yakov up from the ground and carried him up the stairs. Michael remained seated, eating his bagel in confusion.
“No friggen idea what’s going on,” he mumbled as he sipped at his orange juice. When Ivan and Igor came back downstairs they sat on the couch, speaking to each other in Russian, and said nothing to Michael. Michael reached out and grabbed the remote, turning on the T.V. He was flipping through the channels when he stopped at the local news. He usually watched the news in the morning, and gave in to habit. Everything was fine until a picture popped up on screen that was unmistakably familiar. He turned up the volume and leaned forward. Neither Igor nor Ivan seemed to notice.
“The body of local business man, Joseph Tucci has been found today by tourists in the East River. Tucci, forty three, had been missing for over a week when the discovery was made. Connections with both the Italian and Russian Mafia powerhouses currently holding the city hostage are expected. The police report no leads at this time, but it is believed Iosef Petrov is directly involved in the killing.”
There was a quick cut to a picture of Petro leaving a building, flanked by two other men, a smile on his lips. He was not looking at the camera and it was quite clear he had no idea the picture was being taken.
“What do you think Peter, do you think the Russians are involved in –”
The T.V was cut off when Petrov came storming back into the room. He slammed the power button with a finger shot daggers at Michael.
“I didn’t do anything!” Michael cried.
“Now!” he screamed. Michael got up and hurried for the stairs. He heard rather than saw Petrov smack Igor on the side of the head and yell at him in Russian. When he got back upstairs he went back into the guest bedroom he had been locked in all week, and not Petrov’s bedroom. He lay down on the bed, preparing himself for another beating he was sure he would not understand.
When Petrov entered his room and found it empty he was filled with rage. He was just about to barge downstairs when he passed the guest room that had been Michael’s room up until recently. He heard Michael’s voice inside and he opened the door. Inside was not just Michael, but Yakov who was sitting up on the bed. Michael was holding a rag to his forehead, and asking him if it hurt a lot.
“I sent you to my room, not up here to play doctor,” Petrov said and Michael jumped.
“It’s my fault, Iosef,” Yakov said. “I was a little disoriented and wandered in here. Michael got me and had my sit down.”
“Yes well, thank you, Mischa, now back into the bedroom.”
“No, please don’t,” Michael said. “I can’t be locked up again, I’ll go nuts.”
“You can’t sit around unchaperoned,” Petrov said.
“What’s it matter? I can’t get out of the house,” Michael argued.
“I can watch him, Iosef. I feel like I won’t be going anywhere for a day or two,” Yakov said.
“No?” Petrov asked. “Not even to Comeletti’s?”
“Oh fuck,” Yakov breathed and bent over, rested his arms on his thighs and hanging his head. “Iosef, I –”
“I wasn’t going to send you now anyway.”
Petrov paused in thought, his eyes landing on Michael. Michael dabbed at Yakov’s head gently brushing a strand of his blond hair out of the way. He stared at him silently a long time, his face hard and stony, but his eyes deep in thought. Yakov looked up at Petrov, looked at Michael, and then looked back at Petrov.
“Please tell me my concussion is leading me to the conclusion I am arriving at right now?” Yakov said. Petrov did not answer him.
“Mischa, come with me,” Petrov said and walked out of the room. Michael followed, and looked back to see Yakov staggering behind them.
“Iosef! Iosef you can’t do this!” Yakov called after him.
“What size inch waist do you have, Mischa? Twenty eight?” He looked back to glance at Michael. “Maybe twenty six.”
“Iosef!” Yakov said as they descended the stairs. He paused a moment as he was overcome with dizziness and then continued on after them. Michael looked around in confusion.
“What’s going on?” Adrik asked them.
“He wants to bring the boy,” Yakov told Adrik. Adrik looked at him like he had five heads.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“Bring the boy where?” Michael asked with wide eyes. “the boy doesn’t want to go anywhere.”
“I’m sorry, who’s in charge here?” Petrov asked and everyone fell silent for a moment.
“Can I speak to you alone,” Adrik asked. Petrov looked at him in annoyance.
“Why don’t we just speak Russian?” he replied in said language.
“Why on Earth would we bring him?”
“All my good men are occupied or out of the city. I need four people with me when I go see Comeletti,” he replied.
“We have an infinite number of men to pull in for this job. We don’t need a seventeen year old kid who looks like he’s in perpetual danger of shitting in pants,” Adrik said and pointed at Michael. “Look at him for God’s sake.”
Petrov turned back to look at Michael. His face was a sheet of white and he looked like he was about to throw up. Petrov shrugged and looked back at Yakov.
“Boy needs to grow up,” Petrov replied simply.
“Iosef,” Adrik said and placed his hands on either side of Petrov’s arms. “Iosef. This is insane. We are talking about a meeting with Comaletti. This is important.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t know,” Petrov snapped. “We need five people. Comeletti will use anything to go back on this deal. Two associates, two body guards. That’s what we agreed to. We go in with more or less he won’t even have the meeting.”
“Do you want me to call Vladimir or Dmitriy.”
Petrov shook his head.
“They cannot leave the clubs. Dmitriy and Vladimir are the only ones I have overlooking the four clubs in the Bronx. Mikhail and Nikolai are visiting family in Russia, and Leo is under surveillance so we can not so much as call him until the heat blows off. What am I to do? Hmm?”
“We just need a stand in. Someone who will just stand there. There is no need for him to speak. We could call one of the grunts, Aleksayev or Sergetov.”
Petrov shook his head again.
“There isn’t time. They are in Boston. We need to be in New York City by five.”
“We will call Boris, Ivano, Karolek, Kiril, Pyotr, Yuri, Vladya. The list goes on. This is Moronic Iosef. It will not work.”
“They are all trigger happy morons. Good for fighting. Not for negotiations. Nikolai, Vladimir, Dmitriy and Mikhail can not come. Boris is too protective. The slightest insult to me he will start shooting or fighting. Or he will speak. God knows him speaking is dangerous enough. I am in a weakened state right not Adrik, you know this. Half my inner circle is not within my grasp-”
“And whose fault is that?” Adrik asked and Petrov gave him an angry look. “We have plenty of soldiers running around. Use one of them.Not the boy. He has seen to much already Iosef.”
Adrik‘s voice dropped despite the language barrier and he continued to speak.
“When you are done with him we will not be able to let him go. Not like the others. You are letting him too far in. When this ends what other choice is there but to kill him?”
“The boy comes. Giovanni and the Italian Mafia have this misguided sense of honor.” Petrov spit out distastefully. Petrov believed in one thing. Getting results. The Italians had a whole code to live by, one that him and his family sneered at. “They will not go back on their word. We just need a stand in. One that wont cause a war. I do not trust our soldiers for this type of meeting. Michael will have no need to speak, and he will not be in any danger.”
“It’s not wise. I don’t like it. He is a seventeen year old boy. Does he even have Russian ancestry?” Adrik asked and Petrov did not answer. “If the Italians were to find out…”
“They wont,“ Petrov replied with confindence.
“We have men near by, men we can use, I do not understand the need for the boy.”
“If he is in the meeting then he is guilty of a crime. At least thatis what I am going to make him think. If he were to tell the police anything…”
“He’d think he would be just as guilty.” Adrik finished lamely, not quite buying it.
“It works for me in many ways you see.” Iosef said and glanced over at a still pale Michael. Yakov was listening, his arms crossed over his chest, not happy.
“What about Serge, or Sasha, or Levka?”
“Your cousins are legitimate business men. They would not be seen at such a meeting should the police be nearby.”
“Your counting on them to be nearby. So they will see Michael.” Adrik said. Iosef nodded.
“I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation with Mischa. An investigation about Tucci has been opened and should Michael leave the house, I don’t want him speaking to anybody.”
“It’s foolish.” Adrik said. “Its.. It’s moronic Iosef.”
“We shall see.” Petrov said.
“May I make one final attempt reasoning with you?”
“You may make an attempt,” Petrov replied.
“Use Solovyov,” Adrik said and Petrov actually smiled.
“You must really be against this, asking me to bring him in,” Petrov mused. He looked over his shoulder at Michael a moment.
“Igor!” Petrov called and the ugly man entered the room.
“Get the boy a suit.”
Chapter 8: Chapter Eight
Michael stared at Petrov as he walked away and toward his study, trying to comprehend exactly what had just happened. Adrik chased after him and Yakov groaned, moving over to lie down on the couch. Michael moved over to him, passing both Ivan and Igor, and asking him what was going on. Yakov made some sarcastic comment that meant nothing to Michael and he turned to face the other two Russians and ask them. When he turned, Igor and Ivan were standing side by side, staring at him. Michael’s tongue darted out to lick his lips.
“Come with us,” Igor said and while he meant it in a completely natural way, the monotone of his voice, and the thick Russian accent in which he set it, made the words sound incredibly ominous. The two made quite a pair, and he could not imagine the terror one would feel running into them in the night. Unlike the blond brothers, and Petrov himself, these men did not wear expensive designer suits. They looked like thugs. Ivan, who was older and slightly better dressed, wore dark pants, a white collared shirt, and when he went out, did so with a black leather jacket.
Igor was your stereotypical mobster. The type Michael remembered watching in movies growing up. His head was almost shaved, he always had a mean look on his face, and dressed in a track suit and wife beater. The only thing missing from his attire that would make him right out of a Grand Theft Auto game would be a gold chain around his neck and a baseball bat in his hands. Yakov, Adrik, and Petrov at least looked like gentlemen, people who wouldn’t slit your throat the moment you came into contact with them. These two were as scary looking on the outside as they were mean on the inside.
“He’s just going to measure you for a suit,” Yakov told him. Michael looked back at the blood hesitantly before walking toward Igor and Ivan. The former smiled at him, while the latter just stared. He was brought upstairs to Igor’s room, which held so many playboy and hustler magazines that Michael blushed wherever he looked.
“No playgirl for you,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry.”
“No that’s… that’s fine,” Michael said as a playboy was placed in his hands. He glanced at it as to be polite, before placing it on the bureau a few feet away. Igor and Ivan both measured him to save time and when they were done he was shoved out of the room. Igor and Ivan walked with him silently downstairs before leaving the house. Michael went into the kitchen and returned to sit next to Yakov, a glass of water and some aspirin in his hand.
“You’re a strange kid,” Yakov said taking the aspirin and water. Michael lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way you know.”
“Oh,” Michael said and after a few moments he spoke again. “I don’t really have to do this right? I mean he’s just trying to scare me right?”
“Adrik seems pretty upset for this to be scare tactics,” Yakov told him. “Look, Michael, as important as I like to think I am, I never speak in meetings. Sometimes, sometimes, Adrik will speak, but not me. I just stand there to be an extra guy.”
“But what’s the problem with only having three there with Mr. Petrov?”
“The Italians don’t even want this meeting,” Yakov explained to him. “It took Petrov a lot of maneuvering to get a face to face with Anthony Comeletti. The man is hardly ever in the city. If there is the slightest change in what was agreed upon, more or less, they will call it off.”
“That’s dumb,” Michael muttered. Yakov shrugged.
It was Adrik’s voice coming down the hall.
“Can you send the boy down here, please?” he asked. Yakov looked to Michael.
“Last door on the right,” he said simply and Michael stood. By the time he got into the study his hands were sweaty and his fingers were twitching slightly. The room he entered into was magnificent. Wall to wall book shelves reached the ceilings, fire place was burning a few feet away, and the desk Petrov was sitting at was a dark, rich mahogany. Adrik was seated right in front of the desk, looking angry, and Petrov was looking at his computer, a small smile on his lips.
“Come sit down, Mischa,” he said, not taking his eyes from the screen. Michael did so, glanced at Adrik nervously, and received a glare in return. He looked away quickly and moved his eyes to Petrov, who was now leaning away from the computer.
“How good are you at not speaking?” Petrov asked. Michael said nothing and Adrik almost cracked a smile.
“See, and you were worried,” Petrov said looking at Adrik. He looked back to Michael. He slid forward a piece of paper that appeared to have a floor plan on it. Michael leaned forward to look at it. Using his pen to point, Petrov began to speak.
“This is the first floor of the restaurant the meeting is being held in. This is the front door. We are going to walk inside, someone will get up immediately, and bring us to the right. We will walk through the restaurant until we reach the back where we will be in a private dining room here. Do you see? Good. Adrik will sit on my immediate right; you sit to my left, Igor and Ivan stand behind me. Make sense?”
“And the entire time, you say absolutely nothing,” Petrov said before smiling and resting his arm on the back of his chair. “Just sit there and look cute.”
“This is such a bad idea,” Adrik said staring at the floor.
“That’s what you said about the Belov situation, remember? Look how that turned out,” Petrov replied.
“Oh, you mean the situation where fifteen people ended up dead?” Adrik asked and Michael’s eyes widened a little.
“Yes, but what was the end result, Adrik?” Petrov asked in annoyance.
“Fifteen dead people?”
“Money!” Petrov cried. “Piles and piles of money. Money makes the world go round my friend. You’re no one without.”
“Yeah, I agree with you, and that’s why I don’t want to lose it all,” Adrik snapped.
“No faith in me,” Petrov said shaking his head in disappointment. “What about you Mischa? DO you have faith in me?”
Michael paused a moment, his mouth dry, and his lips stuck together. Finally he managed to speak and Petrov smiled.
“Yes,” he said simply.
“See,” Petrov said looking at Adrik. He glanced at his watch and sighed. “We should leave for the city.”
Michael followed Petrov and Adrik to the door, waited as Petrov put on his coat, and then tried to follow him outside. Petrov stopped him with a small push backwards on his chest.
“You’re not coming with me,” Petrov said and then nodded at the Petrov’s pajamas he wore, which were way too big for him. Michael had to hold up the waist to keep them from falling. “And you can’t go out in that.”
“But I thought I was going to the meeting?”
“You are, with Ivan,” Petrov replied and Michael shook his head.
“No, no, no, I don’t want to go with him,” Michael said as Petrov turned to leave. He turned back partially annoyed.
“You will do as I say,” he said sharply. “He has no reason to harm you.”
“Igor can bring me,” Michael said and Petrov almost laughed.
“Oh, can he? And can I take Adrik with me, Michael, is that alright?”
There was a bite in his tone and Michael paused, biting his lip hard.
“I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do,” Michael said and then stepped forward. Petrov bowed his head slightly so Michael could whisper in his ear.
“Ivan scares me. I get a bad feeling around him,” Michael told him.
“I trust him,” Petrov said. “Now go sit with Yakov until Ivan returns with your suit.”
Michael did so as Petrov left the house with Adrik. Yakov looked over at the pouting boy, and laughed.
“Is that the boy?” Petrov asked with a smile as he got out the back of a sleek black jaguar. “He’s hardly recognizable.”
Ivan told him in Russian he decided that, with the extra time, a haircut for the kid would not unwarranted. Michael frowned and patted his head, not pleased with the new look. He had been thoroughly confused when Ivan had parked at a hair solon, pulled him out of the back, speaking to him in only Russian, and had him get his hair cut.
“Good choice,” Petrov said. “I don’t want anyone thinking my people are slobs.”
“I don’t like it,” Michael mumbled touching his head. He brought both hands up and subconsciously covered his ears which he believed too big and off put. Petrov noticed the gesture, but said nothing. Instead he walked toward the entrance of the restaurant. As the doors were opened in front of him he glanced back at Michael, his meaning obvious: if you speak, you are dead. He managed to stay calm as they entered Luigi’s and everything happened just as Petrov said it would.
They were taken in immediately, turned to the right, and were taking to the private dining room. Once inside Michael slid into the seat to the left of Petrov without any problems. He could feel Ivan and Igor setting in behind them against the far wall. The Italians were already seated, looking just as mean and off putting at the Russians. The man in the center, who Michael correctly assumed was Anthony Comeletti, was a handsome middle aged man with a bit of a gut. His hands were decorated with gold rings, and he had a thick gold chain and crucifix around his neck. His dark eyes were piercing but were somewhat understated by the bushiness of his eyebrows. His smile was not nearly as well rehearsed as Petrov’s.
“I was expected the other twin. Not a twelve year old,” Comeletti said staring down Michael. Michael kept his eyes on the mob boss’, willing him to look away before he cracked. Luckily, when Petrov spoke the Italian addressed his peer.
“Yakov is attending to more important business,” Petrov replied. Comeletti smiled coolly. One insult for another. “Did you bring what I requested?”
“Bartolo,” Comeletti said snapping his fingers. Michael’s leg began to shake as a man approached with a briefcase. He felt the lightest touch to his shin and looked down to see Petrov’s black leather shoe resting on his shin under the table. Michael stopped shaking, took a small breath, and Petrov took his foot away. Petrov glanced at Michael, and when they made eye contact, Michael felt a sense of calm. The lack of concern in his bright blue eyes washed onto him and felt safer. A file was pushed toward Petrov and he opened it, reading it briefly, nodding as he did so. He handed it over to Adrik who read it briefly.
“Good,” he said and closed the folder.
“Does he not wish to read it?” Comeletti asked pointing at Michael.
“He cannot speak English,” Petrov said. “But if you would like him to…”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Comeletti said.
“What do you want in return?”
“Twenty percent of all cocaine profits,” he said and Petrov scoffed.
“Twenty? Oh, no, no, not twenty,” Petrov replied. “Closer to three.”
“Three?” Comeletti actually yelled, the insult clearly written on his face. “You insult me!”
“I think, Mr. Comeletti it is you who insult me,” Petrov said touching his chest. “To think that I don’t bring in enough cocaine each year that three percent would not be more than enough.”
“Fifteen percent,” Comeletti conceded.
“Five,” Petrov snapped back.
“Those clubs are worth millions,” Comeletti argued.
“Only because of the drugs and whores I can sell out of them,” Petrov countered. “And I have a great man running my clubs already who brings in more in a week than I could get out of these in a month.”
“You won’t find more conveniently placed clubs,” Comeletti said. Petrov leaned back in his chair.
“Surely we can find a number that will please us both,” Petrov offered. “I am willing to offer you ten, if you will give me a strip club in Staten Island.”
“Certainly not. I’m not letting you anywhere near Staten Island.”
“My dear friend, I’m afraid that puts us at quite the impasse.”
“Give me thirteen,” Comeletti said.
“I will not budge from ten,” was Petrov’s confident answer and it was made abundantly clear who the stronger man in the room was. As completely odd and amazingl bizarre as it seemed, Michael felt a small sense of pride in the fact. Of the two men speaking, he felt oddly protective of Petrov.
“Fine,” Comeletti snapped. Petrov smiled and pushed the papers in front of him back to Comeletti.
“Please sign the deeds over,” Petrov asked rather smugly. Comeletti signed them angrily and pushed them back to Petrov. “Now how about we talk about the amount of Cossacks you have running my streets.”
Petrov tensed visibly and his face turned stony. Michael swallowed hard and looked over at Adrik who was watching everything intensely.
“Alright, and afterward we can speak about your guinea whores hanging around my night clubs.”
There was a moment of tense staring, and Michael felt another small hit to his shin by Petrov’s foot. He found Petrov’s ability to so subtly warn him of his actions, while being so focused on what was playing out in front of him impressive, and he stopped shaking his leg once again.
“I feel we have nothing more to discuss then,” Comeletti finally broke the ice.
“It seems so,” Petrov replied. Both men stood at the same time.
Petrov was in high spirits as they walked form the club, and he and Adrik spoke to each other softly in Russian. As they got outside, and two cars were there waiting for them, Michael walked to the car he had come in.
“Mischa,” Petrov said as the door was opened for him. “You’re coming with me now.”
Michael passed Adrik, who gave him a small nod. It brought a smile to his face, and he was still smiling as he got into the car with Petrov. Petrov placed his hand on Michael’s back as he got in, like a friend would to make sure he did not hurt himself. The gesture may have been calming to him, but as he lowered himself into the car seat he saw something off across the street. Two men stood side by side, one holding a camera up to his eyes.
“Smile for the police, Michael,” Petrov said and nudged him into the car. By the time the car began to move, Michael felt a cold shadow wash over him.
Chapter 9: Chapter Nine
“Were they taking pictures of you?” Michael finally asked as they drove through the city. They were in touch and go traffic and the driver had just told Petrov it would take about a half hour to get to his penthouse.
“Me… with you,” he added looking up from his phone a moment. “What a mess you have found yourself in, Mischa.”
“But I haven’t done anything wrong,” Michael argued. Petrov gave him a small condescending smile.
“Mischa,” he said. “You think that matters?”
“It should!” Michael said, his anxiety levels rising dramatically as he spoke. Petrov moved over to him, gently patting his shoulder.
“You were just in a meeting with two mob bosses discussing cocaine, prostitution, and gun smuggling. That is hardly the actions of n upstanding citizen,” Petrov told him. The look on Michael’s face was both sweet and upsetting to Petrov. He looked so upset and frightened, and the slight trembling of his body was delicious.
“But you made me. I –”
“The police don’t care. They get praised in the papers every time they take one of my men off the street. No one cares if they are really guilty or not.”
Michael lowered his head and his shoulder’s shook. Petrov placed a strong, protective arm around him. He was pleased when Michael turned inward on the embrace instead of outward.
“Don’t cry, Mischa,” he said softly. “I will take care of you.”
“No one’s ever taken care of me before,” Michael said, wiping some fallen tears off his face.
“Allow me to rectify that?” Petrov asked. Michael nodded. He looked up at Petrov, and the Russian admired the vividness of his green eyes before kissing him softly. “I like this haircut on you.”
Michael’s hands immediately moved to his ears. Petrov took him by the wrists and lowered his arms.
“There’s nothing wrong with your ears, Michael,” Petrov said seriously. He gently stroked Michael’s ear lobe with his thumb and forefinger.
“My nickname was Dumbo growing up,” he said softly and Petrov felt a flare of anger rise up in his chest. Petrov touched his face gently.
“You’re not the ugly duckling anymore, Mischa,” Petrov told him. “You’re the swan.”
Michael reached out to touch Petrov’s suit jacket, fisting the fabric tightly in his hand.
“I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance,” Petrov murmured and brushed a hand through Michael’s hair. “But then I wouldn’t have my boy, would I.”
Michael felt a smile spread across his mouth. It felt so nice to be wanted somewhere, to belong to something, that in that moment he didn’t care who Petrov was or what he did, he only wanted his affection. Michael leaned into Petrov and looked up at him, ecstatic when a soft, chaste kiss was placed on his lips. Michael smiled at him, a small smile that indicated both his nerves, his insecurities, and his joy at being seen has beautiful for once in his life.
“It amazes me that someone like you could have such low self-esteem,” Petrov said, pleased with the growing reaction he was receiving from the boy. He was like putty in his hands, just ready to be molded, and Petrov loved him for it. He did not remember a time he had a lover so vulnerable to his manipulations.
“You please me very much,” Petrov said, kissing him once again. They pulled into the parking garage and Petrov ordered his driver away. They were parked in the more secure section of the parking garage and the lights were dim. It was difficult to see clearly, but Michael had no need to see. He was completely focused on the man in front of him. All he wanted was to hear more words like before.
Petrov lowered his mouth back to Michael’s, but this time his kisses were harder and more insistent. He parted Michael’s lips with his tongue, tasting him in leisure, his tongue pressing Michael’s down. For the first time Michael made an attempt to really return the kiss. It was a clumsy attempt, one that brought a smile to Petrov’s face. Michael’s hands held onto Petrov’s suit lapels so tightly that his knuckles were white and his finger tips red.
“Do you want to make me happy, Mischa?”
Michael nodded, trying to kiss Petrov again but the Russian held him at bay.
“Get on your knees,” he whispered and Michael moved to the floor. He was crammed between the driver’s seat and Petrov’s seat, but space was not really an issue, for the closer he was to Petrov the happier they both were at the moment. Petrov unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He pulled out his erection, giving it a few hard strokes, keeping it away from Michael.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a boy get me this hard,” he told Michael, watching the smile on his face. He lowered his erection closer to Michael. “Just lick the head.”
Michael obeyed, licking the top of Petrov’s cock. He tried to take it into his mouth, hoping it would please Petrov, and almost flinched when Petrov pulled his erection way. He grabbed a fistful of hair on the top of Michael’s head and pulled his head away.
“Did I tell you to put it in your mouth?” he asked. His tone was a cross between anger, discipline, and a gentle scolding but Michael’s face conveyed his disappointment.
“No Sir,” Michael said. Petrov leaned back again, releasing Michael’s head. Michael continued to lick the head of his erection until Petrov told him to move onto the shaft. When he told Michael to take it into his mouth Michael eagerly complied. Petrov’s hands gently guided Michael’s head up and down.
“Eyes on me, Mischa,” Petrov said sternly. “Your focus should always be on me.”
Michael’s green eyes turned upward on Petrov. Petrov groaned the moment they made eye contact. Petrov had always found the most pleasure in boys that looked up like little sex kittens, little smirks on their faces as they pleasured him, but the emotions in Michael’s eyes did far more to stroke his ego than any other. He was looking for approval and acceptance. He likened it to the look of a lost puppy.
“Come here, Mischa,” Petrov said and Michael got off the floor. Petrov lowered him down to the seat of the car and placed his mouth back on Michael’s. It took him a moment to unbuckle and unfasten Michael’s pants. Petrov wrapped his fingers around his straining erection and stroked him gently. Michael moaned into Petrov’s mouth, bucking his hips against the Russian’s hands. “That feel good?”
“Yes, Sir,” he breathed deeply.
“Call me, Iosef,” Petrov told him.
“Iosef,” Michael breathed. He bit his lips hard as Petrov’s fingers glided over the sensitive skin of his head. Petrov groaned and pulled back, flipping him over.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Petrov breathed.
“Someone will see,” Michael breathed.
“It’s a secure garage,” Petrov told him. “Don’t want my cock?”
“No, no I do,” Michael breathed as Petrov yanked his pants down to his knees. “Do you have lube?”
“No,” Petrov answered as he settled behind him. Michael tried to move bet Petrov kept him in place with a hand to the back. “I’m disappointed in you Michael. I thought you would trust me not to hurt you by now.”
“I do,” Michael said with more certainty than he felt.
“Then be silent.”
Michael fell quite as he felt Petrov settle behind him. He heard what he thought was Petrov spitting into his hands, before pushed into him. His hand wrapped around Michael’s erection as he pushed into him, slowly working him up toward his orgasm. Petrov came after only a few minutes, the friction from the lack of lubricant mind blowing. Michael came soon afterward, spilling himself onto the leather seat.
“If we weren’t in a rush I would have you lick that up,” Petrov said as he placed himself back into his pants. Michael was slower to recover from his orgasm, and was still trying to buckle his belt when Petrov pulled him from the car.
“Was I good?” Michael asked as they got into the elevator.
“Terrific,” Petrov said as he checked his phone. He glanced up in time to catch the quick smiled that spread over his face before he returned to his phone. Michael was smoothing out his tie when the elevator doors opened. There were two penthouses on the top floor, and Iosef unlocked on of the doors, pushing Michael in first.
“Go sit down. I am going to go change,” Petrov told him and Michael went to do as he was told. He paused in the hallway, gazing at himself in the mirror a second. He gingerly touched his nose and then his ears. He wasn’t nearly as ugly as he remembered himself being. Maybe his ears weren’t so big after all. He was still at the mirror when Petrov came out of his bedroom and a small smile came to the Russian’s lips. He moved to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Michael in the process.
“You look so good after I fuck you,” Petrov told him. Before pulling away he placed a kiss to Michael’s cheek and slapped his ass gently. Michael followed him into the kitchen where Petrov poured himself a drink. He got Michael out a soda, and slid the can to him. Michael gulped it down, suddenly parched.
“If I take you out with me can you be trusted not to make a scene?” Petrov asked him as he took a sip of his brandy. Michael nodded. He had untied his tie, hoping to retie the knot again, but realized he did not know how. It had been Ivan who had tied it for him before, too tightly he might add, and now he was struggling with it. His hands dropped to his sides as Petrov approached him and took over.
“Where are we going?” Michael asked.
“Beloi,” Petrov answered him and Michael’s jaw hung open.
“Is that a problem Michael?” Petrov asked smoothly.
“That’s a mob restaurant,” he said and Petrov finished with the tie.
“Then I am sure I will feel right at home,” Petrov said, causing a blush to arise on Michael’s cheeks.
“Oh… I forgot,” Michael said lamely.
“Can you drive,” Petrov asked as he took a few more sips of his brandy.
“No,” Michael replied. “I never learned.”
“That’s a shame,” Petrov replied swirling his brandy around in his glass. Michael looked down at his soda can. There was a silence for a moment before Petrov spoke again, but when he spoke it was into his phone and in Russian. Michael deduced it was a call to the driver, because when they left the penthouse, a car was outside waiting for them. Petrov nudged Michael inside first.
The entire ride to the restaurant, which was rather long, due to the fact that they were going from Staten Island to the Upper East Side of Manhattan, was silent, save the few phone calls Petrov made along the way. Michael listened the Russian intently, enjoying the sound of the language, especially coming from Petrov’s lips. He was growing to really enjoy the sound of his voice, and in Russian it sounded like a song.
When they did finally arrive at the restaurant, Petrov and Michael got out of the car. Michael looked around anxiously as they passed well dressed men in suits. To Michael, it only made sense that every single one of them was in the mafia, or involved in some way, and so he stuck close to Petrov. Petrov himself received warm smiles and bows of the head as he walked by. A few girls smiled and giggled at him and one, stepped up to speak to him.
“Hello Anastasia,” Petrov said smiling. There was an unmistakable flirtation in his voice and Michael didn’t like it. This woman was beautiful.
“It’s been so long since you’ve called me,” she said, pouting her plump red lips. “Didn’t you have fun?”
Her long, slender arm raised and her fingers placed with the buttons on his lapels. She stepped up close to him, too close to be comfortable, and placed a kiss to Petrov’s cheek.
“I had a lot of fun,” Petrov replied. “Unfortunately business has gotten the best of me.”
“Will you not call me again?” she whined. “I haven’t had a night like that in months.”
Skank, Michael thought staring at the woman. He was angry at no longer being the center of Petrov’s sexual focus and felt his face flush slightly at the feeling of rejection.
“I will call you when business quiets down,” Petrov promised and the woman departed, not even casting a glance at Michael, who felt more inadequate now than ever. Petrov, who underestimated just how naïve and ignorant Michael was to the world, could not have imagined that the boy did not pick up on the fact that he completely blew her off. Business for a mob boss never quiets down. And why would he waste his time with that little hussy when he had Michael at his beck and call. He felt no need to explain this to Michael, nor assure him that he never planned on calling Anastasia back, and continued on into the restaurant.
Petrov breezed past the seaters and hostess, but as Michael tried to follow him a large man came out and stopped him. His hand landed just below Michael’s throat and threw him backwards into another guest. Michael blushed and apologize to them before trying to explain that he was with Mr. Petrov. The body guard said nothing, and when Michael tried to slip passed him again he was grabbed by another man to be hauled outside.
“Iosef!” Michael called as he was being carried off and Petrov turned around, just noticing his shadow was gone. He hurried back to Michael, placing his hand on the man’s back.
“Dessie,” Petrov said. “He’s with me.”
“Sorry Sir,” he said and placed Michael back on the ground. Michael flushed in embarrassment and walked into the restaurant with Petrov. Michael sat to Petrov’s left and sipped at water nervously as everyone around him spoke Russian. Adrik was at the table, along with the same man with auburn hair that Michael had seen the day he was taken by Petrov. He looked uncomfortable at the table, and rarely spoke, but Michael took enough time to admire his good looks and chiseled jaw. His eyes were incredibly dark and as he played with his glass of wine a small smile came to his face. But despite not knowing the language or conversation topic, Michael knew the smile was not due to the conversation but something within his own thoughts.
When Michael finally looked away from the man, he glanced over at Petrov who was staring at him. There was anger in his eyes, and Michael looked at the plate in front of him. Sometime during the meal Michael looked back up at the auburn haired man, not because he thought him exceptionally attractive, but because he had not heard him speak once and was curious.
“Like what you see?” Petrov asked him, softly as to not draw attention, but with venom in his voice.
“What?” Michael asked looking away from him. “No.”
“I could get him to fuck you for you if that’s what you want,” Petrov said and Michael’s eyes widened. “He’d do it if I told him to.”
“No, please don’t, sir,” Michael begged, trying to keep his voice soft.
“Then keep your eyes to yourself,” he snapped and leaned back.
“Like you kept your eyes to yourself?” Michael replied softly. Petrov paused, glanced over at him, but said nothing. It was not the place. The entire night Michael never raised his eyes again. When they left the restaurant Michael was frightened and angry. Frightened he would be receiving a punishment, and angry because he didn’t deserve one. He really only thought the man was interesting. He had thought his looks were pleasing initially, but that was an observation everyone made about everyone on initial contact. He never once thought of him in a romantic or sexual light, not the way Petrov had been fawning all over the girl with the fake tits and the slutty dress.
“It’s not fair,” Michael said the moment they got into the car together.
“What isn’t?” Petrov asked coolly, his focus on his phone.
“That you get to feel some whore up in front of everybody and I look at a man and I get beaten,” Michael said, trying his best to keep his voice strong and failing.
“I haven’t touched you,” Petrov remarked.
“But you are going to,” Michael said his lower lip trembling. He looked out the window so Petrov would not see the tears in his eyes. He felt Petrov slide closer to him and his hand went into his thick curly hair.
“Mischa,” Petrov said softly. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” Michael responded with too much force for the occasion. Petrov smiled.
“I think you are,” Petrov teased. He forced Michael to look up at him and watched as one fat tear rolled down his cheek. “I have no interest in that woman.”
“You said you were going to call her back. You let her kiss you. You –”
“Mischa, I told her I would call her back when business died down.”
Michael frowned, not understanding the point Petrov was trying to make.
“I run the Russian Mafia in New York City. Do you really think business will ever quiet down?”
“I guess not,” Michael mumbled. Petrov kissed Michael’s lips. “Were you really going to make me have sex with that man?”
“Of course not,” Petrov said firmly. “You belong to me.”
Odd that someone would smile at such a declaration.
“Come here,” Petrov said and Michael immediately went into his arms. This boy had more emotional problems that Petrov had thought. His head rested on Petrov’s chest and his arms wrapped around his middle tightly. “I wouldn’t trade anyone for you right now.”
“You mean it?” he mumbled into his chest.
“I do,” Petrov told him, and what surprised him was that it was the truth.
Chapter 10: Chapter Ten
They returned to the penthouse and with so few cars on the street it only took about fifteen minutes. Michael followed Petrov upstairs, rubbing his eyes. He was so exhausted that he almost fell asleep against the elevator doors as they ascended, and would have fallen onto the floor as the doors opened had it not been for Petrov. He was caught and gently directed toward his penthouse door. He paused a moment, checked his phone, and then looked at Michael. Michael was unsure what the pause was for but he opened the door, all the lights in the penthouse were off, and there were distinctly masculine moans filling the air.
Reaching out Petrov flipped on the lights and Michael colored visibly. He quickly turned around, more for the girl’s sake than Adrik’s, who was actually the exposed one. Adrik jumped from the couch, turned slightly to put himself back in his trousers. The girl ran around the side of him to hide, holding onto the back of his shirt with tight fists.
“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” Adrik finally got out, his face a bright red. Petrov’s eyebrows rose.
“Is that Lillian?” Petrov asked lightly. Adrik nodded silently in response. “Hello Lillian.”
“Hello, Mr. Petrov,” came a soft voice from behind Adrik. Michael was still turned around, too embarrassed to move.
“We are going to bed,” Petrov said and moved toward the bedroom. Michael followed, trying to keep his gaze away from Adrik and the horrified girl taking refuge behind him. When they finally entered into the bedroom, Michael sat down on the bed. He could hear the girl softly yelling at Adrik, and Adrik trying to reason with her. Something was broken, and then the door slammed shut. Moments later the door opened again, and then slammed shut with even more force.
“This is not the first time this has happened,” Petrov said as he removed his suit.
“It isn’t?” Michael asked in disbelief. Petrov shook his head.
“No. I sometimes think Adrik get’s off on being caught. The girl won’t put out and it makes Adrik terribly self-conscious. She’s a lot like you, older, but shy and inexperienced. I honestly don’t know how she got involved in Adrik, but she has him under some sort of spell. When she does not attend the clubs or dinners with him he seeks the attention of no other female companion.”
“Nothing strange about that,” Michael murmured. “Just makes him a good guy.”
Petrov laughed audibly, one of the first real laughs Michael had heard come out of the Russian.
“Adrik...a good guy,” Petrov said as he folded his clothing and placed it on a nearby chair. Michael said nothing and looked down.
“I didn’t bring any of my clothes,” Michael said after a few minutes. Petrov grabbed a bag from his closet and handed it to Michael.
“I had them brought over,” Petrov said.
Michael looked in the bag, glanced over his clothing, a small smile on his face. He preferred the more simple items he had picked out, but to have new clothing that belonged completely to him was a novelty he had never been allowed to experience.
“I didn’t get anything to sleep in,” Michael called to Petrov as he went into the bathroom. Petrov did not reply until he came back out, wearing flannel pants and a white t-shirt. It was odd seeing the mob boss look so normal.
“I’d rather you sleep naked anyway,” Petrov smiled. He crawled onto the bed and lay down, flicking on the T.V. Michael stripped down to his boxers and white t-shirt, doing his best to mimic Petrov’s folding of his own suit, before moving onto the bed. He remained seated, looked at the T.V as Petrov flipped through the channels, but said nothing.
“Aren’t you tried?” Michael asked when Petrov continued looking for something to watch. It was well past two o’clock in the morning, and Michael was absolutely exhausted. All he wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep.
“No,” Petrov replied. “But you may go to sleep.”
Michael nodded, went into the bathroom to brush his teeth with the tooth brush that had been put there for him, and used the bathroom. Afterward he walked back into the bedroom he pulled the covers back and slid in next to Petrov. The Russian hit the lights after Michael was under the covers and turned back to the T.V.
“When I say ‘I’d rather you’ do something that is my way of being polite. I fully expect you to comply,” Petrov told him matter of factly as he hit the remote. He paused on a channel a moment, and then moved on.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said and scrambled to get out of bed so he could undress. Petrov reached out and stopped Michael with a gentle, but stern hand.
“It’s alright Mischa,” he added. “For future reference.”
Michael settled back down in bed, glancing over at Petrov’s stony face. He settled on a channel playing some movie Michael had never seen, and rested his head on his hands as he watched. Feeling rather dejected about the tone in his voice and the look on his face, Michael slowly reached down and slid off his boxers still under the covers. Next he did the same with his shirt, trying to be as subtle as humanly possible.
Petrov could feel him moving around but was unsure as to what exactly Michael was doing. When Michael eventually fell quiet, presumably asleep, Petrov could focus on the T.V again. It was not until a few minutes before five that he finally crawled under the covers and pushed closer to Michael. When he did, and felt his body pressed against the naked back and bottom of the boy, a small smile came to his lips, and he kissed Michael’s forehead gently.
Petrov was gone before Michael woke up, but when he arrived back at the penthouse around five in the afternoon he walked inside to the sound of shouts coming from the living room.
“Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Killhim. Killhimkillhimkillhim-ooooooooooooh!” Petrov frowned and when he went around the corner he saw a very angry Adrik on the couch with the infernal game controller in his hands. Petrov had forgotten the game system was still in the Petrov from that last boy he kept around, and was rather annoyed that it had been discovered, and that his two best men were playing with it so intently.
“That’s like the tenth time you’ve died!” He heard Michael laugh. It was the strongest he had ever heard his voice and the first laugh he had heard leave his mouth.
“Here let me play.” Said Yakov and he reached for the controller from Adrik’s hand.
“No. No. No.” Adrik yelled and slapped Yakov’s hands away. “I will do this. I just need to come around the corner slower and I will not reveal my body as a target as much. See, if i go from that box to that one I’ll be fine.”
Michael laughed at the fighting brothers. Petrov stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his chin slightly raised, and a confused look on his face. Michael’s eyes locked on his and the smile dropped from his face and was replaced with fear.
“Adrik.” He said with a nudge to the blonde man. Both brother’s looked up at the same time and jumped in unison.
“Jesus Christ, boss.” He said putting his hand over his heart. “Some warning would be nice.”
“Shouldn’t you both…be working?” He asked.
“I’m not due to manage the club till eight. And I can look over the finances then.” Yakov said.
“And I have made all the calls. That meeting you needed is set up for twelve tomorrow.” Adrik said. “Now please. I need to kill this bastard and get my package back before the Russian’s show up.”
“Grand Theft Auto,” Michael said from his spot on the couch.
Petrov came him a strange look as Adrik turned back to the T.V.
“Adrik, you and I are going to club Zero tonight. I have decided to crack down on the guinea’s hookers.”
“That a good idea?” Adrik asked. “I mean, we got men running their streets. We clear out the hookers, they clear out our men. It could start a war, Iosef. Besides, I got a date tonight and you gave me the OK to make plans.”
“No war will be started, and you may bring her. We will sit in VIP anyway. I just want to see them operate.” The brothers nodded and Iosef walked from the room and into the kitchen.
“Be right back. Try not to die,” Michael said and got up, making his way into the kitchen.
“Mr. Petrov?” Michael asked. He was peering into the fridge and looked over at Michael.
“I told you, you may call me Iosef,” he told him.
“You’re not mad at me are you?”
“Why would I be mad at you, Mischa?” He asked and Michael frowned. “Should I be?
“I don’t know,“ Michael answered and Petrov chuckled.
“As long as they get their work done they can do as they wish. They have paid their dues.” Iosef pulled out an already made sandwich from the fridge and a pre-made salad. He handed the sandwich to Michael. “Eat with me?” Michael nodded.
“Ok.” His voice was soft and he sat across from Petrov at the kitchen table, trying to keep his eyes lowered. He failed, his eyes longing to gaze over the handsome face, and icy blue eyes of the powerful mobster. Petrov caught all these little gazes and always had a small smile on his face when he looked up.
“How long were you with your adoptive family?” Petrov asked. He had been curious about Michael’s history for a while now, and hoped that a little more knowledge might help him understand the boys serious, deep seeded self-esteem issues a little better.
“About, two months.” Michael replied as he ate.
“He is not making his payments.” Petrov said softly, looking for any type of reaction. “I normally would have killed him already. But I am afraid of how it will affect you.”
“I don’t have any great love for them. Not after what they did. But, I mean, I don’t want anyone to die. And they did take me in, Iosef. I’d rather they not be hurt when it comes down to it,” Michael said softly and Petrov’s jaw ticked slightly.
“I will do my best.” Petrov forced a smile at smiled at Michael. “I do not wish to upset you.”
“Thank you.” Michael said and looked down at his food.
“I want you to come to the club with me tonight,” He told Michael and watched as his face was stricken with panic. “We sit in VIP, you sit next to me while I drink, and look good. No business will go down, I promise.”
“OK,” he agreed hesitantly. What other choice did he really have?
“Good.” Petrov said and reached out his hand. He gently took hold of Michaels face and stroked his thumb over the soft cheek. Michael blushed deeply.
Petrov picked out an outfit for Michael to wear out of his new clothes, and while it was obvious that Petrov had good taste, Michael was not happy with the selection. He was forced to wear jeans, a black button down shirt with his sleeves rolled up and a white tie. It was a nice outfit, that he did not think he would be able to pull off, and he bit hi lower lip hard as he walked into the bathroom to change.
“You know, I’ve seen all there is to see. There is no need to change in the other room.” Petrov said sitting on the bed running his hands over the sleeves of his suit.
“You shouldn’t have to see me anymore than you have too,” Michael mumbled as he shut the door. When Michael came out, Petrov appraised him openly and with a nod walked out the bedroom.
“Let’s go.” He said grabbing his phone from the counter and placing it in his pocket. Adrik and Yakov were already at the club, and so Petrov and Michael rode over by themselves, save of course the driver.
When the driver informed them that they had reached the club, Michael took a deep breath. He hated being around people, and so when he was placed into situations in which there is a significant crowed he usually got very uptight and sometimes ill.
“Ready?” He Petrov asked when he saw the complexion of Michael’s skin. Michael shook his head.
Petrov laughed but opened the car door, and Michael slid out after him. They went in through the back, much to Michael’s satisfaction, who did not think he could have taken a walk through the sea of people he had seen at the front. Once inside the building Petrov stopped to knock on a door that said “Club Management.” He gave no time between the knocks and the opening of the door, and when he stepped inside, Michael could see Yakov sitting at a desk, engrossed and paper work. He did not even notice Petrov looking in. He shut the door softly and turned to Michael.
“Good men those two,” Petrov said as he closed the door behind him. Michael assumed the other was Adrik. The room they walked into next was relatively dark, but Michael could see red leather couches placed about the room. The tables and carpet was a dark black, and the walls matched the couches. On the far side of the room was a wall of glass, in which you could clearly see the dance floor.
Michael spotted Adrik next, who had the girl from the night before on his lap. He had not gotten a very good look at her then, but he could see she was young and quite pretty. Michael would have put her age at around twenty one or twenty two, not too young for the twenty nine year old Russian she was sitting with. Adrik’s head was buried in her neck, his hands on her inner thighs. She would let him inch his hands up ever so far before giggling and pushing them back down.
“He has been dating her for a few months now,” Petrov told Michael. “She won’t sleep with him, claims she is a virgin and I tend to believe it, but I don’t think I have ever seen Adrik stick around with a single girl for long.”
Igor and Ivan were also seated in the VIP room, sprawled out on couches of their own with women of their own. Igor was with a girl far too beautiful for him, and Ivan had a girl, who looked even younger than the girls Igor and Adrik had. The moment Michael had entered the room Ivan’s eyes locked onto him burning intensely.
Michael’s stomach clenched, but Petrov’s hand on his back kept him moving forward. Michael sat down next to Petrov on a spare couch, stiffly and full of tension. The music was thumping loudly and the lighting was overwhelming. Petrov leaned over to yell in his ear.
“Wouldn’t this be a great atmosphere to fuck in?” He asked and Michael burned red. He eyes fell to Adrik as he tried, unsuccessfully, to feel up his date, then to Igor who was successfully feeling up his date, to Ivan, who was staring at him. The saying “if looks could kill” came to mind.
“Uh. Yeah.” Michael called back. Petrov leaned back into the couch and his eyes roamed over the dance floor. They stayed for a while, Iosef slowly sipped vodka all night, Igor went off a few times with his date, presumably to have sex, and Adrik now sat, gently kissing the girl in his lap, and murmuring soft words to her while smiling. Ivan still threw nasty glances at him as the girl hung onto him, whispering things to him and giggling.
After his fourth soda Michael shifted uncomfortably and leaned into Petrov. Petrov, who had thought the boy had leaned into him, interrupting his conversation with Adrik in the process, to show him some affection. He was disappointed when Michael spoke, but hid it well.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” Michael told Petrov, who pointed behind him.
“Remember where Yakov was?”
“Use the bathroom in here, just walk in, Yakov probably won’t even look up.” Michael nodded and got up. As he did, he saw Ivan lean over and whisper in his date’s ear.
He found the bathroom without getting lost once, a new record for Michael in a new place, and true to Petrov’s word, Yakov did not look up as he walked into the office. When he was finished he walked back out into the hall and was stopped by the young lady that had been with Ivan.
“Hello.” She said and bit her lip. She was big breasted, full lipped, and curvey, the type of woman every heterosexual teen age boy dreamed of sleeping with. Unfortunately for her, he was not heterosexual.
“Hello.” Michael said shyly and tried to pass her. She was dressed in a tight, short red dress that showed off her curves. She reached out a slender arm and grabbed onto his tie, pulling him closer to her seductively.
“Don’t go running off, honey. Iosef won’t come looking for you,” she said in a sultry voice. Her arms wrapped around Michael’s neck and she pressed her breasts into his chest. Michael grimace, attempted to gently push her away but failed. She was too persistent, and he unwilling to hit anybody, least of all a lady.
“Yes, well. I need to get back to him.” He said.
“Don’t be a little bitch. Be a real man.” She pressed herself against him harder and nibbled on her lip. Did she think she was being sexy?
“Come on, fuck me right here.” She whispered, her tongue darting out to lick her pink lips. When her head grabbed around his still very flaccid member Michael eyes widened. She managed to back him into a wall, adding to Michael’s discomfort by adding claustrophobia into the situation.
“No, look, I gotta get back. Move.” He didn’t want to shove her. He had always been taught not to hit a lady, but this little bitch was trying his patience.
“Come on, baby. Haven’t you ever had a woman before?” She pressed her lips into his roughly. His eyes widened as he looked at her and he stood frozen. She tried jamming her tongue into his mouth but he wouldn’t allow it, keeping his lips screwed shut. She broke away with a face contorted in anger and was about to speak but was cut off.
The coldness of the voice froze the blood in Michael’s veins. He felt like falling to the floor and dying.
“Iosef,” the little whore of a woman gasped.
“I thought you got lost,” Petrov said to Michael, rubbing a finger over his lips in thought.
“I’m so sorry Iosef.” The girl said. “I told him no, but he came on to me. He said that he was disgusted by men and needed some pussy. I swear, I tried to tell him no.”
She began crying and stepped away from Michael, whose eyes were wide in his head. His mouth was dry. The girl stood close to Petrov, her little charade going strong as she attempted to garner his belief and sympathy.
Was this bitch for real? He felt his stomach churn.
“Iosef-” He started but Iosef had already pulled back his hand, ready to swing.
Chapter 11: Chapter Eleven
The sound of skin colliding with skin filled the narrow hallway. It took a moment for Michael to realize it was not him that had received the back of Petrov’s hand. There was a moment where Michael touched his hands to his face, feeling no pain, and looked up at Petrov. The Russian stared down at the girl holding her left cheek with a controlled rage that chilled Michael to the bone. He was incredibly thankful that it was not him that Petrov’s anger was directed at.
“You bastard!” the girl cried holding her reddened cheek. “He came onto me!”
“From against the wall?” Petrov asked. “Don’t you dare insult my intelligence. Now go get Ivan and get the fuck out of my club.”
The woman shot a dark glare toward Michael before taking off down the hall. Petrov watched after her before his cold eyes turned on Michael. His face was hard and stony, his lips pressed into a tight straight line.
“I wasn’t going to sleep with her,” Michael told him. He had trouble speaking his mouth was so dry.
“No, I don’t think you are that stupid,” Petrov said and added in a kind of singsong voice. “Besides, we’ve already established you do not find women attractive. Were it a man I might be jealous.”
He took a cloth napkin from his pocket and gently wiped off Michael’s forehead, which was soaked with sweat.
“I only want you,” Michael said softly. A small smile came to Petrov’s lips as he gently straightened out Michael’s tie.
“Good answer,” he replied pulling on Michael’s tie gently. Michael stepped forward and Petrov pulled him into a kiss. The moment Petrov’s tongue met Michael’s mouth he parted his lips for his Russian lover. He did his best to allow complete access to the Russian, moving closer to him when his hands ran over his body and keeping his mouth open for his kisses. Petrov’s hand has just slipped between his legs to cup his semi-hard erection when there was a voice behind them.
“Um… Mr. Petrov, sir?”
Petrov turned around, but did not give Michal any room in order to step away from the wall.
“Yes?” he asked.
“There’s a problem on the dance floor,” the man said. He was a big guy dressed in all black, but he had no hint of an accent.
“Then deal with it,” Petrov replied and turned his attention back to Michael. When he could sense the man was still standing behind them he turned around. The man, who was at least five inches taller than Petrov, and had to have an extra hundred pounds on him, looked terrified of Petrov. “Problem?”
“It’s Rocko sir,” the man said.
“Go get Yakov,” Petrov said.
“I did. He told me to go get you,” he said and Petrov sighed. He told Michael to follow him and headed out onto the dance floor. The crowed parted for Petrov. Club Zero was primarily full of straight club goers, and so it was women that would come out and try to talk to Petrov, giggling and seductively saying hello. Petrov smiled at them, clearly enjoying the attention. Michael stayed as close to Petrov as humanly possible, so he did not get lost in the crowed. When they arrived at the front Michael spotted an obnoxious looking Italian man with a gold chain hanging out his neck.
“Rockoooo,” Petrov said and embraced the man warmly. “What brings you to Zero tonight?”
“These assholes won’t let me in, Petrov,” Rocko snapped, pointing at the bouncer, jabbing his pudgy finger into his chest.
“An honest mistake,” Petrov said. “Nick here is good, good man, I assure you. Come with me.”
Petrov placed an arm around Rocko’s shoulder and walked with him into the club.
“Would you like to go into VIP?” Petrov asked and Rocko shook his head.
“That’s alright, Petrov,” Rocko said. Petrov smiled at him and called to the bartender.
“This man drinks for free!” Petrov told him. The bartender gave a curt nod and Petrov removed his arm. Petrov turned back toward VIP and Michael made to follow him, but was cut off by a woman in a skin tight black dress that ended just below her ass. She touched the back of Petrov’s back, and the Russian turned, believing the hand to be Michael’s. When he saw who it was his smile faltered only slightly.
“Anastasia,” he breathed, taking her hands in his and holding them up between them. “Are you following me?”
“You wish,” she flirted, biting her plump lip. “I’d like to speak to you.”
“I’m with someone tonight,” Petrov said. The girl’s smooth hands rubbed up and down Petrov’s chest. Michael found himself a little annoyed that Petrov let the caressing continue, but was too busy fighting off the drunken people falling into him to do anything.
“A woman? Or one of your boys?” she asked.
“A boy,” Petrov answered.
“Mmm, I’ll take you both,” Anastasia said and tried to press herself against Petrov. Michael was pleased when he stopped her.
“I don’t share,” Petrov smiled.
“Let me into VIP, Iosef, I need to talk to you,” she told him. Petrov’s smile turned sour.
“About your brother?”
“What else?” she asked. Petrov nodded, glanced at Michael to make sure he was still there, and turned toward VIP, jerking his head to indicate Anastasia could come. She wrapped her arms around his, leaning into him as they walking. Michael fought to follow, but while the crowed parted for Petrov, it filled in again right afterward and no one would give Michael the time of day. He tried to shove through the crowed, but the men he would run into were like brick walls, and he was too polite to shove a lady. When he finally reached VIP he tried to pass the big bouncer standing in front of the door, but he would not move.
“Move,” Michael told him but the man would not budge. Michael actually tried to physically push the bouncer over but it was in vain. Finally the bouncer moved to the side and Petrov was standing behind him.
“Running off Michael?” Petrov asked as Michael stepped into the VIP room, glaring at the bouncer as he did. “I did not know the boy would enjoy clubbing.”
Anastasia laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard and Petrov sat down across from her. Michael sat down next to him. The woman crossed her legs and raked her eyes over Michael. He shifted uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes, but the small smile on her face was unsettling.
“You do like them young, Iosef” she smiled.
“What can I help you with?” he asked curtly. Her smile left her face and she shot him a cold look. She had never been brushed off so coolly by a man before, and she did not appreciate it.
“My brother needs help,” she said.
“What kind of help?” Petrov replied, crossing his legs.
“Money, Iosef, what else?”
“He already owes me quite a bit, Nastya, surely borrowing more is a bad idea?” Petrov spoke. Anastasia dragged her tongue over her teeth underneath her lips.
“He lost it all gambling,” Anastasia told him.
“Yes,” Petrov said, distaste written clearly on his face. “At Italian casinos. I don’t appreciate my money being given to the Italians.”
“I’m good for it, Iosef. You know that,” Anastasia said seriously.
“Three hundred thousand,” she said and Petrov snorted.
“No,” he said simply. She turned red with anger.
“And why not?”
“Because I’ll never see it again, and you’re brother will end up dead, and to keep you from coming after me I’d have to kill you as well. Too much risk involved, not a big enough payout,” he told her simply. Michael found it odd how he sounded like he was conducting any other business, and here he was discussing her possible murder by his hands and neither seemed completely freaked out about it.
“I’m good for it. I’m getting married soon. He has money,” she said and Michael blanched. She was getting married? But she just tried to sleep with Petrov, and then she said she would take him and another man if that was what he wanted! What kind of woman was this?
“Then have him pay for your idiot brother,” Petrov replied. He turned and tucked a strand of hair behind Michael’s ear, smiling down at him warmly. Michael smiled back shyly and glanced down at his hands. He could tell Anastasia was angry at the display, and clicked her tongue.
“Look away from your little whore for a second to talk to me,” she snapped. Petrov’s head turned toward her, his eyes on fire.
“Do not refer to Mischa that way,” Petrov said protectively, running a hand through his thick curly hair. “And I suggest you leave now before I call in Boris to escort you out.”
“You are a vile man, Iosef Petrov,” she said standing. She huffed off, and Petrov seemed to forget all about her in a second.
“Would you like a drink, Mischa?” Petrov asked.
“Can I try something with alcohol?” Michael asked softly as if he would get in trouble for it. Petrov smiled at him.
“What type of liquor do you like?” Petrov asked.
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “I’ve never really drank before.”
“And you want too?” Petrov asked. Michael nodded. What kid didn’t want to drink? Petrov looked over at Adrik, who was listening to Lillian talk about one of her college classes, a genuinely affectionate look on his face.
“Adrik,” Petrov asked and Lillian immediately fell silent. She had learned very early on that when Petrov spoke everyone needed to listen. Petrov appreciated the quick study, and was one of the only reasons he put up with the girl so often. “Go get us some drinks.”
Adrik nodded and stood, approaching a man in the corner. He sat back down, and Petrov stroked Michael’s face.
“I want you to drink it slowly,” Petrov said. “These drinks have quite a bit of alcohol in them.”
Michael nodded. A pretty young woman came up with a tray of drinks and every grabbed one. Lillian smiled at Michael as she got one for herself and Adrik, and went back to sit in the blonde’s lap.
“You might like this the most,” Petrov said grabbing a yellow drink in a large glass and handing it to Michael. Michael brought his lips to the straw and took a sip. He grimaced at first, but after one more sip realized the drink was actually quite sweet.
“Do you like it?”
“What is it?” Michael asked.
“A Pina Colada,” Petrov said sipping his own.
“What’s that?” he asked pointing to Petrov’s. Petrov watched Michael suck down the drink, a little too fast for his own good, and took the straw form the boy’s mouth.
“Slow down,” Petrov said and Michael nodded. “It’s called Yorsh.”
“Is it Russian?”
“Traditionally,” Petrov told him. “You mix a beer of your choosing with some vodka. It does not really alter the taste of the beer but ups the alcohol content considerably.”
“Can I have a sip?” Michael asked, trying to keep himself from sipping at his own again without enough time passing.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Petrov answered with a smile. “I don’t want you to get sick. Mixing alcohol can get the best of us all.”
“What’s in this?” Michael asked pointing to his.
“Rum, cream of coconut and pineapple juice,” Petrov replied.
“Just a small sip,” Michael said and Petrov nodded, handing him his glass. He took a sip and handed it back.
“I like this better,” Michael told him. “It’s sweeter.”
“I’m not surprised,” Petrov told him. “Come closer, Mischa.”
Michael scooted over to him and Petrov put an arm around him.
“You really do look adorable with this haircut,” Petrov told Michael. Michael sipped at the drink. “Michael, slow down.”
Petrov took the glass form him and put it on the table.
“It takes time to hit your system; you don’t realize the alcohol you are ingesting. Now, that wouldn’t touch me, but I’m worry that you have never drank before and we don’t know how it affect you yet. Fair?”
“It tastes good though,” Michael said, trying to defend himself, feeling he had just been scolded.
“Those are the most dangerous drinks,” Petrov said. He rubbed Michael’s back with his hand when he caught the look on Michael’s face. “I am only concerned about you. I’m not angry.”
“Adrik and Igor, why don’t you two leave,” Petrov said and the two men and two women stood. They left the room, grabbing another drink as they left, and Michael and Petrov were left alone.
“How could you even sleep with that woman?” Michael asked. Petrov glanced at Michael and then looked back into the club.
“Anastasia? She’s beautiful,” Petrov replied.
“She’s engaged,” Michael said.
“I don’t ask my lover’s marital status when I take them home, Mischa,” Petrov replied.
“You must have slept with thousands of people,” Michael mumbled and Petrov laughed.
“No, not thousands, I would not even go so far as to say hundreds,” he replied.
“How many people have you blackmailed into sex?” he asked.
“One,” Petrov replied. “And he’s a little brat.”
Michael giggled. His stomach was warm and has he looked around the world seemed to move slightly odd.
“Starting to feel it?” Petrov asked knowingly as he watched Michael look around. Michael nodded. Petrov’s hand moved to his groin, gently rubbing his inner thigh. “Kiss me, Mischa.”
Michael obeyed and pressed his lips into Petrov’s. As his lips pressed into Petrov’s his hands grabbed onto his lapels and held him close. Petrov’s hands were gently unbuttoned Michael’s jeans, and rubbing his growing erection.
“You’re such a good boy,” Petrov breathed against his lips. “Your innocence is intoxicating.”
“It’s not annoying?” Michael asked and Petrov caught his lips in another kiss.
“Not as all,” he replied, reaching into Michael’s jeans and grabbing his cock through his boxers. “And you’re so willing to give and expect nothing back.”
“You give me a lot back,” Michael told him. Petrov smiled.
“Jerking you off isn’t all that amazing, but I refuse to give head. I run New York, I won’t get on my knees for anybody,” Petrov said forcefully.
“I don’t want that,” Michael breathed as Petrov pushed him back on the couch.
“Fuck, I want you,” Petrov breathed and flipped him onto his stomach.
“Here?” Michael asked looking out to the dance floor.
“Yes,” Petrov breathed in his ear, yanking his pants down.
“But they’ll see!” Michael protested.
“Maybe,” Petrov smirked. As he unbuckled his belt and removed his erection he worked up enough spit into his mouth to not hurt Michael. After stroking his saliva onto his cock he leaned over Michael, holding his palm in front of his face.
“Spit,” Petrov ordered. Michael paused in confusion and turned to look at Petrov. “This will be your lube so make it count.”
Michael spit onto Petrov’s hand, feeling the gesture a bit disgusting. He quickly forgot about it as his ass hole was pushed into by Petrov’s fingers.
“Mr. Petrov the people –”
“I told you to call me Iosef,” Petrov cut him off, pressing his cock into Michael slowly. Michael took him in easily this time, but was too worried on behind seen to do anything. He pushed into Michael until he was balls deep, before slowly pulling out of him, hoping to draw out the experience.
“What would people think of you if they saw you right now?” Petrov asked. He leaned over Michael, holding himself up with an arm. He grabbed Michael’s erection and smirked.
“Michael, I’m surprised in you,” he breathed as Michael panted. “All hot, flushed and hard at the prospect of everyone seeing you? Do you like being my little slut, Michael?”
Michael nodded. He was breathing heavy, and Petrov’s thrusts were not hard, but steady and slow.
“You feel so good,” Petrov breathed, kissing his cheekbone.
The sensations Michael was feeling was like nothing he had ever felt before in his life. Music was pounding in his ears, strobe lights were flashing from the dance floor, and his brain was buzzing. Things seemed to be moving in a slight blur. That coupled with the feeling of Petrov’s large cock stretching him apart from the inside, his strong steady thrusts, and the sound of his voice in his ear, was overwhelming in an entirely enjoyable way. Michael’s entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat, his shirt soaked through. His face was bright red, and his hair stuck to his forehead as he moved backward into Petrov.
As Petrov felt himself grow closer and closer to his orgasm he reached out and took Michael’s cock into his hand. He stroked hard, pumping his hand back and forth at lightning speed. Michael would have been embarrassed at how fast he came, had he been less oblivious. Petrov came a few minutes afterward, his thrusts still slow and steady, drawing out the pleasure as long as he could.
“You are the best business investment I have ever made,” Petrov said against the side of Michael’s face, placing a soft kiss to his cheek. He pulled out of him and placed himself back into his trousers. Michael sat back up and buttoned up his jeans, shifting uncomfortably from the cum that spilled into his boxers.
“Clean up what fell on the couch,” Petrov ordered and Michael grabbed a napkin to wipe the red leather couch up. He tossed it on the table. He wondered briefly how many people Petrov had fucked on that couch but pushed it to the back of his mind. It hurt too much to think about. Petrov stood a few moments later and told Michael they were going to leave. Michael nodded and stood up. He quickly fell back to the couch and laughed slightly.
“I told you,” Petrov said gently and helped Michael up. As they left the VIP room, walking through the club toward the front entrance, Petrov paused.
“Mischa, turn around,” he told him. Michael turned around and his lips parted slightly. When he had been out on the floor he had seen the large, darkened reflective wall on the far side of the club, but he did not realize that it was this was the glass wall of the VIP room. Michael blushed, slightly relieved that there was no way anyone would have been able to see them having sex.
Petrov laughed at the relief on his face turned around to walk from the club. They were outside and walking toward the black Mercedes waiting for them when Petrov’s name was spoken behind them. This wasn’t odd, for a lot of people tried to speak to Petrov, but what was odd was that his full name was spoken. When he turned around he had a small knowing smile on his face.
“Detectives,” Petrov said warmly, a smile on his face. Michael felt the color drain from his face, and nausea envelop him.
Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve
“I’m a bit busy right now but you are more than welcome to contact my lawyer for any questions you may have,” Petrov said politely. Michael took a step back to hide behind Petrov, but he turned around and began to walk toward the awaiting car. The detectives followed.
“Aren’t you going to ask us why we are here, Petrov? That’s what innocent people do,” the taller of the two men spoke.
“Like I said,” Petrov said opening the car door. He pushed Michael inside and out of sight of the detectives, who had been eyeing him suspiciously. “You may call my lawyer.”
“How old is the boy, Petrov?” the taller of the two detectives asked.
“Legal,” Petrov said and got into the car, shutting the door hard. The car immediately drove away from the curb and Petrov sighed.
“What was that about?” Michael asked.
“It’s not important,” Petrov replied. Michael frowned slightly and looked over at Petrov. With a small glance at the driver Michael scooted closer to Petrov.
“Was it about that man I saw?” he asked. There was a slight tensing of Petrov’s body and Michael knew it was. “I saw the news. I know they found his body.”
“Michael, be quiet,” Petrov said as he looked through his phone. It was dark, but the light form the phone illuminated Petrov’s face clearly.
“Did he drown? That’s a horrible death,” Michael mumbled.
“Michael, stop talking,” he snapped, keeping his eyes on the phone.
“Do you think the police know you were in involved –?”
Michael was shoved back into the far car door, his head smacking into the back window. Petrov’s arm was pressed into Michael’s throat and his eyes were wide and full of fright. Petrov’s phone was still in his lap and so the car was perfectly illuminated. The Russian’s eyes were burning and icy all at the same time. His face was not contorted in rage, but his anger was palpable all the same.
“I told you to be silent,” Petrov snapped close to his face. Michael swallowed and it hurt as his Adam’s apple had to rise and fall against his arm.
He cut off as he considered speaking again. The little bit of alcohol still in his system was egging him on, but the look in Petrov’s eyes was frightening.
“Yes, Michael?” he asked.
“I just think that since I’m here against my will b-being used for your sexual gr-gratification that I should be able to… to ask questions and –”
“You are here because of your adoptive father’s stupidity and greed. I owe you nothing. You owe me for not killing you after I had what I wanted for you. So in the future when I tell you to be quiet, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth,” Petrov said and released him. He moved back to his side of the car and Michael remained plastered against the door. When he did find the courage to move he turned toward the window. He wanted so badly to cry but he would not allow himself to. He had allowed himself to forget what kind of man Iosef Petrov was. He was a handsome, charming murderer. He had seemed to forget the murderer part of that description.
He glanced over at Petrov to see him looking at his phone, flipping through his emails. Michael pushed him closer to the door, trying to be as far from the Russian as possible. He promised himself as he watched the buildings blur by he would not forget again who this man was. He was a murderer, he was not a good person and Michael was too good a person to fall into that. What made everything so much more difficult was that he had actually begun to believe that Petrov really cared about him. Now he knew what he was and it was devastating.
When they arrived back at the penthouse Michael followed Petrov silently. Petrov glanced at him while they were in the elevator but said nothing and ordered Michael into the bedroom when they got inside. Petrov followed afterward with a fresh glass of water and handed it to Michael. Michael, who had already changed into his pajamas thanked him softly and sipped at it. Petrov disappeared into the bathroom a few moments, returned to change into his own pajamas, and then sat down next to Michael. Michael flinched as Petrov’s hand touched his hair.
“I’m sorry, Mischa,” Petrov said softly. “You can’t ask questions like that in front of people though. You really shouldn’t be asking those questions at all.”
Michael nodded stiffly and looked down at his hands in his lap.
“You are angry with me,” Petrov said standing.
“You hurt my throat,” Michael said softly. Petrov leaned down, and placed a kiss to Michael’s throat. Michael closed his eyes. He tried to remember who this man was and forget the shiver of pleasure the Russian’s lips on his skin made him feel.
“Mischa,” he breathed against Michael’s skin. He placed another kiss to his neck before pulling back. “I’m sorry. My driver was in the car. You can’t ask questions like that especially not in front of other people. Being gay in the mafia is not something necessarily accepted, Mischa. The only reason I can be so open is because I am so well respected, feared I suppose you could say. If I am seen as soft in even the slightest, I am in danger of attacks not just from the outside, but from within.”
“But I’m obviously not going to tell anybody,” Michael reasoned. “You said I would be considered just as guilty.”
Petrov was amazed at the trust Michael put in his words.
“They would,” he said. “but it is dangerous, not just for me but you. A mafia boss’ lover is usually the first to go in war time, and nine times out of ten they are tortured for information before they are killed. The less you know the better.”
Petrov pulled Michael to his feet and into his arms. He held Michael closer, wrapping his arms around his lean back possessively.
“Don’t be angry with me,” Petrov said gently. Michael only nodded, feeling his chest ache. His feelings were so confused and conflicted that Michael’s head began to ache. When he leaned in toward the Russian, placing his head on his neck, Petrov smiled.
“You need a cuddle, hmm?” Petrov asked in a surprisingly tender voice and Michael blushed as he nodded. “Get ready for bed.”
Petrov pulled the covers down as Michael undressed, and suppressed a smile as he got into bed naked. Apparently he could take instruction. When Petrov shut the light off, he slid under the covers and lay on his back. Michael moved over to him, nuzzling his face into Petrov’s neck, and relishing in the feeling of warmth and protection.
“You realize, Mischa, that even if you would not be considered an accomplice, that you are far better off with me, correct?” Petrov said softly. “I will provide for you in every way possible, all I ask in return is your obedience and discretion.”
“I know,” Michael whispered.
“There is something about your adoptive father Michael… something that I don’t know if you should know or not,” Petrov said softly. “I am in strangely foreign territory with you. You see, I am caught between your right to know, and the fear of causing you more pain. I really do not wish to hurt you, Mischa.”
“I’d rather not know,” Michael whispered. Petrov nodded as they lay in bed and collected Michael more securely in his arms.
“Iosef?” Michael asked after a long pause. Petrov had thought Michael had already fallen asleep, and was rubbing gentle circles on his bare back.
“I really don’t want to die.”
His voice was barely above a whisper and had the room not been so quiet Petrov would have missed it.
“I know,” Petrov told him. After that there was silence.
The shouting that woke Michael up was not exceptionally loud, but the anger in Petrov’s voice could not be mistaken. Michael quickly slid out of bed and dressed in a pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. He waited on the bed, too frightened to step outside and felt that Petrov would not appreciate it. He waited on the bed, listening to the angry voice of his Russian lover coming through the door. He had to wait nearly twenty minutes before the chewing out ceased and he heard the front door slam shut. Yakov opened the door a few minutes later and looked to Michael.
“Yeah, he’s awake,” Yakov said turning to look outside of the room. He looked back. “Petrov wants you to come out.”
“Why’s he so mad?” Michael asked softly so Petrov could not hear his question.
“He’s angry with Ivan for a few reasons. One reason is because Mr. Petrov thinks Ivan sicked his little tramp on you last night.”
“Well I agree,” Michael mumbled as he followed Adrik out into the main apartment. Petrov was lying across the couch, his arm draped over his eyes. He looked up briefly when he heard Michael come out of the room and motioned him to come closer. Michael sat down next to him on the couch and Petrov sighed.
“Ten in the morning and I am already exhausted. Ever wish you were back in prison, Yakov?” he asked.
“Well, I didn’t have wake up to your ugly face every day,” Yakov responded and Petrov laughed. He look his arm from his eyes and looked up at Michael.
“Ivan has been ordered to stay away from you. If you see him you don’t speak to him, and you tell Adrik, Yakov, or myself immediately. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” Michael nodded. Petrov looked at Michael’s choice of clothing and shook his head.
“Look at this, Yakov. I buy him a four thousand dollar wardrobe and he chooses to wear this,” Petrov said pinching the simple cotton sleeve of Michael’s shirt. Michael colored slightly but said nothing. “Come lay with me, Mischa, I won’t be seeing you for a few weeks.”
Michael should have been comforted by the news, but he wasn’t. Most people would be comforted by the fact that he would not need to service his captor for the next few next few weeks. He lay down on the couch with Petrov and placed his head on the pillow beside Petrov. It was a large couch, and so there was plenty of room for the two of them, but Petrov pulled his body closer.
“Why?” Michael asked after a few moments, hoping the question was alright.
“I am going to Miami. There are a few people I need smuggled into the country and my people in Miami are fools. Yakov and Igor will be coming with me, but Adrik will remain to watch you.”
“Why not send Adrik and you stay?” Michael asked. He did not want Petrov to leave for so long. It unsettled him, and the fact that Petrov leaving unsettled him… unsettled him.
“I need to be there myself,” Petrov told him. “I will only be gone a few weeks, a month at most.”
“I could come with you,” Michel offered, playing with Petrov’s tie.
“No, that won’t do,” He replied. “You will have more freedom here than you could in Miami. I will be very busy.”
“So I will be able to go out, to the movies or mall or something?” he asked.
“If Adrik decides to take you out, but I suppose he will be spending most of his time with his woman.”
Yakov snorted from his position a few feet away from them.
“Like it will matter,” he said. “How long has he been seeing her, and he still can’t seal the deal? Couldn’t get her legs open with a crowbar.”
“It’s not always all about sex,” Michael said to Yakov. “Maybe he really likes her.”
“Well you’d think so wouldn’t you,” Yakov replied. “What is the point of being in the mob if you can’t fuck as many women as you want while you’re at it?”
“Yakov, do you not have something to do?”
“I know when I’m not wanted,” Yakov said and stood from his chair. He pulled on an expensive coat and then left the penthouse. When he did leave Petrov kissed Michael gently.
“I will miss you,” Petrov told him with a half smile.
“Until you find another guy down there,” Michael mumbled. “Or girl.”
Adrik came in the front door and handed his phone to Petrov.
“It’s Nicolai,” he said and Petrov spoke into the phone in Russian a few moments before disconnecting and handing it back to Adrik.
“Go find your brother and give Solovyov a visit. Apparently there is a problem with the new gun shipment that Solovyov is not happy about.”
Adrik nodded and left as Petrov stroked Michael’s back.
“Let’s go into the bedroom,” Petrov said and Michael blushed.
“It’s only ten,” Michael protested.
“I leave in an hour,” Petrov said and Michael’s eyebrows raised as his eyes widened slightly.
“That’s fast,” Michael said. Petrov smiled.
“Going to miss me?”
“No,” Michael shot back quickly. Petrov’s face was hard to read.
“No matter,” he said and nudged Michael off the couch. “Let’s go.”
Michael followed Petrov back into the bedroom, a knot in his chest.
Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen
Adrian ->Adrik = Mikhail -> Mischa
It was hard for Michael, as he sat in the pent house all day, playing video games, ordering fancy food, and listening to music, not to come to the conclusion that this was the best off he had ever been in his life. It was a far cry from scavenging for food from the few friends he had at school. His clothing had no holes in them, he was never hungry, and was seldom board. The only thing that really bothered him was Petrov’s continual absence. He tried not to think about the Russian, or his icy blue eyes and thick black hair. When he found his longing for Petrov growing he would turn on the news and listen to the new death reports suspected to belonging to the Russian or Italian mafia. As he did he was able to remind himself of the type of life Petrov led, and what he did to people who crossed him.
He was seated on the couch with Adrik one day, about a week into Petrov’s absence, watching the news when a news story about a man found in an alleyway who had been shot in the head came on the TV. He was horrified when Adrik laughed at the story. Michael saw an all too amused look on the Russian’s face as he listened to the news, and forced to the forefront of his mind that Petrov would no doubt have a similar reaction. It bothered him deeply, but he said nothing as he watched Adrik’s amusement.
“He was shot in the mouth, thought he back of the head,” Adrik finally said. “And his tongue had been cut out. They left that part out of the story. They do it to prevent false confessions.”
Michael did not answer Adrik, and simply looked back to the TV. He briefly wondered who the man was that had been killed, if he had a family, what his friends were like, and what his name was. The thought saddened Michael and he got up from the couch to go lay down. Adrik watch after him for a few moments before turning back to the TV. A few hours later, when Michael came back out to the living room Lillian was sitting on the couch dressed to go out. She was a stark contrast to the women Michael had seen hanging around Petrov. She wore a beautiful black dress that was both sexy and classy. She smiled at Michael, waved silently, and looked over to Adrik who was on the phone a few feet away. He was dressed in one of his every day suits. Michael had to admit they made a good looking couple, but this girl seemed far too sweet for Adrik.
“He’s talking to his boss,” Lillian whispered as Michael came to sit down. Michael’s head snapped over toward Adrik and watched him expectantly. He waited to see if he would be handed to the phone in order to speak to Petrov, and was disappointed when Adrik hung up and placed his phone in his pocket.
“Let’s go,” he said to Lillian and she frowned.
“Don’t be rude,” she scolded him and turned to Michael. She held out her hand politely and Michael took it.
“We were never properly introduced,” she said with a smile.
“No,” Michael smiled.
“I’m Lillian,” she said. “Adrian and I are going to a show.”
“Adrian?” Michael asked glancing at Adrik. Lillian blushed and put her hand to her lips.
“Sorry,” she said to Adrik, whose jaw was clenched slightly.
“That is my name,” Adrik said stiffly. “Let’s go.”
“What are you going to see?” Michael asked as he followed them to the door.
“Les Miserables,” Lillian said with excitement and smiled up at Adrik. “I have never seen it before.”
“Well have fun,” Michael said.
“You have my number. Call me and it’s not an emergency and I’ll break your nose,” he said so Lillian could not hear him and walked from the penthouse.
“Bye, Michael!” Lillian called before the door was slammed shut. Michael was left alone once again and wandered around the penthouse for nearly an hour. He was asleep on Petrov’s bed, wearing jeans a t-shirt when he heard the door open. The door was cracked open and he could hear Lillian’s voice mingled in with Adrik’s. They sounded happy, and Lillian was obviously drunk. He listened to them, heard the sound of kissing, and the rustling of clothing. He was able to put together with his knowledge of the relationship that she probably did not want to go into the bedroom with him, and so they settled on kissing on the couch. There was soft breathing, more clothing rustling, before Lillian’s voice.
“Adrian, stop,” Lillian said. “Stop. Adrian, stop!”
Michael slid out of bed and stood at the door as he heard what sounded like half hearted struggling. He felt his mouth go dry as it continued and he was just about to go to the girl’s aid when there was the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin.
“Lillian… Lillian, I’m sorry!” Adrik said.
“Asshole!” she yelled.
“Lillian, stop, please,” Adrik said.
“Oh, so you do know what the word means,” she yelled. She was obviously crying at this point.
Michael could only assume he had grabbed onto her by this point to stop her from leaving.
“I’m sorry, just calm down,” he said.
“Don’t you tell me to calm down.”
“You can’t walk home, Lillian, please I’m sorry,” Adrik pleaded.
“Drive me home and then I never want to see you again!” she shouted. She wiped her face.
“Lillian, please,” Adrik said. Michael could hear the pain in his voice. Michael slipped out of the room and flicked the light on. When he did he saw Lillian’s make up smeared with tears and Adrik’s face flushed red.
“Is everything OK,” Michael asked.
“No,” Lillian snapped. She looked an absolute mess.
“It’s really late and I think you are drunk, so I think you should stay here tonight,” Michael said.
“I don’t want to,” Lillian said.
“You can sleep in my room. I’m gay so you don’t need to worry about anything,” Michael said. Lillian glared at Adrik.
“Fine,” she said and walked into Petrov’s room. Michael walked up to Adrik.
“What happened?” Michael asked.
“None of your fucking business,” he snapped. “… She said stop I didn’t stop.”
“Were you trying to rape her?” Michael asked, expecting a straight answer. He was not expecting Adrik to grab him by the shirt and yank him forward.
“I would never,” Adrik snapped and threw Michael off. “I’m drunk, and I was turned on, and I didn’t hear her… honestly.”
“You mean it?” Michael asked. He and Adrik both knew that there was no way Michael could do anything to Adrik should he try, but he found himself quite protective of the girl.
“I mean it,” Adrik responded.
“I’ll talk to her,” Michael said and walked into his bedroom. When he walked in Lillian was crying on the bed. Michael crawled onto the bed and sat next to her. He rubbed her arm gently as she cried. He heard Adrik disappear into his bedroom.
“It’s alright,” Michael said softly. Lillian rolled over so she was on her back, looking up at Michael.
“We’ve been dating four months, and he’s in the mafia, and I think I’m in love with him, and I don’t know what to do, because I want to have sex with him, but I know that once I sleep with him he will break up with me, and I just don’t think I could manage and it’s not like I don’t love him, because I do and what am I supposed to do because I can tell he wants to have sex and I want to to but he will dump me if I do but if I don’t he’s going to dump me and he is just so handsome and funny, and sweet and…”
Michael stopped listening because she was obviously drunk based on the long, meandering, and repetitive speech. He watched her for a few minutes as she rambled before finally cutting her off.
“Have you talked to him about how you feel?” Michael asked. She shook her head. “Do you think you should?”
She sat up, placing her hands on his shoulders. He could see her glassy eyes and run makeup, but she was still beautiful to Michael. He could see, along with her undeniably sweet disposition, why Adrik would stick around.
“I love him, Michael,” she said as if it was the most serious admission in the world.
“I think he loves you too,” Michael told her. She fell back down onto the bed, resting her head on the pillow. “You know, Petrov was talking about you two the other night.”
She looked up at him.
“He was telling me about how Adrik seemed all into you and that he hadn’t been with any other girls. Even his brother said it.”
She smiled but then the smile fell from her lips.
“I said stop and he didn’t.”
“I know,” Michael said softly. “And that’s not OK.”
“I mean, I hit him and he stopped,” she said. “but he didn’t stop when I told him too.”
“I think that if you both weren’t so drunk this whole situation would have been avoided,” Michael said. “Not that what he did was OK. It’s not OK at all. So if you do stay with him don’t let him off the hook too easy. Make him work for it.”
“You’re a cutie,” she said and patted his cheeks. She lay down on the pillows. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Good,” Michael said and she patted the spot next to her.
“Night, Michael,” she said.
Michael woke up the next morning and Lillian was still in the suite, but was washing her face in the bathroom. She came outside, her face void of makeup, and picked up her heels in her hands.
“I looked like a tramp when I woke up,” she told Michael. He was lying on the bed watching her as she moved around the room. “I’m so hung over.”
“Want me to make you breakfast?” Michael asked sliding out of bed.
“No, I should be getting home,” she answered.
“You’ll feel better if you eat,” Michael told her and they left the room together. She settled down at the kitchen table and Michael got her a cup of orange juice and some water. By the time Michael had eggs toast and some pancakes made Adrik had entered the kitchen and was leaning against the door. No one said anything and Michael put the plate in front of Lillian.
“Michael, Mr. Petrov wanted you to call him when you woke up,” Adrik finally said and Michael felt a jolt. He nearly dropped the pan he was holding as he walked over to Adrik. He was amazed at the excitement he felt at the prospect of speaking to Petrov. Adrik took out his phone, pressed send, and handed it to Michael. Michael rushed from the room and pressed the phone to his ear. The first thing he heard was Petrov’s deep voice coming out in flowing Russian and a smile came to his face.
“Iosef?” Michael asked. There was a hesitation on the side of the phone before he spoke.
“Mischa? Is everything OK?” he asked. “I’m working.”
“Adrik told me you wanted me to call you,” Michael said.
“I said no such thing,” Petrov responded and Michael felt his face redden.
“Oh… I’m sorry,” Michael said. His face was bright red and embarrassed tears pricked at his eyes.
“Goodbye,” Petrov said and the phone disconnected. He walked back into the kitchen and Adrik was seated at the table speaking to Lillian. His hands enveloped her, and she was crying softly. Michael slammed Adrik’s phone on the table with a bang and angrily threw the pan into the sink. Adrik turned to look at him, and picked up his phone to see a large crack running up the screen. Lillian looked confused and Adrik clearly was trying to keep his anger in check. Michael, who realized Adrik had just been trying to get him out of the room, purposefully stayed at the sink cleaning as loudly as he could. He banged plates against the sink, tossed the silverware into the appropriate drawers, and slammed doors loudly as he put everything away.
“Michael could you please leave the room before I rip your head off,” Adrik finally asked.
“No,” Michael said. “That was embarrassing.”
“You broke my phone. I think we are even, now please leave.”
Michael turned around to glare at Adrik a moment, and then went back into Petrov’s room. He lay down on the bed to watch TV. That night he fell asleep in Petrov’s pajamas.
Chapter 14: Chapter Fourteen
A few days later, Michael was informed by Adrik that Lillian wanted him to go out to dinner and a movie with them. Adrik told Michael in no uncertain terms that he expected him to decline when Lillian invited him, for she insisted on inviting him personally, not trusting Adrik to do so himself. Michael was dressed and ready to go out when Adrik returned to the penthouse with Lillian and immediately accepted the invitation. Lillian was overjoyed and walked with Michael, arms linked down to the car. It was the first time that he would be allowed out since Petrov left and he enjoyed himself immensely. Adrik was clearly put out nearly the entire night, but did his best to pretend he was enjoying himself for Lillian.
At dinner Adrik’s phone rang and he spoke shortly. Michael could only assume it was Petrov and he swore he heard his name said a few times. Michael kept waiting for the phone to be handed to him so he could speak to Petrov but it did not happen. He felt a dull ache in his chest as he waited. He felt rejected when Adrik hung up the phone and he was not spoken too. He had lost hope that Petrov missed him at all, and was slowly coming to the understanding that Petrov must have found another boy down in Miami to pass the time with. He clearly had no interest in speaking to Michael at all.
It stung, and Michael felt inadequate all over again. Petrov had somehow managed to make Michael feel wanted and loved. He had still felt that way when Petrov left, but after their short conversation a few days ago, in which Petrov clearly did not expect, nor desire his phone call, he felt like he had his entire life: unwanted and unloved. Michael had let himself have a few good cries since then, but he felt like he was coming to terms with the fact that he would never be loved. It simply was not in the cards for him. He was damaged goods and the sooner he came to terms with that the sooner the pain would stop. There was a lump in his throat as he thought about it.
He almost hoped that when Petrov no longer wanted Michael he would kill him. Maybe, if he could do it without Michael knowing it was going to happen. Poison his drink or something along those lines. Even if he could be shot in the back of the head without ever knowing it he would be happy. He just wanted to be put out of his misery. He didn’t think he could spend the rest of his life alone, living with the knowledge that no one had ever wanted him. Left by his parents, passed between over eleven foster homes from the time he was nine years old, only to be adopted at seventeen and traded off for money only two months later. It was a hell of a resume.
Now the only person who had shown him any type of affection had left and had absolutely no desire to speak to him. Petrov had told him he would be better off with the Russian, that he would be protected and cared for by him. It all seemed like a cruel lie at the moment. When the night was over, and Adrik went to drive Lillian home (she no longer would spend the night with him, not trusting him to be a gentleman), Michael was left alone with his depression. As much as Lillian and Adrik seemed to have a messed up relationship, they loved each other. It was obvious. It felt unfair to Michael, to be trapped around people who could be loved.
He asked God, not for the first time, why He had made him incapable of loving. He never received an answer, and as he stared himself in the mirror that night, all the ugliness that seemed to have washed away when Petrov was with him had returned. His eyes were too big, his ears freakishly large, his mouth lopsided. Michael hated himself as he looked in the mirror, and crawled into bed that night trying not to cry. His throat hurt, his stomach felt hallow, and his head hurt.
That night he dreamed he was at a bus stop. He was walking around looking for someone, he did not know who, but he knew that whoever it was he was searching for was not there. He stopped to ask passersbys if they knew where this mystery person was, but they all responded with the same thing: No one wants you. It was a dream he had often but when he woke up the next morning it was all the more crushing. He slept most of the day, and did not leave the room until the evening. When he got into the kitchen there was a cell phone there with a note written by Adrik. It told him to call Petrov, with a number written down below but Michael ignored it. He wouldn’t fall for that again.
He watched TV in the main room for a few hours, ignoring the cell phone as it rang. He thought it had to have been Adrik’s new phone, and so he did not bother picking it up. When Petrov came barging through the door a few hours later Michael nearly fell off the couch in surprise, his eyes wide as he looked up at the Russian. Adrik spotted him, shoot his head slowly, and looked ready to kill.
“What did I do this time!” Michael shouted at him.
“You’d have been better off if you were dead,” Adrik told him and grabbed the phone from the table. “Petrov had me buy you a phone so he could contact you personally. He was expecting a call all morning and has been calling you since five o’clock. He fucking pissed.”
Michael felt color drain form his face.
“I thought you were just being mean again,” Michael said and took the new phone from Adrik. Seven missed calls. “Is he going to yell at me?”
“Most likely,” Adrik responded. “But the sooner you call him the better.”
Michael nodded and dialed the number, chewing on his lip as he waited.
“I am pleased you have been able to fit me into your busy schedule, Michael,” Petrov said coolly.
“Adrik didn’t tell me it was my phone,” Michael said softly. “I thought it was his.”
“This is a completely different phone than his,” Petrov told him, not believing the story.
“I thought he got a new one.”
“Why would he get new one?” Petrov asked in confusion.
“Well… I broke his other one,” Michael admitted with a blush. He was in Petrov’s room now, and closed the door so Adrik could not hear.
“You broke it? How did you manage that?” Petrov asked. He seemed less upset now and Michael felt better.
“I threw it on the table,” Michael told him.
“He told me you wanted me to call you and you clearly didn’t,” Michael responded. “I was upset.”
“Hmm, upset he lied or upset I did not want to talk to you?”
Michael was silent on the other end as his face turned red and Petrov smiled on the other end.
“Answer me, Mischa,” he said.
“I was upset that you didn’t want to talk to me, and I was embarrassed,” Michael replied.
“Poor boy,” Petrov said. “My business here will wrap up shortly and I will return to New York. Keep this phone on you because I may wish to call you later.”
“Alright,” Michael said.
“I expect you to answer when I call,” Petrov told him. “I am only person with this number so if it rings you answer it. No excuses.”
“Yes, Sir,” Michael said.
“Be a good boy,” Petrov said and the line went dead.
When Michael left the bedroom Adrik was gone and he went back to watching TV. He stayed in the living room watching TV well into the next morning, believing that Petrov would be calling him later that night. He received no call, however, and when he checked his phone the next morning when he woke up there were no missed calls. He kept the phone with him all day, checking to make sure the volume was up high every few minutes, and constantly checking for missed calls. His days, which previously had been fun and filled with no worries and calmness, were now filled with obsessive checking of his phone. It was almost three days before he received the next phone call.
Petrov was sitting in a club in Miami owned by a friend, listening to the thudding of the music and sipping at drinks for most of the night. There were young gay men, and loose young woman swamping the VIP room and Petrov was pleased with the attention he received, but he preferred the way he ran things. VIP to Petrov was supposed to be a place for the truly important people. It was not a place where the owner and his friends hung out to collect all the good looking people in the club willing to put out and give lap dances, and give head in front of everybody.
And a girl was doing just that to Petrov’s left. He was not all that surprised when he saw it, but was disgusted with it all the same. It was the same girl that had been trying to grind on Petrov all night. A boy came up, one that was both handsome and pretty and was bold enough to place his hand right on Petrov’s soft member. Petrov looked at him, took him by the wrist, and flung his hand to the side. When the boy persisted he coolly informed the boy that he had a type, and he was not it.
Apparently his type were was orphan boys with no self-esteem, because the more he looked at all these good looking men and woman, most, if not all, willing to join Petrov in bed that night, or on the floor, on the couches, wherever, the less he desired any of them. Never in his life had he ever considered himself monogamous. He was careful. He never put himself at risk of infection, nor would he consider himself completely promiscuous, but when someone wanted to sleep with him, and he found them attractive, it had always mattered very little if he was seeing someone.
He found himself, for the first time in a long time, actually missing someone. As he sipped at his drink, he pictured Michael’s vivid green eyes, his thick curly hair, his little sweet smile and gentle demeanor. The people he saw now all seemed repulsive to him. Where was the subtlety? A girl fell into him from his right, smiling his drink all over his expensive suit. She giggled as one of the men with her fell on top of her and smiled up at Petrov.
“I’ll clean that up,” she giggled and tried to place her face in his lap, but he shoved her away a little violently. She shot him a harsh looked and then moved away.
“There has to be someone you want, my friend,” Anatoly said to him as he came to sit next to Petrov. “I’ll get you anyone you want.”
“I am perfectly fine, thank you,” Petrov responded. “But I could use a new drink.”
“Of course,” he said and called a waiter over. Petrov took his new drink and began drinking it quickly. “It appears you are not enjoying yourself.”
“I am,” Petrov replied.
“I have a boy working downtown. I can have him at your hotel in fifteen minutes. Now, I don’t know much about is desirable in a male bottom, but he is my best seller.”
“No thank you,” Petrov responded. He placed his empty glass on the table and grabbed another before standing. “I will be returning to my hotel.”
“It is only one thirty!” Anatoly cried. Petrov was momentarily distracted by a girl who was having an obnoxiously loud and most likely fake, orgasm as she grinded herself against the clothed erection of some man seated on the far side of the room.
“I have business tomorrow,” Petrov replied and walked from the club. His car brought him to his hotel room and he found his room with little trouble, despite the swirling of his vision. He lay down on the large, empty bed and pulled his cell phone out. It was time to give Michael a call.
When Michael’s phone ran his heart leapt into his throat he quickly answered. Petrov’s voice on the other end was tired and soft, but Michael felt warm and safe as he listened to it. He bit his lower lip between speaking.
“Hello, Mischa. Good boy for answering the phone,” Petrov said.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“Go to my bedroom,” Petrov said. He sounded slightly out of breath and Michael wondered what it was he was doing. He walked into the bedroom and lay down on the bed.
“I’m here,” he said.
“What are you wearing right now, Mischa,” he asked. “Jeans and a t-shirt.”
“No,” Michael replied with a blush.
“hmm, are you naked?”
“No,” Michael said again.
“What are you in?”
“You t-shirt and pj pants,” Michael admitted.
“Do you miss me, Mischa?” he asked. His accent came out so thick it was almost difficult for Michael to understand him. That and he was slurring his words slightly, adding to the difficulty.
“Are you drunk?” Michael asked.
“Yes, Vodka can do that to you,” he replied. “It has been hell here. Long days working with idiots only to come back to a cold, empty bed. I wish you were here right now. I would fuck you so hard.”
“Are you alone?” Michael asked anxiously. Was he with someone else right now?
“Are you listening to me?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Michael answered.
“Iosef,” he corrected. “Touch yourself for me, Mishka. Rub yourself through your clothing.”
Michael did so and sucked in a breath.
“Squeeze yourself.” He said and Michael’s hand tightened around himself through his pants. “When I come back I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard. God I want your little asshole right now. I would bury myself so deep inside you.”
“Yes.” Michael breathed deeply.
“You would like that wouldn’t you, boy.” Michael nodded, realized Petrov couldn’t see him and breathed out a soft “yes.” “You’d have to do something for me first though. What would you do hmmm? Would you suck my cock?”
“Yes.” Michael said.
“You don‘t get it that easy boy.” He growled. “What would you do for me Mischa? What do you want to do?”
Michael’s breaths came out in light pants as he rubbed himself slowly and listened to Iosef’s voice.
“I’d take of your shirt for you.” He closed his eyes and imagined Iosef in the room with him and all the things he had seen in his dreams. “I’d…I’d kiss your stomach, and your chest, and...and…”
“And?” Iosef asked on the other end.
“And your arms…you’re so strong…” He said. “Can I touch myself Iosef? Please.”
“Maybe…what else would you do for me Mischa. What have you been thinking of doing?”
“I’d kiss your nipples. And…and wrap my lips around them.”
“Hmmmmmm...Good boy. Continue.”
“I’d lick them, and suck on them. And then… when you were satisfied, I’d get on my knees. And take off your belt. And run my hands over your chest and hard stomach. Your hands would go into my hair.”
“Hmm, I’d stroke your forehead while you looked up at me, with those big, green eyes. And then Mischa…you’d beg for my cock, and only then would I let you wrap those beautiful pink lips around my dick.”
“Yes. Please let me touch myself Iosef. Please…it hurts.”
“Go on Mischa. Jerk yourself off for me. I’m the one you think of when you do this yes?”
“And after you sucked on my cock, what would you want me to do then, Mischa?”
“I’d want you to fuck me.”
“Yessss.” Iosef hissed out. “You’d like that. I bet you’ve missed my throbbing cock, hmm, boy? Have you missed my cock shoved up your sweet little ass?”
“I’ve missed you Mischa. Your asshole, your mouth, the way you look at me while I fuck you. Your little moans, little grunts. I ache for you.” Iosef said through panting breaths. Michael moved his hand faster on his throbbing erection as he listened to Iosef’s voice. “I’d fuck you so hard. I’d fill up that little asshole. I’d tear you apart Mischa…you’d like that wouldn’t you. Oh fuck!” he cried and Michael could almost hear him grip the phone tighter on his end. “Cum Mischa. Cum for your Russian Mobster hmm?”
It didn’t take much. Michael came all over himself with a loud grunt. He lay in bed, his hair soaked with sweat and panting loudly. He heard Iosef’s pants on the other end. As his mind cleared he bit on his lip and waited for Iosef to speak.
“You’re such a good boy.” Iosef said, his voice, soft and tired.
“When are you coming home?” Michael asked, his eyes heavy.
“Soon, Mischechka. I’ll return soon.” Petrov said, his words still slurred.
“Will you call me again?” Michael asked trying to keep the whine from his voice. “I’ll stay up as late as you want to wait for your call.”
“We shall see. Go to bed, Mischa. You must be tired.” Petrov said.
“Good night Iosef.” Michael said feeling a pain in his chest. He felt pressure behind his eyes and wanted with every fiber of his being to ask him to come home. To tell him how much he missed him, and not the sex, but HIM. All Petrov seemed to miss about Michael was what he could do for him sexually.
“Good night Mischa.”
The line went dead. Michael swallowed hard and slipped off his cum covered pants and boxers. He pulled the blankets up over him and inhaled the Russians smell. His voice had sent a thrill up his spine and it frightened him. How could he be so attached to such a man?
He missed the smell of his clothes, which wasn’t the same from the closet, the smell of his hair, his feel of his skin.
He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut. Oh God what was wrong with him? He looked at the phone in his hand and flipped through to the contacts. Petrov was the only number. Gently, Michael ran his thumb over the Russians name and number.
How would Petrov react if he pressed send and called him. Would he be angry, happy… indifferent? Michael pictured Petrov alone in a hotel room, laying on the bed, in only his slacks. Michael felt a smile grace his lips at the vision. His smile quickly vanished when he saw a boy, a little older than him crawling over him and kissing his strong, tight chest.
He shook his head violently and rolled over. He tossed the phone on the bed and tried to calm the wild heartbeat in his chest. Petrov wouldn’t have called him if he was with someone. But that didn’t cancel out all the other nights. What had he been doing then?
Michael flipped the light off and sighed. He placed his head down on the pillow, fighting images of Petrov with other boys. He tried to keep his mind on tonight, the things Petrov had said to him. He wanted to believe that Petrov actually missed him.
He finally fell asleep, a painful headache setting behind his eyes.
Chapter 15: Chapter Fifteen
Michael received no other calls from Petrov and by the morning in question the Russian had been gone a month and a half. As usual, when Michael woke up he reached for his phone, pulled up Petrov’s contact, and his thumb hovered over the send button. He wanted nothing more than to call him, but he was not brave enough. He could not bear the rejection. It would break him at this point. But as he was looking at Petrov’s name on his phone he heard a laugh that sounded distinctly like his estranged Russian.
He slowly slid from bed and pressed his ear to the door. He waited and listened, hearing only Adrik’s voice. Next he heard what one would think was Adrik speaking, but the voice was only slightly higher. Michael felt his pulse quicken. It was without a doubt Yakov, and if Yakov was back in Miami Michael had every reason to believe Petrov was as well. Then he heard the third voice, and he could not help but swing the door open and step outside.
He felt a smile spread across his face when he saw Petrov standing in the living room, in a beautiful blue suit, his hands crossed in front of him. The smile faltered slightly when Petrov’s eyes momentarily glided over to him, before moving away once again, no change of expression on his handsome face. The smile fell even further when he spotted a new person standing next to him, not dressed in a suit, looking rather insignificant despite the fact that he was good looking, and young.
He face completely crumpled when Petrov wrapped his arm around the young man and placed a kiss to his temple, smiling widely as he did so. The young man smiled, said something in Russian, and wrapped his own arm around the small of Petrov’s back. Michael slowly slipped back into Petrov’s bedroom, his chest tight and painful. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he went to sit on the bed, preparing himself for either a second person to share Petrov’s affections, or to be replaced completely. After all, that young man in there was nearly as good looking as Petrov himself and Petrov had never shown him as much affection in front of people.
“Petrov wants you to meet someone,” Adrik said as he popped his head in. Michael nodded and stood, hiding his face from Adrik. He wiped his eyes, as he stepped out of the room and stopped in front of Petrov. He felt Petrov’s hands on his face and looked up timidly, his pain clear in his eyes. His face was streaked red from his tears and Petrov frowned.
“What could possibly have upset you in the thirty seconds between my arrival and now? I just saw you over there smiling.” he said. He lowered his face toward Michael’s slightly, raising his eyebrows in a teasing gesture. “Or are you really that upset to see me?”
Michael shook his head and Petrov’s hand left Michael’s face. He placed his hand warmly on the back of the new man and looked down to Michael.
“Mischa, this is my cousin, Vanya,” Petrov said and placed his arm around Vanya again. “He was the reason for my trip to Miami.”
“Privet,” Vanya said and shook Michael’s hand.
“Hi,” Michael said and then smiled at Petrov. He said something in Russian and Vanya nodded wordlessly.
“I am going to go get Vanya situated in his apartment. At six o’clock a car is going to be here to bring you to Tbilisi. I’ll see you then, alright?”
Michael nodded. Petrov turned without another word and the Russians began to pile out of the penthouse. Michael was left alone, feeling worse than he had before Petrov had returned. He had been expecting something, maybe not a party and a big display, but something, a kiss perhaps? He waited in the center of the room. At least he knew now that he was not being replaced, but the lack of affection or happiness Petrov displayed at reunited was hurtful. He jumped when the door opened again and he saw Petrov.
“Come here,” he said and ducked back outside. Michael walked toward him and found him standing alone by the elevator. “I told them that four people in that elevator was a little cramped.”
Michael stepped toward Petrov. Petrov smiled at him and leaned down, pressing his warm lips to Michael’s. The Russian’s large, strong hands cupped his face gently as he deepened the kiss.
“I missed you,” Petrov whispered against his lips and Michael nodded a small smile ghosting over his lips.
“You should have called me more,” Michael murmured. Petrov chuckled and stroked the side of Michael’s face which his thumb.
“I’m a busy man,” he replied. “Was our last conversation not enjoyable enough for you?”
“It was,” he replied. “But I just wanted to talk.”
The elevator chimed and it opened empty. Petrov gently touched the side of Michael’s face one last time before lowering his hand.
“You will tell me why you started crying later tonight?” he asked and Michael nodded. “Good.”
Petrov stepped into the elevator and pressed the first floor button. Just before the doors closed he smiled and winked at Michael. Oddly at peace for the first time in weeks, Michael went into the penthouse and started watching TV.
Michael made sure he was in something presentable before leaving for the restaurant, and judging by the way Petrov looked him over as he was lead over to his table Petrov was pleased. Michael sat down next to him, smiled shyly, and reached out for the drink Petrov had already ordered for him. It was the same thing he had drank at the club. When he was about half way through the drink, the straw never leaving his lips, Petrov’s hand reached out sideways to take the glass from his hand and place it on the table.
“Slow down,” he said, leaning in and speaking softly to him. “We will be here all night.”
Petrov’s cousin was at the table, and Michael, after further examination of him, realized how ridiculous it was thinking that he had come to replace him. He looked stunningly like Petrov. His eyes were an icy blue, perhaps a shade darker, and his hair thick and nearly black. His square jaw was rugged, and his little lopsided smile was the same as his older cousin. Most of the conversation took place in Russian and so Michael had no idea what was being said. Eventually, someone would causally slip into English and Michael would attempt to follow that conversation, but just as quickly it turned back to Russian.
Michael was bored out of his mind until, a few hours into the dinner, and about three pina coladas later, Petrov draped his arm across his chair and gently threaded his hand through Michael’s hair. Michael kept his eyes on his plate, where he had been pushing some weird looking Russian food around for fifteen minutes, but a smile spread onto his lips. One of Petrov’s finger’s looped around a curl and he examined it a moment before looking back to the man he was speaking with. Just the simple feel of Petrov’s hand in his hair sent Michael’s soul soaring. He leaned into the caress, praying for just a little more when the hand left. But it had been enough to calm him.
When his glass was empty he pulled on Petrov’s shirt sleeve under the table. They had come up with a type of system as the night had gone on. In order not to interrupt Petrov, and since there was never a pause in his conversation, he would gently tug on his shirt sleeve under the table. He was able to break away from the conversation when acceptable, and Michael did not have to fear angering him.
“What is it?” Petrov asked when he turned to look at Michael.
“I need another of these,” Michael said pointing at the glass. “And I need to find the bathroom.”
“I’ll order another, and it is right down that hall, all the way to the front, and to the right,” Petrov told him and Michael stood. In Michael’s state that was probably not the best thing he could have done, and were it not for Petrov’s fast reflexes, he no doubt would have fallen to the ground. Michael was too intoxicated to really care if Petrov was angry for the embarrassment, but the Russian’s chuckling calmed him none the less.
“Will you be able to walk?” Petrov asked Michael as he steadied him.
“Of course,” Michael said and tried to walk to the bathroom. When Petrov saw him begin walking in the completely opposite direction as he had instructed him he smiled and stood. Politely excusing himself he grabbed Michael and corrected his direction.
“I was going the long way,” Michael said as Petrov walked beside him.
“I simply can’t bear to have you gone so long,” Petrov teased.
“You were gone over a month and called me twice. A few extra minutes won’t make a difference,” Michael said, stumbling over his feet. Petrov took hold of his arm and kept him steady. He ignored Michael’s comment, angry that the boy would question his actions at all, but said nothing. Petrov waited a respectful distance from Michael as he used the urinal and moved to wash his hands. Looking around it was clear that they were the only two in the bathroom and he approached the boy at the sink. When Michael turned to get paper towels for his hands Petrov slowly nudged him into the wall. Michael’s wide, green eyes looked up at him. He had that look, a look that was difficult to find, at said he would not anything Petrov asked of him, if only it meant pleasing him.
Petrov looked around, fighting his urge to take Michael into a stall and fuck him then and there. Michael wouldn’t fight, no one would ever know, and he would have some relief. He ended up taking Michael out of the bathroom without taking pleasure from him though. The boy was one of the first real innocents he had come across. He was not involved with the mafia of his own doing, but because of the actions of others. That did little to make him feel guilty about taking him as a lover but he felt the boy deserved better than to be fucked in a public bathroom. The thought did not sit well with him.
He took Michael back to the table and, despite knowing the boy was at his limit, ordered him another drink. The little smile on Michael’s lips seemed worth it. It was only midnight when Michael fell asleep against his arm, and around one thirty Petrov decided he would leave early. Michael woke up, a little more sober than he had been, and thankfully climbed into the back seat of the car with Petrov. Petrov was taking his phone from his pocket when Michael scooted over closer to him, wrapping his arms around him in a hug and resting his head on Petrov’s chest. Petrov looked down at the mess of dark curls and watched Michael press his nose to his chest and breathe in deeply. The arms around Petrov’s body tightened and Petrov could hardly help but smile.
“I don’t like being alone,” Michael mumbled. “I’ve been alone my entire life. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“Be a good boy and you’ll never have to,” Petrov told him.
“Did you sleep with anyone in Miami?” Michael whispered. Petrov brought his own arms up to hold Michael.
“No, Mishka,” Petrov said. “I promise.”
“I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight,” Petrov said and Michael blushed. “I have a whole month to make up for, don’t I?”
Michael nodded and turned his mouth up toward Petrov. His lips were quickly seized and Petrov did not even have to work to part his lips. Petrov’s tongue dipped into the warm, soft cavern before pulling back.
“Hmm, Pineapple and rum,” he smiled. The car parked at the penthouse and Michael leaned on Petrov the entire way upstairs. Petrov pulled Michael against him as they entered the elevator, bringing their mouths together, and grabbed Michael’s tight ass with his hands. Michael moaned into Petrov’s mouth, wrapping his arms around the Russian’s neck firmly.
“Someone became much more affectionate,” Petrov mused. “I should leave the state and pump you full of liquor more often.”
He pulled Michael into the penthouse, and brought him immediately to the bedroom.
“Do you know how much ass I could have gotten down there?” Petrov asked as he tossed Michael down on the bed and began to remove his own clothing. “And all I could fucking think about was yours.”
Michael seemed to glow after the comment. He kicked off his shoes and undressed as quickly as he could. Petrov came to lie down on top of him on the bed, running his hand down the creamy smooth skin of Michael’s chest and stomach.
“I know I said you only bought your scum bag adoptive father more time,” Petrov breathed as a finger traced one of Michael’s nipples. “But I’d gladly throw half a million away if it meant fucking you all night long.”
Petrov grabbed some lube from the drawer and flipped him over. Michael got onto his hands and knees, lowered his face down to the bed and kept his ass up in the air. Petrov admired the sight as he prepared the boy, and when he slid into his tight hole, it took everything in him to cum instantly. His thrusts started out slow and even, but as Michael’s little mewls increased, so did Petrov’s speed. Michael moaned into he bed, and with each breathy sound, Petrov moved his hips harder, his arousal growing exponentially. As he felt himself nearing his climax he grabbed onto the back of Michael’s hair, fisting his hair and roughly yanking his head back.
“You just unravel,” Petrov breathed into Michael’s ear. “You act all sweet, but the moment my cock is rammed up your ass you turn into a wanton little slut, don’t you?”
Michael nodded and shuddered as Petrov’s tongue snaked around the shell of his ear. His teeth nibbled on his earlobe and Michael’s entire body tensed up.
“The noises you make… If I hadn’t felt how tight your little asshole had been I might not have believed you were a virgin,” Petrov breathed. “That’s how fucking good you are.”
Michael came hard, a violent shudder rocking through his lean body and a cry leaving his throat. The sound was ecstasy to Petrov but he kept himself from orgasm, hoping to draw out this feeling as long as he could. Michael’s body trembled around him, his tight ass clenching and unclenching, sending shock waves of pleasure ripping through his body. When he did come he spilled himself deep inside of Michael. Slowly he pulled his cock from Michael’s bottom, watching as his cum came dribbling out after him. He plopped down on the bed next to Michael.
“You will tell me why you were crying now,” Petrov said as he looked up at the ceiling.
“I don’t remember,” Michael replied.
“I guess you are like all the others,” Petrov mused. “I never took you for a liar.”
“I’m not,” he said forcefully.
“Then answer the question,” he snapped.
“I thought you had brought him to replace me,” Michael mumbled. He got up and slid under the covers, hiding his body from Petrov’s eyes.
“Yes,” Michael replied. “Or that you would just add him.”
“Oh, yes. I plan on starting a little harem of young men,” Petrov said sarcastically. “Because I can’t walk outside and fuck whoever I want as it is.”
“Adrik almost raped Lillian,” Michael blurted out and Petrov sat up to look down at Michael.
“I find that very hard to believe,” Petrov said, his voice cold and icy. He stood to get into his sleeping clothing, angry with Michael. He did not understand why the boy would make up such a vicious lie about someone Petrov considered a brother. He found himself disliking Michael as he changed.
“She hit him and then he got off of her. They were both drunk,” Michael told him, oblivious to the distrust Petrov was feeling.
“Stop lying, Michael,” Petrov said firmly as he placed sat back down on the bed. His back was to Michael as he checked his alarm clock.
“I’m not lying!” Michael whined. “I was listening from the door. She kept telling him to stop and he wouldn’t so –”
“Shut your mouth!” Petrov shouted and Michael fell quiet. “That is a disgusting lie.”
“No, it’s not! He didn’t end up doing it but –”
“Get out,” Petrov snapped. “Get up, get dressed, and sleep on the couch.”
“No,” Michael said, his lower lip trembling. Petrov just got back. He wanted so badly to fall asleep in his arms. When he refused to move Petrov yanked the covers off of him, threw a pair of jeans at him and shoved him from the bedroom. Biting back tears Michael pulled on his jeans and curled up to sleep on the couch.
Chapter 16: Chapter Sixteen
Petrov could feel Michael looking at him as he stepped out of his bedroom and left the penthouse. He was angry with Michael, mainly due to the fact that he felt the image of Michael he had built up in his head had been ruined after last night. Why the boy felt the need to make up such a disturbing lie upset him greatly. Had he claimed he saw Ivan or Igor try to force themselves on one of their many girlfriends he might have believed him, but it was inconceivable that Adrik would do such a thing. Petrov knew Michael was a troubled boy, but he did not think he was a liar. He now seemed to be just one of the other boys that enjoyed spreading lies to enjoy drama. He could not believe that Adrik could possibly be guilty of what Michael had accused him.
He left without a word to Michael, and did not as much as glance at him as he left the apartment. He went straight to the tracks, found Yakov and Igor already there. He paid little attention to the races as he waited for Adrik to show up. His horses all won, and while Yakov celebrated Petrov merely jotted down which jockeys did what they were supposed to do and who would be receiving a bonus or not. When Adrik did enter their suite Petrov called him over and ordered Yakov and Igor out of the room.
“How did Michael behave?” Petrov asked as he made a note of a jockey who failed to throw a race he had been told to.
“Very well,” Adrik answered.
“He met Lillian?” Petrov asked.
“Yes, he went to dinner and a movie with us,” Adrik replied and then added with a laugh, “She insisted. I told the little shit not to accept the invitation but he did anyway.”
“I think I might kill him,” Petrov said and Adrik’s head shot over to look at Petrov.
“Does the prospect bother you, Adrian?”
“Slightly,” he admitted. “The kid hasn’t done anything wrong, and I have to admit I feel uncomfortable about killing him when it was not his fault at getting involved. He was kind of thrown into it.”
“I’m getting too attached,” Petrov admitted as he moved over to the table and checked the books for today’s races.
“You know, Iosef, it’s not like you can never become attached. He’s a nice kid,” Adrik reasoned.
“Boy’s damaged,” Petrov said and looked up to make eye contact with Adrik. He tapped his temple. “Touched.”
“He has some issues,” Adrik agreed reluctantly and came to stand across from Petrov.
“I’d really rather not kill him,” Petrov mused. “I have a soft spot for him and I don’t like it.”
“Something had to have brought on this sudden desire to be rid of him,” Adrik observed.
“We had a lovely night last night,” Petrov said. “And then he just started lying. It was pathological almost, completely unprovoked. I found it incredibly disturbing.”
“What did he say?” Adrik asked. Petrov shook his head and flipped threw a few paged of the book.
“He said you tried to rape Lillian,” Petrov said dismissively. “It was so out of character. The boy I missed in Miami would not have said something so blatantly untrue.”
“He said that?” Adrik asked emotionlessly.
“Said he heard her saying no and you didn’t stop until she hit you,” Petrov told him. He leaned down and circled a name with red pen. “I don’t know. I liked the boy. It’s upsetting. I still don’t know what to do with him.”
“Iosef you can’t kill him,” Adrik said. “Not for that.”
“I told you I do not want too,” Petrov said and slumped on the chair. “But can I really trust him to cut him loose?”
“Iosef, he wasn’t lying,” Adrik said, his eyes on the ground. “I did not try to rape her, but she did say stop and it took a little prompting. A nice kick the groin that is.”
Petrov stared at Adrik a moment, and then just shook his head. He sat down on a chair and thought a moment.
“After what happened to Dasha? Raisa?” Petrov asked.
“I was just drunk. I didn’t hear her,” Adrik said. “But, if that is the source of this new contention, then please, it is true.”
Petrov leaned back in the chair.
“That is very, very disappointing,” Petrov said, playing with the hold ring he had on his right ring finger. “After what you saw to attack a defenseless girl –”
“I did not attack her. Don’t you dare compare this to that,” Adrik snapped, his eyes burning. Petrov gave a sour smile.
“Rape is rape my friend,” Petrov responded.
“Well I didn’t do it did I?”
“No,” Petrov said and pulled out his phone. “No.”
Petrov brought the phone to his ear and spoke curtly.
“Go to the penthouse and bring the boy to the tracks. Call Yakov when you arrive,” he said and quickly hung up. He dialed again with a sigh. “Hello, my Mischa. No, I’m not angry with you. A car will be there to get you in a few minutes to bring you to me. Yes, really. Mischa, stop crying. Shh, poor boy. I’m not angry. I shall see you soon. Good bye.”
He hung up the phone.
“Well that takes care of that,” Petrov said and went back to the books.
“You are angry with me,” Adrik observed and went to the window. They were raking the tracks, preparing for the next race.
“I am disappointed,” Petrov said. “I am surprised she has stayed with you.”
“Me too,” Adrik replied. “She won’t be alone with me anymore.”
“Can you blame her?” Petrov asked. Adrik said nothing and turned back to the tracks. He did not regret telling Petrov the truth, but he was upset with the whole situation. He was ashamed with himself for his actions, but thankful that he could spare Michael. He was touched by Petrov’s unwavering belief in his innocence, but that made his shame go even deeper. That Petrov had been so sure of Adrik’s inability to harm a woman that he was willing to believe that Michael, sweet, innocent Michael, would make up such a vicious lie…
It was so out of character that he was willing to completely discard the boy because of it. Adrik rubbed his forehead as he waited for the next race. Flashes of Dasha and Raisa ran through his head as he thought. He had not heard their names in so long. Yakov refused to speak of it. When they were still boys, Adrik tried to speak to Yakov about it, but he had been in too much pain to speak. Eventually, Adrik gave up. He was angry with Petrov for bringing them up, but he could not bring himself to voice his concerns. When Michael was brought in by Yakov the time had passed.
Michael’s face was red and streaked with tears as he walked toward Petrov. He wrung his hands in front of him, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. Petrov stood as he approached, giving him a small smile and shushing him when he tried to speak.
“No more crying,” Petrov said. He felt that strange tug in his chest as he looked down at the big green eyes staring back at him. Somewhere in the back of his head he recognized he would not have been able to kill the boy.
“I swear I wasn’t lying,” Michael said glancing over at Adrik. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t drank so much, but really I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“I spoke to Adrik,” Petrov said, wiping Michael’s tears away. “Would you like a drink?”
Michael shook his head. Petrov laughed and ran a hand through Michael’s hair. He was having trouble keeping his hands to himself.
“I mean a soda,” Petrov asked and Michael nodded. Petrov walked over to the fridge in the attached kitchen and was removing a soda when he felt arms wrapping around his middle. Petrov smiled and opened the soda, before turning around to see Michael.
“Is Adrik angry with me?” Michael asked.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Petrov said. “It was his own doing. You must understand there is a history there. I would not have disbelieved you so fervently had there not been.”
“I understand,” Michael told him. “But I swear I wouldn’t lie, especially not to you.”
“Have you ever been to the races?” Petrov asked and walked back out to the main conference room. He looked outside the large glass window. They were almost done preparing the tracks for the new races. Satisfied he went to sit at the couched, pulling his briefcase from the floor, and laying it on the coffee table. Michael sat next to him and watched as Petrov put in the code. He actually held his breath as the briefcase was about to be opened. When it was Michael felt a little deflated. All that was inside was a large stack of papers.
“What were you expecting, Mischa, a briefcase full of hundred dollar bills?” he asked. “This isn’t a movie, Mischa. We don’t carry around suitcases filled with cash and make dark alleyway hand offs. Adrik can you go down to the floor and find Joey. Have him send up any last minute bets.”
Adrik left the room silently, and Michael just watched Petrov. He opened the lap top that had been resting on the table and pulled up what looked like excel sheets, but more elaborate. Petro started to speak again in English, glanced at Michael, and then switched to Russian. Adrik returned with a small black book and handed it to Petrov. He glanced at the book, and Michael watched him visibly tense. He stood slowly, his eyes still on the book and approached Adrik. When Adrik’s eyes landed on ‘Franklin, Peter’, he looked over to Michael and then to Petrov.
Michael only knew that the two Russians had glanced toward him and he waited nervously. When Petrov came back to sit down Michael could not find the courage to ask what had happened. He tried to see what Petrov typed into his computer, but he quickly realized the computer he was using had a Cyrillic keyboard. He closed the keyboard and stood when Adrik called to him and he stood at the glass window to watch the race. Michael leaned over at the little book that Petrov had left open. Circled in bright red ink was the name ‘Franklin, Peter’. He immediately felt light headed and nauseous and he could not take his eyes away from the book. The book was shut promptly and he looked up to Petrov’s icy blue eyes.
“We will be having a chat later about your curiosity and your future here,” Petrov said firmly and brought the book back over to the glass. Michael timidly walked over to the glass to watch the horses run.
“Come on, Micky, pull through,” he heard Petrov murmur. Michael did not think he ever saw Petrov nervous.
“Go, go, go!” Adrik called and Michael looked over at the Russians.
“Who do we want to win?” Michael asked but he was ignored.
“There he goes! There he goes!” Petrov yelled. Adrik congratulated Petrov. Petrov’s smile faltered a bit and then looked to Adrik.
“Did my father bet on that race?” Michael asked.
“He’s not your father, Mischa,” was Petrov’s reply.
“Did he bet?” Michael insisted. Petrov remained silent, crossing out names slowly in red pen. He hesitated over Franklins and then moved on.
“Please don’t kill him,” Michael asked. Adrik caught Petrov’s look and took Michael by the arm.
“Yakov, can you go take Michael to get something to eat?” Adrik asked and Yakov got off the couch he was seated on. Michael went with him reluctantly, once again asking that his father would not be hurt as he left.
“You left it open on the table?” Adrik asked once Michael was out of the room. Petrov frowned. He had never had to be very careful before, because none of his past lovers were ever present when he was conducting business.
“Killing him would upset him greatly,” Adrik finally added.
“A few days after bringing Michael into our home I was contacted by Konstantin. He was complaining about a Mr. Peter Franklin who had promised him a boy for the low price of fifty thousand dollars. He was angry because when he went to collect the boy, the boy had already been sold. I went to a meeting with Konstantin to find out what should be done. Imagine my surprise when this picture was handed to me,” Petrov said reaching into his jacket. He removed a picture of a much young Michael. It was the picture that would have been found when opening Michael’s very thick DCYF folder.
“I suppose we discovered why Michael was adopted at seventeen,” Adrik said looking at the picture. What a miserable, lonely looking little boy.
“Man deserves to die,” Petrov said.
“For cheating you or for what he planned to do to Michael?” Adrik asked. Petrov hesitated a moment.
“Boy only wants to be loved,” Petrov said softly. He pressed the tip of the pen to his name a moment, before drawing a thick, red box around his name. He closed it and handed it to Adrik.
Chapter 17: Chapter Seventeen
“I want you to send out Igor and Vasili to collect from Manhattan. Tell them to hit the Upper East Side first. Alexander and Pavel will hit Queens and Brooklyn. Send Dmitriy to the Bronx. I want them to be subtle, especially in Queens. I don’t want the Italian’s to know how much we are collecting,” Petrov told Adrik as they walked out to the car. Michael was leaning against the Porsche talking to Yakov as they walked up.
“Mischa, get in the car. The passenger seat,” Petrov told him and he obeyed. Petrov looked to Adrik, who gave him a small curt nod before getting into the car.
“Come to lunch with me, Mischa?” he asked as he started the engine.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Is my –”
“Don’t say it,” Petrov said curtly. He did not want to hear about Michael’s so called father. He felt the picture of the fifteen year old Michael in his coat pocket as he tried to keep his anger in check. Not only was Petrov angry that Michael might have found himself in a whore house, but that Franklin had also planned on selling him to one of his own men on the pretense he was three years younger than he really was, and on top of that, that Konstantin, the man in charge of the brothels, would even consider accepting a child whore. Were Yakov or Adrik to find out he was pimping out children there would be hell to pay.
“Who are we going to eat with?” Michael asked.
“No one,” Petrov answered. “Just you and me.”
The excitement brought a smile to Petrov’s face.
“Any place you would like to go?” he asked, shifting the Porsche into high gear.
“No, I had never been to a restaurant until I met you,” Michael told him. “I wouldn’t know where to go.”
“How long were you been in foster care?”
“Eight years,” Michael said simply and Petrov did not push the conversation any.
“Today was one of the big race days so I don’t have much more to do,” Petrov told him. He reached out and grabbed Michael’s hand, squeezing it gently. “So you are stuck with me for the day.”
He felt Michael’s hand curl around his and squeeze hard.
“Are you still mad at me?” Michael asked.
“No, I should apologize,” Petrov said. “There is a long history between myself, Adrik and Yakov, and those two did not live a comfortable life in Russia. They witnessed things, and lived through things, and have consequently said things to me that I could not believe that Adrik would do such a thing. The only explanation had to be that you were lying.”
“Can I ask what happened?” Michael asked.
“Good job,” Petrov said. “Asking to ask the question. Once you stop asking questions all together you will be perfect.”
He brushed a hand through Michael’s hair as he said it.
“…So can I?” Michael asked and Petrov laughed.
“Yakov and Adrik are twins. They had two sisters, Dasha and Raisa. They grew up on the boarder of Chechnya. In order to avoid a long history lesson on the political history of the region I will simply say that during some rather intense times of fighting, Dasha and Raisa were found by some soldiers. Adrik and Yakov were just boys when it happened, they witnessed the entire thing.”
“Were they OK?” Michael asked. Petrov did not need to say what had occurred with the strangers for Michael to figure it out.
“Dasha died in the attack. Her head was slammed off of a brick wall. Raisa killed herself a few days later,” Petrov told him.
“Oh my God,” Michael breathed. “That’s horrible.”
“Do you see why it never crossed my mind that he would be capable of rape?” Petrov said. “I know what happened now, but the way you said it last night made it sound like an attack.”
“When I get drunk can you just duck tape my mouth shut, please?” Michael asked.
“That could be fun,” Petrov replied. They pulled up to a very small restaurant and Petrov parked in the back. “I come here when I wish to lay low.”
Michael nodded but he did not think it was possible for Iosef Petrov to lay low. He was far too good looking and mostly everyone had seen his face on the local news. The restaurant was called Benny’s and was very quaint on the inside. They were brought to a comfortable booth for two in the back and handed their menus. The host that seated them could not complement Petrov enough, and told him nearly four times how happy they were that he deemed their restaurant worthy of his presence. The entire thing was rather repulsive to Michael, but the small smile on Petrov’s face told him the Russian liked such praise.
“You server will be Kelly this afternoon and she will be with you shortly,” he said, smiled again at Petrov, actually gave a small little bow and walked away.
“The younger the servers the more they prostrate themselves,” Petrov told Michael. “I assume you can order yourself this time?”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “I can actually read the menu, and its real food.”
“The chefs at my restaurants are straight from Russia. They make the finest Russian cuisine a person could ask for outside of Russia itself,” Petrov said defensively, glancing down at his own menu.
“Well then Russian food is just not that good,” Michael said, eyeing the hamburger and fries on the menu.
“I will pretend I did not hear that,” Petrov said and Michael laughed.
“What did I eat the other night?”
“Pelmeni,” Petrov told him, glancing at him from over his menu. “My favorite dish.”
“You need to reevaluate your taste buds,” Michael said. He looked up with a smile, saw the serious look on Petrov’s face, and wiped the look from his face. For a moment Michael thought he had gone too far with his teasing and licked his bottom lip as he waited to be chastised. He was terrified Petrov would decide to end their little lunch date, but a smile eventually graced Petrov’s lips and Michael relaxed.
“Hello, my name is Kelly, I’ll be your server,” a young, pretty girl said as she came to stand at the table. She had a little notebook in her hands and a wide smile on her face. Michael smiled at her, and Petrov looked her over. She was clearly new based on how she was in no way nervous of Petrov and seemingly had no idea who he was. In fact, almost all of her attention was focused entirely on Michael.
“Can I start you two off with some drinks?”
“Can I have a coke please?” Michael asked, missing the bright smile she gave him.
“Sure thing,” she said scribbling it down and looked to Petrov, who was slightly irked at not being asked first. He had not been so ignored since he was twenty five and stepping off the plane at JFK.
“Just coffee, please,” Petrov said.
“Decaf or regular?”
“Regular,” Petrov said and the girl nodded.
“Be right back,” she said directly to Michael. Petrov watched after her.
“I have never been treated that way,” Petrov said. Michael glanced up from the menu, oblivious of anything strange until this point.
“What do you mean? She was nice,” Michael said.
“She was nice to you,” Petrov countered with a wave of his hand. “I was just… along for the ride. Now, Mischa, if you have any misconceived notions that you are unattractive, please, observe the way young Miss Kelly is interacting with you.”
Before Michael could respond Kelly returned with a soda and a pot of coffee. She placed the coffee pot down first, and then the mug and some cream and sugar before turning to Michael.
“And here’s the coke,” she said placed it in front of him. “You’ve both been having a good day I hope.”
Once again it was directed at Michael. Petrov only watched, an amused smile on his face, as he poured some sugar form it’s packet into his cup.
“Wonderful,” Michael responded. He blushed when he realized just how obviously flirtatious she was being. “Are you ready to order?”
“Um yeah… can I have the Caesar salad please,” Michael asked and Petrov raised his hand and shook his head.
“No, no, don’t write that down, Kelly,” Petrov said and Michael looked up. “Michael, get whatever you want, however much you want.”
“Are you sure?” Michael asked and Petrov only gave a small nod. Michael nodded and flipped the page.
“OK, can I get the turkey club super melt, mozzarella cheese sticks, French fries, and some onion rings for an appetizer?”
Petrov smiled at Michael softly.
“Wow, certainly,” Kelly said with a giggle. “Big appetite.”
Michael blushed and looked toward Petrov, who looked pleased with the entire situation.
“And you Sir?” she asked. Petrov glanced at her a moment. He was called sir by many people, but when she said it it sounded almost disrespectful, like the under lying connotation was, ‘old’.
“Just a cheeseburger, thank you,” Petrov said and handed her his menu.
“I’ll be right out with those Onion Rings,” Kelly said and placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder before leaving.
“Mischa, how old do you think I am?” he asked and Michael looked up at him.
“There is no possible way I can answer that question correctly,” Michael said.
“I’m just curious,” Petrov pressed.
Petrov only nodded.
“If she were a man I’d have shot her by now,” Petrov mused leaning back. Michael looked up with wide eyes. “Can I not joke?”
“That’s not a funny joke,” Michael mumbled.
“I thought it was funny,” Petrov said. “Is it so improbable to her that we are out on a date? It’s terribly rude to flirt so openly with another man’s… whatever you are.”
Michael lowered his eyes a moment before shrugging.
“Well I mean –”
“Here you go,” Kelly said as she placed the onion rings on the table. “I brought two plates for you both.”
She placed the plates down in front of Michael and Petrov and waited as Michael reached out and grabbed one of the onion rings.
“Good?” she asked and Michael nodded, giving her a small smile.
“Very good,” Michael told her.
“You just let me know if you need anything else, alright?” she asked.
“Now it’s just annoying,” Petrov said eating an onion ring. Michael grabbed the ketchup and squeezed a mound onto his plate.
“She’s nice, that’s all,” Michael said dismissively.
“Mischa, why aren’t you in school?” Petrov asked.
“I stopped going when I turned sixteen,” Michael told him. Petrov could see he was rather cagey about the subject and so proceeded slowly.
“Why?” Petrov asked sipping at his coffee.
“I got beaten up a lot,” Michael answered. “Gym was horrifying. I went to one of those schools where you had to shower. One time, Freddy Peterson tied me up with duck tape and left me in the shower naked. He had turned the water on as cold as it could go.”
Michael recounted the story without much emotion, as if it was just another day in his short miserable life. Petrov would have felt better had the recollection brought tears to the boy’s eyes, but he spoke so matter of factly, it upset the Russian.
“I was in there for two periods before a senior found me and untied me,” Michael said. “Ended up coming down with pneumonia.”
“That’s horrible,” Petrov mused. Michael just shrugged, chowing down on his appetizer.
“That’s life,” Michael replied with a cynicism that surprised Petrov. “Big people succeed, little people get eaten.”
“You never had a chance,” Petrov told him.
“I did,” Michael disagreed. “I had a chance when I was little.”
Here Petrov saw the emotion he expected from Michael. His eyes glossed over slightly and his shoulders slumped. There was a vast change in his body language. Michael never got the chance to speak because Kelly returned with their lunches.
“Here you are,” she said. A pile of food seemed to be piled up in front of Michael and he could not help the smile that came to his lips. He felt like a little kid at Christmas.
“I’ll be really impressed if you finish all this,” Kelly told Michael.
“Me too,” Michael laughed.
“It reminds me of that scene from that movie where the guy goes to the restaurant and orders all that food. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“No, who was in it?” Michael asked. Petrov almost shook his head. He felt like telling Michael there was no movie, and the girl was trying to start conversation, but remained silent.
“Oh, I can’t remember,” she shrugged. “Well you two just call if you need anything else.”
“My God,” Petrov said as she left. “Excuse me while I go vomit.”
“Stop it,” Michael said. “You’re being mean.”
“It’s her own fault,” Petrov said picking up his burger. Michael could not help but stare at him as he took a bite. When Petrov looked up he paused.
“What?” he asked. Michael shrugged.
“You look so normal right now,” Michael told him. His voice was soft as he spoke.
“Yes, perhaps that is why that damned girl hasn’t shown me any respect,” Petrov said and took another bite.
“She hasn’t disrespected you,” Michael said. Petrov jabbed his finger into the table repeatedly.
“I run this city, Mischa. I own this city,” He said. “Everywhere you look is a business I either own, or receive tribute from. I expect the respect owed to me.”
“She doesn’t know who you are,” Michael said.
“That’s the root of the problem,” Petrov said and Michael shook his head. He fell silent as he began to eat and it was Petrov’s turn to watch him. A small smile was settled on his lips and was amazed at how much Michael actually ended up finishing.
“We can bring the rest home,” Petrov told him. He nodded and pushed the plate away. He leaned back with a groan, holding his stomach and closing his eyes.
“Food baby,” he said and Petrov actually laughed. It was not a small chuckled of amusement, but an actual laugh. It lifted Michael’s spirits considerably.
“Looks to me like you guys are all finished here?” Kelly asked as she approached. “Can I get you two any dessert?”
Her eyes twinkled at Michael and she bit her bottom lip. Petrov leaned across the table and took Michael’s hand in his. He stroked his thumb over the back of his hand and smiled at him.
“What do you think baby, can you finish a dessert?”
The girl turned bright red, humiliation written clearly over her features. Michael took his hand away and looked at the girl.
“No, I’m fine thank you,” Michael said.
“He would love a box though, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Petrov asked.
“I’ll go get that right away,” she said, taking their empty plates and scurrying off.
“Now that was really mean,” Michael scolded.
“She ignored me all lunch. That’s bad service, and I believe she should have known this was a date,” Petrov said. Michael felt conflicted between elation that Petrov considered their lunch a real date, and concern for the girl. She could not have been any older than Michael herself, and was clearly humiliated.
“You’re only upset because she had no idea who you are,” Michael said and Petrov shrugged.
“Perhaps,” he said. As they left the restaurant Michael insisted on leaving Kelly a really good tip. Michael was satisfied when Petrov reached into his pocket and withdrew a fifty from his wallet, tossing it down on the table. As he walked out of the restaurant beside Petrov he desperately wanted to reach out and take his hand, but he held himself at bay. Even though Petrov had called this a date, they were not dating, and he thought it would be incredibly inappropriate.
Michael saw the detectives before Petrov did, but when they called out the Russian’s name, he barely reacted. He took his keys from his pocket, glanced over at the two men, and looked away with no change in his facial expressions.
“How was your day today, Petrov?” one of the men asked.
“Lovely, Detective Burnes, thank you,” he replied and unlocked the car.
“We didn’t see you at the tracks,” the other detective spoke. Michael tried to keep his nerves at bay but was failing miserably.
“I left after the noon race,” Petrov told them with a smile. “Edward, am I going to have to call your chief again and complain about this harassment. If I remember correctly you aren’t even on my case.”
Edward Burnes’ eye narrowed and Michael could see the hatred in his eyes as he looked at Petrov.
“You won’t be killing anymore cops on my watch,” he snapped.
“Edward, you partner overdosed on heroine, he was a dirty cop whoring in a known Italian drug den. The sooner you come to terms with this the better –”
“I know you were behind it, and call me Edward one more time…”
“Or what, Edward?” Petrov asked, a small, smug smile on his lips. “What are you going to do to me?”
“You made sure he got the bad batch and I’ll be damned if I’m not the person to put you away,” he snapped.
“Detective Moretti,” Petrov addressed the younger of the two detectives. “I think you should tighten the leash on your partner here.”
Edward made as is he was going to lash out at Petrov, hoping to draw some type of reaction, but failed. Michael was amazed at Petrov’s stoicism. He did not even flinch as Edward came within inches of his face.
“Until you can come up with any solid evidence, which is unlikely considering you lack the most basic of detective skills, I suggest you leave me alone,” Petrov replied. “Michael get in the car.”
“How old are you, kid?” Edward asked. Michael glanced at him and then toward Petrov, before getting into the car without a word. Petrov shot Edward a cold look, one that was so full of evil intent, that Moretti actually took a step backward. He said nothing else and silently got back into his car.
Michael said nothing as they drove back to the penthouse. Petrov was obviously lost in thought and did not wish to be disturbed. When they got into the elevator, Petrov took Michael’s hand in his and smiled gently.
“I sent everyone away from the penthouse,” Petrov told Michael. “So it’s just you and me tonight.”
Michael could not help the smile that spread over his lips. The smile only widened when Petrov leant down and placed his lips to Michael’s.
Chapter 18: Chapter Eighteen
Michael found himself growing tired as they entered the townhouse and while Petrov fixed himself a drink Michael lounged across the couch. He had gotten almost no sleep the night before and he found it beginning to catch up with him. Now that he knew that Petrov was not angry with him, that he was in no danger of losing the Russian’s affections, or his life, he was able to relax. Petrov returned to the living room and sat down on the couch by Michael’s waist.
“You should take your jacket off,” Michael said and reached out for Petrov’s jacket. When Petrov jerked away Michael flinched, thinking he had upset the Russian, and he waited for his scolding.
“Sorry, Mischa,” Petrov said and pulled off his jacket. He then reached for his lower back and pulled out a gun. “I didn’t want you to grab it.”
He placed it on the table and then moved his body so he was lying behind Michael. He lay on his side and Michael on his back, so their bodies met in a type of perpendicular manner. It made it easier for them to both speak and watch the TV and so Michael stayed this way. He played with Petrov’s tie more than he watched the TV and Petrov immediately felt as Michael’s eyes looked over his face. When the Russian looked down his blue eyes met with vivid greed and he smiled.
“Why are you still keeping me?” Michael asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Mishka,” Petrov said. “You must see your worth.”
“I have no worth,” Michael whispered.
“What happened to you? What could have possibly happened to make you feel this way?” Petrov asked. Michael fell silent and refused to answer. Petrov did not push him. He only stroked his face gently. “I keep you because I think you are beautiful and your disposition pleases me greatly.”
“You know what I think upsets me the most about this whole situation?” Michael’s voice was soft, hardly above a whisper, and filled with unspeakable pain.
“What’s that, Mischa?”
“When you do finally get rid of me no one will ever know,” Michael said. “There will be no one to know. I have no friends, no family, no one to care about me… do you know what that’s like, being completely alone?”
“No,” Petrov told him. The Russian had gotten to where he was today because of his own hard work and perseverance, but he had never been alone.
“People say they get lonely, but they don’t know what it’s like to really be alone. I can’t even explain it. To be known, wanted, and loved by no one. It’s… it’s…” Michael paused. He could not even put it into words. There was a severe aching in his chest and tears pricked at his eyes.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Petrov told him softly. “You have me, Adrik, and Yakov. We are a brotherhood Mischa, and in a small way, more so than any other boy I have ever had, are a part of it.”
“Do you mean that?” Michael asked. Petrov nodded.
“Listen to me, obey me, and you will like it here. We will be your family now,” he said gently. He was about to lean down and kiss Michael, but the moment the word family left his lips the boy broke down into a mess of tears. Petrov sat up on the couch and collected Michael in his arms, holding him tightly and rubbing his back. The boy’s shoulders shook and he tried to bite back his sobs, but as he did he hiccupped violently, all the while pressed his face into Petrov’s chest.
“I’ve never had a family,” Michael hiccupped against Petrov.
“Tell me what happened to you,” Petrov said and added afterward, “please.”
“I wasn’t given up for adoption at birth,” Michael said wiping his nosed on his shoulder. “I might have been better off if I was. I was nine and my parents brought me to New York. I think we lived in New Jersey but I can’t remember much before foster care. We got off the subway in Queens and they sat me down on a bench by the vending machines. My mom had green eyes; it’s all I can remember about her looks. I remember looking at her while she told me they were going to go get me a surprise. ‘Be a good boy Mikey and stay right here’. I remember her saying that. I can’t remember my father at all but I loved my mother. She was so, so beautiful.”
Michael paused a moment, trying to keep himself from falling back into his tears.
“I waited there for about six hours. I got scared and started crying. A business man heard me while he was waiting for his train and turned around. Asked me where my parents were, told him I didn’t know. He walked me to security. No missing child report was ever filed. No one ever came looking for me.”
“I’m sorry, Mischa,” Petrov told him gently. He did not know what else to do.
“I really don’t want to be alone anymore,” Michael murmured.
“You’re not alone,” Petrov told him. He leaned down to kiss Michael, and was pleased with his reaction. The boys arms immediately moved to circle his neck, pulling him close and kissing him earnestly. Petrov slid his hands under his shirt, holding onto his waist and feeling his warm, soft skin under his hands. Michael’s tongue shyly met his and for the first time Michael’s tongue entered Petrov’s. The kiss was playful, their tongues fighting for dominance, but Petrov soon won.
“Let’s go into the bedroom,” Petrov whispered against his lips and Michael nodded. Petrov followed Michael in, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as he did. Michael removed his shirt and they came back together, Petrov kissing Michael deeply and slowly. His lips moved down to Michael’s neck, sucking and biting gently, earning a little moan from Michael.
“If anyone tried to hurt you, Mischa, I’d kill them myself,” Petrov told him. It was a dark declaration, one that might frighten others, but it was what Michael, in his vulnerability, needed to hear. He wrapped his arms around The Russian’s neck and kissed him again. He broke the kiss, timidly sliding down to his knees and unbuckling the Russian’s belt. Petrov waited, running his hands through Michael’s hair.
Petrov’s cock was magnificent and Michael admired it a moment before bringing his mouth to its base. It jutted out proudly, a large vein running up its base. The pink head was already weeping and Michael rubbed it over his mouth, glossing his lips with Petrov’s pre-cum. Petrov hummed softly as he saw it, a smile spreading over his lips.
“You’re getting good at this,” Petrov told him and Michael smiled, his green eyes looking up at Petrov. Michael wrapped his lips around the head of Petrov’s cock, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin. When he pulled his mouth back he lowered his head to Petrov’s balls, licking the length of his cock and taking him back into his mouth. Petrov’s hand gripped Michael’s hair, licking his lower lip as pleasure rocketing through his body.
“You’re a good little cock worshiper, aren’t you Mischa,” Petrov mused. Michael said nothing, but renewed his efforts, enthusiastically moving his mouth over Petrov’s erection. Petrov removed his dress shirt, and then tossed his undershirt to the side, leaving himself in just his trousers. Petrov saw Michael’s hands slip between his legs and Petrov took his cock away.
“I didn’t say you could touch yourself,” Petrov said and Michael brought his hands up to Petrov’s hips. “Good boy.”
Michael took Petrov’s cock into his mouth, bobbing his head up and down with his hands gripping the side of Petrov’s pants. Petrov pulled back as he felt himself closing in his climax.
“Lay down on your back on the bed,” Petrov told him. Petrov yanked Michael’s jeans and boxers off of him in one pull and threw them to the side. His hands stroked Michael’s thighs, moving up slowly to his hops and eventually trailed along his chest and shoulders. He kicked off his trousers and climbed onto the bed, straddling Michael’s shoulders, and stroking his throbbing cock hard. Michael tried to move his arms to touch him but they were trapped underneath Petrov’s muscular thighs. Petrov smirked and slapped his cock against Michael’s cheek. Saliva left over from the blow rub slicked his cheek and Petrov enjoyed the look of his glistening skin. He continued to stroke his cock and lowered his balls to Michael’s face, who immediately started to suck and lick at them.
He leaned forward, holding himself up with his hands, and put his cock back into Michael’s mouth. Michael struggled to take him in as deeply as he wished, but the feeling of his mouth and throat tightening around him was orgasmic.
“Fuck yes,” Petrov breathed as he dipped his hips toward Michael. “Oh, you’re such a good little cocksucker.”
He pulled out of Michael’s mouth and lay down on his back.
“Get the lube from the drawer,” Petrov said and Michael did so, his own cock straining painfully. “Prepare yourself.”
Michael lubed up his asshole, pressing his fingers inside of himself and biting down on his lips hard. He then massaged a fair amount onto Petrov’s cock, gently rubbing his palm over the sensitive head.
“Lower yourself down on me,” Petrov said and Michael obeyed. He settled himself on top of Petrov and slowly took the throbbing cock into his ass. He moaned as he slid down the hot length of his Russian lover, pressing his hands on Petrov’s strong chest for support.
“Come on, Mischa,” Petrov said slapping his ass. “Fuck me.”
Michael wanted so badly to grab onto his cock and stroke himself but he did not want to disappoint Petrov. Petrov watched as pleasure spread across Michael’s face, his pale cheeks flushed red and his curly hair damp with sweat. His lips were parted slightly and he was letting out small little pants that did nothing but turn Petrov on more. Having such a handsome, beautiful young man so willing and eager to please would stroke the ego of any man, and for a man like Iosef Petrov it put him in a near euphoric state.
Petrov reached out and finally took Michael’s cock in his hand. He stroked him hard and fast, working Michael up into a frenzy. Michael continued to move up and down on Petrov’s cock, circling his hips slightly as he did so. Once again Michael came before Petro, spilling his seed over Petrov’s lean abdomen.
“Where do you want my cum, Mischa? In your ass or all over that pretty face of yours?” Petrov asked when he felt himself growing close to his climax.
“Whichever will make you happiest,” Michael breathed. Petrov could have climaxed right then. Michael had to have been the most thoughtful lover he had ever had. Too many only cared about their own pleasure, and as a result that was all Petrov ever learned to care about, but Michael’s desire was truly to please Petrov. Petrov pulled Michael off of his cock and rolled him onto his back. Once against straddling him just above his shoulders he gave his cock a few good pumps, felt his balls tightened, and his seed exploded all over Michael’s face. Michael’s eyes closed, but his mouth opened.
Petrov could not remember coming so hard in his entire life and he shuddered as he came down from his eye. When Michael opened his eyes Petrov sighed. He felt a deep affection settle in his chest as he looked down at him. His open green eyes, clear, pale skin, and swollen pink lips, were so beautiful. And knowing that it was his cum that covered the boys face was intoxicating.
Gently he trailed his fingers down Michael’s cheek, collecting his cum, and placed it to Michael’s lips. Without a word Michael sucked his fingers into his mouth. Silently Petrov got off of Michael and took him by the hand. They entered the bathroom without speaking and Petrov turned on the shower. As they waited for the shower to warm up, Petrov gently wiped Michael’s face off, touching him with what could only be described as reverence.
The shower was also quiet, both seemingly pleased to merely be in the other’s presence. Petrov gently washed Michael’s back, rubbing his palms over his smooth skin, and kissing the back of his neck. His hands rubbed down Michael’s arms gently, and the boy leaned into his chest, turning his head to kiss him gently.
“Let’s go watch a movie,” Petrov said and Michael smiled.
“Lying in bed watching a movie that night, Michael could hardly wipe the smile off of his face.
Chapter 19: Chapter Nineteen
Michael was alone when he woke up and he lay still for a few moments looking up at the ceiling. After a few minutes he slid from bed, put on a clean pair of boxers and went into the bathroom to relieve himself. Bringing up his fingers he looked at the large bruise on his neck where Petrov had been giving him some extra attention before bed. He felt his face burn with embarrassment. What would the others think of that?
He went into the bedroom and put on a fresh pair of pants and a t-shirt. He fidgeted in front of the mirror, trying desperately to find a way to cover the large and painfully obvious hickey on his neck. He even went to the bathroom in search of makeup, although, had he found any as he hoped, that would have opened up a whole new can of questions.
Finally, after five or ten minutes he stopped, realizing how futile his efforts were. He made his way to the door, and the moment he stepped from the bedroom and into the main apartment he regretted it. He saw Adrik first, leaning against the far wall with crossed arms. He face was severe, a mixture of anger, and embarrassment. Yakov was on the couch, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. His head was hung in shame, but Michael could see his face was white and dark circles were around his eyes.
Iosef was staring at the TV and looked as if he were about to commit murder. Michael wasn't sure. Michael took a small step back, wanting to flee back to the safe haven of the bedroom. Adrik looked over at him and lowered his eyes back down to the floor. When he heard a news anchor begin speaking Michael stopped, his curiosity getting the better of him. Even though Petrov had not looked at him directly, he knew the Russian knew he was standing in the room. He thought that if Petrov really wanted him out of the room he would have said something.
"The body of Joey Vinceti, a twenty one year old college student, was found after washing up on the shore of the Hudson last night. Police have been quiet on the issue, declining to give any comment. What do you think Thomas? Another Mafia killing?"
"Well, I certainly think it is possible. We all know the Russians and Ital-"
Iosef raised his arm and turned the T.V off with a violent click of the remote. He continued to stare at the black TV and Yakov ran a hand through his hair.
"It was weighted down. I made sure of it." Yakov finally said and Iosef snapped at him in Russian glancing over at Michael.
"Go back to the room Michael." He said and Michael nodded, walking back slowly to the bedroom. When he was inside the room he sat down at the threshold, straining to hear. He could hear clearly, but Iosef, unlike Yakov, had the presence of mind to speak in Russian. Michael felt his hands tremble at the anger in Iosef's voice and the knowledge that they were responsible for the murder of a twenty one year old college student. He heard Adrik speak up but was quickly cut off by Iosef who was angrier than Michael had ever heard him. Even when Iosef had taken the belt to him he had been in more control than this.
The sound of a fist hitting a table, or wall made Michael jump and he pushed himself up to his feet and hurried to the bathroom and shut the door. He stood stock still, unsure of what to do. His heart was beating in his ears and he went to the sink to splash cold water on his face. He jumped violently when the door flung open. His eyes locked on Iosef's and he was grabbed by the arm and thrown out of the bathroom.
"Get out," Petrov said simply and shut the bathroom door behind him. Michael heard the water turn on and nervously he stepped from the bedroom and into the living room. He saw Adrik looking out the window, his arms crossed. Yakov looked like a beaten dog.
Looking to the side Michael saw a large dent in the wall. He swallowed hard and went to sit down next to Yakov, who was staring off into space. He went to sit on the couch, an awkward silence filling the air.
"I swear I weighted it down," Yakov said, looking down into his hands.
"Shut up." His brother snapped and Yakov fell silent again. Self-consciously Michael placed a hand on his neck, covering the large mark. Although it was only five minutes, the time it took for Iosef to come back out seemed to stretch endlessly. When he came out of the bedroom he wore the suit of a businessman, but the face of a murderer. The look in his eyes frightened Michael, shaking him to the core, and he lowered his eyes.
"Adrik, go and try to find out what happened. You,” he spoke with venom as his eyes fell on Yakov. "Get out of my sight."
Yakov stood stiffly and went for the door, keeping his eyes down. Adrik followed, glancing at Iosef as he went. When the door was closed and they were alone Iosef let out a breathy groan, swore in Russian, and sat down. His left hand held his right gingerly and Michael saw a grimace on his face. Walking over he sat down next to the Petrov, timidly reaching out and taking the Russian’s right hand into his. Michael’s eyes widened slightly, and Petrov’s features displayed the pain he was feeling.
The knuckles were already turning a deep purple and the considerable swelling was already noticeable. Michael got up from the couch and went to the kitchen, collecting ice in a small towel. When he rejoined Iosef on the couch he placed the Russian's injured hand in his lap and gently placed the ice over the knuckles. Iosef looked over at Michael, and despite the pain, felt affection for the boy who was looking down at the hand in his lap.
"They could be broken," Michael said softly.
"I do not think they are broken," Iosef replied. Michael picked up the ice and looked at the purple skin. "You are not going to ask what happened?"
Michael looked up at him with big eyes and shook his head.
"I don't want to know."
"Yes you do." Iosef said closing his eyes. "it is good you did not ask though."
"Yeah...so what happened?" he asked and Iosef laughed.
"Brat," he said and looked at his knuckles. "Fuck, that hurts."
"Maybe you should try not punching walls," Michael said and Iosef smiled a moment before a sour expression covered his face.
"Go to the cabinet by the fridge. There will be a green prescription bottle inside with no label. Bring it to me," he said and Michael got up from the couch and went into the cabinet. Inside were more pill bottles than Michael thought a even pharmacy held. When he found the one with no label he went back to Iosef.
"Open it for me," Petrov half asked, half ordered.
When Michael had the bottle open he handed it to Petrov. He spilled three pills out into the palm of his bruised hand. Tossing his head back he took them all and swallowed them dry.
"What are they?" Michael asked returning the bottle.
"Percocet," He told him. He thought a moment, staring off into space, before shaking his head. "I did not need this. I did not, FUCKING, need this. Not now.”
Petrov violently hit the side of the couch with his fist. For a fleeting moment Michael was going to tell him he was lucky that the couch was cushioned or his might have hurt his other hand as well, but decided instead to stay quiet. Iosef reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, scrolling through a long list of contacts. He punched the send button and held the phone to his ear. He spoke in Russian, but Michael heard Adrik’s name.
After hanging up Petrov removed the ice from his swollen hand and stood. He went back into the bedroom, leaving Michael alone on the couch.
“I’m going out,” He said when he exited the bedroom again, this time holding a briefcase in his hand.
“I can’t come?” Michael asked. He stood and walked toward Petrov, but Petrov held up his hand and shook his head.
“Not this time Mischa.” Iosef answered and went to open the front door. “I will be back…”
He trailed off the moment he opened the door. He stood face to face with two men, one with his hand raised, as if to knock.
“Can I help you?” Iosef asked, seemingly annoyed. The men both reached into their coat pockets, which caused Iosef’s back to straighten anxiously a moment, and pulled out badges. Iosef let a sour smile come across his face and he nodded. “Coming to my house now. Are you all that desperate?” He asked and Michael got up, moving closer to the door to hear.
“We have a warrant,” one of them said smugly and raised a white folded sheet of paper. The man rested it on Petrov’s shoulder, who ripped it from the cops hand and began to read. Michael was standing behind him at this point, reading the warrant over his shoulder.
“You have no basis for a warrant,” Petrov snapped.
“The judge thought we did,” one detective replied smugly and Petrov stepped off the side, letting the two men into his house. Michael looked at him with wide eyes, but Petrov only shook his head, telling him with no words to be calm. Michael did his best and walked back into the living room. His eyes immediately spotted the green prescription bottle sitting on the couch. Before the policemen turned their heads Michael was on the couch, sitting directly on top of the bottle. Petrov saw the action and nodded to himself. That was the only prescription in the house he did not have a script for.
“We want to ask you some questions, Petrov.” A blonde detective told him as the other man began opening drawers.
“Well, I’m afraid I don’t have the time,” Petrov replied coolly.
“The kid’s tongue was cut out,” The detective speaking to him said and Petrov blinked. “You know who we are talking about. The kid in the river. Cutting out rat’s tongues seems like a famous past time of yours.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Petrov said. “I’m a businessman.”
“Where were you three nights ago between seven and ten P.M?” The detective asked.
Petrov took a deep breath, clearly trying to hold his temper in.
“I was home.” Iosef said shortly. His eyes flickered to the other cop as he slammed a door shut. “I’d ask that you please respect my home.”
“Anyone who can back up that alibi?”
“I can,” Michael said after he heard Iosef hesitate. “I was with him the whole night.”
“Doing what?” The blonde detective smirked arrogantly. Michael felt anger build up in his chest on behalf of himself and Petrov. He could not explain it, he knew Iosef was behind it, he knew, even though Iosef was probably not the killer, he most certainly gave the order. But he still found himself nearly indignant that these detectives would dare accuse Petrov; the man who had taken him in, got him new clothes, took him out to nice restaurants and showed him affection. Petrov looked over at Michael, his eyebrows raised, clearly curious as to what Michael would say, but Michael’s eyes were glued on the smug detective.
“Having sex,” Michael replied flippantly and Petrov tried to keep from laughing at the shocked look on the brunette detective’s face. “See.”
Michael pointed to his neck, showing everyone the large hickey on his neck. Some might have been able to point out it was from the night before, but neither man wanted to examine it very closely. The detectives, clearly not expecting such an answer, were flustered a few moments and Petrov spoke again.
“Anything other questions, Gentlemen?”
“Yeah, what’s in the briefcase?”
“I am holding the briefcase, and so it is on my person, and therefore, not covered in the warrant,” Petrov replied smoothly. The detective bristled and moved away. In truth, all the evidence the detectives would need to put him away for his entire life was rested inside that briefcase, and Petrov made sure he did not set it down for a moment.
The detectives searched for a little over an hour, and since their warrant was restricted to drawers and anything in place sight, they could not look under cushions or for any secret safes, they found nothing. As they left, each giving Petrov a dark glare, Michael felt his anxiety level calm down some. He wiped his sweaty hands on his palms. Petrov looked around after they left, mumbling about how if anything was missing he would have them fired.
“You’re not mad are you?” Michael asked as he came back out of the back bedroom.
“Not at you,” Petrov said. “You gave me an alibi. And unless someone flips on me, which no one will, they can’t prove anything.”
He looked at his watch impatiently and walked to the door.
“Now, you stay here. I’ll be back later,” he said left the apartment. Michael went back to the living room and was looking through the DVD’s when his cell phone rang. He ran into the bedroom to get it, and answered it quickly, hoping not to upset Petrov further than he already was.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Mischa, don’t put the news on.” Petrov said over the phone. “OK?”
“Ok, but wh-“ The phone was discontented and Michael sighed. He put the phone into his pants pocket in case Petrov decided to call again and and started to look through the DVD’s again. He thought a moment and looked at the T.V. Grabbing onto the remote he turned the T.V on and settled on the couch.
“-now back to the breaking story of the day. Joseph Vinceti, a twenty one year old college student, was found in the Hudson River last night. The police have declined to make a comment so far but I think we all know who is behind this, right Mike.”
“Yes, Laura. The Russian Mafia and Italian Mafia have been very active the past couple months.”
Suddenly, a picture of Petrov and Anthony Comeletti, who Michael recognized from their meeting, came up and he listened to the news anchors theorize about the possible motives and killers. Everyone decided it was most likely a Russian killing, based on the heinous brutality of the crime. Italian’s like symbolic messages, Russian’s liked abject terror.
“The boys tongue was removed from his body, according to the medical examiners report, but a serrated blade. Both his arms and legs were broken, his knee caps had been shot and his throat was sliced ear to ear, reportedly with the same blade as that, that removed his tongue –”
He leaned back on the couch and he felt bile rise in his throat but he pushed it down and tried to clear his head. He shut off the TV, unable to hear anymore. A strong throbbing started behind his eyes and he felt his stomach churn. He screwed his eyes shut and the image of a young man, eyes wide and tongue missing, laying on the ground, water around his ankles and a bloody slice along his neck.
He spent most of the day staring blankly at the T.V, but not focusing on the shows he was watching, but rather imagining the murder of the young man, only four years older than him. It was only seven when he crawled into bed and sleep did not come easily. He tossed and turned and was about to give up and go back into the living room when he heard the door to the apartment open. He remained completely still as he heard Petrov walk inside the penthouse. He did not want the Russian to touch him. He did not want to cuddle and pretend that this man, this man who Michael had grown so attached to, was not a thief, a pimp, and a murderer.
Michael opened his eyes for a moment to look at the clock at his bed side. It was ten o’clock. When he heard the bedroom door open he closed his eyes again and tried not to react when the lights were flipped on. He remained completely still, as if he were sleeping and listened to Petrov move around quietly. He listened to the rustling of clothing as he changed into his night clothes.
“Mischa? Are you awake?” Petrov asked softly from the opposite side of the room. Michael said nothing, not wanting to talk to the Russian at the current moment. “Mischa?”
He Petrov flipped off the lights and crawled into bed with him. Michael felt warm arms wrap around him from behind and he was pulled against the hard, hot body of his lover. He tried his best not to shiver as he felt Iosef’s palm run gently over his shoulder and down his arm. Soft lips were pressed to the area behind his ear and Michael was overcome with the two conflicting urges to pull away from the murderer’s arms and press closer to him. He lay still as Iosef placed light touches and gentle kisses on his skin.
Michael didn’t know how it happened, but one moment he was lying in bed enjoying and dreading the loving touches of the man in bed with him, and the next minute he was standing on the shore of the Hudson looking down at a murdered boy. His eyes stared up at him blankly, his skin a sickly mix of blue and black. Petrov suddenly appeard, walking up from behind him and he looked down at the body lazily.
Michael looked up from the body to look at Petrov. The Russian looked back at him with a blank expression before smiling and shrugging. Michael looked back down and in the place of the young man from before, was Michael himself. His tongue cut out, hit throat sliced open and his skin white and decayed.
With a violent gasp, Michael sprang forward in bed. He stared into the darkness, breathing hard and jumped when he felt a hand on his back.
“Mischa?” Petrov asked. “Are you ok?”
Michael nodded, nearly falling out of bed.
“I’m fine. Be right back.” He said and made his way into the bathroom. He flipped on the lights and stared into the mirror. His skin was pasty and he was coated in sweat. He splashed cold water over his face and tried to calm his racing heart. He heard a soft knock on the door and his body stilled.
“Are you sure you’re ok?”
“I’m fine,” He replied, his voice shaky. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Michael heard Iosef make his way back to the bed. Petrov waited in bed a long time, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Michael to return to bed, but he fell asleep before he heard or felt Michael leave the bathroom.
When he woke up the next morning, he found Michael curled up, and sleeping in the bathtub.
Chapter 20: Chapter Twenty
Michael heard the bathroom door shut and his head popped up. His body immediately cried in protest, his muscle tight and sore from his night curled up in the bathtub. He found himself along, but he could here Petrov moving around outside the door. The separation from Petrov, even for a night, and even of his own doing, hurt and he longed to step outside and wrap his arms around the Russian. The vividness of his dream from the night before prevented him from doing this however, and he only groaned and rubbed his neck.
He made his way to the sink, and brushed his teeth before leaving the bathroom. Petrov was again nowhere to be found, and Michael took the time to dress and try to collect his thoughts. He had a horrible headache and his body still ached terribly.
When he walked into the living room he saw Iosef and Adrik bent over the kitchen table looking over a massive collection of papers sprawled out over the surface. Petrov looked up at him and Michael had trouble reading the expression on his face. He could tell the Russian was not angry, but neither was he particularly pleased, and Michael thought he saw disappointment flash in his eyes.
Michael went to the couch and flipped on the T.V. He didn’t even attempt to flip on a news story. Even the risk of seeing a picture of the boy in question, alive and well, and then knowing he was in the room with the people responsible for their deaths, would be too much for him. He flipped through the channels and settled on Law and Order. He allowed himself a small, bitter laugh when Michael realized the episode was about a Russian Mafia boss and human sex trafficking. Iosef looked over at him but said nothing and didn’t seem to realize what Michael was watching.
“Dmitriy Ivanovich,” Michael mumbled as the Russian came on screen. Petrov once again glanced at him, but said nothing.
Michael stared at the TV blankly as he got lost in his thoughts. He looked over at Petrov and watched as he pointed at different papers, his eyes completely concentrated on the documents in front of him. His tongue ran over his top lip and he picked up a single piece of paper in his slender fingers. He said something to Adrik, poking the paper repeatedly. He looked up a moment and he and Michael locked eyes. Michael quickly averted his eyes and looked back to the TV. Petrov watched him a moment longer before returning to his work.
Standing up, Michael went up to the table Iosef and Adrik were working at and bit his lip nervously. Petrov looked at him, waiting for Michael to speak. His face was open and approachable, a look Michael had never before seen on Petrov’s face. Despite this when Michael spoke it was difficult to keep the tremble out of his voice.
“Iosef. Can I go for a walk please?” he asked softly.
“A walk?” he asked and Michael nodded. “Where?”
“I don’t know. Around the block. I just –”
He let out a shaky breath and looked down at the table. “I just want to clear my head. I need to think things through. I can’t… I can’t do it here.”
His legs were shaking and so his whole body was moving back and forth. Petrov looked him over a moment before turning his head to Adrik. Adrik shrugged and raised his eyebrows and Iosef looked back to Michael.
“OK,” he said reluctantly and looked at his watch. “Be back by two. We are going back to house.”
Michael frowned a little at the new emphasis on his accent. His jaw ticked and Michael waited a few more seconds before heading for the door. He put his shoes on and was about to open the door to leave when Iosef stopped him.
“Bring my watch,” Petrov said, handing him his Rolex. “Two o’clock. Not a minute later.”
“Nice watch,” he muttered. The band and case was a beautiful gold with a tan face. Diamonds circled around the face and a roman numeral was located at the 12, 9, 6 and 3. He slipped it on his wrist. It was a little big, but Michael felt the warmth still on it from Iosef’s skin.
“You can have it if you wish,” Petrov and Michael looked up at him.
“I can’t take your watch, Iosef.” He laughed softly.
“But you like it no?” He asked and Michael nodded. “I will bring you out and buy you one.”
He grabbed Michael’s wrist, straightening the watch out.
“I’ll get you whatever you want,” he added and Michael bit his lip.
“I don’t need anything,” He said. Petrov reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“You can get yourself lunch if you wish,” He said pulling five twenty dollar bills from his wallet and handing them to Michael.
“Iosef, I don’t need a hundred bucks.” Michael said handing him back four bills.
“Just take it,” Iosef said pushing it back. He was trying to be as understanding and accommodating as he could be. He wanted Michael to know he wanted only the best for him.
“Iosef, it’s too much.” Michael said and Iosef paused. He took two bills and handed the rest to Michael.
“There, take sixty.” He said and Michael gave up. “Get something to eat, think things through.”
Petrov brought a palm up to Michael’s cheek. He brushed Michael’s hair out of his face and lowered his hand.
“Two o’clock. Do not speak to anyone,” Petrov warned and Michael nodded.
“OK,” Petrov repeated and looked at Michael. “Go on.”
Michael nodded headed out of the penthouse. He shoved the bills in his pocket and leaned against the elevator door as he descended and let out a deep breath. He was alone for the first time in months. He had been alone while Petrov was gone and Adrik had not been around babysitting, but he had never been free. He was either with one of the Russian’s or locked in the house or penthouse. Now he could think, walk where ever he wanted to walk, and not risk pissing off a Russian mobster.
Right now he was outside the reach of any Mafia members and he felt free again, like a weight was taken from his shoulders. When he stepped onto the street he breathed in the city air and smiled. He began to walk down the street, attempting to sort his feelings and thoughts out in his head, but failed miserably. How do you sort something like that through?
Petrov had shown him more affection than he had ever been shown before in his life. When he was with Petrov he felt loved, and cared for. He had a sense of belonging that he had never felt. His feelings for the Russian were growing every day and it terrified him. What kind of person loves someone who can kill so indiscriminately?
He was a murderer and a criminal and yet Michael couldn’t find it in himself to hate him. He tried to. He tried to muster up all the anger he could for Petrov but failed. Instead he saw Petrov smiling at him, stroking his cheek, kissing his forehead. Petrov had taken care of him. No one had ever done that before. Michael owed something to Petrov.
He even liked Adrik and Yakov. They were kind to him, respectful and friendly when it suited them. How can you hate people who have done nothing but treat you in such a way? Even when he thought about Petrov beating him with a belt he couldn’t get angry. It was his own damn fault after all.
He tried to convince himself that the only people who got killed by the Russian mafia were those who deserved. Those like his adoptive father, who gambling, and drank, and whored, and were willing to trade their child for a meal ticket. I mean, for the mafia to want you dead you had to have done something to bring their attention to you. Nothing honorable would draw their attention: unless, you were a judge, or a policeman trying to bring them down.
So that kid in the river probably was a drug dealer, or a gambler, or…or… but no one deserved to be murdered. Even his step father. Michael would be upset if Adrik, Yakov or Petrov were hurt or murdered. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wouldn’t care. Someone was mourning the loss of the college student right now, and causing anyone that sort of pain was wrong.
Michael groaned and kicked the ground as he was walking. He flipped his head to the side, getting the hair out form in front of his eyes. Looking down at Iosef’s watch he checked the time. Twelve thirty. He sighed. He walked passed a small pizza parlor and stepped inside. He pulled out one of the twenties and waited in line. He ordered a two large slices of cheese pizza and sat by himself at a small table in the corner of the shop and looked out the window.
He ate slowly and watched people walk by. He tried to imagine his life if he had never met Petrov. He didn’t know which he would prefer. To be a murderer’s lover or the step son to a man like his adoptive father. Petrov at least took care of him. Sometimes he would catch Petrov looking at him and there was affection in his eyes. Nothing overwhelming or awe inspiring, but it was there and Michael could see it now.
He left the pizza place with the beginnings of a head ache and walked around the corner. He brushed a hand through his hair and frowned. Four blocks down he found a small, cheap hair salon and walked inside. His hair was still a little long, and he thought Petrov might like it cut a bit shorter. Now that he no longer had a terrible fear of people seeing his ears, he thought it was time for another hair cut. He smiled at the hairdresser and he was seen immediately. He did his best to keep up conversation as he got his hair cut but his thoughts were elsewhere.
He felt much better leaving the salon. His hair was more manageable now, but still thick and curly the way Petrov liked it. He smiled softly as he walked and looked down at the sidewalk. He felt much better about himself, lighter and freer, but his confusion had not been resolved. Looking at his watch he sighed. One thirty. He began walking back to the penthouse, which at this point was more than a few blocks away.
He stopped by a coffee shop before heading back up to Iosef’s penthouse. It was 2:05 when he went in and Petrov looked up from the table. He ran his hand over his hair self-consciously and Iosef looked back down at the table.
“You’re late,” Petrov said in a gentle teasing voice and Michael put a coffee down in front of him.
“I got you a coffee,” Michael said and Petrov reached out for the coffee.
“Then you are forgiven,” He said and took a sip. The coffee was exactly how he liked it and Petrov remembered the way Michael had intently watched him make his coffee at Benny’s a few days ago.
“Where’s mine?” Adrik asked and Michael handed him another cup. He smiled softly, surprised at the gesture, but took the cup gladly. “I was kidding.”
“I know,” Michael said and gave Yakov his coffee.
“Thanks,” Yakov said.
“Thank Iosef, he bought it,” Michael said simply.
He was finally able to take his own coffee from the little cardboard tray and drink it. He took the cover of his own coffee off and put it on the table. He stirred his coffee with his finger, before sucking the coffee off. Petrov walked by him and glanced in the cup and swore.
“Jesus Christ, Mischa,” He said and Michael looked at him.
“What I do?” He asked and Iosef laughed.
“Want some coffee for that cream?” He asked looking into the cup.
“I like cream,” Michael said and ignored Petrov’s chuckle at the double meaning.
“I know,” he said and Adrik shook his head, looking back at the papers. He was clearly not amused.
“I didn’t need to hear that,” Yakov mumbled and sipped his coffee. Petrov reached up and ruffled Michael’s hair.
“I thought it was time for a haircut,” Michael said and Petrov smiled.
“I like it,” He said and Michael smiled back, his face turning pink. “All right. Back to the house for a few days.” Iosef said, clapping his hands together. “Adrik clean this up. Bring it to the house. Yakov, try not to tear down the entire brotherhood with your mistakes. Let’s go Mischa.”
Michael packed a bag of clothes and made his way to the door. Petrov drove, and Michael had to work hard to keep from staring at him. He truly was one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. It was a shame he was also an evil man.
“Iosef…how long were you in prison?” he bit the inside of his cheek hard, not sure if the question crossed a line or not but Petrov didn’t seem angry. He was silent for a moment before answering.
“About five years,” he finally told him. “I was your age when I went in.”
“You were seventeen?” Michael asked and Iosef nodded. “Why?”
“Treason.” Iosef said and smiled with a shrug. “I don’t know exactly how I betrayed my country. But they said I did.”
“Was it the KGB?” Michael asked turning to face him, getting excited by the story. Petrov shook his head. The story clearly did not amuse him as much as it amused Michael.
“Yes, this was in ’86, I was your age when I was arrested, and the Soviet Union had yet to fall.”
“How’d you get out?”
“Long story,” he said. “Very long story. Ivan was a guard and helped me get to America. Remember when you asked me how I made my money? I arrived in America when I was twenty three with Adrik, Yakov and Ivan. Ivan was KGB, as you know, he had more KGB friends. When the Soviet Union fell many KGB were fired. There was no place for them now due to the spending cuts. Many were displaced; I invited them to work for me, in America. They know how to frighten people into giving you money and loans. It all fell into place.”
“You were only twenty three?” Michael asked and Petrov nodded.
“I didn’t get very successful until I was twenty eight, twenty nine. I am young still, to be such a successful mob boss. I’m a prodigy.” He smiled proudly.
“Your modesty is very endearing.” Michael teased and Petrov chuckled. “Did you grow up in Moscow?”
“I was born in Tbilisi, which is in Georgia, not Russia, but I was raised in St. Petersburg, and then was imprisoned in Moscow.”
“So… you’re Georgian…not Russian?”
“No…no I am Russian. I was just born in Georgia,” he told him sternly.
“What about you? What is your heritage?” Iosef asked and Michael shrugged.
“I don’t know.” Michael said simply and Petrov’s head snapped over toward Michael. He grimaced when he saw the look on Michael’s face.
“That was insensitive of me.”
“It’s fine.” Michael said with a sideways smile. “I know they were of European descent…my parents. Don’t know anything beyond that.”
“You look Russian.” Petrov said after a pause and smiled. “You have strong Russian features. Russian or Finnish.”
Michael smiled and nodded.
“It is settled then. You’re Russian,” Petrov looked over and winked at Michael who smiled even wider.
“I think I have a little Lithuanian in me too, though,” Michael said wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“Oh, of course,” Petrov said. “Latvian, too.”
Michael laughed as they pulled into the driveway. They went inside and Michael stopped Petrov pulling him into a soft kiss. He pressed his body against Petrov’s and wrapped his arms around the Russian’s neck.
“I have some work to do. I will be out of my office in a few hours,” Petrov said softly and Michael nodded. He brought up a finger and pointed to Michael. “No news.”
Michael nodded suddenly reminded of the poor college student.
Adrik arrived a few hours later and the vodka came out. Michael declined the first couple offers, but when Adrik made some mixed drinks, Michael accepted. He timidly looked to Petrov as he drank, attempting to drink slowly as Petrov had told him, but found himself instead knocking them back pretty quickly. Yakov entered the house still looking like a beaten dog. He was about to walk upstairs when Petrov called out to him. Yakov walked over stiffly and Michael waited for Petrov to yell at him again, but instead, Petrov stood and embraced him warmly. They spoke softly in Russian a few moments before Yakov joined them in the living room.
Michael finished his fourth glass and leaned over to Iosef.
“Iosef,” Michael said and placed a hand on Petrov’s chest.
“Yes, Mischa?” He asked.
“I have a secret to tell you,” Petrov raised his eyebrows and leaned forward.
“You can’t tell anyone.” Michael said and lowered his voice whispering in Iosef’s ear. “You are in the Russian mob.”
Petrov pulled back with a small smile and a smirk.
“I run the Russian mob,” he said and Michael giggled leaning back into the couch. He stood suddenly and all the Russian’s looked up at him.
“I’m going to bed,” Michael slurred, holding up his hands like this was an important revelation. He nearly broke his neck trying to step over Petrov’s feet.
“You need to stop giving this kid alcohol,” Yakov said when he tripped walking up the stairs. Petrov watched him go with a soft smile. Petrov stayed downstairs for one more drink before heading upstairs for bed.
“I don’t want anyone hung over tomorrow!” he called as he climbed the stairs and the two Russians in the livingroom called back to him with “yeah yeahs”.
Petrov walked into his bedroom and Michael was wrestling with his pants. It was an amusing sight, one Petrov did not wish to stop, but eventually he went to the boy’s aid. He gently helped Michael out of his clothing. Michael wrapped his arms around Petrov before he could get into bed and pulled him close. Petrov was able to coax him into bed, getting him under the covers and changing before lying down with him. He looked down at Michael and gently stroked his face.
“Iosef, I’m confused,” Michael whispered, gently running his finger tips over Iosef’s lips.
“You,” Michael said. “You kill people.”
Iosef’s lips were in a tight line. “But I don’t care. What’s that say about me?”
Petrov remained quiet and stared down at Michael.
“Did you mean what you said, about wanting me?” Michael asked. He sounded so desperate that Petrov felt his affection for the boy come spilling over him in wave.
“Yes,” Petrov told him gently.
He lowered his head and pressed his lips to Michael’s. Michael’s eyes fluttered closed and Petrov ran a hand through his hair and stroked his skin softly. He moved his hand to Michael’s chest and ran his palm over his hot, smooth skin. His eyes moved over Michael’s face and saw a small smile on his lips.
“Mischa?” Petrov asked softly and Michael didn’t answer, having already fallen asleep.
“Michael?” He asked again and received no answer. He lowered his head to Michael’s ear, placed a soft kiss on his cheek and whispered.
“I love you.”
Chapter 21: Chapter Twenty One
Petrov climbed out of bed early in the morning, attempting and failing not to wake Michael up. The boy sleepily reached out to Petrov, trying to tug him back into the bed, but Petrov pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on Michael’s forehead. His stroked his hair for a few moments, admiring his peaceful smile before whispering in his ear.
“I am going to be working in my study most of the day,” Petrov told him. “If you need me just knock on the door.”
Michael nodded sleepily, accepted a kiss from Petrov, and then rolled back over. He woke a few hours later, unsure if he dreamed the exchange with his Russian lover and went down stairs in his PJ bottoms and a t-shirt. Adrik was tying his tie in the living room as he walked downstairs and greeted him.
“Petrov is handling some very important business in his study right now,” Adrik told him as he grabbed a briefcase. “He told me to tell you not to disturb him until he comes back out.”
“Will I be here all alone today?” Michael asked and Adrik nodded.
“Yes, I have business to see too in the city,” he replied and moved to the door.
“Do you have a computer not in Petrov’s office?” Michael asked. “One I can use to play games or something?”
“If you go down the hall as if you are going to Petrov’s office there is a little den with a computer,” Adrik said and Michael thanked him. He spent a few hours watching TV and waited patiently for Petrov to leave his office, but as time went on he grew more and more board. The temptation of turning on the news was strong, but he was afraid he would anger Petrov if he did.
Instead he stood and walked down the hall, hoping to find the computer and maybe play some games. He could hear Petrov’s voice in the hall, coming faintly through the door. Michael heard enough to know it was English he was speaking, but could not make out any of the words. He stood in the hall for a few moments, fighting with himself as to whether he should go to the door and try to hear what was being said. Apparently Michael’s curiosity was stronger than his fear, because he approached the door quietly, placing his ear to the door and listening. What he heard make his stomach churn and face go pale.
“… now does it? I made it quite clear that this body was not to be found. I have had direct contact with this boy. I have been seen with this boy, how does this make me look? I – shut up while I speak to you – I want everyone who worked with him disposed of… I don’t care if he’s a good pimp he dies with the rest!... Are you questioning me, Andre? Who pays for your mother’s medical bills? You will do as I say… Get it done, and if any of them make the news in relation to me then it’s your family that will pay.”
There was a pause and Michael assumed Petrov had hung up the phone. He was about to pick up the phone when he heard Petrov speak, again in English. Michael was unsure why he would be speaking in English, but in truth he was speaking to some of the lower ranking soldiers, most of who had been born in the United States and never learned their native language.
“You have news for me?... That bitch… that little fucking cunt… I told you she had something to do with this…. And you saw her leaving the Italian’s house? Take care of her. You don’t cross me and get away with it.”
Michael pulled himself away from the door and stumbled into the den. His head felt like it was imploding and tried to calm down his stomach, fighting the urge to vomit. How could he have gotten so wrapped up in a man like this? He admitted he ordered the death of the college student, threatened the man’s family who was supposed to go and kill more men for him, and ordered to kill a woman. Michael could only assume it was Anastasia. She had been so mad when saw Petrov last. What made it all the more sickening was that Michael knew this person, whether or not he liked her was irrelevant. The last time he saw this person she was breathing and talking, and thinking and soon she was going to be dead all because of the man that Michael made love to every night.
After a few moments Michael stood and shut the den door. He moved to the computer and turned it on, his palms sticky with sweat and his head throbbing. He bit his lip hard as he opened the internet and turned to Google. Slowly, hesitantly, he typed in Petrov’s full name. Hundreds of stories came up: fraud, racketeering, ponzy schemes, prostitution, drug trafficking, and murder, and somehow none of it stuck. There was an entire website dedicated to the victims of the Russian mafia, and Petrov’s picture was the heading of the opening page. He was leaning back in a chair, looking to his right, a smug and arrogant smile on his face. Judging by the surroundings it appeared he was at a horse track, winning big by the look on his face.
On the site were pictures of victims, young and old, and a small little biography of everyone. Reading the stories made him sick and looking at the pictures of once living, vibrant people, and knowing they were dead, most because of a direct order from the man on the other room, rocked through Michael’s conscious. He had never had a good life, but he was a good person, at least he always tried to be. You could not just talk all this way. Michael jumped when he heard a knock on the door and quickly exited out of the website and clicked on solitaire.
“Come in,” he called, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat the best he could as Petrov opened the door.
“I just wanted you to know that if you need me you can come get me in my study now,” Petrov told him softly. Michael nodded, but could not bring himself to turn around and look at Petrov. How could he sound so gentle and normal after giving such an order? It was repulsive, but Michael knew that if he turned around to look at Petrov, all he would see was the good, loving side of him, and fall to pieces. He almost flinched when he felt Petrov’s hand in his hair, and a soft kiss placed to his cheek. He breathed in deeply, inhaling Petrov’s rich, masculine scent and felt some tears at his eyes. He felt his breathing pick up and his eyes water.
“Iosef, can I go for a walk?” Michael asked as Petrov made it to the door.
“Of course, you have proved you deserve it,” Petrov replied. “Bring your phone and my watch.”
“I have a watch on my phone, I don’t need the watch,” Michael mumbled.
“I want you to have it,” Petrov said simply. “I will see you later. Be safe and don’t speak to anybody.”
Michael nodded and once he heard Petrov’s study door close he stood. He got out side and the moment he got to the driveway he began to run. He did not know why, but his body needed it, and he ran as fast as he could from the house, stopping only when his lungs would no longer allow it. He stopped on the side of the road, kicked the ground, and bit back a sob.
“Fuck,” Michael spit out, running his hands through his hair and turning in circles, trying to take in the landscape around him and make sense of it. He was still heaving when the car pulled up next to him and stopped. He took a step back, not wanting to be within grabbing distance and waited. The black tinted window rolled down slowly, and as it did, he was greeted by a familiar face.
“Michael isn’t it?”
“Edward Burnes?” Michael asked, remembering the names. He smiled warmly. “Bit out of your jurisdiction don’t you think?”
“Just up here for a drive,” he smiled. “How are you doing?”
“Leave me alone,” Michael said and started walking. The car followed him.
“We just want to talk to you, Michael,” he said coaxingly.
“I know what you want,” Michael said. His head hurt so badly. “You want me to turn on Iosef.”
“Petrov is a bad man, son. You don’t want to be messing around with men like him,” Burnes replied and Michael stopped walking. He faced the car, and looked down the road in the directions of the mansion. His conflict was clearly written on his face and the detectives seized on it. Each breath seemed painful to Michael, his body folding in on itself and pain and confusion glowing in his eyes.
“Can I show you something, Michael, and if it means nothing to you I will let you walk away right now,” Burnes said. Michael hesitated and then stepped forward. The detective pulled out his wallet and removed a picture. He handed him a picture of a handsome man in his mid thirties, smiling. A toddler was to his right and he was holding a baby in his arms.
“This man was my partner. It is true he had his vices, but he loved his little girls, and he was trying to get clean. He was set to testify at a grand jury hearing for Mr. Petrov. The day before he was killed he was found dead in a whore house,” he paused, tears prickling his eyes. “We now have a witness who can testify that he was poisoned then brought to the whore house to make it look like he wasn’t clean. Do you know who was responsible for that?”
“Iosef,” Michael whispered.
“He had a wife that loved him, and two baby girls. Marsha is seven now, and Vivian is four and a half. They will never get to know their father. Do you think Petrov cares about them?” he asked, pointing to the little girls in the picture. Michael shook his heads, tears leaking from his eyes.
“I am sure you have seen things, heard things,” Burnes asked gently. “Things that could help us prevent him from ever hurting another person. Don’t you want to be responsible for saving the lives of hundreds or thousands of innocent people?”
“Of course, but…” Michael cut off as he felt more tears coming and he bit them back.
“Michael, if I could show you one more thing?”
“This man was found this morning. We have reason to believe you knew him,” Burnes said. The pictures brought Michael to his knees, and he began to throw up profusely. He heard the passenger side door open and Burnes got up to help him to his feet. Michael grabbed the photo from the cop’s hands to look at it. It was his adoptive father lying on a slab, his eyes sewed shut, a large bullet hole in the center of his forehead. He crumpled it up and tossed it to the side. Burnes collected it, smoothed it out, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
“Why don’t you come back to the city with us,” Burnes asked. “If you talk to us, testify, help up put this bastard away for life, than we will get you a new identity, a new life, and you will never have to see any of them again.”
“I won’t be charged with anything?” Michael asked.
“Did he tell you, you would?” Burnes asked with a sour smile. Michael nodded. “Of course not, Michael. You’re not a bad person, he is.”
Michael looked back toward the house. Was he willing to lose what Petrov had to offer him; a stable home and warm arms to fall asleep in at night? But what happened when he found somebody else? What happened when Michael got older and was no longer desirable? Would he end up dead or pimped out or destitute?
“Michael, you deserve better than these people,” Burnes said. Michael took in a deep, shuddering breath.
“Get in the car, Michael,” the cop said and Michael, on shaky legs, did.
Chapter 22: Chapter Twenty Two
Adrik returned home later that afternoon and entered Petrov’s study without a knock. He had some papers from an attorney that Petrov had asked for and was going to drop them and slip out right afterward. He had believed that Petrov would have been upstairs with Michael, and was surprised when he entered and found Petrov seated at his desk. He had a glass resting on his desk, and a bottle of vodka in his hand. He looked calm, not at all drunk, but he had one of those expressions on his face that clearly demonstrated discontentment.
Adrik placed the papers on the desk quietly and sat down, waiting for Petrov to speak. He was sure that something terrible had happened, judging by the vodka bottle on his desk and the look on Petrov’s face. He feared for a few moments that the police had issued a warrant out for his arrest or that someone valuable and high ranking had been taken in. Petrov’s silence on the issue told him it was not the case and he watched his boss pour himself another drink.
“Where’s Michael?” Adrik finally asked, realizing how quiet the house is. No TV, not movements, no noise. It was odd, but still Adrik as fully expecting Petrov to tell him he was taking a nap or had to be punished again.
“Michael went out for a walk,” Petrov said and glanced at his watch. “About four and a half hours ago.”
Adrik stood shaking his head.
“Boy probably got lost. I’ll go out looking for him –”
“Don’t bother,” Petrov said dryly. “You won’t find him.”
“What do you mean?” Adrik asked. Petrov put his feet up on the desk and looked up at the ceiling. He had a small smile on his face, but it was cold smile, one that would put absolutely no comfort in anyone that saw it.
“How long do you think it will take for the police to show up?” he asked. “I’ll bet they’re on their way right now.”
“I don’t understand,” Adrik said.
“He left Adrik!” Petrov yelled. “He’s probably sitting in a police station right now.”
“Michael wouldn’t do it. He’s got no backbone,” Adrik disagreed.
“He’s got a good soul,” Petrov replied. “Boy like that could never be happy here.”
Adrik stood staring at Petrov, his mouth partially opened. Petrov swirled the rest of the straight vodka around his glass and downed it.
“My entire empire…” Petrov breathed staring off into space. “Gone.”
“You aren’t in prison yet,” Adrik answered.
“You are going to be in charge while I am away,” Petrov said softly. “You and then Yakov, the remaining hierarchy stands.”
“Yes, sir,” Adrik said. Most would think a man as ambitious and blood thirsty as Adrik would jump on the chance, would be thrilled to be in charge of the Russian Mafia, but Adrik was not. He had always followed Petrov, he always would follow Petrov.
“God, I’m stupid,” Petrov said standing. He gripped the back of his chair hard, his knuckles white.
“So, FUCKING STUPID!” He yelled and the chair flew across the room, and broke apart against the wall.
Michael sat in the interview room with a soda can in front of him and his forehead resting on the table. He had two policeman seated in front of him, one being detective Burnes and the other being a woman he had never seen before, but her name was detective Julianne Wyatt.
“Do I need a lawyer?” Michael asked when he looked up. No tears came from his eyes. He did not think he would ever be able to cry again. His face was pale and pasty and dark circles were around his eyes. His hair was messy from his hands brushing through them.
“No, Michael, you aren’t under arrest,” Burnes said. “We just need to get your statement.”
“Why don’t start with your kidnapping,” Julianne said. Michael reacted violently, throwing a glare her way and squeezing his hand around the can.
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” Michael snapped and started jabbing his finger into the picture of his dead adoptive father. “He exchanged me for his gambling debts and the dumb asshole kept betting on horses he knew was going to losef.”
“So he exchanged you for money?” Burnes asked. Michael looked at him.
“It wasn’t like that,” Michael said.
“Then what was it like, Michael?” Julianne asked.
“We just ended up having sex,” Michael snapped. “is that a fucking crime?”
“Michael, Michael,” Burnes said patting his hand. “We know this is stressful, he know that this is not an easy situation for someone of your age and history, but we need to get to the bottom of what happened.”
“I won’t talk about my relationship with him,” Michael said.
“Then you can’t testify. The defense would rip you to shreds,” Julianne said. Michael glared at her again.
“He came to the apartment, he was going to kill my stepfather, my stepfather offered me to him as payment, Iosef… Petrov took it, and we ended up sleeping together,” Michael said, biting down on his tongue hard. “They were good to me.”
“Let me show you something, Michael,” Burnes said and grabbed a folder. He started tossing photos down on the table of crime scene photos. Severed body parts, blood bullet wounds, bashed in skulls were some of the images Michael saw. Michael’s sight faded in and out, and he felt his head go light. His hands reached out, clinging to the table for support.
“Take them away,” Michael said, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Get them away!”
He swatted his hand out and brushed them all off of the table and away from him.
“He is an evil, evil man, Michael,” Burnes said as Julianne picked up the scattered photos. “What you are doing is the right thing. You will be saving lives.”
“He cared about me,” Michael whispered.
“No he didn’t,” Burnes said patting his back. “He only cares about himself.”
Will you tell us what you heard, what you saw?” Michael felt a tear drop from his eye and he looked down at the table.
He wanted nothing more than to leave and find Iosef. He wanted to crawl into the man’s arms and feel his warm body against his. But by now, Iosef would know Michael had left. Iosef wouldn’t take him back now. He’d end up like those people in the photographs. He had no reason to believe Iosef would spare him. He only had one course of action now; only one way to stay alive.
He looked up at the detectives and nodded.
“We will be moving you to a safe house,” Burnes told him as they walked from the interview room. Hours of interviewing passed and he was nearly falling asleep as he walked. He knew Burnes was still talking to him, but he hardly heard him. He was too focused on where he could lay down and sleep.
Michael looked up at the voice mockingly shouting out his pet name. He looked up to see Ivan staring back at him, being escorted in with handcuffs wrapped around his wrists. He had a smile on his face, but it was far from friendly. It was mocking, and showed his own amusement at Michael’s misery.
“You have Ivan?” Michael asked Burnes. Burnes ordered them to get Ivan away as he called to Michael in Russian.
“He came to us a few weeks ago,” Burnes explained. “Apparently he was displeased with his place in the brotherhood. He will be given a new identity and moved, like you.”
“You’d spare him to get at Petrov? He’s killed more people,” Michael said.
“They wouldn’t be dead if it wasn’t for Petrov,” Burnes replied. “Come on, you need a good night’s sleep. We’ll get you set up in a hotel.”
Petrov sat in his study when Adrik barged into the room. Petrov looked up from his desk. All of his important documents had already been removed from the house. All guns were gone, his computer hard drive had been copied over and then cleared, and there was nothing left in the house but documents supporting a completely legal and upright ownership of many legal restaurants and clubs.
“They just pulled into the driveway,” Adrik said. Petrov nodded slowly.
“It took them long enough,” he mused. “How much would you like on wager on Burnes being the arresting officer?”
“Iosef, we know where he’s being taken. Our man on the inside just gave Yakov the call,” Adrik said. Petrov took a deep breath. “Please, Iosef there is not much time.”
“You want me to tell you to kill him?” Petrov said. “I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t,” Adrik snapped. “He’s the only evidence the state has. If he dies the charges are dismissed.”
“Remember my sister, Adrik?” Petrov asked. Adrik’s face turned hard. “Remember after she informed upon us and we were sent to prison? Did you stop loving her?”
“No,” Adrik said.
“After the betrayal? You still loved her?”
“This is different,” Adrik whispered.
“It is different because you do not love, Michael,” Petrov said. He placed a hand on Adrik’s shoulder. “I do.”
“We can put him in the ground tonight, Iosef,” Adrik pleaded. “You’ll be home before breakfast tomorrow.”
“No, Adrik,” Petrov said sternly. Yakov entered the study with two detectives, one of them being Burnes.
“My lawyer will have a field day with this,” Petrov said with a smile. “You, the man who has harassed me for years over the tragic death of his partner comes to arrest me in my own home. The possibility for scandal.”
“This is being done all by the book Petrov,” Burnes replied. “And we have enough to put you away for five lifetimes.”
“On the word of a troubled boy who was abandoned by his parents, kicked around to endless amounts of foster homes and was sold by his father for money? If it wasn’t for me he’d be out on the street,” Petrov replied.
“We know what happened, Petrov,” Burnes snapped.
“Are you going to arrest me?” Petrov asked. Burnes walked around him and cuffed his wrists behind his back.
“Iosef Arkadayevich Petrov, you are under arrest for money laundering, drug trafficking, murder, and conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney-“
“-one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”
“Of course,” he replied. He certainly did.
When the detectives said hotel, what they meant was shitty motel. There was one queen sized bed, a small horribly stocked fridge and a fuzzy T.V with three channels. Michael spent most of the night lying on the bed, sobbing. He had never felt more horrible about himself than he did now. He was nearly consumed with guilt and regret. He thought he had cried all the tears he had to cry, but he quickly realized when he was left alone in the room, that he had plenty more to shed.
He regretted getting in the car with the police, he regretted telling them anything. He felt guilty for regretting all of it. He felt guilty for being so attached to a murderer. He felt guilty for betraying the only person who had ever shown any interest in him. He looked at the watch around his wrist with tears in his eyes. He brought it to his lips and pressed the cold glass to his face.
When his tears were all dried up he went to the small fridge in hopes of being able to eat something and keep it down. He picked up a can of diet coke and a small granola bar. He grimaced at it and sat down on the floor, leaning up against the bed. The window was to his back, the blinds drawn. He took a swig of the diet coke and rubbed his puffy eyes, his shoulders shaking. He wanted Iosef more than anything right now. He was lonely. He felt vulnerable. Iosef had always been good to him, and gentle and loving…with one exception. If only he hadn’t gone for the walk. He’d be in bed with Petrov right now. Warm and happy, the Russian’s warm hands in his hair.
Michael stood and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out a semi-cool water bottle and began to move back over to the bed. He was about halfway across the room when the windows to his bedroom shattered. There was noise and chaos everywhere. Michael, who had never thought of himself as athletic or a person with fast reflexes, reacted incredibly fast. He was down on the floor in a split second, crawling for cover under the bed.
The noise was deafening, and Michael then understood what it must be like to be in a war zone. It felt like things were exploding around him. Bullets were crashing into lamps, pillows, walls, and mirrors. It was not until the barrage of bullets quieted that Michael felt the pain.
It was a searing pain. His shoulder was on fire and he grabbed for it. He grabbed for the back of his shoulder, where he felt the pain, but his t-shirt began to turn darker and he realized he was bleeding from the front and the back. He groaned out in pain. He tried to stand but his leg refused to move. It flopped around and more pain shot through him.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Michael cried as he reached for his thigh. He was becoming light headed when the door busted open. In a moment two cops in his protection detail were leaning over him.
“Ambulance is on their way, Michael, just hang in there.”
“He shot me,” Michael breathed. “He shot me… he tried to kill me.”
“Michael, just stay awake for a little bit longer.”
“My leg’s on fire,” Michael breathed. “It burns.”
He grabbed his stomach where he had just been grazed by a bullet.
“I don’t want to die,” Michael was able to whisper. He did not get to hear the cops words of encouragement, because moments later, he fell into darkness.
Chapter 23: Chapter Twenty Three
When Detective Burnes and William Sullivan, the prosecuting attorney, walked into the prison interview rooms Petrov was wearing an orange jump suit. His hands were cuffed together and resting on the table in front of him, and his feet were chained together at his ankles. Burnes had always hoped that when he saw this image outside of his dreams, Petrov would appear broken, smaller, taken down a few pegs, but on the Russian’s face was a look of confidence. He did not appear happy, there was no curve to his lips, but he sat with an air of confidence that made Burnes want to snarl.
Seated next to Petrov was an ordinary looking man in a simple suit. The American born lawyer of Russian descent had been working for Petrov for many years now, and was known as not only a mob lawyer, but the best in the business. He had gotten off countless Russian murderers before in the past, and if anyone would be able to get Iosef Petrov off it would be him. And if there was contention between Burns and Petrov, it was nearly doubled as William Sullivan and Andrew Popovich looked at each other.
Many times Sullivan had gone head to head with Popovich, and while Sullivan was considered the best prosecutor the city of New York had, he had a losing record when it came to Popovich. Popovich was a genius. He could quote back case law in his sleep, and while Sullivan commanding the court room with his theatrics and confidence, Popovich dominated the court room with his genius, his uncompromising passion, and his ruthless cross examinations. If anyone were capable of tearing Michael to shreds, it was Popovich, and Sullivan had to admit, it would be a walk in the park for the mob lawyer.
“So you thought killing him would get you off?” Burnes asked as he came into the interrogation room. Petrov’s blue eyes were on him in a moment, and despite himself, Burnes saw surprise in his eyes. He thought for a moment he saw fear and concern as well, but those beliefs he quickly brushed to the back of his head. There was no way this man could feel for anyone.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Petrov replied stiffly. “If I wanted him dead he’s be dead.”
“Iosef, be quiet,” Popovich snapped.
“We won’t need your statement anyway,” Burnes said smugly. “The boy’s all we need.”
“Not after our psychologist speaks to him,” Popovich said. Petrov stared at Burnes, his eyes burning with hatred.
“You know, I didn’t think the boy would go through with it, he kept crying and whining about how much you cared about him and how well you treated him. He said that he didn’t think he could bear be the one to put you in prison, but when he woke up this morning he was gung ho,” Burns told Petrov directly. “Cried for a little bit, but after he came to terms with the fact that you tried to kill him –”
“I didn’t try to kill him,” Petrov replied smoothly. “And it doesn’t matter if the boy talks or not. He’s unstable. Just wait until Andrew get’s his hands on him. He’ll fall to pieces.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you, Arkadayevich. I bet you’d even get off on seeing it.”
“Hardly,” Petrov replied. “I took care of the boy out of the goodness of my heart. I feel for him. He’s got problems, and I am sure that whatever he tells you he does believe to be true, but believe me, they are all fabrications.”
“What is this meeting all about,” Popovich asked curtly. “I have motions to file.”
“I’m willing to make a plea deal,” Sullivan answered and a cold smile spread over Popovich face. “He pleads guilty to all counts and we take the death penalty off the table.”
“Life in Prison?” Popovich asked. He glanced at Petrov who gave a small jerk of his head. “No.”
“Don’t be stupid, Petrov. I’d like nothing more than to put a needle in your arm,” Sullivan replied.
“I will not go to prison for something I didn’t do,” Petrov replied. His eyes locked onto Sullivan’s. “I am not guilty.”
He said it wish such conviction, that he almost believe it himself.
Michael jumped every time someone walked past his hospital room despite the three policeman standing outside and the one sitting by his bed. He was pretty doped up on pain medicine and he was hardly able to answer any questions straight when the A.D.A came in to speak with him. He was informed of Petrov’s arrest, the additional charges for his attempted murder, and that the defense as issued a motion requesting an evaluation of Michael’s mental state. He sighed leaning back in the bed, knowing full well everything he told Petrov was going to be used against him in open court. Sullivan told him to be as honest as possible and that it would all be alright.
“We’d rather have it all out in the open than be surprised in court, OK?” he asked and Michael nodded. Sullivan patted him on his healthy shoulder and turned to the leave the room.
“How did he look?” Michael asked as Sullivan walked to the door. The lawyer turned to look at him, slightly confused at the question.
“Like his normal murdering self,” Sullivan replied. Michael nodded and went to sleep.
Hours later he woke to the phone by his bed ringing and lazily, and slowly so he did not hurt his shoulder, he picked up the phone. He assumed it was Burnes or Sullivan calling to check up on him. They called frequently to make sure everything was OK, and so Michael thought nothing as he brought the phone up to his ear.
“Hello?” he asked. The moment the voice on the other end spoke his eyes popped open.
“You talk your dead, you understand? You got lucky, but if you step into that courtroom you won’t live to see your eighteenth birthday –”
Michael slammed the phone down on the receiver and leaned back, his stomach in knots. He told his guard what happened when he returned from the bathroom and he immediately had a trace put on the line.
“How do they know where I am?” Michael asked.
“They have people in the department and hospital, but don’t worry, everyone working with you is clean,” he told Michael.
“How do you know that?”
“We wouldn’t put anyone guarding a witness we didn’t know was clean,” he replied.
“But you’ll have them on the streets?” Michael asked and the cop blushed.
“You’ll be safe,” he replied and Michael shook his head, turning to look out the window.
“That’s what you said last time,” Michael said shortly. It wasn’t long before more phone calls came in.
The calls were all made on payphones or on cell phones that were all disposable and so it was impossible to track down the calls. Michael was moved from the hospital as soon as he was able to walk again and the doctors agreed to sign him out. It was frightened being moved again, and the walk to the car, and the walk into the safe house was terrifying. A car backfired and he screamed in pain as he jumped, his bullet wounds pulling apart slightly. He had been given one crutch to use, so no pressure was put on his shot leg, and he was supposed to wear a sling that he fought with constantly.
He had been sent to live in a secluded house outside of the city, but he still felt like he was constantly in danger. The good news was that he was getting no phone calls, and so it was unlikely that the Russian’s knew where he had been moved too. Sullivan had actually been given a tip by an anonymous source, who Sullivan believed belonged to the Comeletti crime family, that the Russian’s were trying to find out his whereabouts through officer Ryan Whitmore in the Brooklyn precincts.
But Michael did not care. He found himself sinking deeper and deeper into depression has time went on. Sullivan and Burnes were nice to him, but he still had no body to love him. He had no body to hold him at night and whispers sweet nothings into his ear. Not that Petrov ever did that, but perhaps had he stayed he might have. It was crushing, and once again he felt utterly alone. He could hardly bear living, and more than once contemplated killing himself. He had even brought a kitchen knife into his bedroom before he went to sleep. At night, when everyone was asleep and he knew he would not be found for a few hours he brought the blade to his wrists, but he couldn’t do it.
He was ashamed of himself for that. Even in his misery he was too frightened to die. He was afraid of the pain, he was afraid of nothingness. He had always believed in God, but when the time came to die, he found himself not ready for it. He sighed and placed the knife down next to his bed. The next morning when he woke up it was gone, and the looks he got from his guard were shameful.
He spent most of his time in the shower, sitting under the hot spray and crying. He had always been a crier and so this was not something particularly new. When he was in school and people called him names he would begin to cry, only to have them make fun of him more. When he was beaten up, shoved into lockers or tied up naked in the locker room showers, he would cry, but no one would come help him. Even the freaks knew to stay away from him.
So he would sit in the shower and cry, hope that he finally got the rest out of his system and move on, but it never happened. He hardly ate, no matter how much they tried to make him, and he lost even more weight. He became sickly, his eyes sunken in and his ribs poking out through his skin. And the more his body began to waste away the more ugly he saw himself become, and the more ugly he saw himself become, the less he began to care about living. It seemed an easier way to kill himself.
When the day came to talk to Popovich and his psychologist, for the judge ruled that if he was to testify both should be allowed to interview him, he was horribly underweight The psychologist spoke to him first and it was a painful three hours. The psychologist seemed to know where to hit Michael, where all his dirty little secrets lay and took everything in him to keep himself together. He only broke down once, and that was when the psychologist asked him how he felt about the motivation behind his adoptive father’s adoption of him.
“What do you mean?” Michael asked.
“Well, surely you know that he was in talks with a pimp to sell you for fifty thousand dollars before you were saved by Mr. Petrov,” the psychologist said. Afterward, Sullivan would tell Michael it was just a vicious lie, but Michael knew it was true the moment it left the psychologists lips.
The interview with the lawyer was an even more difficult experience. The moment that Andrew Popovich entered the interview room and sat down, Michael knew that things were not going to be easy. His thin, pink lips were curved upward into a small smug smiled and his dark brown eyes, both cold and harsh, looked him over.
“Mr. Franklin,” he said politely as he sat down. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“The judge told me I had to,” Michael replied defiantly and Popovich’s eyes flashed, his grin widening.
“All the same, thank you,” he said. Michael waited for the questions to start anxiously, but it appeared Popovich was in no hurry. Very slowly he opened his briefcase and spread out some papers on the desk. He picked up a pen, placed on paper directing in front of him and then looked up at Michael.
“The way I do these interviews is I look over the States transcripts of their own interviews. I ask the same questions, look for any inconsistencies, and then I am going to ask you some of my own questions. Fair?”
“Let’s start with your childhood,” he said with a little too much glee. Michael looked at the table.
“I didn’t have one,” Michael replied.
“Well then allow me to rephrase,” Popovich smiled at him. “Let’s start with your early years on this planet. What are your parent’s names?”
“I don’t know,” Michael whispered.
“How many foster homes did you grow up in?”
“Too many to count,” Michael said. “I think like… seven or eight.”
“I can find that out,” Popovich said making a note on the side of the page. “Did you suffer abuse in these homes?”
“Some of them,” Michael said. “I was removed from one for bruises.”
“Tell me about your adoption to the late Mr. Peter Franklin.”
“I thought I was finally going to get a family. I didn’t,” he replied shortly. Popovich looked up at him a moment, his dark eyes piercing. Michael had to look away, but he felt the lawyer’s eyes on him for a few moments longer. The interview went by smoothly, and Michael managed to keep himself in control the entire time. Even when Michael had to go through and tell him about his sex life with Petrov. Popovich had a small grin on his face as he went into details, his eyes on Michael’s the entire time. By the time he was finished, he felt almost violated by the man, who, if Michael had read his face right, seemed to enjoy the retelling.
“If there is anything you would like to say to Iosef I can pass it along verbally,” Popovich said softly as he put everything back into his briefcase. “I am going to see him now.”
“Tell him I’m sorry,” Michael said, leaning in and whispered.
“Actions speak louder than words,” Popovich said. He leaned in closer and Michael could smell his expensive cologne. “Refuse to testify and you won’t lose your life.”
He straightened right back up and Michael felt like throwing up. It was a clear threat, and Michael felt small in the presence of the lawyer. He stood, collected his briefcase, and made for the door without another word. Sullivan asked him how everything went, what was asked and what was said but Michael refused to speak.
“Did he threaten you?” he asked, almost salivating. Anything he could do to put that asshole Popovich away.
“No,” Michael whispered. “He was only being honest.”
It was all Michael would say on the matter, and the rest of the drive back to the save house was completely silent.
Chapter 24: Chapter Twenty Four
William Sullivan was sitting across Michael at the table in the lawyers own kitchen explaining how the court proceedings were going to take place. His wife was cooking lunch for them and the smell filled the house. Michael looked around, wondering why he couldn’t have been born into a home like this one. He did not understand why he had to live the life he had lived. He was always a good person. At least, he always tried to be. Some people were born on the wrong side of the tracks and they grew up mean, and full of hatred, but not Michael. Did he not deserve some happiness in life? Shouldn’t he be rewarded for his gentle demeanor and pure soul? Apparently not.
Sullivan spoke to him gently and calmly, going through every little detail of court that he could. He explained how the courtroom they would be using would be set up, where Petrov would be sitting and where the witness stand is in relation to that. It was a terrifying prospect, testifying in front of Petrov, and Michael felt his stomach leap into his throat at the thought of it.
“I will have you on the stand basically all day. I need to establish your history, how you met Petrov, what you were used for, and then go into the things you saw and heard. This will take about five or six hours. Once I am done, depending on the time it might take place the next day, Popovich is going to cross examine you. He is a ruthless lawyer, Michael; I need you to understand this. This man will go for your jugular. I need you to stay calm and composed. Their psychologist found that you have an acute attachment disorder; he’s going to use that. He’s going to talk about your childhood, your high school years, the different foster homes you’ve gone too… everything. Are you ready for that?”
“Yeah,” Michael muttered. All he could think about was Petrov, his icy blue eyes, his thick black hair, the way he smelled. He missed all of it. What would he give to be in Petrov’s arms right now? He missed the feeling of being secure, and safe, and cared for. Who cared for him now? The police? Hardly. They needed him to put Petrov away; once that was done he’d be shipped off with a new identity and never thought of again. Michael did not remember his real last name, nor did he ever feel connected with any of the names he acquired over the years. He certainly did not want the name Franklin, and so the idea of changing his name and having a completely new identity did not bother him as much as it might have bothered others. What did bother him was the change in his first name. If he was no longer Michael, then he was no longer Mischa either. Mischa was the better Michael, the Michael that was loved and cared for.
“So, let’s go over it again. What does Petrov know about you?” Sullivan asked, taking out some papers and a pencil.
Maybe Petrov would understand where Michael was coming from if he could only speak to him. He had to understand how difficult his life was to accept. How could Petrov expect him to be accepting of murder? He murdered people. He was a murderer, and yet Michael felt guilty for leaving him. He regretted it. If only he knew before going out for that walk how deep his feelings were…
“Michael, are you listening to me?”
His eyes were so-
“Michael!” Sullivan snapped his fingers in front of Michael’s face, bringing him back to reality. “This is important Michael. Your testimony holds our whole case together.”
“You have other evidence don’t you?” Michael asked.
“Well, yes, but it’s all circumstantial. Without your testimony we can’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Petrov did it. And this is a death penalty case so –”
“What?” Michael asked, his head snapping up to look at Sullivan. “You didn’t tell me you were going to try to kill him.”
“Michael, look at what he’s being charged with. He deserves the death penalty.”
“I don’t… I don’t want to be responsible for that,” Michael told him anxiously. Sullivan could see the boy’s gears working in his head, and knew that if he did not act fast he would lose Michael’s testimony for good.
“Michael, you can always speak on his behalf at the sentencing hearing. You can give the judge some mitigating circumstances, was he good to you ect. Understand?”
“I don’t want to kill him,” Michael said again looking at his hands. “You have Ivan, why do you even need me?”
“Karpol’s testimony is nothing without yours to back it up,” Sullivan said. “Just tell the truth and what is meant to be will be. Alright buddy?”
Michael nodded again.
“I’ll be right back, I have to go get something in my office. Hang in there a second, OK?” Sullivan asked and Michael nodded. Michael lazily glanced over the papers on the desk. He could hear Sullivan moving around on the other side of the house and his wife ran out at the sound of one of their young children crying in the back yard. Michael leaned forward a little to get a better look at the papers and he felt his heart skip a beat. There, one of the papers was ‘Sing Sing prisoner activation code : William Sullivan : W.S – 9537 – TW7F –D78”.
Michael did not know what possessed him, but he grabbed for the pen on the table in a flash, scribbling the code onto his wrist. He yanked down his shirt sleeve as Sullivan came back into the room and tried to act as normal as possible. He was very careful to make sure his wrist was covered for the rest of the day. He was angry with Sullivan for bringing him back to his safe house later than they agreed, because by the time he was finally left alone, visiting hours in the prison were over.
He spent most of the night wracking his brain, trying to figure out how he could get to Sing Sing unnoticed and get in to speak to Petrov. He just wanted to hear his voice and tell him that he was sorry. He wanted to explain to Petrov why he did it and that he did not love him any less. Love, now that was a scary thought, but Michael had finally come to terms with it. Even knowing Petrov wanted to kill him he still loved him.
Days passed and Michael knew that there was no possible way he could get to the prison and so he was unsure what he could possibly do with the code. But he did not throw it away, and each night he took it out (having copied it down from his arm to a scrap of paper), and felt slightly closer to Petrov. It was a horrible feeling, one that put knots in his stomach and caused his chest to burn, but he would willingly endure that if it brought him closer to the Russian.
Michael was lying in bed around noon when he reached out for the phone. Once again it happened like he had no control of his body. All he knew was that he needed to hear his voice or he was going to die. He dialed the operator and got the number for Sing Sing. He was transferred from Sing Sing over to the Sing Sing Visitor’s center when he said he needed to speak to a prisoner. A woman answered the phone, speaking in a gruff, clipped speech pattern and Michael was so nervous it was amazing he did not trip over his words.
“Sing Sing Visitors Center, how can I help you?”
“Yeah, um, I’d like to talk to a prisoner,” Michael said, smoothing out the crinkled piece of paper on his lap.
“My name or the prisoner’s name?” Michael asked. He thought the woman sounded more annoyed now.
“The prisoner’s name.”
“Iosef A. Petrov,” Michael said and bit his bottom lip.
“You need an activation code to speak to this prisoner,” she said lazily. He thought that she would ask who he was, calling to ask for the most notorious criminal in the prison, but she did not. He thought if someone were to find out how thorough, or “unthorough”, she was being, that she might find herself in need of a job.
“Oh, yeah, um, W.S – 9537 – TW7F –D78,” he said and held his breath. His heart beat thudded in his ears and his hands turned sweaty.
“One moment please,” she finally said. This did nothing to calm Michael’s nerves. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself but it did little. He wiped his hands on his pants, and bit down on his bottom lip hard. He heard a loud beep on the other end of the phone, as it was being transferred, and then movement.
“Hello,” Petrov’s voice came from the other end of the phone and Michael nearly fell over. He could not bring words from his lips and his eyes closed. “Andrew?”
There was a long pause, Michael heard the phone shift from one ear to the other, and Petrov spoke again.
“Mischa? Is this my Mischa?” his voice said and a sob escaped Michael’s throat. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, Mischa. That wasn’t my order.”
Michael wanted to believe it so badly that he immediately accepted it as fact, no matter the odds against it. He needed it to be true or he simply would not be able to go on.
“Mischa, why’d you leave me –?”
Michael slammed the phone back down on the receiver and felt tears cascade down his face. Why did he leave him? He was beginning to forget. A policeman came in to check on him but Michael shushed him away. He wanted to be left alone in his misery. That night Michael fell asleep, his face wet, his eyes stinging, and his head throbbing.
Petrov had been sitting in the common area with some of his own men who had been put on the inside when he was told he had a phone call. The younger prisoners were balking at him as he walked passed them, and those prisoners that were larger than Petrov, that could annihilate him in a fair fight, shrunk back as he walked by. Petrov had so many people on the inside, that if his hair was brushed out of place, someone was going to pay for it, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
He got to the phone, and held it up to his ear, expecting to hear his lawyers voice on the other end. He was trying to get a very speedy trial, even though the State was trying to delay things. It had already been five months and Petrov wanted to get out. He was hoping that the call was Popovich finally telling him there was a court date, but he heard nothing.
“Andrew?” he asked. He heard the softest breathing, and something internally just knew who was on the other end. He could feel it in his bones. “Mischa? Is this my Mischa?”
He made his voice as gentle and soothing as he could. He wanted to lull him into a sense of security, remind him not only what he gave up, but who he was betraying. When he heard the sob leave his lips he was struck with both triumph and pain.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt, Mischa. That wasn’t my order.”
He could hear Michael crying and decided to go in for the kill.
“Mischa, why did you leave me?” he asked and before he could even finish he heard the phone disconnect. The boy would be easy to tear down on the stand, and while the thought of seeing Michael in pain bothered him, he refused to spend the rest of his life in Prison. He had worked too hard, and too long, had gone through too much to have it all taken away from him now.
“I want to call my lawyer,” Petrov told a guard. The guard nodded, set up the phone for the call, and then handed it back to Petrov. Petrov did not have to wait long for Popovich to respond.
“Andrew Popovich,” he said on the other end of the phone.
“It’s me,” Petrov said.
“Iosef, I am coming to see you in an hour? Whatever it is can’t wait?”
“I just got a very interesting phone call,” Petrov said leaning against the wall and scanning the prison yard.
“From Michael,” Petrov said. There was a hesitation, some shuffling, and Petrov heard the shutting of a door on the other end.
“You don’t say?” Popovich asked. “How did he sound?”
“He did not speak,” Petrov told him.
“What do you want to do with the situation? We could alert the courts and fight his testimony being allowed in now, but it would take a long time and probably not end up working in our favor.”
“Can you bring it up in cross?” Petrov asked.
“Yes, it’s not really evidence so I don’t have to share it with the prosecution. I’d love to see the look on Sullivan’s face when I ask the question. ‘And tell me Mr. Franklin, why did you call Mr. Petrov at Sing Sing Prison?’” Popovich laughed, which was more of a cackle, but Petrov could not smile at the prospect.
“Have you gotten a trial date?” Petrov asked impatiently.
“Two weeks. We start on the twenty ninth,” he told him and Petrov nodded.
“Good, the sooner I can get out of this place the better.”
“Don’t worry, Iosef, I’m going to get you out of there. That boy won’t know which way is up when I get done with him.”
Petrov grunted and without a word hung up the phone.
Chapter 25: Chapter Twenty Five
Michael testified on the fourth day of the trial. He entered the courtroom after his name was called and walked toward the witness stand as if he were headed to his execution. He was sworn in, all the while able to avoid looking at Petrov. When he turned and sat down he tried to keep his eyes on Sullivan but it was impossible. He glanced at toward the defense table, where Andrew Popovich sat, a smug smile on his face. He was twirling his pen around in his fingers and leaned over to whisper something in Petrov’s ear. Petrov was leaning back in his chair, a small smile on his lips as he looked at Michael.
Michael managed to take his eyes away from Petrov and keep his eyes focused on Sullivan. He brought him through his childhood, through his time with Peter Franklin, and up till he met Petrov. That’s when Popovich began to object in earnest.
Michael was hardly able to speak.
“And while you were with Mr. Petrov did he force you into any sexual activity?” Sullivan asked and Michael shot him a hard look.
“No,” he said. He had told Sullivan he would not say he was raped, and he was angry that he had asked it anyway. He glanced over at Petrov as he said it, but immediately looked away. Petrov was staring directly at him, a small curve to his lips, his blue eyes twinkling.
“Did you enter into a sexual relationship with Mr. Petrov through your own free will?” Sullivan asked and Michael nodded. “I’m sorry Michael? The court reporter needs to hear you.”
“Oh, sorry, yes I did,” Michael replied. The collar of his shirt felt tight and his tie was suffocating him. He pulled at the collar and looked up toward the ceiling, trying to calm himself.
“How old were you when you began this relationship?”
“Seventeen,” Michael said. He swallowed thickly, rubbing his palms against his pants.
“And were you aware of Mr. Petrov’s age when this relationship began?”
“Objection, Relevance,” Popovich said standing. “What does my client’s age have to do with the crimes he is accused of?”
“I think Mr. Franklin’s young age speaks to Mr. Petrov’s respect for the law and moral conduct,” Sullivan countered.
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said.
“I don’t know,” Michael said with a shrug. “I know he’s in his thirties.”
“Would it surprise you to know that Mr. Petrov is indeed thirty five years old?”
“No,” Michael responded. “I was over the age of consent and he didn’t force me into anything. What does it matter?”
Popovich grinned and wrote something down on the table. He pushed it over to Petrov who read it and nodded a smile on his lips. A flash of annoyance spread across Sullivan’s face and Michael looked down.
“Now, Michael, on March the 14th 2008, you went to the horse tracks with Mr. Petrov is that true?”
“Yes,” Michael said.
“And tell us what you saw,” Sullivan told him.
“He had a book with names in it,” Michael said.
“And did any names stand out to you?”
“My adoptive father’s name was in it,” Michael said and let out a small controlled breath. He could stay strong as long as he did not look over at Petrov.
“And what happened to your father, Michael?”
“He was murdered,” Michael said. He looked down and shed a few tears. To the jury it looked like he was crying in memory of dead father. In reality he was crying for Petrov. He looked over to Petrov who was looking at him. There was no smile on his face, but instead a small frown and his brow was wrinkled slightly, almost in concern for him. Michael’s lips parted but no sound came out. All he wanted to do was talk to him. His lips began to tremble and his face contorted slightly. He might have completely cracked had Sullivan not positioned his body between Petrov and Michael. Sullivan walked him through everything that happened and to his shame he answered truthfully. The court took a lunch break and when they returned it would be time for the cross examination. The direct examination had not taken as long as Sullivan had believed it would, and spent the lunch break preparing Michael for Popovich’s cross. Michael did not hear most of it, and instead spent most of the lunch hour crying.
“It’s too risky, what if he says yes?” Popovich asked as he poured dressing onto his salad.
“He won’t,” Petrov replied. He was back in handcuffs and his ankles were chained together even as he ate. He was too big a threat to let walk around without handcuffs and he struggled with his fork and knife.
“How can you be so sure? He just said in open court he heard you give the orders for two murderers. I don’t think he’s big on holding anything back,” Petrov asked.
“Sullivan didn’t bring it up, which means he hasn’t told Sullivan,” Petrov told him. “You ask that question, and he says no, then you have him. He’s not strong enough to do me in. The boy’s just scared.”
“You speak very highly of him,” Popovich mused.
“He’s a good boy,” Petrov said softly, looking down at his food.
“And if he says yes, then we do things my way,” Popovich said. Petrov glanced at him a few moments before nodded.
“Good Afternoon, Mr. Franklin,” Popovich said with a smile as he came to stand at his podium.
“That’s not my name,” Michael replied and Popovich looked up from his notes in surprise.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“That was the name of the man who adopted me,” Michael said. “It’s not my name.”
“Well, legally it is,” Popovich replied. “But I will refer to you as something else if you would like?”
“Michael, please,” he said and Popovich nodded.
“Now, Michael, let me start asking you if you were ever abused by Mr. Petrov. Did he ever hit you with his fists or another object?” he asked. Popovich waited anxiously, but he kept his outer demeanor cool and collected. Michael was silent a moment, looking down at the table. He looked over to Petrov then, caught his eyes. Petrov gave him a small nod. It was so subtle that Michael barely caught it and it went by completely unnoticed by everyone else in the courtroom. To Michael, he was telling him that if he answered correctly then everything would be alright. It made Michael’s heart leap into his throat.
“Judge I would like an answer,” Popovich said and Michael looked back to the lawyer.
“I’m sorry,” Michael murmured. “No he never hit me.”
Popovich did not appear to have been expecting that answer and Petrov tried to keep the smile from his face. Popovich looked back at Petrov, as if to say, ‘alright, we’ll do things your way.’
“Would you say Mr. Petrov treated you well?” he asked.
“Yes,” Michael said. Tears were leaking from his eyes now. “He treated me very well… I lied.”
Popovich’s eyebrows rose.
“I lied. I never heard any of those things I said I did,” Michael said wiping his runny nose. “I… Mr. Petrov saved me from my adoptive father. He was cruel to me.”
“Is that so,” Popovich said. Petrov’s eyes were glued to Michael.
“Your honor I would like a recess to speak with my witness,” Mr. Sullivan said jumping from the chair.
“Judge, I think this is very important. If Mr. Franklin wishes to tell the truth than I do not think anything should stand in the way of that. I think perhaps the State had pressured Mr. Franklin into testifying today.”
“Your honor that is ridiculous!” Sullivan shouted.
“Silence!” the judge shouted. “There will be no recess. Mr. Popovich, please continue with your cross examination.”
“You say you lied, Michael?” Popovich asked.
“Yes,” Michael broke off, trying to keep from all out sobbing. He looked toward Petrov. “I’m sorry, Mr. Petrov.”
“Mr. Franklin you can’t speak to the defendant,” the judge scolded him.
“Detective Burnes, he told me what to say,” Michael sputtered out. “He thinks Petrov’s killed his partner but he didn’t and I never saw him do anything illegal.”
“Did the police threaten you, Michael to make this testimony?”
“Objection your honor!” Sullivan shouted.
“Overruled,” the judge said sternly.
“Tell us, Michael, please, did the police threaten you?” Popovich asked.
“Yes they did,” Michael cried. “And Ivan, he was angry with Mr. Petrov and that’s why he’s lying too.”
“Your Honor I would like to move that the charges against my client be dismissed in light of these new facts. Mr. Franklin is the states staple and without a grand jury never would have indicted my client.”
“I agree. Mr. Petrov the charges against you have been dropped and you are free to go,” the judge ordered, slamming down her gavel.
“You honor!” Sullivan shouted standing, red faced and furious.
“I ask that Michael Franklin be held for contempt and lying to law enforcement,” he asked. Petrov paused from his congratulatory handshakes and smiles to see what the judge would say. Michael was still on the stand, now doubled over and trying to contain his tears.
“No, I think the boy has been through enough. Good day.”
Michael slid out of the courtroom as quickly as he could, terrified of running into either Sullivan or Petrov. Petrov he wanted to go to, but he knew he had ruined that forever. He glanced at him one more time, as he went in to hug his lawyer. He thought he could get out quietly, but the moment he stepped onto the steps of the courthouse all he saw were flashes, microphones were shoved in his face, and a million questions a second were being thrown at him. He tried to squeeze away from them, but they were vultures. His shirt was grabbed, he was jostled around, and he felt like the world was caving in on him.
He was saved by a strong arm wrapping around his shoulder and Michael nearly fell over. In fact, he very well might have fallen over had it not been for the body holding him up. Shouts of ‘Mr. Petrov!’ bombarded Michael’s ears and he saw white for a second. His ears buzzed. Everything seemed to be moving at slow motion and ten times its speed all at once.
“Please, please, my dear friend Michael has been through enough, why don’t we leave him alone,” Petrov said to the reporters, a handsome smile on his face. Michael could not bring himself to turn his head and look at him.
“Why were the charges dropped!” a reporter shouted form the back.
“There was absolutely no evidence to convict me with. Detective Burnes in his grief, and my heart goes out to him, believes I am responsible for the death of his late partner and it is just not so. In order to put me away the N.Y.P.D threatened this young man into testifying against me and made up false evidence.”
“Are you going to file suit against the NYPD?”
“Oh, no, I see no good coming of that,” Petrov responded.
“And Mr. Franklin! What of him!”
“Michael and I will be dear friends till death,” he said and Michael shuddered. “Now please, I am very anxious to get home.”
He moved away from the reporters and, unlike for Michael, they parted for him. Petrov kept his arm around Michael, keeping him close as they got into the awaiting car. Someone opened the door and Michael looked up to Popovich, who was smiling down at him, his dark eyes twinkling.
“In the car, Michael,” Petrov said, nudging him into the car. Michael slid inside, a terrible ache in his chest. He slid to the far side of the car and turned his face toward the window. Petrov got into the car and stayed on his side of the car, waiting for the car to begin moving. Popovich was sitting in the front passenger seat flipping through some papers as they began to drive down the street.
“Well, I was not expecting that,” Petrov finally said.
“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered. He tried to glance up at Petrov but the moment their eyes met he had to look down again. He felt Petrov reach into the front and then sit back.
“Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” Petrov asked. Michael heard the undeniable sound of a gun cocking and suddenly his tears dried up. His body seemed to have gone numb. He looked over at the gun in Petrov’s hand and then up at him. “I still don’t know if I am going to kill you yet.”
“I tried to make it better,” Michael whispered.
“I had thought that a boy who never had anyone stick around, would leave the first person to show him love,” Petrov gave him a sour grin. “I misjudged you.”
“Please forgive me, Iosef,” Michael cried. “I was scared and confused.”
“Scared,” Petrov said softly. “Tell me, Mischa, are you scared now?”
The gun was placed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he tried to sink into the seats. His eyes closed and he waited to be killed. He felt Petrov move closer to him and his eyes fluttered open. He was close to Michael now, and Michael found himself lost in his icy blue eyes.
“I just want you to know, Michael, before we part ways that I would have cared for you. I would have protected you, and loved you, and made sure everything you ever wanted was at your feet. You and I… we could have had something. You could have had a family that would kill and die for you, but you threw it away, and now you’ll never have it.”
“Iosef,” Michael whined grabbing the front of Petrov’s suit.
“No,” Petrov cut him off. “I have made my final decision.”
“But I love you,” Michael said. He tried to pull Petrov closer to him but he would not move. “I swear I’ll be good, if you take me back, I won’t –”
“There is one thing I value above all else. Loyally, Michael, and now it is painfully clear, you possess none.”
“No, that’s not true,” Michael cried. Petrov gave him a hard, raw look, full of pain and anger.
“I loved you,” Petrov said. “And you left.”
The car stopped and Petrov pulled away.
“Get out,” he said and Michael shook his head, trying to reason with Petrov but he was shoved away.
“If you do not want me to kill you, Michael, then leave, and if I ever see you again, it will be with a bullet in your head, understand?”
“Get out,” Petrov snapped. Michael got out of the car and watched as it drove off, Petrov inside. He felt as if his heart had just been ripped out of his chest. He sat down on the curb, staring after the car long after it had disappeared. He had never felt so alone in his entire life. He wrapped his arms around himself, hunched over, and cried.
“That could not have been easy for you,” Popovich observed from the front seat.
“It had to be done,” Petrov said. “I’m a mafia boss. Forgiveness is not very useful attribute in this business.”
“No I suppose it isn’t,” Popovich agreed. “What would you like me to do with all the information I gathered on him, his parent’s names and whereabouts?”
“Destroy it,” Petrov said. “He doesn’t need to know. It will only damage him more.”
“That boy is beyond hope, Iosef,” Popovich said. “He won’t last long on his own, but I understand trying to spare his feelings.”
“He’s a survivor,” Petrov murmured looking out the window. “He’ll make it.”
Petrov said nothing else for the rest of the drive to his home upstate. He walked into the home, forced happy smiles to Adrik, Igor, and Yakov, before he walked into his study. With a heavy heart and knots in his stomach, he searched for the bottom of the bottle.
Chapter 26: Chapter Twenty Six
The cover of every major newspaper in the city the next day was Petrov and Michael in front of the court house. Petrov’s smiling face met the camera with confidence and joy, while Michael’s glazed over eyes stared into a void. Michael was passed out on a cot at one of the homeless shelters in Queens when he was jostled awake and rolled onto his back. He looked up in fear, thinking he was going to be accosted, but the man and woman staring down at him only seemed to want to look. They held the newspaper next to his face and nodded.
“Yeah, that’s home,” he said and Michael sat up.
“What?” he asked in confusion and the man handed him the paper. He asked if he could keep it and the couple agreed and went on their way, leaving Michael to read the article. After reading what was a relatively generous article to both Petrov and himself he slowly and maliciously ripped out the picture of Petrov, leaving his own image left in the newspaper. Quietly he folded the picture of the Russian mobster up and placed it into his pocket.
Michael looked the part of a degenerate. He was still wearing his suit from court, but now his shirt was untucked, his tie pulled loose, and his pants wrinkled. Everywhere he went asking for a job took one look at him and turned him down. When he finally looked in the mirror, brushed out his knotted hair with his fingers, and tucked in his shirt, he managed to be taken seriously, but the moment they realized who he was he was once again turned away.
“You’re that kid from the paper,” one man who owned a barber shop said.
“I guess,” Michael replied.
“I do business with the Russians. I can’t help you,” he said and Michael nodded and went back to the shelter. Eventually he found a job as a bus boy at a small mom and pop restaurant that liked hoped local kids. But now that he had some income finding a place to live was even harder. He had never realized just how powerful Petrov was in this city. Almost every apartment he went to paid tribute to the brotherhood, and those who didn’t were on the Russian’s bad side, and did not wish to anger them further.
“I recanted!” Michael screamed at one man, his voice cracking and tears running down his cheeks. By this point he had been living in the shelter for over a month and was beginning to break down. He had managed to buy a change of clothes, and so he did not look too horrible, but he was obviously a wreck. In what was probably the sleazy landlords only act of compassion in his long life, he rented out the old janitor’s closet. It was no longer in use, and so Michael was basically living in a box. He had a mattress on the floor with no sheets or blankets, a baby fridge, and a microwave. He had to use the bathroom at the 7/11 across the street.
Every night he would pulled out the newspaper clipping of Petrov and look at it, trying to remember what it was like to be in his arms. It hurt him more than helped him, but he could not stop looking at it. He would wonder who he was sleeping with at the moment, a gorgeous supermodel or a young man like him. He assumed both, at different times of course.
He was lying on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how badly he wished he were man enough to off himself, when he heard a knock on the door. He frowned and stayed on the bed thinking it was a mistake. Rent was not due for another two weeks, and the only visitor he ever had was the old landlord. The banging increased and Michael got off the mattress with a groan.
“I’m coming!” he screamed. “Fucking people.”
He swung the door opened and looked passed the man. He never looked at anyone directly anymore. If he did, they might see the lack of soul he had.
“If you have come to rob me I have thirty five dollars in a sock. It’s won’t get you many drugs,” he said simply.
“Don’t you recognize me, Michael?”
Michael looked up and nearly fell backwards in fright, but still his body would not move. He was almost relieved. At least now he would be put out of his misery and he wouldn’t have to live with that the fact that he was too much of a coward to do it himself. Many times he had considered jumping off the apartment building, but he was afraid of heights.
“Are you going to kill me?” Michael asked.
“No, I tried that. It didn’t seem to work,” Adrik replied, smiling. “May I come in?”
“It’s a little small for two people,” Michael told him, but backed up all the same.
“It’s a small for one,” Adrik mused looking around. “How are your wounds?”
“Fine,” Michael said numbly, pushing himself into the corner of the room.
“Almost,” Michael replied.
“I saw the room you were in. It is a miracle you survived.”
“Did you shoot me?” he asked and Adrik shook his head.
“There are soldiers for that type of work,” he replied dismissively.
“But you made it happened?”
“Yes,” he replied simply, looking at him with a look that seemed to dare him to say something.
“I thought we were friends,” Michael nearly whispered.
“Me too,” Adrik said and Michael looked to the floor.
“But in the end, you did us a favor. Double jeopardy and all that,” he replied. “Well. Good bye Michael.”
“Adrik wait!” he called and ran for the door, but by the time he got into the hall Adrik was nowhere in sight. Michael bit his lip and walked back into his room with sagging shoulders. He shut the door, locked it, and crawled back onto his mattress. He slowly dug into his pocket and pulled out his picture of Petrov. When he woke up again a few hours later, is was splotched with tears.
“Well?” Petrov asked as Adrik came into his study. Adrik shrugged and sat down on the chair, an incredulous look on his face.
“It isn’t good,” Adrik replied, bringing a deep frown to Petrov’s face.
“How so?” he asked and Adrik scratched his neck as he answered.
“He’s terribly underweight, his skin is pale and blotchy, he has dark circles under his eyes, they are sunken in and vacant. He’s living in an old janitor’s closet, smaller than an average prison cell which I thought was ironic, and he sleeps on a bare mattress. I also saw a rat trap in the corner so I think it’s safe to say he has woken up with some visitors in his room –”
“Enough,” Petrov snapped and Adrik fell silent. “I don’t want to know anymore.”
“Iosef… the kid is harmless. Even if he did ever go to the police no one would believe him. If you want him back… we wouldn’t care,” Adrik told him and Petrov shook his head.
“No,” he replied. “It is the principal. It’s about loyalty and betrayal.”
“Yes, sir,” Adrik said standing. Petrov did not hear him leave.
Michael was walking home one evening after work when he felt a hard hit to the back of his head. His body fell to the hard ground and then he felt violent kick to his stomach. He tried to cry out, but the wind was knocked out of him and nothing came out. He felt hands in his pockets, and then nothing. He was alone on the side walk, and just as he pulled himself to his feet the street light flickered on. He might have called the police to report the theft of his paycheck, but it was unlikely they would answer kindly to it. He might even be the one thrown in jail.
He walked back to his ‘apartment’ and lay down on the mattress, wandering how he was going to get his next meal now.
“Hey, kid,” a man called to Michael as he left the bank, trying and failing miserably to get a loan so he could get a decent place to live. Michael was feeling rather deflated and was not in the mood to be messed it. He looked toward the man with a far off look, waiting for him to speak. The man was someone Michael probably should have been afraid of, but he had ceased caring about his own well being weeks ago. He was merely getting by.
“What?” he finally asked them the man who gave him a foul grin.
“You shouldn’t be in this part of town,” he said and Michael frowned.
“Oh yeah?” he asked the man nodded and pointed to a large building behind him.
“That there’s Mr. Petrov’s penthouse,” he said. “and that’s his bank.”
Michael paled slightly but shrugged.
“Well I won’t be coming back,” he said and turned to leave but he almost ran into another man.
“See, we all said, if that fucking cunt that put our boss in prison ever showed himself in this part of town, we’d make him pay,” the first man Michael had seen said. Michael tried to back away but another man came up behind him. People continued to walk past them on the street, glancing at them, giving the boy looks of compassion, but no one came to his aid.
“You know when he went to jail my income was cut in half,” one man said. “I got kids you little fucker.”
“I’m sorry, really. But I recanted,” Michael said. Why did not one remember that part? He was grabbed by the shirt and shoved against the wall by a large man.
“You think that fucking matters,” he said. “Petrov takes cares of us, and you almost put him away for life.”
“Yeah, you don’t fuck with a man’s protector and not expect some retribution.”
Michael grimaced and shrunk against the wall.
“By the times we’re done, they won’t even be able to recognize you,” one man said and Michael looked around frantically for help. He saw a cop and screamed for him. The policeman turned, was about to break up the fight, and then caught sight of him. Casually he turned the other way walking in the other direction. One of the mobsters laughed.
“You know it’s bad when the police AND the mobsters want you dead,” the first man said.
A fist collided in Michael’s face and he saw stars. Getting his isn’t like it is in the movies. When a person gets hit, the force of the punch has to potential of splitting the soft skin of your face apart, more often than not bones get broken or blood vessels pop in your eyes, and Michael, not being prepared for the hit, nor being a very large man, felt the explosion of pain in his cheek bone and his head smacked against the brick wall behind him.
“Is there a problem here?” a voice said to Michael’s right and he was let go of immediately. Michael slid to the ground holding his face in his hand. When he pulled his hand away there was no blood, but he could almost feel his face beginning to swell.
“No, sir, none,” the big man that had held him said.
“Then I suggest you leave the poor boy alone and get back to work,” the voice was monotone, relatively deep, and sounded rather arrogant, but all Michael knew was this was his savoir. He felt his leg being nudged with a shoe and he looked up. He almost laughed when he found himself looking up at the auburn haired man he had been caught staring at many dinners ago.
“Are you well enough to continue on your own?” he asked and Michael nodded. The man looked back toward the pack of fleeing thugs and shook his hand. “Animals… however, they are right. I suggest you clear out of this part of town immediately. The Italians I am sure will have you.”
He turned to walk away and Michael watched him get into a simple black car and drive off. Michael sighed and gingerly touched the side of his face, pushing himself to his feet on shaky legs. Definitely not something he needed just before work.
Michael’s face ached all day. His boss kept him in the back as much as possible, and was going to send him home as his cheek turned a dark purple. There was a lull after the initial lunch rush. Michael begged him to let him stay and he finally relented. Michael could not stand spending anymore time in his little box than possible. When he was working he could forget. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. He was in the back washing dishes when the door opened and his boss rushed in.
“You stay back here!” he ordered and then ran back out. “Jane!”
Jane hurried out from the back and went to seat whoever the new customers were. Michael waited, and about ten minutes later Jane came rushing back into the kitchen.
“I spilled the glass, oh my goodness this is so embarrassing! Can you go bring table three a coke?”
“Mr. Wright said I couldn’t go outside,” Michael responded.
“You’re just bringing a glass, he won’t care,” Jane countered and went to change her shirt. He walked out to the main floor, trying to figure out why April was so embarrassed about spilling a drink. She was always spilling drinks. That was why she always had a change of clothes in the back. He had just filled the glass with coke, and walked to table three with his face toward the floor. He did not want anyone to see the bruise on his face and he placed the cup down without a word. He had just rotated his body to walk away when an obnoxious voice called out to him.
“Um, hello? Aren’t you going to take our glasses?” he whined and Michael sighed.
“Of course,” he said forcing a smile at the speaker. It was a young man, handsome, but obviously thought far too highly of himself. He had collected the glassed in his hands and was about to walk away when he finally looked up, locking eyes with Iosef Petrov.
Chapter 27: Chapter Twenty Seven
Michael’s hands were shaking so badly as he tried to collect the glass that he knocked Petrov’s own glass onto the table, sending his water spilling over the table and dripping onto his pant leg below the booth. Michael wanted nothing more than the ground to part and swallow him up. Michael’s lips parted and closed like a fish as he tried to think of the appropriate response, but he seemed rooted to the spot. He did not know if he was should clean it up, what he should say, or if Petrov was going to kill him now. It seemed unlikely after everything Michael had done that he would be killed over a glass of water, but that was the thought that had ran through Michael’s head.
“You klutz!” the boy’s voice broke Michael from his thought and drew Michael’s attention. The kid looked at him with disdain. “Do you know how expensive his suits are! Well, Bus boy? Aren’t you going to clean it up?”
“Right, sorry, sorry,” he mumbled and grabbed the rag around his apron. He soaked up the water on the table, his hands trembling noticeably. His breathing was elevated and anyone who took the time to notice would have seen it. The boy was to preoccupied with his nails, trying to look up every now and then and catch Petrov’s eyes in a flirty gesture to care, but Petrov did not see the boy’s flirtatious grin and batting of the eyes. His eyes never left Michael.
When Michael fell down to his knees he wiped the booth down the best he could and soaked up the damp floor. He pressed his hand to his face in an attempt to calm himself, but Petrov was still able to see the small contortion as he tried not to cry. Finally Michael regained some composure and continued mopping up the floor. He paused a moment, noticing a few droplets of water on his black leather shoe. Gingerly he reached out, gently rubbing the rag over the leather. When he looked up Petrov was staring back at him, the look on his face unintelligible.
“Yosey, why did we even come to this place,” the boy whined. “The help here is horrible.”
“I wanted to come here,” Petrov said simply and Michael could not help but look up at the sound of his voice. It seemed to wash over him, and was so comforting and devastating all at the same time. Slowly Michael stood and did his best to escape when the boy called him back with a snap of his fingers.
“Aren’t you going to take Yosey’s glass too? You’re the klutz that knocked them over,” he said and Michael nodded, collecting the glasses as quickly as he could and leaving. He passed April as he made his way for the kitchen, his face stark white, only made worse in contrast to the dark purple bruise on his face.
“Michael?” she asked, her face full of concern. “Are you OK?”
He walked passed her, doing what he hoped looked like a nod, but felt like a grand mal seizure. He managed to put the glasses down in the large sink and get to the bathroom in time for his body’s expulsion of the contents of his stomach. Unfortunately for Michael there was none and he heaved violently, nothing ever coming out. He was there for nearly five minutes, and by the time he felt a hand on his back, gently rubbing small circles his nose was bleeding. The rubbing of his back was comforting and eventually Michael’s dry heaving ceased.
He turned to thank whoever it had been, slightly embarrassed for a coworker, or worse, his boss, seeing him in such a state, but it had been comforting to know someone was there for him. When he did turn around her was locked under an icy blue gaze. He reached out, touching a cool hand to Michael’s forward and reached into his pocket with another. Michael remained still as he withdrew a small cloth napkin and gently wiped off his bloody nose, mouth, and chin. When he was done he tried to stand, but Michael reached out with lightening speed and grabbed onto Petrov’s arm. The Russian paused a moment, looking at Michael with that same blank expression he had since he arrived.
“Please don’t leave,” Michael whispered. “I’ll do anything just please don’t leave me.”
Petrov gently removed Michael’s hand from his arm and stood, exiting the room without a word. Michael sagged against the wall in defeat and lowered his head. His body burned with an intense jealousy, pain, and abandonment and he felt tears at his eyes. Is this what he amounted too? Bruised, bloody, and starving, dry heaving in a bathroom at the sight of the man he loved and betrayed? He heard Petrov’s rich voice in the hall and was positive he was telling his boss to fire him. He was still sitting on the floor when Petrov kneeled down in front of him again, balancing on the balls of his feet.
“Do you want to come home, Mischa?” he asked softly.
“More than anything, sir,” Michael whispered, one tear falling over his bruised cheek. Petrov nodded slowly.
“Think you can walk to the car?”
Michael did not allow himself to trust the elation he felt course through him. He nodded, not trusting himself to say a word. Petrov helped him to his feet, but broke contact right after Michael was stable and headed for the door. Michael followed, glancing at his boss who gave him a small nod, telling him it was ok to leave. Michael’s body was still trembling slightly, and he silently thought he had just had a nervous breakdown. He could not control the trembling of his body, and it felt like his chest was humming through no power of his own.
He shrunk back as they came up to the boy Petrov had been with. He was waiting at the door, looking all sorts of put out, his arms crossed in front of him.
“I told you to leave,” Petrov said dismissively, protectively placing a hand on the back of Michael’s neck and nudging him out the door. The boy followed.
“But you said you’d show me the penthouse… and the bedroom,” he added suggestively and Michael felt his nausea return. It bothered him thinking of them sharing the same bed as he and this boy.
“I lied,” Petrov said and opened the passenger side door. He gently pushed Michael inside. “I’m done with you.”
“You never started with me,” the boy pouted and that was when the door shut on Michael. Petrov ignored the boy as he whined opening the passenger side door.
“Jamie, go back to your sugar daddy, you are hardly in need of one more,” he said and got into the car, slamming the door shut. Michael sat simply staring at Petrov for a few
“Put your seat belt on,” Petrov ordered and Michael immediately obeyed. He wanted to point out that Petrov was not wearing his, but decided to remain quiet. There was a few moments before Michael realized they were going to the house upstate and not the penthouse.
“Solovyov called me,” Petrov said simply. “He told me what happened. I suppose I just snapped.”
Michael could only nod, he wasn’t sure who Solovyov was, but he assumed it was the auburn haired man that had rescued him.
“When is the last time you have eaten?” he asked.
“Um… yesterday morning,” Michael answered. Petrov looked over him, eying him from head to toe with a shake of his head.
“When is the last time you slept?” he asked and Michael shrugged.
“Last night,” he said.
“Not well obviously,” Petrov mused. “Go to sleep, I will wake you up when we arrive.”
Michael nodded and complied, but it took everything in him not to reach out to touch Petrov.
Michael woke up to the door opening, and had it not been for the seatbelt he would have fallen out of the car. He looked up to see Petrov standing in front of him and he quickly unbelted himself and got out of the car. As he tried to stand he wobbled slightly, feeling light headed, and Petrov reached out to steady him. The moment the Russian’s hands landed on Michael’s arms, the boy lost all self control and grabbed onto Petrov. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, squeezing him as hard as his wasted muscles could manage. Petrov pried him off gently and shook his head.
“There will be time for that later,” Petrov said and took a step back. As they stepped into the house Michael quickly surmised they were alone. “You need to eat.”
“My stomach hurts too badly to eat,” Michael replied as they got into the kitchen.
“It hurts because you need to eat,” Petrov said opening the fridge. He grabbed a premade salad from the fridge and handed it to Michael with some dressing and a fork.
“Something light. If I could cook I would make something for you… but I can’t cook.”
Michael nodded and slowly ate the salad and silence. When his stomach protested he placed it down and Petrov put the salad back in the fridge. On top of the cover Petrov wrote ‘Mischa’ in black marker and Michael allowed himself to smile. Petrov lead him upstairs and into the bathroom where he wordlessly turned on the hot water. He helped Michael out of his clothing, leaving him in his boxers, and looked over Michael’s body with what could only be described as guilt. Michael might have mistaken the look for disgust had the guilt not shown so brightly in his eyes.
“Oh, Mischa,” he murmured, reaching out and touching his ribs. Michael stepped toward him and this time Petrov let him wrap his arms around him. Michael’s face pressed into Petrov’s black suit, inhaling deeply, trying to get as much of his sent as he could. Petrov’s hand brushed through his hair a moment and pulled back. “Take a nice hot shower. We will talk later.”
“You’re not coming in?” Michael asked hopefully and Petrov shook his head.
“No,” Petrov replied. “We should talk before we resume our physical relationship.”
Michael nodded and watched Petrov leave, holding Michael’s shirt and pants in his arms as he left. Slowly Michael slipped into the hot shower, lowing himself to the ground. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
Petrov was berating himself for not collecting the boy earlier as he placed Michael’s shirt in the hamper and went through his jeans pocket for anything he might want to save. He pulled out a small key, to his janitor closet no doubt, and tossed it on the bureau. He would have someone go and collect his belongings tomorrow. He felt a piece of paper in the pocket and pulled it out unceremoniously, expecting it to be a receipt or a check. As he tossed it on the bed it caught his eyes. It was an old newspaper clipping. He reached out, unfolded it, and felt his heart constrict slightly.
He looked at it awhile, wondering how long Michael had been carrying it around with him. He placed it on the dressed and tossed Michael’s pants in the hamper. He took out some pajamas for him to use and lay them on the bed, pulling down the covers so he could have a good night’s rest tonight. Petrov waited nearly an hour before he went back into the bathroom to collect Michael, and was not surprised to see him sleeping peacefully under the spray of water.
Petrov turned the water off and gently lifted Michael off the ground. He stirred, moved around enough to help Petrov dry him and walked in a daze into the bedroom. He slipped into the pajama bottoms Petrov handed him and then slipping into bed shirtless. As he lay his wet hair down on the pillow he felt the mattress sink in beside him and looked up to see Petrov looking down at him.
His hands gently moved over Michael’s bare chest, before gliding up to his shoulder. His finger gently traced the healing wound and Michael watched the look on his face. He had never seen Petrov’s face more expressive and his distress over the bullet would gave him some peace.
“You should see the one on my thigh,” Michael said through a yawn. “Half an inch from my femoral artery. I guess that’s kinda a big one.”
“Yes, kinda,” Petrov replied sarcastically, but he was so focused Michael took him seriously. Petrov moved away and Michael found himself unable to wait for his return before falling into sleep.
He awoke a few hours later, his body securely cocooned in blankets, nestled in the strong arms of Petrov. He felt the Russian’s breathing next to his face and turned to face him.
“Iosef, Mischa,” he whispered.
“Iosef, are you awake?”
“No,” he replied and Michael blushed.
“Iosef are we going to be OK?” he asked, reaching up and touching Petrov’s lips. Petrov’s eyes fluttered opened and he was able to see his icy blue eyes in the darkness.
“Yes, Mischa. We have to be.”
Chapter 28: Chapter Twenty Eight
Sorry for taking so long to get this up. I had a death in my immediate family and was not up to writing or anything really. Picture Perfect will be up soon. I lost some of the edited chapters, so there might be some time gaps, and I am back at my summer job, so just be patient. I will be back to updating regularly now. Thanks to everyone who has stayed with me. You guys are amazing!
Michael awoke to hands on his shoulder, gently touching the area around his healing bullet wound. His eyes fluttered open to look at Petrov’s, who was gently touching him, sadness reflecting in his eyes. The touch was soft and gentle. It sent a shiver down Michael’s spine and Petrov looked up at him. Their eyes met a few moments and they were content to simply stare at each other in silence. Neither could quite trust the fact that they were together again and tried to let their reunion sink in some. It gave Petrov more pain than it did Michael happiness, because as he looked at Michael’s face, he could see the damage that had been done to him in the passing months clearly.
“Tell me how it happened?” Petrov asked softly and under the covers Michael’s hand went to his thigh. That was the one that hurt the most and had done the most damage. The one on his shoulder was more visible, but his thigh had the deepest scars, both physically and emotionally.
“I don’t remember it all that clearly. I was crossing the room to get onto the bed and I heard a crack. I think it was the sound of the windows shattering. Then there was this blinding pain and I was on the floor. It burns, being shot, like it felt like my entire leg was on fire. The slug got lodged in my thigh and they had to do surgery to remove it. The one to my shoulder went clean through and pancaked into the wall on the other side,” Michael told him.
“I never told Adrik to do it,” Petrov murmured, touching the area around the wound again.
“Did you see the pictures of the room I was in?” Michael asked. Petrov shook his head.
“Adrik has. He offered them to me but I told him I did not wish to see them.”
“It’s pretty intense,” Michael told him. “I crawled for the bed, which helped, but apparently the people who stayed in the room before me left some bags underneath the bed by accident. A bunch of bullets were lodged in them. They said that if those people had not left those bags then I would have died for sure,” Michael told him. A painful grimace crossed over Petrov’s face.
“I do not like hearing about this,” Petrov murmured.
“I’ll stop,” Michael said softly and Petrov shook his head.
“No, all must be said. For my own punishment as well as coming to terms with our relationship. If we are going to fix things, it must be now. It cannot wait,” Petrov replied.
“Should we start at the beginning then?” Michael asked and Petrov nodded.
“Yes, with you leaving,” Petrov said softly. “I’d like to know why.”
“Iosef,” Michael paused and looked up at the ceiling before going on. “It’s not like you have a job at a bank or an office building. You kill people. I felt guilty for caring for you, for finding solace in you. When the news came on about that college student, and then everything about you I found out online –”
“You searched for me on the internet?” Petrov cut him off. “What did you find?”
“Nothing good.” Michael replied. “I did not leave the house planning on running. I didn’t deceive you or plot against you. The police were following me and when they found me alone they pounced. They showed me pictures of victims and… Iosef, I’m more like them then you. You should be my enemy not my lover. Could you really expect me to do anything differently?”
“No,” Petrov murmured. “You are too good for me.”
“The moment I left I regretted it. I kept asking them to let me call you but they refused. I think they knew if I talked to you I wouldn’t be able to go through with it,” Michael said.
“And I wasn’t going to, but when I got shot I was so sure it was you. Why would someone like you care if I died? I’m nobody.”
“That’s not true,” Petrov whispered.
“Do you know how hard it is to know that the man you are cuddling with has probably just come back from ordering someone’s execution? What does it say about me, that I care about you so much? That I love being with you and that all I could think about was you and your smile and your laugh and your eyes and your suits and your…” Michael trailed off a moment and let Petrov take everything in. Michael had the strong feeling this was the first time any of his lovers were so honest with their feelings.
“I thought that if I got into the car with them, that I would forget about you. That I would feel better once I confessed and that I would maybe finally be happy. But I felt like someone had carved out my heart with a spoon and left my chest wide open in a gaping wound for all my blood and organs to leak out. I felt like the world was crumpling around me and that I was going to be crushed under the pressure. I wanted you so badly. I wanted you to hold me and tell me everything was ok,” Michael went on.
“Is that why you called? It was you wasn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Michael said softly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Did it make you feel better?” he asked.
“No,” Michael answered. “I was more confused afterward then I was before. It ripped me apart hearing your voice.”
“Things will be different now. You are no longer a hostage. You are here on your own free will. If you wish to leave, then walk out the door. But know that while you are with me I want loyalty, obedience and respect. Understand?”
Michael nodded. He touched Petrov’s chest gently.
“I don’t want to leave,” he said.
“There will be no more trust. Nothing will be said in front of you, most conversations in your presence will be spoken in Russian. No questions will be asked by you in front of anyone else but me. If you do ask questions in front of others expect some form of punishment.
“Yes, sir,” Michael murmured and Petrov touched his cheek.
“Iosef, please,” Petrov said and Michael nodded at him.
Petrov smiled and pressed his lips to Michael’s.
“I’ve missed you,” he breathed against Michael’s lips. Michael smiled softly and pecked Petrov’s mouth.
“I missed you too,” he told him. Petrov placed himself on top of Michael and continued his soft kisses. The kisses quickly turned heated and Petrov slipped his tongue into Michael’s mouth.
“Oh, I want you,” Petrov breathed and began tugging at Michael’s clothing. With the covers kicked back Petrov pulled his growing erection out of his pants and gave it a few hard strokes.
“I’ve never gone so long without sex,” Petrov breathed.
“You didn’t sleep with Jamie?” Michael asked.
“I found him at one of Solovyov’s clubs before coming to get you,” Petrov responded. “I was only looking for an excuse. I did not wish you to know I had come to retrieve you purposefully.”
“I love you, Iosef. I really do,” Michael breathed and Petrov smiled.
“I know,” he said, running his palms over Michael’s chest. “I love you too.”
Petrov leaned over and grabbed some lube from the side table.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said and flipped Michael onto his stomach. Michael tried to get up onto his hands and knees but Petrov pushed him back down, so he lay flat on the bed. Petrov squeezed some lube onto Michael’s asshole and massaged it gently. Michael moaned as he pushed two fingers into his tight hole. Petrov prepared him a few moments, scissoring his fingers inside of him, enjoying the moans from Michael.
“You greedy little boy,” Petrov mocked as Michael’s ass backed into him. Petrov removed his fingers and positioned himself at Michael’s tight hole.
As he slowly slid into him, he lowered his body down to Michael’s so he was lying on top of him. Michael bit his bottom lip hard, letting out a loud, deep moan. Petrov sucked Michael’s earlobe between his lips and nibbled slightly. Petrov moved against him slowly at first, but he found himself incapable of keeping himself at bay. He thrust into Michael hard, the sound of panting and smacking skin filling the air.
“Iosef,” Michael moaned out. Petrov placed his hands over Michael’s, threaded their fingers together. Michael felt Petrov tense, shudder, and groan against his ear as he came inside of him. He wasted no time pulling out of him and flipped Michael over. He grinded his hips into Michael’s, their hard cocks rubbing together. Michael made such wonderful noised that Petrov felt himself get hard again.
His lips worked against Michael’s, their tongues dancing together. They both came together and for a long time stayed still, holding onto each other. Michael wrapped his arms around Petrov so tightly it was almost painful, and Petrov gently kissed the side of his face.
“Iosef?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Yes, Mischa?” he asked, placing a kiss to Michael’s cheek.
“We are going to be OK?”
“We are going to be better then OK,” he replied and Michael smiled.
“I love you, Iosef,” he told him, his green eyes locked on blue.
“I love you, Mischa,” he told him. His love shone in his eyes brightly. “So much.”
For the first time in his short, tragic life, Michael felt liked he belonged.