Dmitry: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Read online

  Dmitry

  A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance

  Ava Bloom

   Copyright 2018 by Ava Bloom - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Contents

  1. Vitoria

  2. Dmitry

  3. Vitoria

  4. Dmitry

  5. Vitoria

  6. Dmitry

  7. Vitoria

  8. Dmitry

  9. Vitoria

  10. Dmitry

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  Nikolai Preview (3 Chapters)

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  1

  Vitoria

  I grabbed my bags off the luggage carousel and walked out to meet my driver. As we drove through Barcelona, I could feel my body relaxing. It had been too long now since I’d been back to the city of my childhood. For the past few years, I hadn’t even been back for vacations; instead, my parents had come to meet me in different places abroad, trying to keep me from the city in any way that they could.

  I knew their intentions were good. With Papa involved with the Audaz gang, he wanted to make sure that I was safe. That I never had to show where my loyalties lay. But I hoped they would finally realize that I was a grown woman and that I could handle the consequences of my actions.

  Of course, they wouldn’t be as concerned with me at the moment, I thought darkly. Mama had come down with some disease that I had never heard of before, and it had put her in the hospital for the past month, her condition gradually worsening. I hadn’t known about any of it until the previous weekend; as soon as Papa had admitted it to me, I had booked my flight home.

  I went straight to the hospital, instructing the driver to bring my luggage home and then circle back to pick me up. I should probably talk to Papa before I visited Mama, but I couldn’t find it in me to be patient. My biggest flaw, Mama had always said.

  I paused in the doorway at the hospital, staring down at Mama. She looked pale and weak, her hair tangled against the pillow. I slowly sat down at the bedside, reaching for her hand and grimacing at how dry and cold it felt. Mama’s eyes flickered open as I tugged the blanket higher around her chin.

  “Ah, mi hija,” she murmured, sounding like a ghost of her former self.

  “Mama,” I whispered, overcome by emotion. I wasn’t going to lose her. The doctors said there were treatments for this. Expensive ones, but the cost didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to lose her. “I’ll get a job,” I told her fiercely. “I’ll help out with the payments. Papa doesn’t need to shoulder all of this on his own.”

  Mama smiled, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “My brave, proud daughter,” she said. She pushed herself up against the pillows. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her, but there was nothing I could say in response to that. She had to know exactly how bad it was.

  “There are treatments, though,” I pointed out.

  “Yes,” Mama said, but she looked away from me, her expression guilty. “Your papa has had some hard times with his business lately. He didn’t want to tell you. But I’m afraid that the treatments are…out of the question.”

  “No!” I said, shaking my head vehemently, refusing to believe it. “Mama, there must be some way.”

  “There is,” a deep, male voice said from behind me.

  I spun around to see my father’s friend Roberto, giving me an appraising look. Slowly, I rose to my feet. Mama looked less than happy to see him there. “Roberto Diego Ruiz, tu diablo,” she hissed, but that seemed to be all that her strength would allow for the day. I watched her eyes drift closed and worriedly looked to make sure she was still breathing, that her chest was still rising and falling normally.

  Then, I let out a long breath and turned to Roberto. “Maybe we should talk out in the hallway,” I suggested.

  Roberto inclined his head towards me and led the way. “University has agreed with you,” he said as he scanned my body.

  I grinned at him and shook my head. “Roberto, you old rascal. You’re still my father’s best friend, remember.”

  Roberto snorted. “It’s good to see you back in Barcelona where you belong, though,” he said. He paused. “As for the matter of your mother’s medical bills…Audaz is fully prepared to step in and pay for these treatments that she requires.”

  I stared at him, wondering just what Papa had done to warrant that. But in a flash of understanding, I realized that it wasn’t about what Papa had done. No, there was a reason that Roberto was here to meet me the second I arrived in the city.

  I felt a sinking feeling in my gut. My parents had never wanted me to get involved in Audaz, and for good reason. They were one of the most powerful gangs in Spain. I would never be free from them once I got involved—they’d ask for one favor, and then another smaller favor, and sometime five years from now, they’d expect me to, I don’t know, rob a bank or kill a man.

  Well, probably not. I didn’t really know what they were involved in, but I knew a lot of it was just petty crime, some weapons deals, maybe a drug deal or two. Stuff that the authorities could look the other way on. But I wasn’t about to ruin my life by joining up with them.

  Still, when it came down to it… If this was the only way to save my mother, I didn’t really have a choice.

  I glanced back towards the closed hospital doorway. Through the window, I could see Mama sleeping there, her body frail and her expression tired as her body fought this strange disease. She was wasting away, and soon, no treatment in the world would be able to save her.

  I turned back towards Roberto. “What do you need me to do?”

  Roberto grinned at me. “I always appreciate practicality in a woman,” he said. He glanced around the hallway and then pulled me along into an empty room. “This isn’t the sort of thing we should be discussing in public.”

  I swallowed hard, even though I knew what I was getting myself into with Audaz. “Right,” I said.

  “What do you know about the Volkov family?” Roberto asked.

  I frowned, trying to place the name. But it didn’t ring any bells. I shook my head, and Roberto laughed.

  “Your parents really did a good job keeping you away from Audaz business, didn’t they?” he asked. He shook his head. “The Volkov family is a rival gang. Russian mob. They’ve been doing their best to take over Barcelona. But of course, we can’t let that happen.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Russians are trying to take over Barcelona?” I asked in disbelief.

  Roberto clucked his tongue. “You’re a smart girl; I’m sure you can figure out why,” he said. “What industry in this city could the Russians possibly be interested in?”

  I thought for a moment. “Tourism,” I finally said slowly, thinking of everything that I knew about the Russian mob, most of which information came from watching Hollywood movies. “They must be involved in the club scene.”

  “We’ll make a member out of you yet,” Roberto said proudly.

  I shook my head but didn’t fight him on that for the moment. “But why Barcelona? Why not Ibiza or Mallorca or somewhere?”

  Roberto shrugged. “All I know is that they’re trying to encroach on our territory. We have it on good authority that they’re preparing to launch an offensive against us. Unfortunately, our inside spy was caught and executed, leav
ing us with a dangerous dearth of information. That’s where you come in.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “If you’re suggesting that I disguise myself as a Russian and infiltrate their gang, I’m afraid that could take a while,” I told him. “I don’t speak a word of Russian, and I’ve heard it’s a difficult language to learn…”

  Roberto laughed. “It’s admirable that you would think to try. But I have something much simpler in mind.” He pulled a printed photo out of his pocket. “This is Dmitry Volkov, the nephew of the mob leader. He’s a few years older than you and quite the player.”

  I frowned at Roberto, trying to figure out what he wanted from me. “You’re not asking me to kill him, are you?” I whispered.

  Again, Roberto laughed. “Of course not, darling,” he said. “If we wanted that, he’d be dead already. But his death wouldn’t help us figure out their plans, would it?”

  I shook my head mutely. Then, I suddenly understood. “You want me to get close to him. To get him to spill his secrets.” I mulled it over. “You want me to take him out clubbing and get him drunk?”

  “A good idea, but it would take a lot to get a Russian drunk,” Roberto said. “I was thinking more that you might…entice him. As I said, the man is a known player. Get him to take you out on a date. Get him wrapped around your finger.” He gave me another lewd once-over. “I’m sure you know what to do.”

  I stared at Roberto for a moment. “You want me to seduce him, get him to trust me, and then steal the Volkov secrets,” I said slowly. It wasn’t a bad idea. And as much as I didn’t like the idea of being involved with Audaz, this wasn’t such a bad plan. They weren’t asking me to do anything illegal. But—

  “If I do this, you’ll pay my mother’s medical bills?” I asked. “All of them, until she is fully recovered.”

  “You have my word,” Roberto said, putting a hand over his heart. “I know how important family is. We are all Catalan.”

  I paused. “And this wouldn’t make me a member of Audaz? Once I’ve done this, I don’t have to do anything else?”

  “Oh no, no, no,” Roberto said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t do that to your father.”

  I considered the plan. I wasn’t thrilled to pretend to date some Russian pig, for however long this took, but I’d do anything to help my family, and this could be the best way. We needed that money now, and if Audaz was willing to help...

  “All right, I’ll do it,” I said. I’d just have to make sure that neither of my parents found out what I was up to. I was sure the shock would drive my mother to her grave—it would break her poor heart if she thought that everything she’d ever protected me from was ruined, all by her illness.

  “Perfecto,” Roberto said, grinning toothily at me. “I’ll give you the address to our headquarters so that you can come by and learn more about Dmitry and the Volkovs.”

  2

  Dmitry

  Finding enough good beets to make proper borscht was difficult in Barcelona. The city wasn’t exactly known for using the root vegetable in its cuisine. But we were having a family dinner the following night, myself and my brothers Nikolay and Andrei, a couple cousins, and a couple uncles and aunts. I had volunteered to bring the borscht since it didn’t involve much work—not like bringing pelmeni or some of the other dishes that would be on the table. But I hadn’t thought about how many beets I would need to track down.

  I visited my third market of the day and finally managed to find what I needed, in one of the stalls at the back. I breathed out a sigh of relief and filled my bag.

  I loved living in Barcelona. It had been my home for three years now, and I never got tired of the beaches and the beautiful weather. But there were certain things that still made me miss home.

  I missed hearing Russian all around me. My English was decent by now, but I still had very limited knowledge of Spanish. And I missed the heavy, hearty food. Spanish cuisine could definitely be tasty, with its tapas and seafood platters and tortilla. But it wasn’t the same.

  What I missed most of all, though, were the women. A sexy Russian woman, with long, pale legs and immaculate makeup and attire. Not that the Spanish women weren’t attractive as well, but they were different. They were tanned, and there was something a bit more wild about them.

  As though summoned by my thoughts, one of those sexy Catalonian women suddenly collided with me. I grunted and reached out automatically to steady her, raising an eyebrow in surprise when I saw how beautiful this particular specimen was. I was around attractive women pretty regularly—from Ritmo, the club that Uncle Evgeni and the family owned, to the beaches. But every once in a while, a woman came along who made all those other women look just like girls.

  “I have to apologize for my clumsiness,” I told the woman, even though she had been the one to run into me. I bowed over her hand and lightly kissed it, like something out of a medieval story.

  The woman blinked at me and then giggled, looking embarrassed. “It’s my fault,” she told me, shaking her head. “I was in a hurry, and I wasn’t paying attention.”

  I looked down, expecting to see bags of produce knocked flying, but she didn’t seem to have purchased anything. For a moment, that struck me as strange: she was back in the far corner of the market and in a hurry, but she didn’t appear to be shopping? But maybe whatever it was she was looking for, she hadn’t been able to find there.

  Anyway, what reason did I have to be suspicious? Pickpocketing was common in Barcelona, sure, but I knew my wallet was still in my pocket—after a few years with the mob, I would have noticed even the most skilled thief trying to take it—and even if she did come after my wallet, I could easily incapacitate her. We were in a mostly deserted aisle at the moment, so it wasn’t as though a friend of hers could rob me while she distracted me.

  No, she posed no threat.

  “Where is a gorgeous woman like you rushing off to?” I asked teasingly. “Don’t you know that time stops for a face like yours?”

  The woman giggled again, ducking her head shyly and looking up at me through her long, dark lashes. “Tell that to my professor,” she said.

  Again, those strange alarm bells in my head. I frowned. “You’re running through the back of the market to get to a class?” I asked.

  “Shortcut,” she said. “That woman over there, Giulia, she’s an old friend of mine.” She raised her arm and waved, and sure enough, the older woman waved back. “She lets me in through the back door to the market—the one they use to take out the trash. I cut out two streets that way.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. I frowned. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you, if you’re already going to be late to your class…but perhaps I could take you out for coffee afterwards?”

  The woman looked at her watch and sighed. “Honestly, I am already too late for this lecture,” she admitted. “If I show up now, the professor probably will not even let me into the room.” She tossed her long, curly brown hair. “I’m not usually late. But this morning I was visiting my mother in the hospital, and I wasn’t ready to leave…”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I paused and cocked my head to the side. “Well, if you’re not going to go to your class, maybe I could take you out to coffee now? It sounds like you could use something to take your mind off…some things.”

  “I’d like that,” the woman said. She held out a hand. “My name is Vitoria, by the way.”

  “I’m Dmitry,” I told her.

  “You’re Russian, aren’t you?” she asked curiously.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. I grinned crookedly. “What gave it away—the accent or the name?”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry, you probably hate having people ask you about it. I just don’t expect to see many Russians in Spain!”

  “We come for the beaches and stay for the women,” I told her, winking.

  She laughed again and linked her arm in mine. “I know a great little coffee place near here,” she told me.

  �
��Lead the way,” I said, already plotting how I could get her from the coffee shop to my beachfront mansion and into bed. Sometimes, the Catalonian women were tricky. They had a lot of pride, and they weren’t always ready to jump into bed right away. They needed to be wooed.

  But after three years, I knew how to woo them. I’d take her out for a nice dinner on my yacht—maybe I’d even cook for her. We’d stare out over the lights of the city, picking out the spires of La Sagrada Familia, the W Hotel, the office buildings. I’d brush her hair back off her shoulders and remark how lovely she looked, and then we’d kiss. She’d melt under my ministrations until she was begging me to fill her.

  It was another reason I missed Russian women. The chase, with these Spanish women, was always the same.

  Maybe Vitoria would surprise me though. I could hope so, anyway.

  We sat down at a table in the back after placing our orders, Vitoria using rapid-fire Spanish when placing hers, laughing with the barista. I liked her laugh, I found myself thinking as I watched her. She tossed her head back and laughed merrily, as though she didn’t care who might hear her or who might stare.

  “So do you live here in Barcelona, or are you just here for an extended visit?” Vitoria asked.

  “I’ve lived here for the past three years,” I told her. I grimaced. “And my Spanish is still only rudimentary—maybe I need a better teacher!” Vitoria laughed again. “What about you?” I asked. “I’m sure if you lived here, I would recognize you. A man could never forget a stunning face like yours.”

  It was cheesy, I knew, but women seemed to respond to the line. Especially proud Spanish women who wanted seemingly nothing more than to know that they and their beauty was appreciated.