I look up into the showerhead, letting the water blind me. I imagine Ally in front of me, the water flowing down her curves and her ass pressed up against my groin.
I run my hand over my cock, imagining her soft hands. I imagine her mouth, her lips tight around the head. I press my hand against the wall of the shower. My fist glides up and down my cock. I close my eyes. Ally on her knees. Her eyes, gazing up at me. The look of need. Her hand raising, cupping my balls.
As I get closer to my limit, I imagine jerking her around, pressing her up against the wall. I’d bury myself in her, feeling her breathing quicken with my chest against her back. I’d fuck her as her hands tried to grip onto the wall. Her supple ass pushing up against me as she struggled to keep her balance.
When I come, there’s a flood of pleasure. I lean against the wall. As the seconds pass by, the pleasure is replaced by a hollow solitude.
I step out of the shower, but Ally’s mirage follows me out. She dances naked in the center of the bathroom. When I get dressed, I see her in the closet from when we picked out her clothes after our first run. When I go down the stairs, I recall her standing in the doorway, prepared to run away from the deal I was giving her. Even her words and her laugh reverberate in the house like ghosts.
I make myself a drink, hoping to drown the memories out. I check my phone.
Ilya: I’m coming over with the report. Don’t shoot me.
He’s worried. It’s annoying as fuck, but as my right-hand man, he’s equally concerned about me as he is about the Bratva. He’s right about how shoddy my marksmanship was today. My father gave me a gun for the first time when I was five and I practiced obsessively when I was a teenager. I should have been able to take out all of those men easily. But my mind was preoccupied.
The doorbell rings. I finish my drink and get the door.
* * *
Ilya sets his old-fashioned down beside my whiskey on the coffee table. I still smell smoke wafting from the fireplace. I cleaned it out thoroughly enough that nobody would ever know that Ally turned it into our burned bridge.
“The only choice left is to kill him,” I say.
Ilya shakes his head. “Killing the don is what led to this. It would also lead to too much attention from the police. I’m certain they assume that Duilio Colosimo’s disappearance means that the Bratva took him out, but they can’t be certain. For all they know, he skipped town or one of his own members killed him. But if his son is killed as well, they will go after the Bratva without reservations.”
“If we don’t kill him, he will become a much larger problem than the police.”
“We could offer a deal,” Ilya suggests. “There’s no way he would pass up a decent deal for peace. We overpower him in every way. He knows, at best, this ends with us suffering some casualties while the Colosimos are annihilated.”
“He’s willing to burn generations of his family’s work to get back at me for killing his father. He’s not going to fold because we offer him an increase in his profit. Even if he was, I’d rather be skinned than negotiate with him.”
“Lev—”
“No,” I cut him off. “He threatened Ally. He came into the office. He took my goddamn guns. If he disrespects me one more time, I’ll have no problem cutting off his goddamn balls in the middle of the police station. Ponimayesh?”
Do you understand?
“Da,” he says. Yes.
I pick up my drink, finishing it off. He picks up his old-fashioned, taking a gulp. There’s an uneasiness in the room and it’s not just coming from Ilya. I can almost sense Ally sitting on the couch’s armrest, where we had sex without protection. For a brief moment, I think of the baby, then banish that thought. But I can’t banish Ally from my mind. Her voice infiltrates my thoughts, soothing but disapproving.
You should take him to court.
There has to be another way.
You’re pathetic. You’re just a common thug.
“You should get back to Sophie,” I say. Ilya nods, downing the last of his drink. He stands up, placing the glass on the bar.
“You know,” he says as he moves toward the doorway. “I would have cracked a long time ago if it weren’t for Sophie.”
“I know,” I say. “She’s been good for you.”
“I don’t know what happened between you and Allison—”
I scowl at him. He pauses.
“I don’t know what happened,” he repeats. “But letting her go is a mistake. Sometimes you need someone else to keep you from going over the edge.”
“That’s why you’re here,” I say. “And you’re better with a gun.”
“Thank you,” he says. “But Allison is who you need. Sophie agrees. Before Allison, you were relentless and created a legacy—but you were just like Marco. You were willing to give up everything. The only difference is that he’s doing it for revenge and you were doing it for power. Allison gave you something that you wanted to hold onto.”
“Ilya,” I say. “I’m closer to you than anybody else in the world. But if you compare me to Marco Colosimo again, I will cut your bowels open, dump you in the sewer, and let you be eaten alive by rats.”
He nods once. “Understood.”
He leaves quickly, the entrance door softly closing behind him. I pour myself another drink. Ally’s voice continues to cling to my thoughts.
I don’t regret it.
I imagine she does now. I’m not certain I can say the same.
As I drink, I play through the memories. Her words become a symphony, accompanied by her breathing, the sweet sounds she made while we moved together, and the softness of her voice afterward. I imagine her
