CHAPTER THREE
1644 Words
FOUND HER
SALVATORE
Salvatore Petrov.
Most people say my name with a certain weight behind it, hint of caution. Sometimes fear.
To the outside world, I am known simply as Salvatore Petrov, the Don of the Petrov family and the eldest of the Petrov triplets.
A title that carries power and spilled blood, title that, if I’m being honest, has begun to bore the hell out of me.
Life has become painfully predictable and that is a dangerous thing for a man like me, I have seen things most men twice my age would break under. I watched war unfold before my eyes when I was still young enough to believe the world had rules, I witnessed men die screaming, I saw betrayal rip families apart, learned early that mercy was a luxury our world did not allow.
Childhood ended for me long before it was supposed to.
At eighteen, I was forced into the Bratva leadership, not trained for it nor prepared for it, just thrown into it, to protect the world my generation has spent years building and didn't have enough time to prepare me for
My father had once spoken about the transition ritual he went through when he inherited power from his own father, an old tradition meant to prepare a man mentally for the weight of leadership but I never got that as war does not wait for ceremonies.
By the time I was crowned Don, there was no celebration, no ritual, no quiet moment to reflect, only bullets, enemies and blood.
The war that took my parents forced me to grow up overnight.
For twelve years after that, I did everything in my power to protect my brothers and keep the Petrov name alive and every decision I made was calculated, with every move I made was meant to strengthen our position. I crushed enemies, expanded territories, and built alliances that most people believed impossible and eventually…
The war ended.
The enemies were buried, the empire stood stronger than ever which should have brought peace.
Instead, it brought boredom.
Now my days are filled with contracts, negotiations, shipments, and endless meetings with men who smile too much and speak too carefully.
Wake up, go to work, sign documents, attend meetings and then personallt handle deliveries, becoming a problems solver
Repeat.
Over and over again.
Some nights I go out and pick women from some of her clubs, women whose names I forget before morning, f*****g their brains out but after cumming, I discard immediately
Other nights I stay home and drink expensive whiskey while staring at the ceiling and occasionally, my brothers and I manage to gather as a family.
Though even that has become rare, everyone now has their own responsibilities, their own lives, it is strange how life can become dull even when you control an empire.
Thirty years old.
And already tired of everything, ten years ago, I would have laughed at the idea of feeling this way, back then I had women practically throwing themselves at my feet. Every city we visited offered a new face, a new body, a new distraction, I f****d my way through different countries, different languages, different shades of skin.
At the time, it felt like freedom.
Now?
It feels empty and most nights I can barely bring myself to care.
Hell, some nights I wonder if my c**k has simply given up entirely and that thought almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
My phone vibrates against the glass table beside me and I glance down at the screen.
Ivanov.
Of course, I sigh and answer the call, lifting the phone to my ear.
“What do you want?” I say flatly.
His laughter echoes through the speaker.
“Always such a warm greeting from my beloved brother.”
“You dragged me out of my house today,” I remind him. “You should be grateful I even answered.”
Ivanov chuckles again, completely unbothered by my tone.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For bringing you to see the club.”
My gaze drifts around the VIP booth I’m currently occupying, the place is new, freshly renovated and every detail is polished to perfection.
Typical thing to expect from Ivanov
Ivanov is my second in command and has always been the business brain between us and while I handled wars and enforcement and negotiation between families, he handled expansion and money, if something could turn a profit, Ivanov would find it and judging from what I’ve seen tonight, he has outdone himself again.
“Not bad,” I admit.
“Not bad?” he scoffs through the phone. “Salvatore, I spent eight months building this place.”
“And it shows.”
“That better be a compliment.”
“It is.”
Ivanov exhales dramatically. “You’re impossible.”
I take a slow sip of my drink, the whiskey burns pleasantly down my throat.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Downstairs. Handling a small issue with the manager.”
“Of course you are.”
“That’s what happens when you’re the responsible brother.”
“You mean the boring one.”
“Careful,” he warns. “I could still throw you out.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Another pause.
Then Ivanov says casually, “Enjoy the view though, the dancers tonight are supposed to be top tier.”
I glance toward the large tinted glass wall beside the booth and from where I sit, I can see everything happening downstairs, the glass is dark enough that no one on the other side can see me watching and a perfect vantage point.
“You dragged me here for a strip club,” I mutter.
“It’s called marketing,” Ivanov replies.
“It’s called desperation.”
He laughs again.
“Just relax for once, brother, drink something or just watch the show, maybe you’ll actually enjoy yourself for a change.”
“Unlikely.”
“Well, try anyway.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Ivanov sighs.
“God, you sound like an old man.”
“I feel like one.”
“Thirty is not old.”
“In our world it is.”
He goes quiet for a moment, then he says more seriously, “You’ve been working too much.”
“That’s the job.”
“No,” he says. “That’s your excuse.”
I don’t respond, Ivanov knows better than most people when to push and when to drop a subject and after a few seconds he sighs again.
“Fine, be miserable if you want, I have actual work to do, guess dad would be proud of you.”
“How tragic.”
“Enjoy the dancers, Salvatore.”
The call ends.
I lower the phone slowly and place it back on the table, the music from downstairs pulses through the building like a heartbeat. Deep bass vibrations travel through the floor beneath my feet.
Laughter.
Voices, the clinking of glasses and the club is packed, Ivanov clearly did his job well.
I lean back into the leather couch and take another sip of whiskey.
Minutes pass.
I watch the crowd below move like waves beneath dim lights and neon colors, men throwing money.
Women dancing, bartenders sliding drinks across counters, it should be entertaining but like everything else lately…
It feels routine.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling a dull ache forming there, maybe Ivanov was right, I do need to relax.
My eyes wander again toward the glass wall overlooking the dance floor and that’s when I feel it.
A strange prickling sensation at the back of my neck, like the instinctive awareness of something shifting in the room.
I frown slightly.
It’s a feeling I learned long ago, the same instinct that warns you when someone is pointing a gun at your back.
And very slowly, I sit forward.
My gaze sharpens as I stand from the couch and walk toward the tinted glass.
From here, the entire lower level spreads out beneath me, lights flash across the stage, music vibrates through the building.
And then—
My eyes catch movement, ot just movement.
Her.
My breath stalls for a moment, she’s dancing on one of the smaller side stages near the center of the floor.
The lights glide across her body, highlighting the smooth sway of her hips and every step she takes seems controlled and danngerous, she bends slightly as the music shifts and my entire body reacts instantly.
My c**k hardens so fast it almost feels violent and I go completely still, that has not happened in months or even longer.
Yet here I am… reacting like a teenager, my gaze darkens as I study her more carefully, to the way her hips roll slowly with the rhythm, the confident tilt of her chin and the tight outfit hugging every curve of her body.
When she bends again, the fabric presses against her skin just enough to outline the shape between her thighs.
A low curse escapes my mouth.
“Fuck.”
Something about her pulls my attention completely.
Not just attraction but possession and I feel my c**k leak precum at the thought of possessing her whole,
The music changes again and she spins lightly, hair swaying behind her and for a moment she seems distracted then suddenly she pauses.
Her balance shifts that she almost slips, her head turns slightly as if she’s trying to locate something.
Or someone and aslow smile begins to form on my lips.
Interesting.
My gaze never leaves her and right there, standing behind the dark glass where no one can see me,
I realize something, something undeniable and very much absolute.
I have found my woman.
And it is time for the taking.
- Writer
