Yes, Sergei was smart all right. He’d never stolen from his brother, but with Boris gone he began manoeuvring money from the businesses, then moving it out of the country. After a while he’d amassed enough to make an overnight exit.
Fuck the men who claimed to be Boris’s partners. He’d taken what he considered to be his rightful inheritance and fled to Mexico, where it wasn’t long before he reconnected with the people Boris had done business with in the past.
Now, at thirty-two, five years after Boris’s murder, he had a new life and more money than he could ever hope to spend.
Input Denim, Inc. was a clothing company he’d purchased, a line of clothes that sold all across the US, Europe and the Middle East. He’d also taken over a worldwide medical supply and waste company. Both businesses were savvy fronts for his real business – the drug trade.
Over a short period of time Sergei had managed to turn himself into a master drug kingpin, with major ties to the Mexican drug cartels. He was a natural at covering his tracks and making new friends.
Apart from his crooked nose – which had never set properly – and the vicious scar on his cheek, Sergei wasn’t bad-looking. He was not tall, but his build was quite muscular. He smothered his face and body in fake tan, and exhibited shining white teeth – all capped. Sergei particularly enjoyed the company of women, and they seemed to like him back. Cocaine was his drug of choice. His special kick was snorting it off the body of whatever woman or women he might be with, then packing a fair amount of coke into their vaginas before sucking it out. Good times.
His ex-wife – a Ukrainian model who’d divorced him when she’d found out he was into four-way sex – now lived in New York and headed the legitimate part of his clothing company. Their marriage had barely lasted six months.
He had no children – or at least not any that he knew of, for fucking was his favourite pasttime, second only to making money.
Currently he resided in a penthouse in Mexico City. Weekends he spent at the villa he owned on the water in Acapulco, complete with helicopter pad.
Sergei made sure he was always surrounded by half a dozen faithful and dedicated henchmen. In business, a man could never be too careful.
Boris would be so proud if he could see him now. He’d seized control of his destiny, exactly as his big brother would have wanted him to do.
The one thing that continued to bother Sergei was finding out who had arranged the hit on Boris, and exactly who had carried out the plan. For it was a plan, he was sure of that.
Sergei wanted that person and he wanted them badly.
Over the years he’d never been able to find out. Not knowing ate away at him, for revenge was essential for his peace of mind.
Boris would expect him to exact revenge; indeed, Boris would demand it.
There had been only one witness to the crime, and that was the woman Boris had been living with at the time – a young French slut who went by the name of Nona. The girl had taken off with the contents of Boris’s safe the day after his demise. Sergei had been trying to seek her out ever since; however, she’d managed to disappear.
Over the five years she’d been missing, he’d hired several detectives to find her, but it was only in the last month that he’d received any results. She’d been located in Arizona, where she was living with a divorced businessman.
Sergei was currently on his way to pay her a long-overdue visit.
The conniving bitch owed him the money she’d stolen from Boris’s private safe, and more than that – she owed him the information about who had set up the murder of his brother.
Sergei was convinced she knew.
And he would get it out of her, one way or the other.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sleek, sensual, powerful and fast, Aleksandr’s new yacht was all of that and more. He had ordered an elegant state-of-the-art vessel that could take him anywhere in the world, and that’s exactly what he’d ended up with.
Luxury abounded. There were sun decks on three levels, all with their own bars and spacious dining areas. Plus a spiral staircase leading to all levels. There was a counter-flow swimming pool, a Jacuzzi, a fully equipped gym, plus a Pilates retreat. On the lower deck was an authentic Finnish sauna, a steam room, a hair salon, a movie theatre and even a small medical room for any emergency that might occur. There were also many toys, from water skis and Jet Skis to snorkelling and sports fishing equipment, kayaks, WaveRunners and deep scuba-diving gear. Everything was available.
The interior of the yacht was classy style – all imported Italian marble, pale woods, soft beige leathers and flattering lighting.
A giant Buddha presided over the marble entryway to the master stateroom, leading into the interior, which was more like a luxury apartment. A huge California King bed dominated, covered in exotic fur throws, and there were rich fabrics on the walls with Oriental touches. En suite were his and hers marble bathrooms, a feature Aleksandr had insisted on for Bianca’s pleasure, plus the master had its own private terrace, lap pool and Jacuzzi, where Bianca could sunbathe and swim nude if she so desired.
Six other staterooms were also luxurious. However, nothing lived up to the master, which was located on the sky deck, allowing 90-degree spectacular views.
Aleksandr had ordered the yacht three years earlier, before meeting Bianca. Then Bianca had entered his life and he’d changed the plans and also the name: the yacht was now christened The Bianca. He hadn’t told her. It would be one of the many surprises he had in store for her.
During the course of construction at the Hakvoort shipyard in Holland, Aleksandr had visited several times to make sure everything was exactly as he’d envisioned. Later he’d worked with a team of talented interior designers to fulfil his vision of pure opulence.
The yacht was finished two months previously, and the Captain and crew had taken it for a series of sea trial runs, finally ending up in Cabo San Lucas, in Mexico, where the big trip would begin.
Aleksandr had decided that rather than taking his group on the usual South of France/Sardinia/Italy run, they would embark on a different kind of voyage. They would explore the beautiful Sea of Cortez and the various small Mexican seaside towns and deserted islands along the way.
The Sea of Cortez – sometimes known as the aquarium of the sea because of the bountiful plant species, different kinds of fish and other marine mammals – offered everything for a fantastic vacation. They would visit uninhabited white sand beaches, experience jungle adventures, and sail far away from the ties of civilization.
Aleksandr was determined that this would be a trip to remember.
To be doubly sure everything was to his liking, he’d made one final visit to speak with Captain Harry Dickson, a ruddy-faced Englishman in his fifties. There were to be no screw-ups, everything had to be perfect. Captain Dickson assured him that it would be.
Flying back to Moscow, Aleksandr was fully satisfied that the captain was a man in charge, and that none of his guests, especially Bianca, would be disappointed.
Aleksandr was proud to say that he had created the perfect yacht for the perfect woman.
* * *
Bianca felt like crap as she sat on the British Airways plane taking her to Moscow. She had a horrible feeling that at any moment she was going to throw up all over the man sitting next to her. It seemed as if the plane was flying one way, and she was flying in the opposite direction. Wow! Talk about the mother of all hangovers.
‘Excuse me, miss,’ her overweight neighbour suddenly leaned over and said.
Miss! Was he fucking kidding?
‘Yes,’ she said, backing away from his garlic breath, lowering her copy of OK! magazine. ‘What?’
‘Aren’t you that famous model?’
What a dumb question. Either he knows who I am or he doesn’t.
‘Um, yes, I am a model,’ she said grudgingly, glad that she’d worn her blackout shades so that no one could see her eyes.
‘The famous one?’ the man s
aid. ‘I mean if you are, then I have to tell you that my daughter loves you, but er . . .’ he hesitated for a moment before continuing . . . ‘unfortunately I can’t seem to recall your name?’
Really? For God’s sake, get a life and leave me alone.
‘Bianca,’ she muttered, regretting that she hadn’t insisted that Aleksandr send his private plane for her.
‘Oh,’ the man said with a note of disappointment. ‘I thought it was Naomi.’
Please God save me from morons and tell this fucker to leave now!
‘Bianca,’ she repeated, unclipping her seat belt, abruptly getting up and heading for the galley, where Teddy, a languid gay cabin attendant, was discussing the size of Beyoncé’s thighs with an agitated blonde flight attendant who could think of nothing but her Russian boyfriend – the one with the massive appendage – who was waiting for her in a hotel room in Moscow.
‘You know what?’ Bianca said, with an I am very famous so kindly pay attention scowl. ‘The guy in the seat next to mine is really bothering me. Do you think you can move him somewhere else?’
Teddy had attitude. This passenger was interrupting his discourse on Beyoncé’s thighs, and he didn’t care who she was or what she wanted. Then all of a sudden he did care, because the moment she removed her ridiculously large sunglasses, he found himself staring into the feral cat-eyes of Bianca.
‘Oh my!’ he gasped. Why hadn’t anyone alerted him that the super-famous super-model was aboard? He glared at his lovesick co-worker and snapped, ‘What can we do, Heidi?’
Heidi managed to put on a suitably concerned expression. ‘We have a full flight,’ she said apologetically. ‘Would you like me to have a word with the gentleman?’
‘A word is not about to shut him up,’ Bianca said sharply. ‘The man’s a freaking pest.’
‘Oh dear!’ Teddy exclaimed, waving his arms in the air. ‘I can’t stand pests, or APs as I call them.’
Bianca frowned. ‘APs?’ she questioned.
‘Annoying passengers,’ Teddy responded. ‘We get them all the time.’
‘I could ask the lady sitting across the aisle if she’d swap seats with you,’ Heidi suggested. ‘That might solve our dilemma.’
‘And how can you guarantee that I won’t end up sitting next to another moron?’ Bianca demanded.
Heidi lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘The man in the window seat is a well-known English politician recently involved in a big scandal. I doubt if he’ll be interested in making conversation.’
‘Once they know it’s me, they’re all interested in making conversation,’ Bianca said with a weary sigh. Sometimes it was tough being famous and having to deal with the general public. ‘Only I guess anything is better than Mister Chatty,’ she added, putting her sunglasses back on.
‘I’ll go and see what I can do,’ Heidi said, while Teddy envisioned telling his hunky Polish partner all about his encounter with the very famous Bianca. Of course he would embellish, make out that they’d swapped email addresses and would definitely stay in touch.
‘You’re gorgeous,’ he managed, staring at her with envy and admiration. ‘More beautiful than your magazine covers.’
Bianca shrugged. ‘Good genes,’ she murmured, giving him hope that maybe they could become friends, that it wasn’t all simply a wild fantasy.
Heidi returned with the news that the woman in the aisle seat had agreed to move.
Bianca nodded. She was so used to getting her own way that it didn’t surprise her. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she said, ‘And who exactly is the politician? And what was the scandal?’
Heidi and Teddy exchanged looks. Gossiping about the passengers was a definite rule-breaker, but since they were now both suitably impressed that they were conducting an actual conversation with Bianca, what the hell.
‘He texted pictures of his you know what to seven random women,’ Heidi whispered. ‘Sort of like that American politician last year – the Wiener man. Only what this one did was worse.’
‘Yes,’ said Teddy, happily joining in. ‘The pervert sent his texts from the men’s room in Parliament, and he perma-marked messages on his piece of man meat.’
‘Man meat?’ Bianca said, suppressing a giggle. ‘That’s a new one.’
Teddy lowered his voice even more. ‘Apparently he has a huge penis.’
Bianca squashed an urge to burst out laughing. What was up with these guys who thought that photographing their junk was a fine old idea? Were they the new-age flashers? Or merely horny old hound dogs with nothing better to do?
‘Hmm,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Well, as long as he’s not gonna show me the goods.’
‘I think we can guarantee that he’s learned his lesson,’ Teddy said, wondering if her small but quite perfect boobs were real.
‘Then let’s do it,’ Bianca decided. ‘Except one move from the asshole, and all bets are off.’
A few minutes later she was settled in her new seat. The politician – a thin-faced gentleman – was curled up in his window seat under a blanket, apparently asleep.
Bianca took out her iPod, tuned into Jay-Z and Kanye, leaned back and daydreamed about Aleksandr, the yacht, and her future.
Everything was set, and if all went according to plan, one of these days – in the not too distant future – she could become Mrs Aleksandr Kasianenko.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Frantically packing, throwing clothes into several open suitcases, Ashley didn’t know what to take because she didn’t know where they were going. She wished she did, for surely it made a difference? If it was the French Riviera or Sardinia, then only the fanciest of resort clothes would do. Chanel, Valentino, maybe even Dolce & Gabbana. However, for Greece or Sicily she would pack differently.
‘Take everything,’ Taye assured her. ‘Or take nothin’,’ he added with a ribald chuckle. ‘You’ll look like a right sexy old bird in nothin’.’
‘Old?’ Ashley said, turning on him, nostrils flaring. ‘I’m twenty-nine, for God’s sake. That’s hardly old.’
‘Just f-ing with you, toots,’ he said good-naturedly, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her pack. ‘You’ll be the best-lookin’ girl on the boat. I’d bet me left ball on that.’
‘I wish we knew who was going,’ Ashley grumbled, throwing in a leopard-print bikini with a matching cover-up.
‘I thought you was gonna give Bianca a buzz, find out.’
‘I tried. She’s changed her number.’
‘Text her then,’ Taye suggested.
‘Aren’t you listening, Taye?’ Ashley said irritably. ‘I just told you – she’s changed her number.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Taye answered, wishing his wife would snap out of her never-ending bad mood. It was starting to piss him off.
Ashley held a skimpy white sundress up in front of her and turned to seek her husband’s approval. ‘You like?’ she questioned.
‘Here’s the deal, toots,’ Taye said, stretching. ‘I like anything you like,’
‘For God’s sake!’ Ashley snapped. ‘Have an opinion for once.’
‘Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ Taye said quickly. ‘It’s nice. Virginal.’
‘Who wants to look bloody virginal?’ Ashley exploded. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
I could tell her, Taye thought. I could tell her that what’s wrong with me is an acute case of blue balls, and no amount of tossing myself off seems to solve the problem.
‘How do you wanna look then?’ he asked.
‘Sexy,’ Ashley said, pouting. ‘Like I used to before I had the twins and ruined my figure.’
For a second he thought she might burst into tears, and quick as a flash he was on his feet, holding her, comforting her, feeling her boobs pressing up against his chest and liking it a lot.
Then Mammoth intruded and she hurriedly shoved him away. ‘Is sex all you ever think about?’ she said crossly.
‘Maybe,’ he confessed. ‘’Cause
y’know what, toots, we haven’t done it in weeks.’
‘Oh my God!’ she said, glaring daggers. ‘Are you counting now?’
‘Not counting,’ he said, careful not to piss her off further. ‘Just frustrated.’
‘The problem with you, Taye,’ she said grandly, ‘is that all you can think about is yourself.’
Trouble loomed. If Ashley got into one of her moods, there was no getting her out of it, and they were leaving on the trip tomorrow. He didn’t want to set her off. Maybe if he backed down he could bring her around – anything for a bit of peace.
‘Okay, okay,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’m sorry, luv. I get it – you’re stressed out. Me too. We both need this break.’
‘I know I certainly do,’ Ashley said pointedly.
They were saved by the twins who came bounding into the room, followed by a fussy Elise, who was quite enamoured with being in charge. She’d sent the nanny out on a series of errands, and was in full control.
Aimee and Wolf were looking picture perfect. For some reason known only to Elise, the two children were both dressed as if they were on their way to a party or a photo shoot.
‘Daddy!’ Aimee flung herself at Taye, wrapping her sturdy little body around his legs, clinging to him tightly. ‘Don’t want choo t’go’way!’
Wolf – a miniature version of his father – hovered in the doorway scowling and kicking at the rug.
‘It’s only for a week, baby girl,’ Taye assured Aimee. ‘And Daddy an’ Mummy are gonna buy you lots of presents.’
‘Don’t promise them that,’ Ashley hissed. ‘They’re spoiled enough as it is.’
‘I want a Ferrari,’ Wolf piped up.
‘An’ I want a Princess castle,’ Aimee said, joining in.
‘Only if you’re good, mind your manners, an’ listen to Grandma,’ Taye said.
‘Please do not call me Grandma,’ Elise said, throwing him a dirty look. ‘The children call me Moo-Moo. I’ve told you both dozens of times. Doesn’t anyone listen?’