Seducing Sergey

Ch. 1 - A Russian Issue

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈
"It always amazes me that you
never seem to notice how
annoying you can be..."

- Vincent
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chapter 1 - A Russian Issue

▪️S E R G E Y▪️

Click. Snap.

Click. Snap.

Click. Snap.

The metallic sound of my silver and gold zippo lighter opening and closing echoed while I leaned against the glass wall of the elevator. My eyes focused on the purple illuminated numbers taking us to the top floor.

"Not how you expected to spend your birthday, eh Sergey?" Aleksandr commented sourly.

Shrugging a shoulder, I replied, "Thirty-four isn't really a special year..."

The Russian mafia boss nodded, his 6'5 frame tense. I could not blame him; the news we had received from New York a few days ago had unnerved us all. Moving my gaze towards our reflection on the mirrored doors, I watched as I stood next to my best friend.

Aleksandr wore one of his dark navy-coloured suits which he had paired with a white shirt. The layering effect brought out those piercing dark blue eyes of his. I, on the other hand, was clothed in my usual black on black. The top two buttons of my shirt were undone, showing a peak of my chest tattoos.

Even though I was only about an inch shorter than Aleksandr, the way in which I usually pulled my black hair up behind my head gave the appearance that we were the same height. In my arrogance, I tended to acknowledge that we were two very handsome men, as there was no use in denying the physique we had both been blessed with.

Biting the corner of my bottom lip, I continued my silent observation.

Noticing where my eyes were focused, Aleksandr relaxed slightly and grinned, "Your man bun looks fine, Seryozha."

"Haha, very funny, Sasha! But how many times must I tell you that it's called a top knot!"

The deep rumble of his laugh tickled my ears and I grumbled and bumped my shoulder into his. He playfully reciprocated with a gentle nudge of his own, trying to push me off balance.

Here, in the privacy of the elevator, we allowed ourselves a brief moment of ease. 

We rarely ever used the diminutive form of our names out in public. Only those close to us were allowed to call us by our nicknames and even among those individuals, we often kept many of these intimate exchanges between us private.   

Suddenly, the elevator doors pinged open, causing us to refocus our attention and straighten our posture.

"Let's get this shit over with," Aleksandr said as we stepped out.

The elevator doors opened into a large penthouse suite and the first sight that greeted me was nothing out of the ordinary.

Dominic Calvetti was pacing about, his commanding voice hissing while he spoke on his mobile phone. The pale-faced Italian mafia boss was a pyromaniac and while I could appreciate our shared love of fire, I often wondered about his taste in wardrobe.

The man was obsessed with purple!

My grey eyes observed the eccentric purple pinstripe suit he was wearing today and I wrinkled my nose slightly, unable to stop myself from comparing my own dark attire to his.