Infatuated: Mafia Romance

IX

IX.

Kane Romanov sipped at his rum-on-the-rocks until he was suitably drunk. He had another meeting scheduled at the Luxe and the choice in scenery displeased him. Sebastian had insisted on the location, having regularly enjoyed the company of the paid girls, as well as the other facets in which the private lounge could offer.

Kane regarded the entirety of the Moreau family poorly and was angered at the task. His father had expected him to be a sort of well-mannered diplomat. Given the elder-man's own ungovernable temperament, he thought the arrangement to be foolish.

"Another glass, Mr. Romanov?" a tawdry dancer asked him.

The striking man nodded as he lit a Lonsdale cigar. The lounge hadn't been as populated as it had been during his last occupational visit and he sought the company of the Stomsvik heiress.

A full glass was delivered to him promptly. The dancer had known of his formidable countenance and had tried her best to please him.

"The oyster plate and prawns will be out shortly," another dancer cooed; for, despite his anger, he was a captivating man and had innately demanded the attention of the entire staff of girls'.

"That will be all until my company arrives," Kane told her brusquely. He had hoped to discourage their attention— though the dancers still remained within the lounge, their titterings discernable.

"Ah, Romanov; I didn't expect a visit from you."

Kane eyed Dmitry Kuznetsov from over the rim of his glass, the smoke from the Lonsdale cigar blackening his approach. He had hoped the man to be busied with his escorts and prostitutes, causing his presence within the lounge to be vastly ill-received.

Afon strolled in slightly behind him, his manner cavalier. He plopped himself within a nearby seat and leaned over in an attempt to steal his cigar. Kane grasped his brother's wrist tautly and the younger man snickered, knowing well that he wouldn't care for the brazen, little display.

Dmitry had hoped for a tussle, though the sizable difference in stature between the two brothers had proven to be disparaging, Kane being of the largest: with his solid chest and brawny, well-built arms taut against his dress-shirt.

"Waiting on that Moreau bastard?" Afon asked him, instead. He took a long drink from an imported bottle of beer in which he had brought from the bar.

Kane angled his neck to the side, the cigar within his mouth.

"You needn't even ask him," Dmitry chuckled; for he knew of Kane's antithetical conduct. He shared the same immoral proclivities as the rest of the men within the cartel, though his choice in women had been exclusive to models and those of premium status. The Kuznetsov man had found this selectiveness to be ungodly; for he, himself, had enjoyed the company of varieties of vixens.

The youngest Romanov had also shared this unbiased appreciation and Dmitry had enjoyed his ready participation; for Afon had become useful in managing his large cast of escorts. This partnership had been a blessing for him; being an associate of the Romanov family had provided him with countless benefits.

The plate of oysters and prawns was delivered and Kane remained irritable; for Sebastian hadn't yet arrived to talk of their matters and his brother and associate presently dined on the meal, uninvited.

"That fucker has always been known to be disrespectfully late," Afon stated, slurping a prawn from its shell.

Kane buried the cherry of his waned cigar within the dish, openly ill-hearted. He ordered another plate of shellfish, his temples sore; for he had rubbed at the flesh rather roughly. "Another rum," he demanded.