Putin On The Ritz Novels & Stories

Though her wedding ceremony hadn't been the happiest event of her life, Jane found herself several hours later partaking in what would pass for their reception with surprising enjoyment. She sat at her new husband's side eating a sampling of each new Russian dish that was placed before her in one of the city's most exclusive restaurants. The owner, Vladimir Sitnikov, had closed the establishment to the public on the occasion of his wedding and invited only his closest friends and soldiers. Some of the food she enjoyed and some she pushed away after one bite.

It holds only for a brief second, before it sputters and dies. He isn’t wrong. Jaxon laughs, but the sound is tight. “Again, this isn’t up for debate.” Alexei Petrovich has a scowl that has his freckled face even less inviting, and with a jerk of his chin, wads of cash, mostly 1000-ruble bills are tossed on the table. “Had a feel of that one before. Wouldn’t mind a repeat.” He pushes the stacks forward. “All in. I win and she’ll warm my bed for a year.”

And I can’t even take it back. When I glance toward her private booth, her eyes are already locked on me. She sees the way I’m admiring that sapphire ring, and her lips curve into a cruel little smile. Without breaking eye contact, she lifts her placard in total silence. “We’ve got one million rubles!” the host cries out. “Going once– ” My eyes snap wide, and I spin to Aleksei. He’s still lounging on the couch, sipping whiskey, eyes shamelessly fixed on my ass like it’s the only thing in the room worth noticing.

He was holding his coffee like it was keeping him alive. “You mentioned a charity gala,” I said. He blinked. “The one you told me to shove up my ass because you had ‘more important things to do’?” I looked at him without answering. “Yes. Exactly that one.” Andrew sighed the long, suffering sigh of a man who’d learned not to argue. “One moment.” He left, then came back with an envelope so thick it could’ve stopped a bullet. The thing was heavy, glossy, gold-embossed in a way that looked both expensive and tacky. I didn’t need to check the sender. Nera Petrovna, wife of Alexandr the Third—Pakhan of the Bratva. Her style was impossible to miss.

It came as a surprise because Keith was a very private man, the media would kill to get such information. Then again even if they got it, he will be the one to determine if they could publish it or not. To think of it, why have they not seen her here before? Coupled with the fact that, the president has never brought a woman over. Now it made sense. Reluctantly, they placed a thousand euro notes on the lady wearing green t-shirt palms. Forthwith, she shoved the money inside her jade-green Louis Vuitton clutch. " Today's dinner is on me. Next time, know your facts before you get into a bet. Sillies " she taunted them, they all took the public elevator back downstairs.

Kenji thought as he drove. "Can I play you a song or turn on the radio?" Kenji asked as he drove to the Pushkin's mansion. "Don't bother, thank you." Natasha answered. She was so nervous that she had her fingers clenched deeply inside her palm. It's not because she was having dinner with Mr. Pushkin, it was because she had found out that Mr. Pushkin's first grandson is Dmitry. Her relationship with Dmitry isn't so pleasant. She doesn't ever wants to meet him on any occasions. She didn't know if Pushkin lives in the Pushkin's mansion or not but even if he does not live there, what if he decides to come around?

ROSALINE Russo's hand was on my waist as we walked over to our table. "Here, beautiful" he pulled out my chair and I sat down, whispering thanks to him. I watch as Russo walked over to the other chair and settled in. "The entire restaurant is booked. Typical of a billionaire" I joked and he chuckled. "Privacy is key... For now" his last two words were an indication that Russo was really thinking about the issue of us going public with our relationship.

Two men stood next to Victor, and their presence sent a spurt of frozen adrenaline through his system. To his right, there sat Dmitri Volkov, the notorious "Tsar of Siberian Gas." The granite-jawed mogul with a track record for crushing competitors with the tacit support of the Kremlin. He was oligarchy personified—Politically unstoppable, pitiless, and wallowing in mineral wealth.

ALEXEI The air in the dimly lit room was thick with tension as Yaz and I faced the person responsible for the attacks on Zoey and Yelena. The room was adorned with the trappings of luxury—a stark contrast to the malevolence that emanated from the man seated across the table. "Alexei Pushkin," he sneered, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" I fixed him with a cold, unyielding stare. "You know exactly why we're here."

“I love you too” ******************* “You seriously rented the whole Ritz Carlton?” I asked wide eyed and Nikolay shrugged. “I wanted us to have our privacy, there will be guards at the doors guarding the hotel. The maids will be tending to our needs, but none of them are our men or girls. We would be having these few days for us completely” Nikolay said and I shook my head at him making him smirk. “You do realize that we have the family gala event and we have to be there” I said looking at Nikolay crossing my arms over my chest.