Carlotta Angela Vasiliev is a 17 year old girl living with her adoptive Russian mafia family of 4 brothers and father. Ever since she was a child, she's had no sense of belonging, abused by the Swedish mafia in her youth, her Russian saviours are th...
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I look down at my girl who stands tall and confident beside me.
I swear I've never felt this way before.
I can tell at least 80% of the people in this room are giving her the respect she deserved, we both demanded it as a couple. Having Carlotta stand beside me is the ultimate show of power, for us collectively.
It's been made clear that she doesn't belong to a mafia- but she does belong to me.
That's primarily why I wasn't bothered at all the lustful stares coming her way that, bless her, her innocent little self didn't even notice.
In fact, it got me off knowing others looked at her like that, but knew they could never lay anything but their eyes on her.
If they did, I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.
"That doesn't change the fact that she's barely turned legal and you've pounced on her like a fucking wildcat!" Antoine, though I'm pretty sure I heard Car cursing about 'Clappy' under her breath a few minutes ago, exclaims, and I roll my eyes at his persistent attempts to break Car and I apart.
"Antoine," I say, calmly sitting back down and boldly pulling Car onto my thigh as I do so, "How old are you again? Must be coming up to 60? 65?" I muse, and Car relaxes into my hold, no one daring to comment.
Antoine goes red, "I'm 46." He grits out angrily.
Poor man, doesn't fucking look it.
"Ah," I say, "And how old is your wife again?" I inquire, furrowing my brows at the annoying man.
He chokes and falters, "That's hardly relevant-" But I cut him off sharply.
"How. old." I annunciate my words, rubbing circles into the exposed strip of skin between Car's shirt and pants.
"36." He answers, slight fear in his voice.
I nod wordlessly and people start murmuring around the table. "Interesting." Is all I say and Antoine's face goes red in embarrassment.
"Does anyone else have a fucking problem?" Maxim speaks up, taking me by surprise slightly, but I respect him for it.
No one dares say anything, and the table is shrouded in silence for a few beats.
"I actually have something." Luka grumbles through the speakers yet again and I hold back a cry of frustration.
"I thought I muted the old fuck." Car suddenly says rather loudly, her eyes widening when she realised she'd said that out loud.
I didn't hold back the snort at her comment, and neither did the majority of the people around the table, a few people outright laughing at her statement.
"I like this girl, she's got balls." Haneul, the Korean Don, laughs over the call.
"Carlotta, не говори со мной так-" An angry Luka begins, but Car leans forward on the lap and clicks about on the computer until his voice is cut off.
