Uri Kirill Orlov

Uri Kirill Orlov arrived in the United States in the late 1970s as a Soviet Jewish refugee under the Jackson-Vanik Amendment. He became a small-time criminal and was arrested in San Francisco for grand larceny, pleaded guilty to petty larceny and was placed on probation. He later became a bodyguard and chauffeur for the Odessa mob boss Alexi Agronov.

He became an enforcer and later headed up his own small criminal enterprise still working under Alexi Agronov who controlled most of rackets and bootlegging around northern California. Realising that Alexi had most of the better paying criminal enterprises sewn up, Uri moved south to LA and he and his crew developed their own special brand of extortion.

They specialised in home invasions around the Beverly Hills, Bel Air, San Marino, Pacific Palisades and Hidden hills areas. They hit low-profile but very rich couples, preferably but not always, without children living at home. Uri took his time extensively researching his victims and their houses.

The gang’s victims had substantial wealth on hand: cash, watches, jewellery, antiques, collectibles; anything that could be easily moved and quickly fenced. But their main goal was to terrorise the man of the house into going to his place of business, opening it up and handing over more cash or valuables.

Uri’s gang had a tried and true MO. After extensively casing the house the gang would drive up in a service vehicle, the type of vehicle used by a plumber, cable TV guy, electrician or any sort of tradesman who didn’t look out of place driving a Ford Transit van, their vehicle of choice. They used a code reader to pick up the signal from the automated gates and garage doors and went in immediately after the owners come in from a night out.

There were usually four of them; all big and heavily armed, wearing masks and gloves. The guns were actually too big for the job, if they fired them the noise would wake the whole the neighbourhood but the big guns were there to intimidate the home owners. They also carried coshes and clubs which they were not afraid to use.

After gaining entry and ensuring that the alarm was nullified they would bind the man of the house with cable ties while Uri held onto the man’s wife. He would threaten to rape her unless the man cooperated fully. Uri would demonstrate his intent by feeling up the woman while the man watched horrified and helpless. This usually did the trick; they seldom had to use their clubs or coshes but the odd miser who was more in love with his money than his wife sometimes had to be persuaded by using force.

Uri would tie the woman to the bed while the husband opened the house safe and handed over all the valuables in the home which Uri’s men would load into the Transit. The homeowner, knowing that his wife was vulnerable and with Uri making obscene observations about what he would do to her if the man didn’t comply, was usually very compliant. Two of Uri’s men would then take the man of the house to his place of business and make him open up the safe and hand over the contents. They targeted jewellers, up-market restaurateurs, art gallery owners; high-end retailers… anybody who had a business that generated volumes of cash or held easily moved valuables on the premises.

His accomplices would call Uri and let him know when they had cleaned out the business owner’s premises and Uri would gag the woman and chain her to the bed with stainless steel chain while his accomplices would do the same to the man, leaving him bound and gagged in his place of business. He and his other accomplice would make their escape in the home owner’s cars.

Uri’s team usually netted over a million dollars a hit, sometimes substantially more. Even after Uri kicked up a share to Alexi Agronov he still made a substantial profit.

Uri also ran a string of massage parlours, a couple of restaurants and two pawn shops, all of which he used to launder the stolen money. He had a sideline kidnapping girls and sometimes boys and selling them to people smugglers, usually runaways and delinquents who were seldom missed. The abductees were driven cross-country to a prearranged meeting place and handed over a man named Vlad Volkov, all arranged by Uri’s accomplice Katya Kuznetsova who lived in New York State.

Uri didn’t really have to accompany his gang on their home invasions but he liked the thrill of it and if the victim’s wife was a looker he’d get a little excited when he felt her up. Actually raping the woman was an empty threat because it meant leaving behind DNA but the man of the house never thought about that when Uri hiked up the wife’s dress and diddled her through her panties or ripped open the bodice of her gown and mauled her tits.

Uri had married a nice woman, who though she suspected, never asked him about his links to the Odessa mafia. He presented himself as a self-made businessman who lived comfortably and respectfully with his wife and two college-aged daughters in one of the better suburbs on the outskirts of LA.

All was going well until Uri fucked it all up.

He had started to delegate researching the home invasions to his lieutenant and most trusted collaborator Ivan Rakhimov who came to him with a job that seemed too good to be true. A man named Boris Balagula lived in a big house in Beverly Hills with his wife; the kids away at expensive boarding schools. He owned a high-end jewellery shop and slso traded diamonds. Boris had recently taken delivery of a cache of Australian Kimberly Argyle pink diamonds.

Uri got greedy. He took Ivan’s word for it as they looked over the schematics of the house and studied the business profile of the jewellers. Ivan didn’t do the extensive research into the home owner’s background like Uri always did. Ivan estimated that Boris Balagula had over a million dollars in cash and jewellery in the house and millions more in diamonds in the safe in the jewellery store.

Everything went fine right up until Uri held the man’s wife at gunpoint while his men tied up the husband. Boris Balagula had a Slavic accent but so what? Russian Jews were mired in the diamond trade. Wasn’t Lev Leviev, a Russian-Israeli Jew, known as the ‘King of Diamonds’?

Boris Balagula, put up a terrific fight. It took all three of Uri’s accomplices to overpower him and bind him.

Boris’s wife, a middle-aged, buxom bottle-blonde in a turquoise satin evening gown stood passively and watched her husband get beaten into submission.

When Uri held Boris’s wife in front of him and threatened to rape her Boris just grinned at the masked invaders.

“Fuck her. You can all fuck her if you want. She’ll probably like it,” Boris licked a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth.

“You don’t think we’re serious?” Uri countered.

Boris just shrugged.

Uri was furious. They had already given Boris a beating and he’d taken it like a man, never whimpering or crying, just huffing and groaning as Uri’s guys worked him over with their clubs and coshes.

“Ok. You can come and watch,” Uri dragged the blonde towards the bedroom and Uri’s thugs dragged Boris along behind.

The blonde didn’t struggle. She seemed resigned to her fate. They tied Boris to a chair facing the bed where Uri had tossed the buxom blonde. Uri was sure that Boris would relent as soon as he saw that Uri was true to his word.

But Boris just watched as Uri made the woman lie on the bed and open her legs. Uri started at her ankles, his fingers softly caressing the woman’s shapely legs through her gossamer hose. The woman lay still, even as Uri opened the side-split in her gown and moved his hand to her thigh.

Boris just seemed to watch disinterestedly.

“You know what comes next,” Uri grinned at the woman’s husband who said nothing.

Mrs Balagula flinched when Uri ripped open her skirts then she just lay there passively: her gown torn open, her long legs spread wide. She was wearing matching turquoise seamless nylon-elastin panties over her pantyhose. Uri’s wife had explained to him that the cut of the panties was designed to eliminate VPL. Why that morsel of knowledge flew into Uri’s mind he didn’t know; he just knew that Mrs Balagula had incredible long and shapely legs and appeared to shave her pubis.

“You don’t want me to do this. Cooperate. Take my compatriots to your wall-safe and open it, then a quick trip to your store and this will all be over. Your insurance will cover it,” Uri said to Boris while he stroked his wife’s legs.

Boris Balagula shrugged.

“Plenty of pretty blonde women out there. Not so many Argyle pink diamonds. You take wife; I’ll keep diamonds,” Boris grinned.

Boris’s blood-stained teeth, broken nose, cut cheeks and forehead gave him a grotesque appearance. His quiet stubborn resistance hid the seething hate and anger he kept suppressed. The thought of this big thug tampering with his wife while he was made to watch made him feel helpless, ashamed and dishonoured but handing over the diamonds was not an option.

Boris and his wife had discussed such a scenario. Although Boris led a quiet life and didn’t like bringing attention to himself, they both knew that because of his line of work an abduction or kidnap for ransom was possible: either Boris, his wife or one of their children. They had agreed that they would give up nothing; it would not be possible even if they wanted to. The abductee could do whatever was necessary to ease their own suffering but no ransom would ever be paid.

This was the situation that Boris Balagula found himself in now.

“We’ll see,” Uri was getting angry.

Uri was not a man who displayed his anger, Uri was more likely to quietly seethe then lash out but this diamond trader was proving a very difficult nut to crack. Boris would see what happened when Uri began to carry out the threats he’d made. No man would sit there helpless and watch his wife be defiled if all he had to do was handover valuables that his insurance company would recompense.

Uri unzipped his flies and unleased his throbbing monster cock. It was an angry, pulsing weapon: big and veiny with a blushed red glans that was leaking pre-cum. When Uri got angry it was often accompanied by concupiscence which was also fired by the sight of Mrs Balagula lying on the bed with her legs spread and her tight turquoise panties clinging to her pubic mound.

He rubbed his hand up and down the blonde’s thighs and she just lay still, even when Uri put his hand between her legs and began to massage her vulva through her panties and pantyhose. She was warm and her panties were damp. What the hell?

Mrs Balagula harboured a rape fantasy that she and her husband sometimes played out. Her powerful husband often took her in the most inappropriate of places: up against the wall in the alley outside the restaurant where they were having dinner, in the toilet of a friend’s house, next to a walking track in the park, in the back seat of their car in a parking lot, in a darkened cinema. They got off on having sex in improper and unseemly places. It was always quick and often brutal and they never undressed.

Mrs Balagula enjoyed her husband’s impromptu sexcapades and she built her own little fantasies around them. She was being brutalised by a stranger and forced to enjoy the experience.

Despite the real danger that they were both in and her husband’s injuries she was now living her fantasy. Terrified as she was, she couldn’t control her involuntary reactions to Uri’s ministrations. When he was stroking her legs it was pleasantly debauched but when he caressed her vulva it ignited a burning intense fire in her vagina; a pleasant itch that needed scratching.

When Uri mounted her, still fully clothed, his enormous penis poking out of his trousers, it was just like what Boris did to her. But this wasn’t Boris. This was some brutal thug who was about to ravish her. Her fantasy had become reality.

Uri pressed his hard cock into the woman’s vulva, her honour protected only by the gossamer fabric of her pantyhose, Uri had eased the crotch of her panties aside.

“Last chance to cooperate or I fuck her,” Uri looked back over his shoulder at Boris Balagula who looked almost pathetic, beaten and bleeding tied to the chair.

Boris looked back at Uri impassively.

“Enjoy her. It will be the last fuck you ever have,” Boris grinned his bloody grin again.

Uri thrust forward and his cock ripped open Mrs Balagula’s pantyhose and slid into her warm wet vagina like a knife through soft butter. The woman did nothing more than grunt when Uri’s cock slid inside her. She was biting her lip suppressing the urge to moan like a slattern as waves of rapture washed over her as the brute's huge phallus ignited her pleasure centres.

The woman wasn’t tight but she was no tunnel-cunt either. Considering she’d given birth to two children her vagina was a snug fit for Uri’s huge cock.

Uri began to fuck her and she could no longer pretend that she wasn’t enjoying it. Knowing that her husband was watching her being defiled right before his eyes only added to her gratification. She recalled their agreement to cooperate in any way to minimise their torment if they were ever abducted, knowing that no ransom demands would ever be met. This was how Mrs Balagula justified lifting her legs and wrapping them around Uri to encourage him to fuck her harder.

Uri did. He pushed the woman down into the bed and slammed his cock in and out of her sopping maw as she shrieked and mewed beneath him. He doubted they were cries despondency; to him they seemed more like cries of lechery.

Then she amazed him. She wrapped her arms around him, locked her ankles behind his back and began to fuck him back. When he lowered her lips to her mature, elegant face, she opened her lipsticked lips and her tongue met his.

They thrashed on the bed for no more than a couple of minutes, Uri’s cock being milked by the woman’s clinging pudenda, her nails raked his flesh, she bit his lip, her heels drummed on his back until the woman elicited a muffled scream and began to judder.

Boris Balagula knew that his wife was coming. Her orgasms were short, sharp and explosive. Boris usually stifled her cries by driving his tongue into her mouth which is exactly what Uri did as his cock exploded deep inside her, flooding her with his scalding issue.

When he was done Uri climbed off Boris’s wife who was now curled up into a ball sobbing with post coital regret. He hitched up his pants and zipped his flies.

He wasn't worried about leaving his DNA inside Mrs Balagula, he strongly doubted that Boris Balagula was going to report the sexual assault part of the home invasion; it would be too demeaning.

“Now. Take me to the safe and open it or I’ll let the rest of my guys take turns with your wife,” Uri leaned in, his face only inches from Boris Balagula.

Boris spat in Uri’s face and Uri hit him with a powerhouse punch that toppled the chair and knocked Boris unconscious.

“What now?” Uri could see Ivan was sweating under his mask.

“Do we all get a turn?” Ivan poked Mrs Balagula in the ass with his forefinger.

“He’s not going to give up and she’s… well you saw how she is,” Uri sighed.

“Clean out the house. Take everything of value. Then we get the fuck out of here. I should have researched the job myself,” Uri growled.

The team went to work opening draws and cupboards, taking jewellery, silverware, the artwork off the walls and even the 17th century antique Persian rugs. While they were ransacking the house Uri went back into the bedroom to check on Boris Balagula and found Ivan riding Mrs Balagula like a brood mare. She didn’t seem to be complaining. Boris was still unconscious.

“They got a Tesla, a Bugatti and a Beamer in the garage,” one of Uri’s henchmen reported.

“You and Benjie take the Bugatti and the BMW. The Tesla will be too hard to sell,” Uri grunted.

The gang loaded everything into the Transit with routine efficiency. Two of the gang drove the Bugatti and the BMW away while Uri and Ivan jumped into the van. They had left Mrs Balagula chained to the bed and Boris, still unconscious, tied to the chair. They had put the heavy-duty stainless steel chains around him to slow down his escape.

Back at Uri’s main pawn shop the gang went through the proceeds of their crime. The two high-end cars had been dropped off at the garage of man who dealt in the sale and shipment of stolen luxury vehicles and had netted fifty thousand dollars, a trifle of their true value. They estimated the cash, jewellery and other items stolen from the house to be in the region of seven hundred thousand dollars when fenced, Mrs Balagula’s diamond jewellery making up the bulk of the profit. It was not a great return but respectable.

“He just wouldn’t give up those fucking diamonds,” Ivan cursed bitterly.

“Maybe we should have worked on her with a knife,” one of Uri’s henchman grumbled.

“That man sat passively while I raped his wife. You think cutting her would change his mind?” Uri barked.

“Why not just give up the diamonds? Surely they are insured?” Ivan asked and Uri shrugged.

He didn’t know.

But he was about to find out.

Whilst Boris Balagula did leave a quiet life as a respectable jeweller and diamond trader he was also the banker for Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich whose criminal proceeds Boris laundered and then converted from cash into diamonds. Transactions over $10,000 had to be reported by reputable financial institutions but a small bag of diamonds worth millions could be hidden in a person’s luggage and transported anywhere in the world and still hold their value.

Boris Balagula knew that he was as good as dead if he’d handed over any of Dmitriy’s diamonds to the home invaders and it wouldn’t be a pleasant death for him, his wife and his children. As it was, Boris had had to dispose of his wife. Despite their agreement to do whatever was necessary to save themselves in the event of an abduction, Boris just couldn’t put out of his mind the picture of Uri Orlov fucking his wife with that monster cock.

It wasn’t so much that his wife had obviously enjoyed being raped; it was the indignity of having to watch her.

She now lay in a shallow grave in the dessert somewhere between LA and Las Vegas. Ridding himself of her had also reduced the number of people who knew about the home invasion to only Boris, Dmitriy and the perpetrators.

Dmitriy thanked Boris for being a good soldier and assured him that he and his wife would be avenged.

Three days after the home invasion Ivan Rakhimov’s head disappeared in a pink mist as he was alighting from his classic two-door Ford Thunderbird on a busy Los Angeles street. The fifty calibre M107 semi-automatic long range sniper used by Dmitriy’s assassin was overkill but Dmitriy was sending a message. Uri’s other two henchmen suffered similar fates but Uri was not to be so lucky.

After hearing about Ivan being shot Uri raced home to find his wife and two daughters being held at gunpoint by four armed men. They didn’t bother wearing masks; no one was going to leave the house alive. Uri was forced to watch the men take turns raping his wife and his two adult daughters before they were executed in front of him. He was to be taken to Dmitriy Yakovich so that Dmitriy could deliver retribution personally whilst Boris Balagula watched.

Fate interjected when the car in which he was being transported was hit by another vehicle. The driver of the other vehicle had suffered a massive heart attack and as his heart spasmed he mindlessly jammed his foot on the accelerator pedal, slamming his car into the car in which Uri was being conveyed, forcing it over the safety rail of an overpass.

The driver of the car died on impact and the other thug was badly injured. Suffering only minor injuries Uri was able to put his cuffed hands over his abductor’s head and strangle him. He managed to find the handcuff keys in the dead man’s pocket and free himself before the chase car with the other two henchmen embarked was able to get to the bottom of the arroyo.

Uri flagged down an old man driving a rusty old pickup and had him drive Uri to an abandoned farmhouse that Uri had purchased as a redoubt just in case of just such an event. He kept the farmhouse secret from everybody else. He debated whether or not to kill the grizzled old man who had driven him to his hideout. Prudence said he should but he’d seen enough killing for one day and the man would likely forget where he had taken Uri because Uri doubted the old man could even remember his own birthday. He gave the old man five thousand dollars and sent him on his way.

Uri pulled up some floorboards and found the lockbox he had hidden there. He opened it to check the contents: one million dollars in cash and Krugerrands. He pulled a briefcase out of the hole and checked its contents: a set of car keys, a burner phone and two driver’s licences and passports in fictitious names, good enough to pass scrutiny from law enforcement and Homeland Security officials.

His suit was tattered, torn and dusty and he had a number of superficial wounds from the car crash which he treated with the contents of a first aid kit. He cleaned up as best he could and changed into new chinos, a chambray shirt and leather sneakers. In the barn of the farmhouse was a Ford Explorer. Uri checked on his cache and started the car at regular intervals because it was his means of emergency escape. The Explorer started immediately he pressed the start button.

He knew that Dmitriy Yakovich’s men would be circling out from the crash site searching for him. He loaded up the Explorer and hit the road. He didn’t fly because he didn’t want to use his new identity documents until he was well clear of California and Dmitriy’s men would be watching the airports so he drove. Using the I-40 and staying at the speed limit with an overnight rest stop at a no-tell motel where he paid cash for a room it took Uri a little over two days to drive to Long Island.

Outside of Bethlehem Pennsylvania he made a call from a truck stop using a land line. He spoke to Katya Kuznetsova.

Katya informed him that Uri’s boss Alexi Agronov had been brutally slain. He had been hung from the rafters of his horse stables and skinned alive, Alexi’s wife and children had been killed and their house burnt down with their bodies inside it.

Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich was sending a message to other organised crime organisations that he would not tolerate insubordination or infringements. He had put out a one million dollar reward for Uri Orlov, delivered to him alive and threatened that he would kill anyone along with their families is they aided Uri Orlov’s escape.

“I didn’t know that Boris Balagula worked for Dmitriy Yakovich. I not go anywhere near him if I knew. Dmitriy Yakovich is madman… psychopath!” Uri hissed into the phone.

“He’s worse than that. You are a dead man walking Uri,” Katya stated the obvious.

“Can I come to you?” Uri asked, desperation in his voice.

“I still have my cottage on at Southold on Paradise Point Road, you remember?” Katya breathed into the phone.

“Of course remember,” Uri grinned.

Katya Kuznetsova was now the only person in the world that Uri could trust; Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich had poisoned the well.

Katya Kuznetsova

On her eighteenth birthday Katya Kuznetsova ran away from her home in Rohoziv Ukraine. Already a natural beauty she had dreams of following in the footsteps of other Ukrainian exports such as Milla Jovovich and Mila Kunis and becoming a famous actress in America. Adequately educated but poor, she had established an online relationship with a man claiming to be a scout for a theatrical agent in Hollywood.

He asked for her measurements, shoes size, and for pictures of her dressed scantily and eventually a series of nudes. Katya wasn’t that stupid; she guessed the man might just be a troll looking for pictures of young women but she had nothing to lose. When the man purchased her airline tickets from Kiev to Los Angeles she was as surprised as anyone, including her friends who told her that she was likely being enticed into forced prostitution which was a common fairy tale that the teenage girls in Rohoziv used to scare each other.

“Did you hear about Rosa? She answered an ad to work as an au pair in Bonn and ended up being forced to work in a brothel!” was an oft repeated dark tale.

Rosa was actually backpacking around the UK and working as a waitress in a fast food restaurant at a motorway services stop near Manchester England; but never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Two years earlier Katya had applied for a passport so she could go on a school excursion to London but her mother couldn’t afford the fares and Katya still had the passport. Fed up of being poor and looking forward to a life of drudgery working in an office or a factory she had dreams of leaving home and making her way in the world.

Being a stunning beauty she had attracted many young and not so young men with whom she had flirted and who had schooled her in the art of seduction but she soon tired of them and she had not surrendered her virtue. Her mother had told Katya that her pretty face, long legs and what she kept between them could be the key or her future. But her mother, also a good looking woman, was no exemplar for that kind of life. Her husband had left her destitute and her current boyfriend beat her regularly and had recently taken an unhealthy interest in Katya, stealing her underwear and sneaking around her bedroom door.

No. It was time to leave Rohoziv and leave she did.

She was met at LAX by a man who spoke Russian but demanded that they converse in English. If Katya was going to make it in the US of A she needed to speak good English he insisted. Katya half expected to be driven to some hovel where her passport would be taken from her and she would be raped and forced into prostitution just like the grim tales her girlfriends told in Rohoziv. But the man was driving an expensive car, was dressed in a suit and appeared quite civilised.

Katya was surprised when the car turned down a long driveway protected by a manned guardhouse built into a substantial brick wall which ran along the borders of the property. Inside the walls were manicured lawns, landscaped gardens scattered with marble and sandstone sculptures and several fountains. The house itself was imposing but modern and stylish. Whoever lived here had money and was important. Was she really going to meet some big time producer or theatrical agent?

There were more men in suits patrolling the grounds or at least they seemed to be patrolling. There were also gardeners and household employees going about their business. The place was busy.

The car pulled up in front of the house and the driver opened the door for Katya.

“You should be very grateful and impressed that he is seeing you personally; he only sees the special ones,” the man said which Katya found a little puzzling.

“Go inside. I’ll bring your suitcase up to your room,” the man waved her away.

It was only then that Katya realised that the man who had collected her at the airport had never introduced himself.

Katya figured that she should be grateful that she was considered one of the special ones and went inside the house where she was met by a stunning woman wearing an expensive looking skirt-suit.

“I’m Liza Lawton, please follow me,” the young woman with the British accent led Katya up a curving marble staircase.

“What is this place? Who am I here to see?” she asked as she followed the woman up the stairs.

Katya noticed that Liza was wearing seamed stockings which seemed a little archaic but the woman’s sense of style couldn’t be questioned. The elegant dark suit fitted her perfectly: cinched at the waist, moulded to her bosom, the hem of the skirt resting mid-thigh, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup heavy but flawless. Katya doubted the sparkling stones around her neck and the drop earrings were fakes and the red soles on her high heels implied Christian Louboutin. Katya also noticed that Liza had a small scorpion tattooed on her left ankle.

Liza herself could be a movie star or a model; maybe she was?

They entered a large bedroom that was styled with soft beige carpet and matching curtains. The furniture was ornate and expensive, the bed the size of a small swimming pool.

“Freshen up. Take a shower. There are cosmetics on the vanity and clothes in the armoire. Wear the red dress and heels. Hosiery is not optional in this house,” Liza said dourly.

It was not lost on Katya that Liza had not answered any of her questions. Was she about to be interviewed? Given a screen test or required to walk a runway? Surely she would receive some sort of training before she was made to do so? Three years of amateur theatrics at the musical school in Boryspil was hardly an adequate background for a future as model or an actress.

Whatever she was required to do didn’t really matter for now. Katya had never seen such opulence. The ride from the airport through streets which were clean, sunlit, and filled with people who seemed happy and affluent was a far cry from the poverty and squalor she lived in at home. This was the miracle she had hoped for so why look a gift horse in the mouth?

The ensuite bathroom was as big as the whole of the ground floor of the house she lived in in Rohoziv. It was tiled with pink marble and the fittings appeared to be gilded with gold. She stripped out of her travel clothes which were quite funky and stepped under the rainfall shower and lathered herself with the Hermès eau d'orange verte hair and body shower gel. It was an extravagance that she savoured and she was reluctant to leave the shower but she was impatient to see what other wonders lay waiting for her in this house.

She brushed her teeth and rinsed with mouthwash and suddenly realised that she was ravenously hungry. She had eaten only airline food for the last two days. She dried her shoulder-length raven hair with the blow drier and wished that she had been able to get her hair cut and styled before she left home.

She checked out her body in the full-length mirror and as she did Liza entered the room.

“Let me see,” Liza had Katya stand naked before her.

Liza examined Katya’s body.

Katya was tall and slim and long-legged with small perky breasts and flawless alabaster skin. She had striking emerald green eyes just like her mother who had warned her to make the most of her looks while she was young. If her mother could see her now she would eat her heart out with jealousy.

Liza pointed to a white satin robe lying out on the bed.

“You can wear that while you put on your makeup,” she turned on her heels and left without saying another word.

Katya she slipped into the cool satin robe and sat down at the vanity. She stared at the cosmetics arrayed like toy soldiers on the antique wooden vanity: Oriflame, Estee Lauder, MAC, L'Oreal, Chanel, names she had heard of but never dreamed of owning.

She put on her makeup deciding that she needed to make a spectacular entrance when this theatrical mogul saw her for the first time. She used very little foundation and only a light dusting of finishing powder and a little blush and went to work on her eyes which she accentuated with heavy black eyeliner, mauve and purple eyeshadow and thick mascara. For dramatic effect she applied Bond No. 9 lipstick in Park Avenue red to her lips and found a matching shade of nailpolish that she carefully applied to her fingernails and did her toenails for good measure.

While she waited for the nailpolish to dry she contemplated her future. Had she been discovered by some wealthy executive in the entertainment industry? Was she to be a model or a TV star? The lavishness of her surroundings suggested that the man she had come to see was rich and powerful.

Katya went to the armoire and opened it up. There was quite an array of runway-label clothing and footwear all in her size. The surprise effect was wearing off. The online talent scout had asked for her measurements so it made sense that the clothing and shoes were in her size. She picked up a high heel and was not surprised to find it was a genuine Louboutin. As directed she took down the red Dolce & Gabbana low cut silk sheath. It was sleeveless with a plunging neckline. She opened the drawers and found lingerie and hosiery, selecting a pair of hi-cut, seamless full-briefs made from nylon and spandex in red.

She figured the panties would be undetectable under the sheath dress. She found the matching seamless wire-free brassiere and then went looking for hosiery of which there was an extensive collection. She selected a pair of flesh-tone Wolford Individual ten denier pantyhose which she carefully stepped into.

She admired herself once again in the mirror. The sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose exposed her Brazilian waxed pubic hair which she achieved herself using a safety razor and depilatory cream.

Katya didn’t need Liza’s warning about hosiery not being optional. All the girls at her school had been shaving their pubic hair as soon as they started secondary school and they all wore pantyhose rather than the ugly thick tights preferred by the older women in Rohoziv. Katya had started shaving her legs and wearing pantyhose as soon as her mother would let her. She even wore them under her cheap knock-off skinny jeans that she bought at the local flea market because it made it easier to slip into the tight denim pants. Katya loved the way hosiery made her long legs look perfect and elegant. She didn’t understand western women’s disdain for pantyhose.

After smoothing out her pantyhose she slipped into her panties and bra; the panties sent little tingles of excitement up her nylon-sheathed legs as they slid them on and pulled them tight around her buttocks and pubis. She gave herself a tiny little rub but didn’t want to get her juices flowing into her fresh clean underwear. Although a virgin Katya was a keen masturbator and enjoyed languidly stroking her clitoris until she was close to orgasm and then backing off. She would edge herself for hours that way, alone in her bed during cold winter nights.

The sheath dress slipped over her body aided by her slippery nylons and silky smooth bra and panty set. She pulled it into shape and it was flawless, not a bulge, seam or pantyline in sight. The hem rested mid-thigh and tickled her legs in a nice way. She slipped on the Louboutin’s and took another twirl in front of the mirror. She reached for perfume but found only a solitary bottle of Poison so she doused herself liberally with the heavy parfum. She was ready.

As if on cue Liza burst through the door unannounced and strode over and studied Katya from head to toe. She made a show of straightening a hemline that didn’t need to be straightened and picking imaginary fluff off Katya’s dress. Katya sensed a little jealousy.

“You’ll do I suppose,” Liza sighed.

She went over to a picture and swung it on hidden hinges to reveal a wall safe. Liza opened the safe and took out a blue felt-lined box and brought it over to the vanity.

“Stand still,” she ordered and put a simple silver and sapphire necklace around Katya’s neck and matching earrings in her ears.

“Come,” she led Katya back to the mirror.

Katya had never looked so beautiful. Her jet-black hair contrasted with the red dress and her alabaster skin, her bold eye makeup, red lipstick and sapphire jewellery all complemented the ensemble. She towered over Liza in her heels and felt beautiful and powerful. There was still some trepidation but she was ready to meet her mysterious benefactor.

“Keep your eyes down, be respectful and don’t speak until you are spoken to,” Liza warned her and led Katya out of the bedroom and along the mezzanine to a big room that was expensively decorated with ornate furniture, exotic artwork and antiques.

“Wait here,” Liza ordered and opened the door to an adjoining room.

“The new girl is here. Vlad did a good job this time, she’s everything you saw in the photographs and more,” Katya overheard Liza say.

“I am Dmitriy Tanas Yakovich and you are Katya Kuznetsova of Rohoziv Ukraine,” the most handsome man that Katya had ever seen said as he entered the room.

He was tall and held his head high. He had striking blue eyes set in dark sockets, a long elegant nose, chiselled cheekbones and a narrow chin. His skin was dark and tanned and he sported a well-manicured black beard; his hair was long, thick, black and lustrous. His lithe frame was well muscled. Katya could see his chest and calves because he was wearing only a blue silk robe with gold embellishments and leather sandals. His cologne was exotic and pungent; his full lips were parted with a smile that displayed prefect white teeth. Every part of his exposed skin except for his face was heavily tattooed.

The man exuded power and wealth.

He took Katya’s hand and softly kissed it, his beard tickling the back of her hand and then he circled her slowly and examined her like a trainer would inspect a fine filly.

“Eighteen and still a virgin?” he directed his question to Liza.

“So she claims. I haven’t had her examined yet,” Liza responded.

“Amazing,” Dmitriy lifted Katya’s chin and examined her face.

Katya found the discussion about her virginity a little unsettling. This was not the 1940’s where an unmarried female celebrity’s virtue was a point of discussion.

“Her English is good?” Dmitriy asked.

“Very good. Widens the market. She’s a little old for some of our customers but she’s an exquisite specimen,” Liza replied, a little pleased with herself.

“What do you think?” Dmitriy continued to circle Katya, examining her closely.

“If we get her to Dubai this week I think we can get two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty. Same down in Brazil, three hundred in Japan or China if we dye her hair blonde,” Liza said matter-of-factly.

Katya thought she was going to faint. She could hardly breathe. The old wives tales the girls told to scare each other in Rohoziv were true. She had been lured into a sex trafficking ring.

“What if she wasn’t a virgin?” Dmitriy lifted Katya’s chin again and smiled at her.

If Katya didn’t perceive that this man was a people trafficker she would likely fall for him, although he was a little older than her he was stunningly attractive and gave off an air of dignity and eloquence.

“Half of what I quoted you Dmitriy. You’re not going to fuck her are you? She’s not worth it. Keeping her hymen intact doubles our profit,” there was anger and jealousy in Liza’s response.

Dmitriy turned on Liza and his eyes burned with anger. He was not a man who was used to being told what to do and certainly not by a woman.

“Leave us! Cancel the rest of my appointments and have the staff deliver dinner for two to my private dining room. I am not to be disturbed… understand!’ Dmitriy growled at Liza.

He didn’t raise his voice because he didn’t need to. The menace, evil and malevolence in his voice and manner were enough to convey his intent.

Liza left the room and Katya began to shake with fear.

“You heard what we said? You know why you are here?” Dmitriy stroked Katya’s cheek.

Katya had been so close to her dreams. She had seen the prosperity and wholesomeness around her: the nice houses, nice cars, the stores filled with exotic wares. Now it was all gone because she had been naïve and stupid. She articulated such to Dmitriy.

“I should have known it was all too good to be true. I’m stupid,” she refused to cry and refused to look down as Liza had ordered her to do.

She glared at Dmitriy defiantly, her ice-blue eyes burning into his.

“There is something about you. It’s not just your incredible beauty, you have a fire in you,” Dmitriy stepped into her, his lips almost touching hers.

“If I send you to the Middle East, Asia or South America, even back to Europe, you will not live a bad life. The man who buys you will cherish you,” Dmitriy whispered.

“Until something better comes along and he sells me to someone else or puts me to work in a bordello,” Katya said plainly.

“My god you are so exquisite. I don’t think I will let you go just yet,” Dmitriy pressed his lips to hers.

Katya neither resisted nor yielded. Her head was spinning but the beginnings of a plan began to form.

“So is it true what Liza said? Will my price be halved if I lose my virginity?” Katya tentatively reached out and stroked Dmitriy’s upper arm.

“Blonde virgins make the most money but someone as beautiful as you would likely make the same, even with that striking black hair. You are like a black pearl hidden amongst whitest of Akoya pearls that are harvested in the hidden bays off the coast of Japan. A rare and precious find,” Dmitriy kissed her again.

“I can tell that you covet and cosset rare and precious things,” she returned Dmitriy’s kiss, softly resting her full lips on his.

Although Katya was tall, she was lean and Dmitriy was easily able to lift her into his arms and carry her to his bedroom. He lay her down on the downy coverlet and kicked off his sandals and lay down beside her.

“Should I undress?” Katya asked meekly.

“No. You are a present that I wish to unwrap myself,” Dmitriy smiled down at her.

This time when Dmitriy kissed her she sensed his restrained passion and Katya put her arms around him and returned the kiss but softly. She was careful not to be too aggressive. She might be a virgin but she was experienced in the art of seduction and knew that playing the innocent coquette was the way to Dmitriy’s heart.

They kissed for a long time, Katya’s mouth was sweet and she smelled of the Poison perfume that Dmitriy preferred. Her tall lithe body moulded perfectly to Dmitriy’s who was used to the diminutive young blondes that his customers mostly wanted.

There was something about this girl. She might present as naïve and inexperienced but he sensed there was an undercurrent of sensuality and maturity that she was keeping hidden.

Their kisses became more passionate and Dmitriy began to use his tongue on her and Katya mimicked his actions, pretending to be a novice in the art of seduction. Dmitriy lay her down flat and straddled her and Katya could feel his hard cock pressing into her belly. It was not the first time she had felt a man’s erection against her body but it was certainly the biggest. She knew it was impossible but she thought she could sense the heat of it.

Dmitriy put a hand inside the low-cut dress and scooped out Katya’s beasts. They were perfectly formed, small but perky and pert. Her areolas were pink against her alabaster flesh and Dmitriy lowered his face to them and began to suckle on them. Katya entwined her fingers in the tresses of his hair, guiding his leonine head from nipple to nipple when they became too sensitive.

She arched her back and sighed as Dmitriy lapped, nipped and licked her sensitive teats. Pleasure radiated out from her breasts and pooled in her belly; she could feel herself becoming damp.

When Katya was delirious with rapture Dmitriy returned to her pretty face and kissed her again prolonging the anticipation of exploring the treasure that lay between her legs. His fingers stroked and kneaded her nipples which were hard and elongated. His cock was hard and throbbing and craving for release but he would not be rushed.

Dmitriy explored Katya’s breasts again with his mouth, smiling to himself when she gasped and wriggled on the bed. This time he did not return to her face but began a slow journey down her body, taking his time to explore her belly and her hips with his mouth. He could sense her delicate flesh through the tight bodice of her silk sheath and Katya could feel his lips, tongue and teeth through the gauzy fabric. She had never considered her belly and her hips as erogenous zones but Dmitriy was a devil in the art of seduction.

He followed the shape of her body, carefully avoiding her pelvic region. His lips followed the curve of her hip down to the top of her thigh and then he licked her leg from the top of her thigh down to her ankle and back again. He did this to both her legs, pushing up the hem of her dress to the top of her thighs. He spent some time exploring the little wrinkles in her diaphanous nylons at the back of her knees and the crease where her legs joined her torso.

Katya’s fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling on it, guiding his face to the places she wanted him to explore. The feel of his mouth on her legs through the ten denier nylon felt like she was being caressed by angel’s wings. All of her pleasure centres were ignited and a deep ache was emanating from her sex which was yearning to be fondled.

Dmitriy deliberately stayed away from Katya’s pubis and began to kiss her on the mouth and then began his exploration of her body all over again. He did this three times until Katya was moaning with excitement and yearning. Twice she had reached for his cock and twice he had slapped her hand away, scared that if she so much as touched him he would explode.

This gorgeous creature was the most exquisite treasure that he had ever encountered and soon she would be plundered. But only when he was ready.

Katya wished that Dmitriy would tear open her dress and ravage her; she had never felt so wanton but he teased her for hours. The only compromise he had made was to take off his robe so that all that remained were his Calvin Klein briefs. He let Katya rake his chest with her long nails and caress his dark muscled tattooed skin but if her hands strayed below his belly he slapped them away. Likewise he stopped her from taking off her dress or her heels. He could feel her frustration and it excited him.

On his final journey from mouth to ankle he made a detour on his way back up Katya’s thigh and pressed his mouth to her sex. Her panties were soaked and he grinned. Katya could feel Dmitriy’s lips on her pubis through the silky layers of her panties and pantyhose. He teased her, lapping at her cunt through her panties and stockings until her heels were drumming on the bed, her fingers almost ripping his hair from his scalp.

She was simpering and whimpering with desire. Dmitriy had been teasing Katya for nearly two hours before he even put his mouth anywhere near her pudendum. He removed his mouth from her pubis and kissed her on the lips again.

“Please, please, please Dmitriy,” it was the first coherent word that either of them had uttered for over an hour, instead they had communicated with gestures, sighs and groans.

Dmitriy smiled and returned his mouth to Katya’s pubis. He eased aside the gusset of her panties and bit a hole in her pantyhose, exposing Katya’s vulva. The delicate folds of her labia unfolded like pink petals exposing her clitoris which was swollen. Dmitriy deliberately kept his tongue away from the inflamed nubbin as he lapped at her sweet moist cuntal lips.

Katya sighed. It was sigh of relief as much as it was a sigh of gratification. Dmitriy had finally put his mouth where Katya wanted it. Rings of intense pleasure radiated from Katya’s pubis, her nipples were erect her legs spread wide, the two-thousand dollar dress hiked up at the hem and pulled down at the neckline, almost ruined. Katya could care a skerrick about the dress as she encouraged Dmitriy to lap at her swollen vulva. She wanted to feel his lips on her clitoris from which radiated a deep ache.

Dmitry finally put his mouth on her clitoris. Drawing back the clitoral hood with his lips, he used the tip of tongue to tickle the inflamed bud.

Katya moaned as an intense orgasm ignited in her pudendum and spread through her body. She bit her lip to stop herself screaming as she lay on the bed convulsing as Dmitriy continued to lap at her super-sensitive button. Tears ran down her face as she shuddered and groaned as the most intense climax she had ever experienced racked her body.

Dmitriy grinned. She was ready.

Dmitriy ripped off his underpants and climbed between Katya’s legs while she was still moaning from the intensity of her orgasm. He guided his penis into the hole he had chewed in her pantyhose and placed his glans inside her labia. He could feel the resistance. She was tight.

He pushed a little and Katya screamed as Dmitriy's thick phallus pressed on her hymen. The thin ring of tissue guarding the entrance to Katya’s vagina stretched but did not give. Katya pressed her buttocks down into the bed and pushed at Dmitriy’s shoulders with her hands, trying to force him to take his penis away from her vagina where pleasure had suddenly been replaced by pain.

“One scintilla of pain my love that will soon be replaced by ecstasy,” Dmitriy whispered lovingly in Katya’s ear as he pressed her down into the bed and pushed.

He put his mouth over Katya’s to muffled her screams as his bloated appendage tore open her hymen and stretched her tight passage. Katya drummed her heels on the bed and writhed and wriggled underneath Dmitriy as he lay on top of her holding her down, impaled on his mighty rod. He’d only just got his glans inside this girl and she was screaming with pain already.

Katya sobbed and Dmitriy lapped at her tears and kissed her softly on the cheeks but he did not relent. He whispered words of endearment and encouragement as he slowly forced his bloated organ inside her. Katya didn’t care if the words of devotion that Dmitriy was whispering were true; she just wanted the huge phallus that was raping her tight vagina to withdraw.

Dmitriy had deflowered his share of virgins but none as exquisite, delightful and tight-cunted as Katya. He kissed her softly and pressed his body down on hers so that his chest pressed on her nipples which he noted where still erect; whether from pleasure or pain it mattered not. What mattered was that he finally had his full ten inches of hard flesh inside this beautiful creature.

He didn’t move.

Dmitriy kissed Katya a little more passionately and she reluctantly responded even though her vagina felt stretched and bloated and was aching incredibly. She felt so… so full! Dmitriy used his mouth on her nipples again, his cock still buried inside her, unmoving. He kissed her again and this time she responded and put her arms around his neck.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore,” she whispered in his ear.

“Of course not my precious. Try to relax,” Dmitriy smiled at her and again she was overcome by how handsome he was.

He lay on top of Katya hardly moving but when he felt that her vagina had accepted his girth he began to rock his hips almost imperceptibly. He kept this up, his pubis pressing on Katya's pudendum and her clitoris.

After a while Katya began to feel little rings of pleasure radiating from her clitoris. Her vaginal juices began to flow. Her cunt felt filled and swollen but it was no longer painful, instead it radiated a pleasurable ache.

When she was ready Dmitriy began to slowly thrust his cock in and out of Katya’s tight vagina. At first she hissed with pain when his phallus chafed her ripped hymen but she lifted her pantyhosed legs and wrapped them around his back.

“Fuck me,” she whispered in Dmitriy’s ear and he involuntarily ejaculated.

Hearing her say those words and the feel of her tight quim stretched around his aching rod was too much. He groaned and held his breath as an intense orgasm coursed through him. He filled Katya’s tight cunt with his glutinous issue. His semen mingled with Katya's vaginal juices and lubricated her love tunnel.

Now he was able to properly fuck this delicate flower.

The delicate flower turned out to be not so delicate as for the first time in her life she experienced having a huge throbbing cock inside her. She drummed her heels on his back and rubbed her silken-sheathed legs on his flanks, her nails raked his back, her mouth pressed viciously to his, her tongue fluttered in his mouth as she lifted her hips off the bed and ground her pubic mound against his.

They came together, holding onto each other like their life depended on it. Waves of pleasure engulfed them and for that moment in time they were the only living beings on the planet. Dmitriy’s cock slammed in and out of Katya’s swollen hole, the amalgam of blood, vaginal juices and semen providing all the lubrication needed. The deep ache and sharp pain caused by Katya’s ruptured hymen blended with the intense ripples of pleasure that emanated from her sex as a prolonged orgasm washed over her.

Dmitriy felt like Katya's tight fleshy channel was milking his cock as it pulsed: dilating and constricting in little wavelet-like contractions triggered by her climax. His cock ejaculated continually, filling her with his scalding semen until he thought he would faint.

Then he did… almost. He lay exhausted on top Katya, his breathing erratic, his body shuddering uncontrollably now and then. Katya too was spent. She lay with her legs wide apart, her arms around Dmitriy, stroking his sweat-matted hair and caressing his muscled back as she felt his mighty organ slowly deflate inside her. It plopped out of her and she felt the rivulet of semen, blood and cunny juice soak into her ruined panties and hose and steep into the bedding. She liked the weight of his body on top of her.

Finally Dmitriy rolled off her but he pulled her close and nuzzled her.

“That was amazing,” Katya sighed.

“Yeah, pretty good I suppose,” Dmitriy smiled wickedly and Katya batted at him.

He caught her wrist and looked deeply into her eyes.

“No. You are truly amazing,” he whispered and then kissed her softly and stroked her hair.

“Would you like some dinner?” Dmitriy asked, looming over her so he could take in her beautiful face.

“Yes I would like some dinner. Then I would like more of this,” she tugged at his flaccid penis and grinned up at him.

“You are a minx,” he smiled down at her.

“So that girl Liza? What exactly is it she does for you?” Katya asked, sitting at the cosy dining table forking duck confit into her mouth.

“She is how they say… my Girl Friday… my personal assistant… my aide. Why do you ask?” Dmitriy asked.

“Because I want her job,” Katya replied brazenly, causing Dmitriy to gag on his wine.

“Really? What qualifications do you have Katya?” Dmitriy teased her.

“Non, but I will learn quickly. Liza will teach me before you ship her off to some other position in your organisation,” Katya waved a fork at him.

“And why would I replace Liza with you?” Dmitriy gave her a challenging grin.

“Because otherwise you will spend every day imagining some little Asian man dressing me as a schoolgirl and sticking his tiny weenie in me, or some greasy Arab bending me over and raping me anally, or some Latin Lothario sharing me around his friends, or…” Katya began to recite vulgar scenarios.

“Enough! Enough! Enough!” Dmitriy banged the table with the flat of his hand.

“If I keep you for myself I lose nearly three hundred thousand dollars,” Dmitriy frowned.

“But I will learn to be the best PA you ever had and you get to do what just did to me every day any time you want to,” Katya grinned at him.

Five years later it was Katya who was sent away while Dmitriy deflowered another pretty virgin. Katya knew that she could only hold Dmitriy’s interest for so long. They had exhausted a long list of Dmitriy’s fantasies and although the sex was still incredible Katya knew that eventually another younger version of herself would replace her. She had prepared for the inevitable, amassing her own considerable nest-egg and establishing a relationship with Vlad Volkov who oversaw Dmitriy’s people smuggling operations on the east coast.

It was an amicable breakup even though Katya had to suffer the indignity of training up the blonde cutie who had replaced her; just as Liza had suffered the indignity of training Katya.

Katya moved east and set herself up in a well-appointed cottage in Southold on Long Island, hiding amongst the moneyed elite. She tried marriage for a while but it didn’t stick so she established a business scouting young virgins to pass onto Vlad Volkov who would arrange to have them abducted and sold into sexual slavery.

She did this without a conscience justifying to herself that she had effectively been Dmitriy's sex slave for five years. Working for a man who sold people, drugs and stolen property and committed crimes such as kidnap for ransom and murder at a whim and headed up his own arm of the Russian Mafia whilst distancing himself from the dirty work, had hardened Katya. She became immune to the everyday barbarity of it and knew that she herself was only a heartbeat away from meeting a similar fate to the abducted sex-slaves or the possibility of being killed by Dmitriy because she knew too much about him.

Katya met Uri Orlov on one of her many trips to LA.

She returned to California regularly to pay homage to Dmitriy who liked to summon select members of his organisation to remind them of their fealty to him. Katya was too far down the pecking order to really be invited to the big event that Dmitriy was organising but he still had a soft spot for Katya which he demonstrated by bending her over his desk and vigorously fucking her when she visited him in his office. Homage had been paid as far as Dmitriy was concerned and she was not invited to the extravagant dinner that Dmitriy was hosting that evening for his top confidants.

Katya was glad not to have to attend the boring dinner where the heads of Dmitriy’s criminal organisation would compete to see who could stick their head furthest up his ass. Instead she found herself mixed up with a group of Russian and Ukrainian gangsters at a party hosted by Uri Orlov who had accompanied Alexi Agronov as his bodyguard.

Katya had gotten drunk because she was still angry at being treated like a chattel by Dmitriy who even though he had traded her for a younger model wanted to remind her that she was still his any time he wanted her. As if the scorpion that he had tattooed on her left ankle wasn’t enough.

“You one of Dmitriy’s girls?” a drunken thug asked Katya, pointing at her ankle.

“I used to be. Now I’m my own woman,” Katya spat back defiantly.

“Yeah, sure you are, you fucking whore,” the man glared at her.

She went outside to get away from the boorish thug and smoke, wondering around the ornate gardens. The man who had insulted her inside at the party came out of nowhere and pinned her to a tree with his hand on her throat whilst his other raked at her panties.

Uri Orlov appeared like a knight in shining armour and pulled the man off Katya. The boorish man produced a wickedly sharp knife and in the ensuing fight the thug opened up Uri’s face leaving him with a scar that started across his left eyebrow and drooped along the side of his face.

Uri still managed to overpower the man, take his knife and stab him repeatedly in the heart until Katya pulled him off the bloody corpse. Uri dragged the man’s body into the bushes and sent Ivan Rakhimov to dispose of it the next day.

Katya took Uri to her rented apartment and tended to Uri’s wound as best she could. Then Uri called a doctor to whom Alexi Agronov paid a lot of money to treat his men when they were injured. The doctor stitched the wound and advised Uri to bed rest for a few days.

Uri spent three days recovering in Katya’s apartment during which time they became lovers. Katya promised Uri her undying gratitude for saving her from the thug at the expense of his face and told him that he could call on her if he ever needed help of any kind.

Their affair was one of smouldering lust. When they were together they were ravenous; their appetite for sex insatiable, but they knew that they could never live together full-time. Katya sought out Uri whenever she was on the west coast and Uri sought her out whenever he went east.

As Uri became more successful, the more he travelled and the more he got to see Katya, usually in one for New York’s finest hotels where Uri inevitably stayed, even when Uri travelled with his wife he would sneak away from the hotel to visit Katya.

Theirs was a special and unique bond and when Uri called Katya from outside of Bethlehem Pennsylvania she was expecting the call. She knew that Uri had severely fucked up and that Dmitriy Yakovich wanted Uri’s head.

Of course she would help but there was nothing she could do for him in the long term.

Uri would have to hand himself into the authorities and promise to cooperate if they put him in witness protection. If Uri remained at large he would certainly be caught, tortured and killed. Katya would be free to work both sides of the fence. She could help Uri whilst not working directly for the law enforcement agencies because if Dmitriy found out that she was, he would skin her alive.

To be continued