The Masterful Azeri

A police officer. A Mafia leader. Perfect couple, right?

Handsome, ruthless Azeri Mafia leader, Tural Hasanov is charged with protecting the estranged daughter of London gangland boss, Lennox Mason. Lennox is dying and wants his reluctant daughter to take over leadership of the family and prevent her cousin Spencer Harding from doing so. His plan is for Tural to lead with Bianca as more of a figure head. Tural will bring in his own business and will also tighten the long-standing friendship and important business connection with Tural’s Italian father’s family, the Dragos. But Bianca Mason is a police officer and has other ideas. She won’t be ruled so easily.

When Tural catches up with her in Venice and takes over her life, she is determined to resist the passionate attraction between them and continue to work to put a stop to a sex trafficking operation. When she puts her life in peril to do so and fails to appreciate the danger from Spencer who will stop at nothing to control and possess her and the other Mafia heads wanting to take her inherited power, Tural fully exerts his dominance to guide her in to submission and the safety of his arms. Her career in the police force is over and her place is by his side. Believing the arrangement to be business only, Tural is surprised when he finds himself falling for the feisty officer who disrespects his authority and tests his patience to the breaking point. Will he be able to tame her before she gets herself killed and the underworld erupts?

This is book four in the Masterful series and can be enjoyed independently.

Publisher’s Note: This contemporary Mafia romance contains elements of mystery, suspense, action, adventure, danger, sensual scenes, medical play, and power exchange. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.

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Sample Chapter

Chapter One


Venice Carnival, Venice, Tuesday, 2nd February, Early Evening


Tural Hasanov had never kidnapped a woman before and held her in captivity. Although that very morning he had come very close to it. That wasn’t to say he was any stranger to the crime where men had been concerned especially in his native country of Azerbaijan and his base in St. Petersburg, Russia as the young head of his own Mafia operation. But this would be a first. His tall, lean, athletic body was defined to perfection by the designer tuxedo he wore. He stood with his hands in his trouser pockets at the foot of the motor launch travelling down the Grand Canal in Venice in the early evening. It travelled at a leisurely pace in the cold February breeze that lifted from the water and blew gently across his handsome dark features and bristled the neatly groomed facial hair around his mouth and jawline. The canal was full of private water taxis carrying passengers to restaurants, parties in hotels and palazzos to celebrate the famous Carnivale that lasted seventeen days. He gave a sigh, the Carnivale had only started on the 30th January and already there were too many tourists in town for his liking. It made his work risky and at times problematic although it did produce more revenue.

Some would have called his pose on the small water taxi arrogant others, elegant and masterful as he surveyed all before him as though he owned it. But it wasn’t far from the truth. The illegitimate son of Vettorio Drago, the head of a Nuova Mala de Brenta family in the region, they owned the majority of Venice in some form or another. Tural turned his handsome features to the side to view the buildings and canal streets. Many locals and visitors had dressed in eighteenth century period costume or modern variations donning the elaborate masks of the Carnivale, the sinister plague doctor with his long black cloak and hat, the bauta, Colombina, Moretta, Zanni and more originating from the Italian stage and Commedia. They posed for tourist photographs making him smile when he saw some try to charge bewildered tourists for the privilege while they paraded up and down the small streets or sat outside in cafes and restaurants.

He looked down at the black and dark gold mask that would cover the top half of his face allowing only his eyes to be visible and lifted it to place it across his features, tying it behind his head against his thick short raven coloured hair. It would protect his anonymity when he kidnapped the girl as a favour to his Italian father.

It had been a strange few days. He hadn’t woken up that morning thinking anything was different but now his life was about to change in a way he had not expected. Still when his father, the head of the Drago family asked you a favour, you obeyed without question out of respect and he had to admit he was intrigued by his task.

His main residence was in St. Petersburg, Russia, the birthplace of his Russian mother who had given birth to him in Azerbaijan, the land of fire, and raised him there. A beautiful eighteenth century mansion situated on the picturesque Winter Canal not far from the Hermitage Palace. He’d left there early this morning to send a message to an old friend about loyalty.

He’d followed the pretty female doctor down the corridor in the cardiac wing of the dull grey and white block building of the hospital with two of his men by his side on the second floor keeping a discreet distance. Although his handsome dark features and haunted black eyes did not betray any emotion, inwardly he smiled to himself taking in the sexy curves of the petite female form in front of him. His eyes momentarily drifted downwards to the pert plump bottom, he’d spanked on many an occasion, deliciously moulded like a juicy peach for his viewing pleasure inside the mid-length, black, pencil skirt. He felt his hands clench and unclench at his sides as he pictured himself roughly removing the skirt, to find her not wearing any panties knowing she did not wear them since he demanded she didn’t. But he didn’t just want to spank her bottom this time he wanted to whip it hard with his belt. He wanted her to really feel the sting, like she had never done before, while he took her to task on top of her desk for disobeying him in front of an audience. The sudden image made him think of what was waiting at home for him later when he had finished his work. The two girls he had locked back in their cages would be waiting for him to come and play with them.

As he walked, he took out the silencer-equipped pistol from the holster underneath his suit jacket he wore under his long, black, cashmere overcoat. His men followed suit but he shook his head at them and they immediately stopped.

“I will deal with this alone. It’s personal,” he said coldly. He broke formation with the two men and swept up behind the woman. He wound his hand around her waist just as she turned to walk through the door. He pushed her against it and pressed the end of the silencer into the middle of her back. He heard her gasp and felt her body freeze in his grip.

“Keep quiet and go into your office and shut the door behind you.”

She nodded and reached for the handle again to open it. They walked inside. He nodded to his men as they came to stand in front of the door and kept watch. She moved back as he closed the door and turned the key in the lock. He deposited it in his inside suit jacket pocket.

She backed away from him in the small room, her fair features a mix of confusion and fear. He did not say a word as he removed his coat and tossed it onto the white leather sofa in front of a coffee table, away from her desk and a small conference table. As Chief Medical Officer of the hospital, Irina, his ex, was doing well in her career and on the way up.

“Tural, what do you want?” She was trying to sound confident but he could hear her anxiety trembling in her tone. It felt a just punishment for her betrayal. She had been lucky he hadn’t taken it further. If she had been a man… “I thought we said all we needed to, last Thursday night. It’s over.”

She was eyeing the silencer now.

“So did I until I found out you were stealing information about my arms deal with Lennox Mason to give to your new boyfriend, Adrian Ivanov and allowing the Russians in London to muscle in and undercut me. You have given me no choice but to take this further, kotyonok. You and he must be taught a lesson about loyalty.”

He walked towards her with purpose and caught hold of both ends of the stethoscope closing the gap to lightly tighten it around her neck and use it to pull her towards him with force. Irina shrieked and began to tremble when he twisted it around her throat.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged him. “He told me he would help my brother get out of that gulag. You know I will do anything for Dimitri. He is my little brother, Tural. Please, you have to understand.”

“No one can get him out of there after what he did by going against the government. He is lucky he is still alive. Adrian cannot help you. No one can. He will rot there.”

He watched the tears rise in her violet eyes and felt a small pang of sympathy. Thankfully, it was short lived and did not cause him to lose focus. It was a fact she needed to understand and accept.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

He frowned at her and raised the silencer to stroke it over her cheek.

“And what would I get out of that? I want you to feel how hurt I was, to feel my humiliation and that deep sense of betrayal,” he said firmly holding her in place with the stethoscope, his lips inches from hers.

“And how are you going to do that?” she asked nervously.

He caught her lips and kissed her, catching her bottom lip between his teeth to draw it through and back. To his satisfaction, she responded before he abruptly removed his lips from hers and spun her around to begin removing her clothes.

Irina could barely look at him as he roughly removed her black leather skirt and tore her panties away from her body, throwing them into the pile that already contained her bra and blouse. Her cheeks were a delicate rosy pink. A satisfied smile twitched across his lips. She moved her hands he had just cuffed behind her back restlessly.

“Trying to escape is futile, kotyonok,” he informed her callously. “Even if you succeeded we both know I would shoot you dead before you made it out of the door.”

“I am not your kitten. I thought your rule was never to kill a woman even when she deserved it,” she sneered back prompting him to cup her throat with his black leather gloved hand and force her head upwards towards him.

He tightened his grip making her reach for her breath for a moment before he relaxed his hold once more. She looked up at him refusing to turn her eyes away in fear. He’d always liked that about her. He couldn’t help but admire her courage. Their relationship had been a casual affair but he had hoped maybe one day there would be more. She was the first he had spent this long vaguely attached to. He frequented high-class prostitutes. He had no time for even considering a real relationship. Still he expected undivided loyalty from whomever he dealt with and that included women in his bed.

Tural finished forcefully stripping Irina naked. He cast his eyes over her helpless naked form taking in every swell, curve, dip and erect tip to remind her of his power and watched her pale skin warm and flush with the weight of his gaze in response. Before he realised what he was doing, he was moving closer wanting to inhale her scent again and to feel the brush of her large breasts against his suit jacket. Still holding her throat and bending close to her ear so she would feel his breath’s caress, he answered her question in a dark whisper and ran the tip of the silencer down her back feeling her shiver against him.

“No, but it doesn’t stop me injuring you and returning you to Adrian damaged, does it?”

Tural caressed the silencer over her bottom watching himself circle it over one buttock as he looked over her shoulder. She was so close to him now, her cheek brushing his own, her heart thudding against his chest. That intoxicating scent of jasmine and patchouli threatening to overpower him.

Focusing on his task he lifted the silencer away from her body and stepped back maintaining his hold on her throat. Irina was breathing hard but there was a curious look in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. He felt a surge of triumph when her pupils dilated. Despite her assertion it was over, the bitch was still attracted to him. He moved his hand up and down her throat then tightened it painfully.

“Time to pay. This is something I should have done last Thursday and not just let you leave like you did. I was too lenient.”

Truth be known, he knew she had betrayed him and what Adrian was up to. He’d believed her to be too intelligent to fall for Adrian’s charm and lies but obviously he had done her a disservice in believing so.

“Kneel,” he virtually hissed the order guiding her down to her knees on the carpet covering the polished yew tree floor in front of the white leather sofa. She looked up at him with the fragile face of a small child as she came to kneel in front of him.

“Good girl,” he mocked.

Tural tucked his leather-gloved fingers underneath her chin and raised her face to him so he could give her another instruction.

“Get on all fours.”

“What are you going to do?” she mouthed resisting his command.

“On all fours. I won’t tell you again. Or do I have to make you?”

Slowly, Irina did as she was told.

“Head down onto the carpet and now put your weight on your shoulders and do not look up until I give you permission to.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she was breathless but the fear had gone. There was now a curious intonation in her voice. “Is this another game?”

Tural ignored her and walked to her desk. He picked up her laptop and took a key out of his pocket. It was the key for the bottom drawer his man had stolen early this morning. He unlocked the drawer and grinned. It was exactly where he was told it would be. Tural took out the riding crop and walked back to the coffee table and the couch. He opened the laptop and placed it on top of the white coffee table and angled it so the camera could pick up himself and Irina’s delectable naked body.

Everything was set up. He called Adrian’s number and a second one to commence the conference call. Tural sat back down on the sofa behind Irina and studied the riding crop, running his leather-clad fingers along its surface. Adrian’s image appeared on the screen. He frowned at Tural.

“Tural,” Adrian was cautious. “How are things? We haven’t seen each other for… Irina–” His calm tone turned to one of shock seeing her on the floor. Irina raised her head from the floor to look at him.

“He knows, Adrian.”

Tural gave a sigh and raised the riding crop to thrash it across both of her perfectly moulded buttocks in one go. Irina cried out.

“Keep your head down and do not raise it until I give you permission,” Tural instructed placing his foot carefully onto her back and giving it a firm push to force her back onto the floor. He kept his foot clothed in an elegant black leather double buckled Santoni shoe on her back to keep her in place and down at heel.

“I have been finding out just what you two have been up to. You have both been very productive. Your little spy here, Adrian, has done her job well. Finding out about my arms deal with Lennox Mason in London and then moving in to undercut me has served you well. Not to mention muscling in on my contract with the Colombians. Thankfully, I have other more loyal friends including Lennox Mason and that’s why we are here now and I know exactly what you have been doing. It was so easy to persuade your brother to give me the information I needed. He is a sensible man. He did not prolong our intense discussion and gave me all the information I required.”

He smiled at Adrian’s ashen face.

“So, I think it is time to take account. I want you to watch me discipline your girlfriend and then I am going to tell you how I have returned the favour.”

“Tural, we can work this out. What do you want? What do you want me to do?” The man sounded desperate, terrified. A warm feeling of satisfaction settled in Tural’s stomach.

Sitting on the edge of the white leather sofa, Tural swapped his right foot for his left to keep Irina down on the floor, her weight on her shoulders, her bare bottom thrust up in the air. He wasted no more time in bringing the end of the riding crop down against her backside to redden it.

Irina howled like a baby and tears began to fall from her eyes just as they always did when he had disciplined her over his knee in the past. He hardened his features and stepped into his stride. Thwacking the leather end of the crop against each buttock in turn over and over again watching the juicy plump rump before him jump, wobble, and quiver under the powerful strength he wielded through the riding crop. The noise of crop hitting Irina’s flesh was loud, echoing around the room, a stark reminder of his authority to Adrian and his other secret viewers.

Adrian had ceased to speak. He appeared to be enthralled by each stroke Tural was inflicting on Irina’s bottom that was becoming hotter and redder by the second. He produced a fresh batch of tears and howls when he applied the crop to the tender backs of her succulent thighs bending to watch them tremble as he struck them.

Eventually he ceased Irina’s punishment. Still with his foot on top of her, he leaned towards the laptop.

“Should we see how wet she is? Have you spanked her yet, Adrian? It always makes her so slick and ready to penetrate.”

“Don’t touch her, Hasanov. Irina belongs to me.”

“She belonged to me before you stole her from me, Adrian. I have a right to take back my property.”

Tural removed his foot and bent down to slip his fingers into Irina’s pussy from behind. He rubbed her clit before pinching it. He grinned up at Adrian.

“True to form. She is soaking and very aroused. I think I should stop that ache she is feeling and fuck her.”

Adrian stood up.

“I will kill you, Hasanov.”

“You aren’t going to have time to come after me,” Tural gruffly took hold of Irina’s long blonde mane and roughly pulled it as he lowered himself to his knees next to her.

He bent to kiss her hot bottom revelling in feeling the heat coming off her stinging flesh.

“There, there, Irina,” he mocked. “Daddy will make it all better. Let me get my fingers deep inside you.”

He planted his middle finger and second just inside her entrance and then thrust them harshly to the hilt grinning when her body jolted from the carpet. She gave a whimper. There was a cruelty to his finger thrusts that made her grunt but very quickly she was helplessly coming like a bitch in heat, screaming and wailing like a cat, a visual treat for all of his viewers.

When the spiral ended and her climax diminished Tural removed his fingers and sat up onto the sofa again sensually trailing the leather tab end of the riding crop the length and breadth of Irina’s spine. He slipped his shiny wet fingers in between his lips watching Adrian’s thunderous features scowl at him.

“Mmm, she tastes good, don’t you think so?” he said.

Adrian ignored him and instead asked him quietly, calmly, “What did you mean, I won’t have time?”

“What I meant is you will be too busy running.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You will be receiving a call soon. It appears the heroin you delivered yesterday wasn’t actually heroin. The Albanians aren’t very happy.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“I just returned the favour. If I were you I would think about getting out of there. Like me they look very badly on disloyalty and theft.”

“For fucks sake, Tural. They will kill me.”

Tural showed no emotion.

“Yes, they probably will. By the way, you can have your girlfriend back. I don’t fuck whores anymore.”

He terminated the call.

“As for the rest of you watching. I would just like to inform you that Ms Irina Basanov has been sending your valuable prescription drugs and surgery medication to Mr. Ivanov who has been selling them on the black market. I am sure you will want to take the matter up with her directly.”

He terminated the second call and stood to put his overcoat back on. Irina remained on the floor crying.

“Why did you do that? I thought I meant something to you?” she sobbed.

“I have a code, Irina. I don’t kill women, I don’t trade in drugs or traffic women and I certainly don’t steal valuable drugs from those who need them.”

Irina stood up and growled at him. She flew at him, her naked breasts bouncing and juddering magnificently as she did so. He caught her arms to stop her hitting out at him and held them tight.

“No, you are just the head of a contract killer group, an arms dealer, art thief and money launderer amongst other things.”

He picked up the riding crop ready to strike the backs of her legs if she flew at him again.

“I didn’t say I was perfect. You got caught, Irina. You got sloppy and made mistakes. Accept it. You played a dangerous game and lost.”

He pushed her away and picked up her clothes from the sofa and threw them at her. He took out the key and unlocked the door. The moment he opened the door, the male head of the hospital, an attractive guy in his sixties stormed in. Tural gave a sigh and shook his head with disapproval watching his ex stand there gasping, clutching her clothes between her breasts, her shaven glistening wet vulva on show as her boss walked in the door. Tural handed the man the riding crop.

“She’s been an awfully bad girl. Perhaps you would like to whip her yourself now.”

Then he was gone.

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