Page 2 of Forced Bratva Wife

It had been a long day, and as jazzed as I was for finally sticking it to the old man, my eyelids drooped as I fixed my ponytail, redoing the hair tie’s loop around my curls. I wasn’t ready to deal with showering and washing them again. Too much work.

Slipping beneath the scratchy blanket on my Twin XL bed, I pulled it tight around myself and closed my eyes. I didn’t mind sleeping with the light on. I actually preferred it, thanks to years of childhood trauma. Thanks again, Dad. So, I settled in, ready to get some Zzzs and start the next day on a much better foot.

***

Lev

Years. We’d trusted the asshole for literal years, and he’d been skimming off the top of his cut the entire time. Rage surged through my body like a potent poison, and I was prepared to unleash it on whoever dared fucking with the Vadim family.

“Say it again.”

I growled at Pietor, and my cousin took a wise step backward. I didn’t have time for this bullshit. If someone was stealing from the Vadim family, I wanted the details—now.

“Kozlovsky. Pavel Kozlovsky. He’s been laundering for us. For years. Ricky got word from one of his buyers that he’s been skimming. The guy said he heard Pavel going on about it in the back room when he thought no one was listening. He didn’t know Ricky was ours.”

I cracked my knuckles as my jaw instinctively clenched. Breathing around the desire to snap Pietor in half for just being there, I smoothed my thumb across the IV tattooed onto my thumb.

“Pavel. He’s the asshole the family is looking to replace, yeah?”

Pietor nodded. “Sergey wants him out. There’s an in-house connection we can use to take care of the money.”

With a sigh, I took a sip of the whiskey sitting on my desk. The aged scotch slipped down my throat with a pleasant burn, and I set the crystal glass back down on the leather desk blotter.

“Get Ricky work. I want him on other shit like this.” I adjusted in the heavy wood chair in my office. The new digs in the Chicago Vadim area were treating me nicely.

“And Pavel?” Pietor raised his brows at me.

“We’re going to set an example.” I stood, straightening my Armani suit as I buttoned my jacket once more. “If you take from the Vadim family, you pay for it. In spades.”

I directed the remaining men in my office to form up, get their required pieces, and meet me in the garage to pay Pavel a little visit. As they each took their assignment and got ready, I strolled with Pietor to the Escalade I usually used for fieldwork. The trunk was big, the windows were heavily tinted and bulletproof, and we’d ensure that it could hold a body perfectly.

“Message the heads that I’m dealing with this,” I said to Pietor as I stepped up and into the large back seat of the car. “And get our cleaners on standby.”

“Of course, Lev.”

When my delightful crew of thugs had their arms, they climbed into the car with me, and we took off for Pavel’s hovel of an office downtown. Upon arrival, the “Kozlovsky Loan Office” was dark, the interior lights dimmed, and no cars were parked out front or in the back, according to my men.

“Pull around back and clear the scene so I can get in. I want this quiet and fast. Got it?”

The car resounded with a chorus of “yes, sir”s. Still, time and the appearance of an easy mark didn’t reduce my anger. This wad of trash had messed with the family and our money. There was one thing that I just couldn’t stand above everything else—someone who lied to your face.

But matters were growing in Chicago, the hold the Vadim’s had over the town expanding, and that’s why I’d been called in from New York. Obviously, I didn’t hesitate. You don’t turn your back on family, and you never turn down a promotion.

One of my men poked his head in the car. “All clear, boss. We’re ready for you. Pavel is secured.”

“Perfect.”

I slipped from the car in a wide stride, taking the large step down easily. As I walked across the short distance from my car to the back entrance to the building, I picked up the distinct smell of piss and garbage in the wind. Classy.

Pavel's business was just as unremarkable inside as it appeared on the outside. Cardboard-like walls covered in peeling wallpaper from the 70s and matted brown carpet greeted me.

Pietor nodded at me, gesturing down the hall to the right. I trusted Pietor with this job because I trusted him with my life. As another cousin in the Vadim family, we’d grown up together, practically trading pacifiers. Even if he was well below me in rank, I knew I could depend on the guy, and he knew I’d pull him along my way to bigger and better things.

When I got inside the tight office of one Pavel Kozlovsky, another of my men had him controlled to a chair, pinning him there with a gun leveled at his back and his arms tied down.

“Pavel, Pavel, Pavel. How’ve you been? Got any exciting plans for the weekend?”

He clammed up, a nervous sweat dripping from his brow as I slid off my suit jacket and draped it gently across the back of a chair.

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