Page 25 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“We do ferry cocaine and heroin,” he says when he leads me inside the doors. “And this is where we keep it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, eyes tracking to his. It doesn’t make any sense for Boris to tell me his secrets. Especially when he knows I can escape, go back to the Allards, and tell them all about it.

I wouldn’t do that—because it’s clear that Mr. Allard is a monster, but that doesn’t stop me from questioning Boris’s intentions.

“I’m following my intuition,” Boris says. “My father said a man should always be able to trust his gut.”

I follow Boris around the rest of the day, watching how things are run and seeing how he steps in to help, hefting large bags and moving a forklift that died. The drugs are hidden inside bags of beans and then labeled with the bean type according to which drugs are inside.

I took an operations and supply chain class last semester, and I start applying those concepts to this warehouse. Boris takes my suggestions in stride, never once suggesting that, as a student, I might have no idea what I’m talking about.

As we move operations, I realize that my degree might actually be applicable to far more than just business—even illegal organizations are still organizations, after all.

I watch the muscles in Boris’s back as he leans down, helping a foreman lift a bag onto a cart. He may not be the tallest or widest man I’ve ever seen—but he’s undeniably strong. My mouth waters as I watch him, thinking of our last kiss, and I have to shake the thoughts of him away.

When we get home from working at the warehouse, we all eat dinner together. But this time, when I retire to the bedroom, Boris comes to the door.

“Did you order anything nice to wear?” he asks, leaning on the doorjamb, his eyes wandering over me.

“Define nice.”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

I turn and head to the closet, pulling out one of the sparkling dresses I ordered with Ivan. It feels like centuries in the past, even though I’ve only been here for a week now.

“What about this?” I ask after slipping it on. When Boris speaks, it’s after his eyes linger on my face, then drop down to my tits before sliding to the dress.

“Perfect.”

Chapter 11 - Boris

“Welcome to Noch,” I say as Fiona and I enter the club together. My bodyguards are on either side of us, but the crowd parts effortlessly without their interference—several patrons nod to me as we slip past, heading for my private room.

“Noch?” Fiona asks, looking around. The lights sparkle off her eyes and bounce off her hair—she looks good enough to eat in that dress, skintight and sparkling in the light, and I’m grateful she had the foresight to order something classy.

“Meaning night in Russian,” I say as we look around the space. “It was inspired by the dark.”

All the features in Noch are matte black, with black lights and glowing elements to give it an almost supernatural atmosphere. We only opened this club a few months ago, but it’s already near capacity every night. Our VIP section is particularly popular among the city’s elites, as it offers a better degree of privacy and service than other clubs in the area.

“I can see that,” Fiona laughs, groping for my arm as the song changes and the entire place is draped in darkness. I hold it out for her, a spark traveling over my skin at her touch.

I lead her through the club, taking her to the back area. The difference between the two is staggering, as we enter the bright lights of the kitchen and travel through the storage rooms where we keep the liquor.

“Noch, and all our other clubs, are completely independent of the Family,” I say, clearing my throat and glancing at her. We’ve come to a door at the back of the building, and I put my hand on her back, gesturing for her to open it.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, the Milovs are a very powerful group around here,” I say, climbing the steps behind her and staring at her ass in that dress. “That means they own a lot of businesses and property.”

“Like the retirement place.”

“Exactly.”

“But this isn’t a Milov property?”

“Not in the broad sense, no—this is just for my siblings and me. In fact, doing this was Anya’s idea. She came up with the interior concept and theme for it. She also—well, Anya had a friend who was too tied up in our family. He started a business, but used one of our buildings, got funding from us, and took advantage of the Milov name. At the end of it all, his bagel shop just became another Milov holding.”

“That’s awful,” Fiona says, breathing a little hard. “Also, where the hell are you taking me?”

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