Page 1 of Virgin Bratva Prisoner

Chapter 1 - Oleg

I storm into the warehouse. I had to come in early again. It’s still quiet, as most of my workers will only start arriving in the next hour or so.

There is an issue I have to deal with. Another one. It seems like we have these endless petty issues lately and I know it is all related to that new family. The Kuznetsov brothers. Would rephrase this paragraph.

I walk into my office and drop my work bag next to my desk. Flipping open my laptop, I punch in my password and silently wish my assistant was here because I am dying for a cup of coffee, but don’t have the time right now to make it myself.

This new family that moved into the area a month ago has been a none stop pain in my ass since the day they got here. And last night, because of their interference, another one of my shipments got delayed, I have another pissed off client and another mess to fix.

It’s one thing if they want to mess up their own business, but they’ve been making weak, but very constant, attempts to steal clients from us and to steal our business ideas. Their meddling is now becoming a thorn in my side that I can’t ignore anymore.

When we arrived in America, we worked our fingers to the bone to make a solid business foundation for ourselves. We didn’t steal ideas or try and backpack off of someone else’s hard work. Leon led the way—and then the rest of my family arrived after to all put in the effort needed to create this business for our family.

Not a fucking chance I am going to let another family come out of the mud and try to mess with what we’ve created.

I run through my emails, looking for the schedule. I know it has Midia, the dockyard manager's contact details on it. I forgot to take them down last night when I saw him in person. There. Got it. Picking up my phone off the desk I punch in his number.

It rings a few times, I know it’s early, but he should be at the docks already.

“Oleg, how are you, my brother?” He says cheerfully when he answers.

“Don’t fucking call meyour brother—what the fuck happened last night? Did one of your men give them access to the shipping yard?” I snarl angrily. I’m no good without coffee in the morning. It dictates my patience levels, and right now they are very low.

Beneath the desk, my leg is bouncing in agitation.

I have to stay calm. Self-control is what makes a man.

I want to climb through the phone and punch this idiot in the face, though. So much for self-control.

“Ah, come on, man, I told you last night I would fix this. I’m already trying to find out what happened—just give me some time,” he pleaded.

“We don’t have time. Are you going to fix the massive loss we’ve incurred because the shipment won’t arrive on time to the client when we promised?”

He sighs, but at this point he knows better than to talk back.

“Midia, you better fucking find out who has been giving them access. I want to have a personal conversation with the person. That—or it’s your head that will roll for this one because you can’t keep your team in control.”

“Yes. I will. I promise.” He says tightly.

When this situation is sorted out, I want him to review every member of his team. I need to know where our weak links are.

We pay our people very well. Our staff are treated like extended family. To have any of them doing underhanded bullshit like this is not acceptable and needs to be dealt with quickly and efficiently.

I hang up the phone and sigh heavily.

Someone on his work force has been taking handouts from this new family. A little money slid under the counter—a little access to our shipping yard. And a whole lot of trouble for me.

My brothers expect me to sort this shit out because I manage warehouse operations and I am good at what I do. Thebusinessside of things.

When it comes to dealing with mafia business—I am not interested in the politics of it. But my family is important to me and I know my role and my duty. I did not choose this Bratva life, and if it were up to me, I’d be living in a log cabin in the woods, not having to deal with any of this shit—but we don’t always get to choose our path. I have to do the best I can in the role I have been given. For the sake of my family. My loyalty is with them. I will do anything for them.

I stand up, stretching my legs out. Last night was not a good night and I didn’t sleep well. I got home late from the shipping yard and then the constant phone calls didn’t stop. Stress and trying to deal with this shit has left me feeling drained and agitated.

The new family that moved into our city needs to learn their place. Who the hell do they think they are—arriving here—encroaching our territory—messing with our clients and trying to steal our business ideas. I don’t understand how they thought they would get away with it. The Dubrov name holds a lot of power, they have surely been made aware of it, but they are still stupid enough to test us.

Just outside my office I hear my assistant arriving. Thank fuck.

“Lianna.” I snap, not meaning to sound like a total asshole. It’s not her fault I’m dealing with this drama. She hurries into my office, standing in the doorway with a frown of worry on her face. Her mousy brown hair is in a single braid, over her shoulder. She pushes her wide round spectacles up her face, repositioning them on the bridge of her nose. “Yes, Oleg?” She asks nervously, starting to twist her fingers together.

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