Page 43 of Sins He Taught Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 3)

Now, it’s a different story.

She barely looks at me, always giving a polite nod before she hurries off after the boy. Her reaction to me, the sheer fear of getting in trouble, is nearly enough to make me drop this whole thing entirely. Whatever she was trying to do clearly didn’t work and now she’s spending every second around me shifting in her chair or bouncing her knees anxiously.

Tonight, I hear the sound of pots and pans downstairs, so I head down to see what’s happening. Nikolas stands on his stepping stool next to Victoria as they both eat a plate of French toast.

That’s one thing I don’t regret about hiring her. Whenever she cooks or bakes, she leaves the house smelling delicious, and tonight is no different. She talks to him about his favorite show while they eat, though he doesn’t answer much. When they clean up and start to wash the dishes, I turn to leave.

“Ah!” she screams suddenly.

I turn around to find her dripping wet, the spray nozzle dangling in her hands. She must have accidentally soaked herself. She grabs a towel to dry herself off, muttering under her breath as if lecturing herself for being so clumsy.

While Nikolas goes to get ready for bed, I stay in the doorway, watching as she dries off. She turns around and jumps in surprise when she sees me. My eyes travel over her body, from her dark hair that’s tied up in a bun on her head to the way the wet shirt clings to every curve of her body. Her breasts look perfect, a slight sheen of water accentuating them nicely.

Even dressed down like this, she looks incredible. Immediately, my mind fills with the filthiest thoughts.

Tearing the shirt off her.

Exposing her to me—hot, smooth skin and silky hair.

The warmth of her breasts in my grasp. Those soft, plump lips.

I’d tease each of her nipples until they’re rock hard. She’d beg me not to stop, and I wouldn’t.

But Victoria suddenly turns around, embarrassed, and I realize that I was staring at her. I scold myself for getting so easily distracted and leave her drying off in the kitchen. Even worse, I’m annoyed that she caught me before I could get away. I should know better than to let something so silly as a woman’s breasts turn me into such a blubbering, leering idiot.

I head to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes and into a pair of sweatpants and a white tank top. I make my way to the bathroom when I hear Victoria’s voice coming from Nikolas’ room. I stop by to see what she’s saying. Maybe they’re talking about the game she created.

Instead, she’s lying in bed with him, reading him the wilderness boy bedtime story for the hundredth time. Her back is to me, and at this angle, I get a look at the gentle rise of her hips and thighs. It’s a crime to look as effortlessly sensual as she does.

Not wanting to press my luck a second time, I leave them to it before I get caught. But when I climb into bed, all I can think about is how good it would feel to fold myself against her and feel every last curve of her body.

This is dangerous.

* * *

At the next meeting the following day, I head to my office, where I find a few of my men sitting around the table, talking. The moment I enter the room, the conversation dies down and they sit up straighter.

One man clears his throat and nods at me. “Boss,” he says in acknowledgment.

“Pietrov,” I reply.

I take a seat at the head of the table and fold my hands in my lap, looking at the others. “What’s the problem?” I ask. I may not be a detective, but I can tell when someone isn’t saying something. Right now, I have a lot of men not saying much.

Konstantin, who runs all our operations in the southeastern stretch of Bratva territory, clears his throat and says, “Boss, we’ve been having some problems with the shop on 71st.”

“What kind of problems?”

“There’s this gang that hangs out down there. Territorial as hell. I’ve tried to get them to fuck off, but they keep coming around, causing problems for the business.”

Every day, it seems like I’m putting out fires for people that are more than capable of doing the job themselves. Konstantin is a good man, though. He works hard, makes sure my money is delivered on time, and stays out of my way. He’s loyal.

So, I lean forward and say, “I’ll see what I can do. Maybe they need someone to remind them that they don’t run the streets anymore. I do.”

It’ll only take a call to have the thugs dealt with. I’ll send Miron and his men down there. Break a few bones, bloody a few noses. They’ll get the message, if they know what’s in their best interests. After all, those that stay out of my way usually live to tell the tale.

Over the next hour, a few more men bring their problems to me one by one, and I issue instructions. I chuckle to myself, imagining how much the FBI would pay to be a fly on the wall here. Racketeering, extortion, illegal import/export—the charges they’d be able to pile up in an hour alone would keep their prosecutors busy for years.

Too bad they’ll never get close.

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