Page 4 of Caught By the Bratva Boss

Will do. Send you the file soon.

I put my phone away and drive back across the lake with Charlie’s name running through my mind. By the time I make it back and heat up the supper my cook left for me, my phone dings with the incoming email. I grab my iPad and sit at the counter. Taking a bite of pasta, I click on the file, eager to see what Ivan has dug up for me. I’m momentarily pissed when I see how little information is here. The message attached says that her name is Charlotte Sinclair, age twenty-five, father died when she was twenty, mother is MIA, and she’s been working at Maglione’s for two years. She was born in Washington state, but she and her dad moved here when she was sixteen. I’m oddly irritated by how few details are in here. Didn’t every woman spend hours on social media? She has zero online presence, and the only photo attached is her most recent driver’s license photo.

I click on it and then nearly choke on a meatball when I see how her photo was snapped mid-blink and mid-smile, making it look like she’s coming off one hell of a bender. It’s truly horrific, and if I’d seen this first, there’s no way in hell I would’ve ever believed that the stunning, young woman I saw yesterday was capable of such an awful photo. I look at it for several more minutes until I’m laughing so hard I feel tears coming. God, I can’t remember the last time I laughed, and I damn sure have never laughed to the point of tears.

I send a quick message to Ivan, thanking him for the info, and then pull up her address, memorizing the location before setting the iPad aside. This is pointless. I know it is. I can’t drag her into my world just because she intrigues me and I’d like to see what her face looks like when I stick my cock in her. Her driver’s license photo pops in my head, and I start laughing again. God, if that’s her O-face, then it’s probably best if we never meet. I’m good, but I’m not sure I’m good enough to maintain an erection while looking at that.

Rinsing my dishes, I stack them in the dishwasher for the housekeeper and head back to my office. With a sigh, I sit down and turn on my computer. I need to go over our incoming shipments and upcoming meetings, and by the time I go through all the figures, making sure we’re bringing in more this month than last, my headache is back and I’m more than ready for bed.

But sleep doesn’t come. It never fucking does. I toss and turn, willing myself to just sleep goddammit, but my brain refuses to shut off. When the sky starts to lighten, I finally fall into a deep sleep and manage to get about three hours before my alarm is going off, ripping me out of it with a brutal finality that has my headache rearing back to life and me letting out an angry groan as I throw the sheet off. The morning wood I woke up with isn’t making me feel any better about what kind of day this is already turning out to be.

My reflection in the mirror tells me I look as bad as I feel. I brush my teeth and start the shower, stepping into it and immediately putting my head under the hot water, letting it massage my scalp and slowly wake me up. Memories of the dream I’d had come rushing back to me, filling my head with images of a brown-eyed girl on her knees, locking her eyes on mine as she slowly slides my cock between her pouty lips.

“Fuck!” I growl, fisting my cock while I keep my head bowed beneath the water and my other hand braced against the tiled wall. I grip my shaft tighter, working myself in a fast rhythm because I need some damn relief, and I need it now. Charlie’s face fills my mind, her cheeks red with a blush, her lips parted in a gasp, and her eyes dark with lust as she sucks my cock like the good girl I know she is. Instead of my hand, it’s the wet heat of her mouth wrapped around me, and right as I imagine her choking on the size of me, I come with a fierceness that has me slamming the side of my fist against the wall as my balls tense and pleasure races through me.

When I’m finally empty, I rest my head against my fist and watch my seed disappear. What a fucking waste. That should’ve all gone inside Charlie’s sweet pussy instead of down the damn drain. Not feeling the slightest bit better, despite the fact that my cock has finally gone down, I finish my shower with a scowl, already dreading the day ahead of me.

Artyom is already waiting for me when I walk into my office, looking well rested and smug as ever.

“I regret giving you a key,” I tell him, ignoring the smirk he gives me from where he’s sprawled in one of my leather chairs with his hands clasped behind his head, looking all the world like a guy who’s just relaxing and taking in the morning instead of the highly trained killer he is.

“Do anything fun last night?” he asks.

“Not particularly,” I grumble and sit down while he laughs.

“You should’ve gone out with me. There’s some nice ass in this town if you’d ever leave your office and chase some of it.”

He stretches his arms and adds, “I slept like a baby, but I always do when I’m nestled in between two leggy blondes.”

“I’m thrilled you got a good night’s rest,smert,” I say using his nickname of Death. He’d earned it a long time ago, and the name is fitting. He truly is death waiting in the dark, all of my men are, but Artyom has a real knack for it.

“Sergei is waiting to speak to you.” He changes the subject, but there’s still a small grin playing at his lips, probably because he’s still thinking about his two leggy blondes.

“How’s he been doing?”

“Very well. He’s still working on his English, but other than that, the guy’s fitting right in and adapting well to a life of crime.”

“That’s because I pay a hell of a lot better than the Russian army,” I say, turning on my computer and looking at my schedule. I recruit most of my guys from Russian special forces, theSpetsnaz. They’re some of the most highly trained killers in the world, and that’s exactly who I want working for me. They know how to work together and execute a mission with very little loss of life, on our end anyway. The other side never comes out too well, but it’s earned me a reputation that keeps others from trying too hard to encroach on my territory. Since I’ve expanded into America, things have been going well, but there are different challenges here, new relationships to form, new people to blackmail when they decide they don’t want to dirty their hands with the Bratva. I’m slowly expanding and finding my place, but it’s taking time, and the mayor sure as fuck isn’t helping me right now.

“Any news on Mayor Stephens?” I ask, since the bastard just entered my head.

“No, but we’re on it. Yuri and I are going to do some more snooping tonight.”

“I don’t need the fucking police poking around our business.”

“Agreed,” Artyom says, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. “We’ll find what he’s trying so hard to hide, and then we’ll have him by the balls.”

I look out the large set of windows along the far wall, watching the maple tree’s branches sway in the strong wind coming off the water and wish I could go out there and enjoy it. Instead, I’m stuck in here, and I will be all damn day. Putting my focus back on Artyom, I tell him to send Sergei in on his way out.

“I’ll text you with an update tonight,” he says on his way out, and because my office has a fucking revolving door, the next second Sergei walks in.

“Sit down,” I tell him, waving at the chair Artyom just got up from.

The large man is dressed in full black, like so many of my soldiers choose to wear, and I watch his eyes run over my office, taking it all in. His dark eyes briefly meet mine before looking away. No one ever holds my gaze for long. I wonder what they see when they look at me. Artyom once told me that if I wanted men to hold my gaze, then I needed to act like a Bratva boss, which to him meant getting fat and sitting on my ass while I put everyone else in danger. I’d told him that wasn’t ever going to happen and to go fuck himself. He’d laughed and told me to get used to people not making eye contact then. He’s not wrong. Most Bratva bosses are older, fatter, and cowards who long ago lost their edge. I’m never losing mine. The day I’m incapable of doing the dirty work that needs to be done to keep my Bratva alive is the day I put a bullet in my head and just end it all so someone who still has a set of balls can take over.

“You’ve been working for me for three months now, Sergei. How do you feel that’s working out?”

His back is ramrod straight, and he’s still keeping his hair in the buzz cut from his military days. I know he’s got at least one gun hidden under the dark shirt he’s wearing, and I’m guessing another strapped to an ankle.

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