Bratva Boss

by Flora Ferrari

  He met my eyes across the table and his wrinkled features fixed into a look of sheer irritation. "There is nothing to discuss."

  "If you say so, Yakov."

  The time had come; he needed to concede power. For the past few years I had been happy to give the man the time to come to that decision gracefully, but he had been doing nothing of the sort. Sure, I knew that eventually, to help him save face, I would have to be seen to apply the right kind of pressure, but as always he refused to acknowledge what was going on. Recently I had been satisfied making use of whatever time off he gave me to focus on my plans for the future, but this situation had been dragging on for too long, and it was long past time now to face it head on.

  "You think there is something? Speak your mind then, Valentin. You've never been shy about that, even if you have no stomach for the rest of it."

  I gritted my teeth, feeling my jaw clench and ripple. Viktor could testify that I had no issue with getting my hands dirty or delving into wet work of my own when it was necessary.

  Opposite Timoshenko, I leaned forwards across the table, my hands clasped together.

  "We need to talk about what happened in St Petersburg. You cannot keep avoiding it."

  He met my eyes and nodded slowly. "I see. You are a dog with a bone. I ignore nothing, but you have decided it is like that."

  I shrugged. "Yakov, it is like that. I have been propping you up for years."

  The faintest twitch of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I built you up from nothing, and now this is all that you can see."

  "You put me here for a reason, old man, and now it is time for you to get out of my way. You could step down-"

  "I could not!" His fist slammed down onto the table and he stood, scraping his chair back and folding his napkin onto his plate. "You insult me. There will be something to discuss when you are prepared to bloody your hands to get what you are after. This is no business deal, Valentin Rozhkov. If this is an empire that you want, then you will have to take it by force. Not everything in this world can be accomplished with your clever, modern ways."

  I let out a growl, slamming my shoulders against the back of my seat as I gave a disgusted shake of my head. I didn't deem patricide anything other than drama to pad his ego and I wanted none of it. I was hardly squeamish when it came to dishing out violence, but it seemed so unnecessary to have to go so far when I had gone to such lengths to make sure that the man who had got us to where we were today could step away, unharmed.

  "You are making a mistake, Yakov. It doesn't have to be this way."

  "No? Of course it is you to think that it is so easy. Only I have to let you castrate my power, take away what I have worked for so long to achieve without resistance. Only to ruin my legacy so when people think of Yakov Timoshenko getting fat and old, they will see not what I have done, but only that I am an impotent coward."

  I gritted my teeth. No one I knew would dare to think those things of the man who had brought the Bratva so far, but he only saw shame in stepping away without bloodshed. "So you would rather die?"

  "I would rather that the thief who plans to cut my empire out from under me would look me in the eye when he stabs me in the heart."

  Despite our personal history, I had too much professional respect for the man, as our boss, not as my father, to cut the power out from under him. And I could understand why now, pride had him give me the cold shoulder, but this could not go on.

  He thought he knew what he wanted, so I had no choice but to give it to him. I was long past done with all these games. I shook my head, eyes darkening on the man who had never claimed to be my father.

  Moscow had been my home for my entire life, except for the years I had been sent away to England to complete my schooling. It was Timoshenko who had insisted on me having the best credentials, so that I could open up the greatest opportunities for the Bratva when I began to work for them to pay back the debt owed by my mother, and there was nothing like an Oxbridge education to provide the right kind of network, the right kind of contacts for life.

  On a fundamental level, I hated the man. He had done wrong by two families by being loyal to neither of them. As the boss of the Bratva, I had respected him through my youth, but that was as far as it went. I was prepared to take whatever opportunities he'd give me to ease his guilt and soothe his soul, but when it came to taking over for him, there was going to be no sentimentality on my part. I couldn't afford any.

  "So be it, then, old man."

  "Da. So be it."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mia

  Tired from the flight, I was glad to collapse into the back of a cab and let it take me into the centre of Moscow.

  Just like always, the city surprised me by the way the buildings sprawled, taking you from what seemed purely residential on a busy road, to suddenly having a view of the domes of St Basil's Cathedral, or one of the parks along the river bank.

  As we came through the core of the old part of the city where the theaters and the opera were, I felt a tingle go through me. The streets were so wide and grand, with beautiful buildings that looked like they should have been in some painting from a hundred years ago or more. I could picture horses and carriages and ladies in grand dresses holding parasols, men in top hats offering them their arms. The whole thing could have been a theatre set, except for the cars, and the bustle and the sense of real, immediate life. This beautiful city was my home now, for as long as I wanted it to be. Just as long as I managed to make myself a real place at the Bolshoi Theatre. I had everything ahead of me, just so long as I put the work in.

  When the car pulled in, I checked the picture of the building against the beautiful, old building I was standing in front of, and the driver helped me haul my bags over to the front door. I thanked him profusely, glowing when he praised my accent. All those summer school language lessons hadn't been wasted.

  There was a creaky looking elevator at the back of the hall when I dragged my cases into the lobby, past the sweep of a grand staircase and I breathed a sigh of relief that it appeared to be working. I'd assumed that the rent prices were some kind of Soviet hangover, and I'd been expecting worse than the dorms at the Choreography School I'd come to study at three years back, but it wasn't like that at all.

  The space was warmly lit and welcoming and the elevator might have been cramped, but it was clean and there was more than enough space for me and my two suitcases. I'd have been grateful even if it had been covered in graffiti and smelling like a urinal, because the last thing I wanted was to cover myself in bruises hauling my bags up three flights of stairs. No matter how elegant they looked from the ground.

  When I got to my floor, I found a note with my name on it taped to the front door, with instructions to go up to the top floor to get the keys from the owner of the building. I let out a short breath and glanced at my bags and back to the elevator I'd just dragged them out of. They'd be safe for five minutes while I ran up to the next floor and got my key.

  So I took the chance, and skittered up to the floor above. Unlike the other floors, there was only one door, and I hesitated a moment, checking myself over to make sure I didn't look like a total hobo, before knocking. I figured I was okay, if a little rumpled from travel.

  The door pulled open and a seriously buff looking guy peered out, barely moving anything apart from his eyes as he looked me over. I didn't need to ask twice to figure out the guy was some kind of bodyguard. I didn't even want to think about who actually lived here.

  "Uh. Sorry. Downstairs left a key for me, I think? My name's Mia Peterson."

  The brute in the doorway gave a grunt and handed over an envelope with the same handwriting on the front. I breathed out a sigh of relief as soon as I felt the outline of keys through the paper.

  "Thank you so much. This is great. Have a - good day."

  With a faltered smile, I turned on my heel as quickly as possible, and walked back towards the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. One thing I knew
for sure, I did not want to get to know the owner of the building. The only people I knew who had security detail were celebrities, politicians and serious criminals, and I doubted that either of the two former categories of people were going to be living here, letting out rooms to struggling dancers.

  Shit. Was I a total idiot? Had I signed up to come and stay in some kind of brothel?

  Panicked, I ran back down to where my bags were waiting and hauled them inside, locking the door of the apartment behind me as soon as I was inside.

  Breathing heavily, I sank down to the ground, forcibly ignoring the fact that if that was what was going on in here, the pimp upstairs would definitely have his own set of keys.

  "Oh my God Mia, what have you gotten yourself into?" Maybe my Mom was right. Maybe I shouldn't have come here all on my own.

  Right when I was about to leg it out the door and make for the nearest hotel, a slim blonde with her hair pulled into the kind of bun that only a professional dancer knows how to get that perfect.

  "You are Mia? You are right on time. I was about to go to rehearsals, but you are so all is good!"

  She extended a graceful hand to shake and I clambered to my feet, feeling far from my usual poised self next to her. "Oh hi. Nice to meet you."

  "My name is Eva. Please, come. This is your room. I will show you quickly. You can put whatever you like in the kitchen and the bathroom, but I recommend you to label everything unless it is for everyone to use." She laughed, and suddenly I felt so much more at ease. Unless there was something seriously weird going on, this was just a house full of dancers. Jet lag must have been doing a number on me to make me think otherwise.

  "This is great. Thank you so much."

  She beamed at me as she opened the door to a room with a neatly made double bed in one corner and a wardrobe close to the large window that stretched almost all the way to the top of the high ceiling. "This building is gorgeous."

  She tilted her head. "In the winter, you will not be saying that when you have two electric blankets and you're wearing all the clothes you own. But this time of year, yes, it is lovely.”

  It was my turn to laugh. I knew I was going to fit right in here with hardly any effort at all.

  "What else? There is a shop for food just down the road. And you saw the metro station, yes?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, I saw it. Thanks."

  "Good. I think today you should rest. You start in the morning, yes? It is… going to be a tough week."

  "Oh I hope so. I can't wait to get sucked in."

  Eva tilted her head again and her eyes lingered on me. "You are very keen. It is a good thing."

  I grinned, liking her already. "Oh, about the guy who lives upstairs?"

  "Yes?"

  "Sort of huge and covered in tattoos? He owns this place?"

  Eva laughed. "No. He does not live there."

  "Well, who does?"

  "Mr. Rozhkov. He's very kind to us. I think that you met Viktor. He is in security. He is very sweet man. He showed me pictures of his wife."

  "Wait, security? Is there something I should know? Why does Mr. Rozhkov have security?"

  Eva laughed. "He… has many things. I would try not to worry. We do not get mixed up in such things and Mr. Rozhkov is very well respected throughout Moscow and a great patron of the arts. Among other things." She looked at the watch on her slim wrist and all but clicked her heels together as she stood straighter. "If you really want to know about the man who lives upstairs, you should do some reading about the Moscow Bratva. They say he is poised to take over, but I wouldn't worry yourself too much. You will be far too busy to get involved in anything like that. And now, I have to go! I have a show this evening. And every evening…" Her eyes sparkled. "And soon you will too. We will catch up tomorrow. Probably at the theatre. Goodbye for now. Make yourself at home!"

  And that was that. With the sound of the front door to the apartment closing behind Eva, I was left on my own to explore the place I was going to be living in. I went over to the window, drawing back the curtain to look out across the square and over to the Bolshoi Theatre itself and I couldn't keep the smile from my face.

  After all my hoping and wishing, I was finally, finally here. I could just stay out of the way of the mysterious Mr. Rozhkov and everything would be fine. After all, the only reason I was in Russia was to dance.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mia

  Five AM was a time of the morning I got used to years ago. At first, it had been hell to get up so early when most of the city was still in bed and it was still dark out. In winter it was the worst. But now it was just another of those parts of the life of a ballerina that I had come to love. Nobody ever got anything worth having without a bit of sacrifice and pain, and I was ready to give everything I needed to in order to reach my dream.

  Getting into the Bolshoi Ballet was tough, and I had to be hard on myself to prove that I was worth my place. No one had ever said it was going to be easy, but I'd never been one to back down from a challenge and being part of the Corps de Ballet here in Moscow was just that.

  The apartment I was sharing with Eva and Maria, the two other girls from the Bolshoi was in the most beautiful building, within easy walking distance of the theatre itself, but that wasn't the only reason I had chosen it. I knew well enough that I would need a gym or a studio where I could head this early in the morning to and the internet had done me proud in finding this apartment that seemed to be catered specifically for dancers just like me. I couldn't believe my luck. It didn't matter to me that the space doubled up as a boxing gym for stressed out Muscovites, or a yoga studio during the day.

  I didn't need anything fancy. The only thing I wanted was studio space to go through my stretches and strength exercises and tune into myself ahead of a day full of rigorous, demanding routines.

  With my large travel mug of peppermint tea in hand, I pushed my way through the swing doors and into the studio. Just like the pictures had shown, there were mirrors on all of the walls and mats spread out on the floor, with more stacked up at the sides, should they be needed. It didn't matter to me that the ceiling panels were yellowed with age or that the strip lighting had a bit of a flicker.

  It was a multipurpose space, with a ballet barre around the wall at waist height, but also a load of free weights and a bench press in one corner, a punch bag hanging from the ceiling and a round one on a sprung stand.

  And that was what had been making the repetitive, rhythmic noise that I hadn't ever heard before.

  Or rather, the sound was from the guy in the corner, punching the ball with small, tight hits that seemed to bounce right off his bandaged knuckles and come springing back for more until it was nothing but a blur of motion. I was transfixed.

  I'd been expecting to be alone at this time of the day, but I guess I was wrong. I snapped my jaw shut, aware I was staring at the way his muscles rippled with every hit, and the way his sweat was drenching his black tank top, sticking it to his skin at his back.

  I was used to seeing muscular men, but this was no ballet dancer's body. He was solid and brawny, powerful and predatory in a way that men who made a living strutting around in dance tights pretending to be princes never could be. This was the kind of man all those ballet’s were written about. This was the kind of man I didn't even dare make eye contact with back in New York in case one of them distracted me from my dreams.

  But he wasn't just some guy. He had a presence that I'd never felt before, a kind of authority about him even in this empty room where it was just him and the speedball.

  I knew that in a sudden, certain instant, even before he looked up, stilling the motion of the bag with one hand as the door audibly fell closed behind me.

  Startlingly clear blue eyes met mine and my pussy clenched and tingled in a way I'd never felt before, making me flush hotly. God, he was illegally attractive.

  "Uh- Hi. Sorry. Keep going," I blurted, tearing my eyes away from him and trying to get my breathing under control. A
nd then I realized I hadn't spoken in Russian. I cringed, scrunching my face up and turning back to him, entirely too flustered by all of this. "Oh, shit. I mean -"

  When I met his eyes again, the man had his head tilted and his eyes roved over me with undisguised interest. "It's perfectly fine," he said, in the smoothest Russian accent I'd ever heard in my life. "I understand you." His voice was velvet and smoke, and holy hell, where did he learn to speak English so flawlessly?

  I could lie back and listen to him all day and never dance another step in my life.

  I swallowed hard, but it was already too late for me to concentrate on anything else. My first day at the Theatre, the only thing I should have been focused on was warming up and making sure I knew all the basics of the dances coming up in the season. But here I was getting flustered over a total stranger.

  "Usually I have the place to myself at this time," the man continued. That voice of his had my nipples tensed beneath the fabric of my leotard and I wasn't looking forward to taking off my hoodie to show him that.

  "You won't even notice I'm here," I promised him, taking myself over to the corner where I could work my stretches on the mats.

  "I doubt that that could ever be true."

  Heat flushed my cheeks again, and I let out an awkward huff of a laugh, nerves hitting me out of nowhere. Suddenly I couldn't think of a single thing to say. He was clearly witty and intelligent and suave, and I was… nineteen and clueless. And totally lacking experience when it came to boys. Let alone men.

  Everything about him was fully grown man, and he was looking at me like he wanted to make me his woman.

  "My name is Valentin. I live upstairs."

  "I'm Mia. Me too. I just moved in actually. Hi."

  He smiled, and somehow it seemed like that was an expression he wasn't all that used to using. I nearly froze completely, feeling heat flood my cheeks all over again and I looked down to the mat sharply, feeling foolish that all it took was his smile to make me turn into some kind of idiot.