Bratva Boss

by Flora Ferrari

  Getting ready for the show was worse; I was unsure where I could put my bag down that wouldn't be in the way, jostling for space to use the mirror or the hairspray, or to try to get the line of my eyeliner just right before the show, but at least I managed to get ready in time. Afterwards, when everyone was tired and hurrying to take it all off again, I didn't have the reserves left to fight for my corner and it was easier to just hang back and wait for space.

  Like any dance company does over time when they all know each other so well, they shared space and dressing tables fluidly, helping each other unclasp difficult fastenings on their costumes and doing each other's makeup and hair. I was the outsider and I'd known it was going to take a little while to fit in, but I hadn't quite reckoned with the fact that my Russian wasn't good enough to carry along with all the conversations and the jokes. It felt like being back in school again, not knowing whether I was the butt of the jokes, or whether I'd got on the wrong side of the queen bee. Whoever that was.

  Eva did her best to bring me in when she could, but she was in just as much of a hurry as everybody else to get out of the theatre and get home so that she could make the most of her time off.

  I refused to let it get to me. After all, what could I expect? This was only my first few weeks. I was still finding my feet. My head still hadn't kicked into gear when it came to remembering my school girl Russian and I knew that was going to get better, eventually. And when I stopped having to translate every single word in my head first, then I'd be able to join in more.

  This was just the teething stage, and it was always going to be just as uncomfortable as all of my aching and newly strained muscles until my body came up to the condition needed to endure the continued level of intensity required by back to back performances and rehearsals day after day.

  This was the world I'd known I'd wanted to be part of since I got my very first pair of pink practice shoes as a kid, and greedily breathed in the smell of the soft leather and suede. And now I just had to figure out how to keep up.

  With a sigh, I turned off the last of the lights in the dressing room and the bulbs around the mirror flipped off, leaving me with a momentary halo of each bulb burnt into my vision when I closed my eyes. There was something so unnaturally quiet about an empty theatre, even behind the stage.

  To me they were perpetually bustling places, filled with people. The auditorium housed the sound and lighting box away from the velvet covered seats and gilded boxes where the audience sat, and the orchestra pit was usually abuzz with musicians tuning instruments, in a swirling, disorientating whirl of sound, or the conductor himself running the orchestra through the first bars of every single piece.

  There were so many people behind the scenes, managing props and costumes and cues, working the mechanics of the scenery, and every part of it ran like a well oiled machine. I was the only part having trouble fitting in, and the momentum when it was all underway was immense and unstoppable. I had to do my best to hurry along and keep up with it all, or it would leave me totally behind, as well as burnt out.

  Stepping out onto the street from the stage door meant I bypassed the audience massing around the front of the building, dispersing slowly as they gathered up coats and found taxis, or went on towards their post-theatre dinners and drinks while they discussed the performance. My glory had come with the applause and now all I wanted was to slink back home to bed, entirely unnoticed.

  But there was someone waiting in the shadows. I didn't see the man at first, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he moved and what I'd thought had been a shadow behind the dumpster, turned out to be much more than that. The river of beer-scented piss trailing across the pavement in front of my feet told me exactly what he'd been getting up to and I grimaced in disgust and made a point of stepping over it as I headed for home.

  Some drunk wasn't going to bring my mood down. I wasn't going to let him. And right now was not the time to admit to myself that I wished I'd walked home with the other girls. I was nineteen, but I wasn't totally defenseless. Like any other kid growing up in a big city, I knew enough rudimentary self-defense to make an irritation out of myself, and supposedly nine times out of ten all you needed was not to be an easy target.

  Which was all great in theory, but it all felt a whole lot different when I had a beery Russian guy trailing me. Call me paranoid, but I could hear his footsteps behind me, echoing between the buildings against the paving stones, following me with a heavy kind of certainty. It took everything I had not to look over my shoulder when he let out a slurred jeer that told me just how much he'd been drinking.

  "Pretty ballerina! Come here. I have something for you!"

  His echoing laugh was more than enough for me to figure out that whatever he had in mind probably centered on his dick. I wasn't about to ask, even if I had been anywhere close to being naive enough to think it was anything good. And no way was I going to stop to talk to him. Instead, I pulled my hood up and picked up my pace, walking faster as I headed into the light of the next street lamp, glad for the glow it cast and dreading the stretch of darkness between me and the next one.

  I could practically see the building where I lived, and it wouldn't take me long at all to get there, but suddenly I was torn. I didn't want to lead this guy right back to where I lived. What would stop him from coming back another night just as drunk and lurking under the stairs in wait for me, or maybe one of the other girls too.

  Flustered, I doubled back towards the theatre, but just as I broke out onto the main road, a few rushed steps told me my pursuer wasn't giving up so easily. He grabbed my arm, and I let out a startled yelp, twisting in his grip.

  "You think you're too good to talk to me? Is that is? You stupid bitch."

  "Let go of me!" The one thing I knew that it paid to do, was to be as loud as possible. And that was something I had no problem with at all. "Stop!" I screamed at the top of my voice, thrashing out with elbows and short jabbed kicks. "Let go!"

  One of the doormen charged with arranging taxis looked up along with at least a dozen of the theatre's patrons, but not a single one of them made a move towards me. The drunk guy let out a laugh.

  "My baby is so feisty!"

  "I'm not your baby! Let the hell go you creep!" Panic made my chest tighten and to my horror, my voice was getting quieter, locking itself into my throat so that I couldn't scream at him the way I wanted to.

  All of these rich idiots were going to let this guy pull me back into the alley. I wasn't going to be able to fight him off. My Mom was right; I never should have come here all on my own. I was too young. And after this I'd have to go home and give up my dream and-

  He pressed his horrible, fatly wet lips against mine, and I struggled to twist my face away from his beery breath, but his hands were everywhere and fear was turning me to stone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Valentin

  Since meeting Mia, work had kept me too busy to attend the shows that I knew she would be starting to perform in, but I found myself watching for her return every evening. Looking out of the window of my living room I had the perfect view of the Bolshoi Theatre itself and I knew that to the side of the classical frontage, with its steps and columns was the stage door.

  I watched the dancers exit in dribs and drabs, the first ones coming out some minutes before the audience, who had the disadvantage of being filtered through so many velvet-carpeted corridors and being funneled through to collect their coats.

  They left in small groups, giggling and gossiping about the show, or singularly, walking fast still with leg warmers on, and their rehearsal bags slung over their shoulders. I stood watching until the stream of them died down, and outside the front of the building the audience started milling. And still there was no sign of Mia.

  With my knuckles balled into fists, I paced the stretch of floor in front of the window. Perhaps Mia had the night off. Perhaps she wasn't even in the theatre. She wouldn't thank me for barging my way inside and demanding to know what h
ad happened to her when the very last thing she'd done was warn me off.

  My ego was still bruised from her insistence that she didn't have time to even see where things could go between us, even though I knew the chemistry between us was mutual.

  I looked at my watch again, and then finally I saw her slip out of the stage door and I breathed out, relieved. Until I saw the figure weaving drunkenly towards her.

  That set me in motion in an instant. I didn't stop to wait and see what happened next, I was already out of the door to my apartment and running down the stairs in giant bounds. No way was I going to let Mia walk even the short distance back from the theatre alone being harassed by a low life. No one should even dare approach her and I was going to make sure she came to no harm. Of all people, I knew how unpredictable a man in a darkened alley could be, and I wasn't about to hang around to find out what was going to happen.

  It didn't matter what she thought she had time for, I would prove to her that she needed me by her side, that I could and would protect her.

  The night air was cool on my back through the black cotton of my tailored shirt as I hit the street. My steps quickened instantly into a jog and then a run as I hurried to cover ground. Against the mill of background conversation in Russian from the theatre-goers spilled out onto the street, Mia's shout was unmistakable. Her scream of protest hit me in the gut, forcing me on and boiling anger in my veins.

  I rounded the head of the street just as the lout pulled Mia close, pressing his mouth to hers, and I saw red. Enraged, I stalked across the space, grabbing hold of him by the back of his collar and bodily tugged him back.

  He was lucky I hadn't had the foresight to grab a weapon, even luckier that there was no discarded plank of wood or piece of metal lying on the street, because I would have gladly stoved his head in.

  He made a startled grunt as I spun him around to face me, and I ripped my own throat raw with the feral growl that surged out of me. Maybe I spent my day to day in a suit brokering deals and acting as a figurehead, but right now that meant nothing. I would tear him limb from limb for this without a thought for the consequences.

  The only man who was ever going to touch Mia was me.

  Even through the blur of his eyes he seemed to understand that I was someone to be feared.

  I'd have thrown him to the ground, but that wasn't going to be good enough. I wanted him to see the anger in my eyes and to know the mistake he'd made. No one apart from me got to kiss her, especially not after she'd told them no, and he was not going to get away with it.

  Mia

  All of a sudden my attacker was ripped away from me.

  Shaking, I staggered backwards, spitting furiously at the ground to get rid of the taste of his swollen, beery tongue as a sudden, wonderful surge of adrenaline gave me the strength to move. Without another glance in his direction, I fled half a dozen paces before I even looked back.

  Only when I realized he wasn't following did I turn to see what had happened. Valentin had my attacker by the throat in a stranglehold, squeezing tight enough to make the man splutter and his face turn purple. The puddle of golden light from the streetlight illuminated the fury on his features, wrapping around him like some kind of halo. But even I knew he was no angel.

  Dressed all in black, he was too demonic to be a saintly avenger; there was no mistaking the fact that he planned to do this man some harm. And despite myself, I wanted him too.

  "You do not touch her. She is not yours." Those words sent a thrill through me with all that they implied, and I sagged against the wall of the theater, exhausted and relieved. He wanted me for himself, and the lightning bolt his voice sent straight to my clit told me I wanted the same.

  "Valentin!"

  Where had he even come from? I didn't care, just as long as he was keeping that guy well away from me. But all the same, I winced as the guy's eyes bulged in his head. "Valentin, stop!"

  He turned towards me, barely in control of his animal snarl. "Are you okay?"

  I nodded, dumbstruck by the power of his reaction. No one in all my life had ever been so aggressively defensive of me. I'd thought he was attractive before, but now, with all his muscles rippling, watching him throw this scumbag around like the piece of trash that he was, I'd never felt more protected, more claimed, in my entire life. I shouldn't have wanted this kind of aggression, this kind of machismo, but he was the only thing that could have calmed my fluttering pulse, and he was the only reason my nipples were tense and tingling.

  "Nobody touches her. Except for me." He slammed the man down, but he didn't let him drop. His feet must have barely touched the ground before Valentin had him skewered up against the wall and his fists turned to a whirling blur of chain punches, each one finding a solid home.

  I flinched, closing my eyes at the unmistakable crunch of flesh and bone, knowing that I didn't want to see the outcome of this.

  The drunk whimpered, protesting and trying to cover his face, but Valentin wasn't done yet.

  His words echoed in my head and I stayed stock still, my back pressed against the cold stone of the side of the theatre. Valentin wanted me. He wanted to be the only one to have me, and a sudden strong shudder of desire went through me at the thought of that. He really would be the only one because aside from that mess of lips on lips, I'd never been kissed. I'd never wanted to waste my time, but Valentin was so, so different. He could be the only one who ever touched me for as long as I lived, and I'd be fine with that. I'd welcome it.

  I forced myself to open my eyes again to the sight of blood flying and I realized Valentin wasn't going to stop, unless I stopped him.

  That was the only thing that made me step forwards and grab his arm. He looked entirely startled as he met my eyes, confused at what I was asking of him, as though something deeply primal had taken over. Whatever animal instinct he had driving him, to protect, defend, eviscerate, was echoed in my shuddering want to let him do his worst.

  But that wasn't me. And deep down, I knew it. As scared as I was, I didn't want a piece of this man's flesh in recompense. The both of us would regret it if I let him carry on. "That's enough. I'm safe."

  His nostrils flared and his fist tightened again and for a moment he strained against my restraining hand, but then he nodded. Shoving the drunk to the ground, he leveled a sharp kick to his ribs that earned him a deeply satisfying groan, and I had to bite down on the urge to laugh.

  No one had ever defended me like this. I didn't even think men like Valentin still existed, but here he was, ready to fight for me at the drop of a hat. Ready to do what had to be done.

  I threaded myself in against his side, looping my slender arm around his muscled bicep. His knuckles were bruised and bloody and I winced in empathy as I smoothed my thumb over them where they were already swelling.

  "You saved me."

  Valentin looked me over, his cool blue eyes roving over my face and he gave a nod so stunted that I barely saw it. "I always will. You're too perfect to put in harm's way."

  I let out a laugh that was full of relief rather than amusement and he squeezed my hand tightly. "You are shaking."

  "I'm fine. You could have - you could have killed him."

  "He shouldn't have touched you."

  I bit my lip, feeling my heart pound hard enough to make my ears roar. I felt so perfectly protected in his arms. "Because only you should touch me?"

  He gave an irritated sounding growl, and I thought he was going to duck out of answering me until he looked me full in the face. "Yes. That is exactly right. I have wanted you to be mine since the first time I saw you. I cannot get you out of my head. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day and I cannot sleep until I see that you are home safe."

  I drew in a breath, stunned by his revelation and totally thrilled by it. This man who I thought I didn't have the experience to impress had wanted me all along.

  "Really?"

  "Of course. You think that I beat men up on the street every day of my life? I
am a respected businessman."

  I felt myself flush and I laughed, looking down at my feet again, and then back up to meet his eyes, smiling more than I knew what to do with. The man I'd seen topless and sweaty every morning since I'd arrived could have been anything from a street thug to a professional athlete in his own right. I'd half thought he was another bodyguard to the mysterious Mr. Rozhkov upstairs, so it was nice to have some confirmation that he wasn't.

  It shouldn't have mattered, but I wanted him to be someone I could tell my Mom about. Someone she wouldn't tsk over and tell me I should avoid. I should have known he was the kind of guy who'd swoop in to save me. Everything about his manner suggested he'd always do the right thing, and I should have trusted my gut.

  Now I regretted telling him that I had no time for him more than anything. Even after that snub, he'd still been there for me. I really didn't want to think about what would have happened if he'd not been looking out for me, the way he must have been doing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mia

  Somehow we'd made it back to the apartment building, and Valentin held the door to the lobby open for me like a perfect gentleman. The memory of all the blood on the pavement was starting to fade away already.

  I didn't know what to say, but it didn't feel like I had to say anything at all as he led me over to the elevator.

  "It's late," I started softly, not knowing what else to say.

  He nodded. "It is."

  I pressed my lips together, looking down again as the doors closed, boxing us into the small space and I watched Valentin press the buttons for my floor, and then for his. I knew exactly what I wanted, and it was him, so why was I being coy?

  "Valentin-"

  "Mia-?"

  Our voices overlapped, coming out on top of each other and then stalling back to silence at the same time. "Your knuckles need attention," I whispered, feeling so foolish that the virgin in me felt like I'd just suggested something scandalous instead of first aid.