Paying The Bratva’s Debt

by Cole, Jagger

  “You know what? I think I’m gonna wait and see what I could get from other interested parties.”

  I roll my eyes. Before I can stop myself, I’m opening my mouth.

  “Other interested parties?” I say incredulously. “Mr. Drucci, the property is basically useless. It’s a toxic hazard site, for God’s sake. If you could even get the city permitting to develop it—and that’s an enormous ‘if’—you’d need to excavate at least ten feet of soil off of the entire property, raze the building within an enclosure because of chemical particles, and send everything through detoxifying facilities before you could dump it. And all of that is before you even talk about building permits and land usage.”

  I shake my head, bewildered. “It would take fifty-million dollars to put a lemonade stand on that property safely. And you think someone’s going to top forty-five million? If you got a quarter of that for that property, I would honestly be amazed.”

  The room goes utterly silent. Suddenly, I freeze, like I’ve just snapped out of a dream state. I realize what I’ve just said, and who I’ve just said it to, and I pale in horror.

  “Um, I—”

  Joey’s face cracks as he starts to laugh deeply. “Well holy fuck, comrade Vik!” He chuckles. “I thought this was your side piece or somethin’!” He turns to look at me with a mix of amusement and interest. “And who might you be, little girl?”

  I frown. “I’m—”

  “This is Ms. James, my attorney in this matter.”

  I glance sidelong at Viktor when he drops the fake name. But I understand why. It won’t help things in the slightest if Joey knows he’s also dealing with the daughter of the Chicago District Attorney.

  “Well shit, what’s he paying you, sweetheart?” Joey leers at me. “I’ll double it if you bring that brain and that sweet ass of yours over to this side of the table.”

  I can hear Viktor’s low growl next to me. His hand clenches to a fist on the table, his face tense.

  I quickly turn to smile warmly at Joey. “I don’t change horses mid-race, Mr. Drucci.”

  He shrugs, but he keeps eyeing me lecherously. My mind feels scattered with being thrown into the deep end like this. But as I rack my brain for some way to turn the tides, I suddenly land on something—an idea from a case I once read about in one of my land trust classes.

  “Mr. Drucci, you’re aware that the property has been flagged as a red zone, aren’t you?”

  He frowns. “That some sort of hippy environmental shit? What’d they do, find a fucking spotted owl nest or some shit on it?”

  “Oh, no sir. I mean flagged by the US Justice System.”

  His smile fades, and he stiffens in his seat. “Huh? What the fuck is a red zone”

  I sigh. “It’s complex, but it’s all part of the Patriot Act. Basically, it’s an entire area that can’t be surveilled conventionally with phone taps or bugs—places like a park, a port, or in this case, an abandoned building lot.”

  “Surveilled?” He grunts.

  “Yes, sir. A red zone flag means it’s been listed by Homeland Security for unmanned drone surveillance and cleared for action if necessary.”

  Joey starts to sweat. He glances around at some of his other guys, who all look equally unnerved. Beside me, Viktor stays utterly calm and emotionless.

  “Wait, how the fuck does a place get tagged like that?”

  I smile. “Well, sir, obviously I can’t speculate why the owner of an auto body shop might have a property red-flagged by Homeland Security…”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Viktor’s lips curl slightly at the corners.

  “But whatever your other business ventures may be,” I shrug. “As an attorney familiar with the intricacies of the Patriot Act, I can tell you that it typically brings a lot of attention to all business activities of the flagged property’s legal owner.”

  Joey’s face pales. He glowers at me, and then Viktor. His fingers drum the table before he finally grunts.

  “Homeland Security. Are you fuckin’ shitting me?”

  “I’m afraid not. You know how the government is, always looking for terrorists under every rock. If you like, I could show you the red zone flag buried in the zoning paperwork.” I frown. “It’s unfortunately back at my offices. But I’m sure by next week, I could have copies sent—”

  “Next fuckin’ week?” Joey grunts. “A week with fuckin’ Fed drones sticking cameras up my ass?” He shakes his head. “No. Hell no. Fuck that.” He drags his eyes back to Viktor. “Forty-five, huh?”

  The Russian shakes his head. “Actually, this is the first time Ms. James has mentioned the Federal interest in this property.”

  He turns to eye me curiously. I just shrug. “It was just made aware to me by one of my legal aides this morning,” I lie, hiding a smile.

  Viktor turns back to Joey. “As such, my offer is now twenty.”

  Joey looks outraged. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

  “I’m afraid not. My interest is substantially lower if it’s got that kind of attention. And while Ms. James was correct about the soil excavation, it’s actually more like twenty-five feet of ground soil that needs to be removed, not ten.” He shrugs and steeples his fingers together on the table. “Twenty million, Mr. Drucci.”

  Joey’s sweating profusely. He drums his fingers on the table for a minute before he swears viciously. “Fuck it, fine, you commie fuck.” He scowls at Viktor. “Twenty. But one condition.”

  “We’ll see what the condition is.”

  The portly Italian frowns. “What the fuck do you want that shit-hole for? Tell me that, and it’s yours for twenty mil.”

  Viktor’s lips thin. He seems to be considering it in his head for a minute before he leans forward. “I’m building a safe house and facility for street children, ones rescued from trafficking situations, and ones who’ve fallen through the cracks of a failed system.”

  My brows shoot up in surprise. Joey starts to laugh uproariously.

  “Alright, fuck you too, Viktor. Fine, don’t tell me. Do whatever you want with the place as soon as you wire me that money.”

  Viktor smiles thinly. “It will be transferred within the hour.”

  “Good,” Joey grins. His eyes slide back to mine. “Send your little honey of a lawyer over for the paperwork once you do.”

  “Oh,” I smile warmly. “Now that does sound fun. But unfortunately, I need to fly back to New York today. Next time, perhaps?”

  He grins. “Yeah, you look me up, baby.”

  We all stand and shake hands. And then before I know it, we’re whizzing back through the city in the back of Viktor’s town car.

  “You did well back there.”

  Lev has just left to go back outside, and Viktor and I are alone in the huge foyer of his home. His eyes hold mine without blinking. We haven’t had a second alone since last night, and now all I can think about is the feel of his lips on mine.

  I look up at this dangerous criminal of a man. I know I should be scared of him. I should hate him for effectively imprisoning me. But neither of those things stops the urge inside. They don’t do a thing to temper the desperate wish that he’d kiss me again.

  Viktor moves closer. My heart beats faster. My skin tingles, wishing him even closer.

  “Thanks,” I whisper.

  “I especially liked the spoon-fed bullshit involving Homeland Security and drones.”

  I smile widely. “I stole the idea from this case they had in Florida. The prosecutors intimidated Homeland Security getting involved with some low-level dealers to get them to flip on their supplier and the head of the organization. They made the whole thing up, but hey, it worked.”

  “Well, it was smart bullshitting.”

  “Thanks,” I say softly. “And so was yours, by the way. I mean whatever you actually are going to build there, it better be a casino or a money printing factory. Otherwise, you’ll never dig out of the financial hole making it not toxic anymore will put you into.”


  Viktor smiles. “I wasn’t lying.”

  I blink in surprise. “What?”

  “The home for lost and forgotten children. That’s actually what I will be building there.”

  “As a front?”

  Viktor chuckles. “I think maybe you’ve seen too many gangster movies, Fiona. But no, not a front. A real home, for real children.”

  I want to ask why, but I’m afraid. Why would a man as ruthlessly and legendarily vicious as Viktor Komarov open a… what, an orphanage? I mean, what’s the angle? There’s no profit there. And I very much doubt he has any interest in trying to “rehab his image” or anything like that. So… why?

  “Anyways, thank you,” he growls. “For today.” He steps even closer, and my thoughts trail away. He takes another step towards me. I tremble and take a shaky breath. Half of me wants to run screaming from him. The other half wants him to grab me, kiss me, and do whatever he wants to me.

  Viktor stops right in front of me, looming over me. His jaw is clenching tight as his hand comes up. He brushes his knuckles lightly over my jaw, making me gasp quietly. He growls low in his chest. He leans closer, and my heart surges. But then suddenly, he pulls back. His hand drops, and he steps away from me.

  “There’s more work for that property I’ll be needing you for. But you did well today, Fiona.”

  I nod, trying to slow my pulse back down. “Thank you.”

  “Take the next few days off. Relax. If you need anything, ask.”

  I’m about to be snarky and ask what he’d do if I asked to go home. But I don’t. Not because I’m scared of him or what he’ll say. It’s much worse than that.

  I don’t ask because even after less than a day in Viktor’s world, I’m not sure if I even do want to go back to my gilded cage.

  8

  Viktor

  She comes with a gasping moan. Her body arches from the bed, twisting beneath the sheets. She turns to bury her mouth in the pillow, and I grunt. My muscles clench and my cock throbs. My cum sprays from the swollen head, and I sink back into my office chair.

  Christ, what is wrong with me? It’s been like this for the last three nights, since she got here. Every night, she gets ready for bed, and I watch her. I grow hard while she undresses or showers. Then she slips into bed and grabs her phone. She might text her friend Zoey a little bit, lying about being in New York. But then, she’s doing research.

  On me.

  She reads articles about me—the bad headline news, and the tabloids. She scrolls through pictures of me online. And then eventually, she turns out the lights. But then, every time, her hands start exploring. Her moans filter through my computer speakers as I stroke along with her.

  Then she goes to sleep, and I’m left wondering what the hell I’m doing.

  I know what I could do. We’re in my domain, where I am king. I could waltz in there and take her right now in that bed. Something tells me she’d beg me to, actually. But I don’t. I’ve held back on even being around her since our meeting with Joey. Because Lev is actually right: she does something to me.

  She makes me weak. She makes me forget myself, and my firm rules. Her being in my world is making me slip and taking my mind off of business in ways it shouldn’t be.

  I’m blurring what should not be blurred. She’s a hostage, not a love interest. She’s collateral, not a girl I should be sniffing around and lusting over. But there’s another problem. This might actually be easier if it was just a matter of lust. Lust is easy to cure, especially when you have money. But I don’t just lust after Fiona. I want her—all of her. It’s not just that she makes my dick hard and my desires run rampant. She makes my heart skip. She awakens something I’ve made sure is dormant inside of me for years.

  I shake my head as I watch her sleeping under her sheets. With one last look, I close the laptop, stand, and head to my own bed to sleep.

  To sleep, and to dream of the untouchable girl down the hall.

  I grunt, hissing through clenched teeth. My muscles coil and flex, sweat dripping down my chest. I thrust with another savage snarl. The bar lifts high, my biceps burning before I lower it back with a clanking sound.

  My body aches as I slowly take a deep breath. I sit up on the weight bench, feeling the endorphins pump through my body after my workout. I drink deeply from my water bottle and look up at the mirrored wall across from me. I’m shirtless, my muscles quivering from the brutal weight regiment. My eyes slide over the various tattoos covering my skin.

  Some are from when I was young—a lone wolf on the streets. When I crossed over to the US and began to build an empire, it wasn’t long before I, as a Russian, caught the attention of others from my home country in the same line of work—the Bratva. The Russian mafia.

  I could say I laughed in their faces and went on to blaze my own path. But that would be a work of fiction. It doesn’t work like that with the Bratva. You want to play the game? They are the game. They’re the NBA. You don’t play ball without their say-so, or the tithing they take. The media likes to portray me as this underworld king. While it’s true that I make most of my own shots and calls, there’s still the power of the Brava Council above me.

  But the Bratva is also family. The Bratva took me in when I was an angry young hothead. They saw potential under my “live fast, die young” bravado, and they helped me mold myself into the man I am today. This empire I run is my empire. But the world it exists in is that of the Bratva. And I have no qualms about this.

  My eyes dance over the other tattoos—these ones Bratva through and through. These are the marks of rank—of sacrifice. They mark my loyalty and affiliations. They brand me as a criminal to some eyes, and as brother to others.

  I stand, grunting as my muscles burn. But it’s a good ache. I like keeping my body a well-oiled machine. But I also recognize that my physique these days is a luxury. I can remember my life before, when I was back on the streets in my old country. You don’t get muscles like this when you’re scrounging the gutters for food. You don’t build biceps when your day-to-day existence is simply finding enough calories to keep living. But now that I have this luxury and these means, I’ve vowed to keep myself hard.

  I won’t be soft. I won’t get fat and complacent. This empire I’ve built rests on my shoulders. And I won’t ever let them weaken.

  I stride through my lavish home, still shirtless. I glance up the stairs towards the wing of the house where Fiona is staying. I growl to myself, feeling my cock thicken. Part of me dwells on the idea of going up there—of knocking her door down and ripping whatever clothes she’s wearing from her soft body. My blood is roaring with testosterone and endorphins. It’s bringing out a caveman need to claim this girl as my own.

  My jaw grinds as I suddenly act. I storm up the stairs and down the halls. My blood boils in my veins, like fuel. My cock surges harder as I approach her door. I don’t knock. It’s my own home, after all. I swing the door wide and bluster inside.

  But her room is empty. She’s not in the bathroom, the bedroom, her small living area. None of it.

  I swear to myself, deflating a little. I didn’t have a plan in coming up here. But what was I thinking that I was going to do? Pin her to the bed and take her forcefully? I scowl, shaking my head. No. When I take Fiona—and I will be taking her—it will be when she begs me for it. I’ll have her in my bed when she’s whimpering for more. Not like a savage maniac forcing myself on her.

  My mood is sour, but my lust is still thudding inside when I march back downstairs. I head to the back of the house to take a post-workout swim in my pool. I’m still muttering to myself as I storm into the backyard, kick my shoes off, and dive in.

  I push myself hard, lap after grueling lap. I don’t slow or even look up until my body is screaming for mercy. Then and only then do I push for one last lap and then finally stop. I suck in air as I place my elbows on the edge of the pool.

  I look up, and suddenly startle when I see her. But when my eyes focus on Fiona, my jaw cl
enches. She’s sitting in a pool lounger not six feet from me with a book open. And she’s wearing nothing but a black bikini.

  “I—” she blushes. “I was sitting here when you came out. I didn’t know if I should leave, or—”

  “Stay,” I growl.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t.” My lips curl. “You did, actually. But it was a good startle.”

  Fiona smiles. My eyes shamelessly travel down over her chest, down her stomach to her hips, and then up and down each smooth, toned leg. The black bikini fits her perfectly, highlighting her porcelain skin, her freckles, and her gorgeous red hair. Beneath the water, my cock surges at the thought of peeling her bottoms off with my fucking teeth…

  She creates a war inside of me. One side wants to climb out of this pool, walk over there, and do just that. That side of me wants to simply take her—to fuck her right here and now, because it’s what I want. That side of me reminds me that this girl is my prisoner—she’s mine. A debt is owed, and if it is not paid, she’ll be my prize to collect instead.

  But the other side of me resists. There’s a goodness to this girl—an innocence. And I’m a storm cloud of chaos to that goodness. With me comes violence and destruction. Taking her would mar and blemish her. And besides that, I’m not going to just take her like a goddamn savage. I’m not that man. I want her, yes. But a man who simply takes a woman because he desires her, heedless of what she wants, isn’t a man at all.

  I scowl as I think back to my past. There was a time when I was new in the game where I was running a strip club in the South Side. A customer got handsy and wouldn’t take no as an answer from one of the girls. After his second warning, we kicked him out. But later that night when we closed, he was waiting for her out in the parking lot. Luckily, I was still at the club and heard her screams. We stopped him from doing what he’d intended to do, but a message was sent.