The Russian’s Captive
C.M. Steele
The Second Book in the Captive Series
Copyrighted ©2015 C.M. Steele
All rights reserved. Except for the use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is prohibited without the express permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Prologue
Bianca lay in her bed like she did every night and pulled her coveted newspaper clipping from her secret hiding place. When she unfolded it, she knew it was time to do something to save it from crumbling away like her dreams. Jumping out of her bed, she pulled out her phone and placed the picture on her desk. Standing at the right angle to catch the light, she pressed the screen and took several shots.
She lay back down on her bed, admiring the photos and their clarity but forgetting to put away the clipping. His photo was clear as day. Even in handcuffs, the man was gorgeous. He had beautiful grey eyes and soft, light brown hair with a chiseled face and strong jaw. She wanted to be held in his big strong arms that were clearly visible in the picture. Staring at her favorite of the shots, she zoomed in and kissed her handsome prince goodnight. She knew her sentiments were fanciful, but she couldn’t shake the feelings the image created in her heart.
It wasn’t until morning that she realized she’d forgotten the clipping on her desk, but it was already too late. Her mother was holding it in her hand. She watched as her mother walked to the door, locked it, and then returned to her.
“Do you care to tell me about this?” her angry mother asked as she held the photo out in front of her.
“Not really?” she replied in question, hoping it was something they could avoid talking about.
“Bianca, my dear. This explains so much.” She paused as she looked at the heart outline that surrounded the photo. “When did the two of you meet?”
Bianca bent her head down in shame. The answer she had wasn’t something to be proud about. “We’ve never met,” Bianca said sheepishly.
The look on her mother’s face was full of sympathy. Bianca didn’t want her mother’s pity. She knew her obsession with the unavailable criminal was pointless, but she couldn’t change the way she felt. What had struck her over the past month was that the feeling seemed to grow as her fantasies of him increased and morphed into more adult dreams.
“Dearest, I’m sorry, but you don’t have a future with him. He’s in prison—probably forever. If he isn’t killed in there, he still won’t be coming back here.”
“I can’t let go, Mother. I know it’s crazy and childish, but I think I’m in love with him.” Bianca’s young heart was afraid to face the reality of life without him.
“It’s foolish. Your father and I are glad that you aren’t interested in other boys right now, but it can’t be because you are pining away for something that is impossible.”
“You aren’t going to tell Father, are you?” Bianca was afraid of what her father would do if he found out about it.
Mrs. Rossi sighed. “No. He would be incensed, but I’m taking this. Soon you’ll have to look for a boyfriend. You’ll be eighteen next year, and no matter how little your father still thinks you are, you need some dating experience. Just remember—once you give away your purity, you can’t get it back. Give it away thoughtfully.”
“What are you going to do with the clipping?” she asked fearfully.
“Dispose of it,” her mother responded sternly.
“Please, Mom. Don’t,” she pleaded, tears filling her eyes.
“Fine. Begin dating, and I’ll hold on to it until you’re ready to move on. This infatuation is not healthy.”
“Yes, Mother,” Bianca agreed solemnly.
†††
That was the last time they had that discussion, and now it was a moot point since Bianca was engaged to another man. Claudio Santini waltzed into her life. Charming and fun, he did everything he could to win her, but he didn’t own her heart. Now eighteen and her heart belonging to someone unreachable, she agreed to his proposal.
They were planning a wedding in six weeks. She wasn’t looking forward to it, but it was better than being alone or so she thought. Her biggest fear about the marriage was that she would marry Claudio, only to find that Nikolai had gotten out of prison and came back.
†††
Sergei walked into his boss’s office fully aware that there was a reason for the phrase “Don’t shoot the messenger,” but he still had to inform Nikolai of the findings. He had a feeling the boss wasn’t going to be happy about this. Nikolai Rykov wasn’t a forgiving man, and this past year proved that he was out for revenge on all those who’d helped to “out” him to the Russians. It had become his obsession. Nikolai hadn’t found out who’d given him up to the Russian government, but he’d know when Sergei told him what his people in America had found out.
“Come in, Sergei,” Nikolai said impatiently, fully annoyed. Nikolai didn’t understand what was so hard about walking in the damn door. Granted, lately everyone had been running from his rage. He was a big man in every way. He looked like the muscle in the organization, not the boss. At six-three and a good two-thirty, his appearance brought fear. Once they’d met Nikolai Rykov, his enemies backed down and cowered. Just as they should, he thought
“What’s going on?” Nikolai asked his best and most trusted friend.
“We’ve gotten news from America.” Sergei paused, expecting the boss to flip the desk over.
“Do you mind telling me the rest, or are you fucking expecting me to guess?” Nikolai growled as he jabbed his pen on the desktop calendar.
“Sorry. Rumors are swirling that it was the Rossi family,” Sergei muttered before stepping back. His boss was a scary motherfucker when he was pissed, and at that moment, his anger shook the room. Hulk had shit on Nikolai Rykov.
“What the fuck are you saying, Sergei? Are you telling me that the fuckers I helped save, after letting our beef go, are the fuckers who set this shit in motion?” Nikolai slammed his hands on his desk before losing his cool and tossing his favorite paperweight across his office. Nikolai ran his hands through his light brown hair in all-out confusion. His pale grey eyes darkened in rage as his chest heaved with burning fury.
“I haven’t read the file so I don’t know exactly which Rossi it was or if the rumors are even true, but we got this from our informants in America.” Sergei handed his longtime friend the file and stepped back again.
“I’ll deal with this shit on my own. How long until my visa is ready?”
“It’s supposed to be another six months.” Shit. Years of friendship may not save my ass with that news, Sergei thought.
“Really? You’d better have that shit sped the fuck up. I might not wait until it’s ready before I go over there and bury the entire family.”
Sergei hurried out of the room before Nikolai thought more about it and got further enraged.
It had been almost two years since Nikolai’s world got fucked to pieces. He’d spent ten months in Lg
ov contemplating the revenge he’d be seeking on the dirty snitches. Before he’d been extradited to Russia, he’d been in an American prison for six months. The American jail had nothing on the shit that he’d endured in Russia. His experience only further hardened his heart to any kindness, compassion, or forgiveness. Revenge was all he lived for now.
Nikolai’s life hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected it to be. A little over five years ago, he was living the average wealthy English male life: the excellent education, hunting, drinking, and slutty broads. Then his father had to go and die on him. Murdered was more like it. It was a shock to Nikolai.
With a degree in Business, Nikolai was ready to undertake his father’s company only to learn the illegal dealings that kept the company afloat. He returned to Russia, a place he hadn’t been to in over ten years, to take over his father’s affairs. It was then that the secrets his father shielded him from, for twenty-one years, came to light. A surprise he got before Vladimir Rykov’s funeral.
A sheltered young Rykov was introduced to the seedy underbelly of the Russian mob. Petrov, along with some of his father’s other lieutenants, had been present to express their condolences to the late Rykov.
Being his father’s right hand man, Petrov helped Nikolai take over the corporation and molded him into his father’s image, something Nikolai didn’t really care for but knew it was a must.
Sergei came to Russia and assisted his longtime friend in running the business. They both learned that leaving his father’s lifestyle behind had been out of the question. Trying to avoid it had almost gotten the two young men killed. He’d been lucky that he’d gone hunting with his English friends and learned how to shoot. They spent the last several years getting their organization more legal than illegal, but had to get their hands dirty often in the process. People didn’t seem to take him seriously unless he’d put a bullet in a stupid ass punk.
Now, he’d suffered more than he ever thought he would. In his mind, all of it had been for nothing. He came to the US to get a fresh start and leave the mafia behind, but it followed him there. Only two weeks after arriving there was tension with the Rossi family and his men. After nearly a year of settling the issues that kept coming up, shit hit the fan. He’d been forced back to Russia and to prison for his father’s crimes.
It took a long time for the court systems to work his way, but it happened. Petrov, his attorney and his late father’s best friend, got him out after having all the trumped-up charges dropped. Lots of cash had to exchange hands, but that hadn’t been a problem for the extremely wealthy mobster.
It wasn’t an easy road back to the top. People thought his stint in prison had taken away his clout. However, he showed everyone who dared try to test him. He turned into the criminal his father had been more and more as time progressed, instead of the honest businessman his father hoped he would be.
Now, Nikolai sat at his desk contemplating what he had to do. He thought he had an ally in the Rossi family, particularly with Luciano Rossi, but he was mistaken. There was no loyalty anywhere. What he didn’t understand was why they would do something like that to him.
Nikolai picked up the desk phone as he ran his hands through his hair and called Petrov. He knew Petrov could get anything he needed. The first time he met Petrov was at his father’s house where Nikolai learned the fate of his father and his cause of death. Since that time, Petrov helped handle the less than reputable dealings. He was a peculiar little man. He was short, slim, and had very large eyes. If he didn’t know better he would think Petrov was a sinister fuck, but he was just a harmless old miser.
“Petrov, can you get me everything you’ve got on the Rossi family?”
“Absolutely. When do you need it?” Petrov asked.
“Yesterday,” Nikolai growled.
“Understood.”
There was nothing left to say, so Nikolai hung up the phone and walked into his personal washroom. Looking in the mirror, he was disgusted with his face. Prison changed him. He’d been a handsome man before his time in Lgov, but after an attempt on his life which ended the other fuck’s life, his face had been scarred.
It was a thin but visible line down the right side of his face from his ear to his chin. Now, his chiseled face that had been perfection was now marred. His grey eyes seemed to illuminate his scar, making him even more pissed at the Rossi family. He punched the mirror, shattering it to pieces, causing his team of security guards to rush into the room with guns drawn.
“I’m fine. Damn it. Get someone to clean this shit up,” Nikolai growled as he grabbed a hand towel and wiped his bloodied hand. His cut was minor, and it would heal in time, unlike the permanent one on his face.
He ignored his staff, got his shit, and got the hell out of the office. He wasn’t fit to run his company at the moment. All night he stewed in his need for revenge. If Luciano thought that his wife being violated was bad, he hadn’t seen nothing yet. Nikolai was going to slowly destroy him, taking out his family members one by one. He’d leave the boy alive because killing kids just went too far for him.
The next evening there was a thick, deep report handed to him by the ever-efficient Petrov. Information on a large crime family like the Rossis wasn’t hard to get, especially when the Rossi family had been in their sights almost three years ago. They’d been the biggest family around, and he didn’t want any problems with them. It still managed to happen. Some rumors, speculation, and some cross words got several members in each organization killed. The truce had just been struck when shit went down with Luciano and his shady cousin, Enzo Rossi.
“Thorough as always, I see,” Nikolai said as he tested the weight of what he was sure was a well-organized and detailed report. Petrov was extremely meticulous. Nikolai presumed it was because he was a lawyer.
“Yes, most of that information was easy to find. Some of it was from our first encounters with them,” Petrov said.
“Any news on the visa?”
“Sergei informed me of your urgency to return to the States. I’ve put an order in to rush the process. It’s not an easy thing to do. The American government is slow to review applications, especially for a man of your background. You’ve been a pain in their ass with the whole extradition.”
“Petrov, I don’t want fucking excuses. I just want it done,” Nikolai replied angrily. He didn’t need a reminder of the whole past two years. He lived with a reminder every damn day.
“Fine. I’ll inform them of the urgency and see if I’ve still got enough connections there to make it happen,” he said before he shook Nikolai’s hand and left.
Nikolai tossed the file onto the coffee table and poured himself a glass of vodka before taking a seat. After a deep breath and a swig, he opened the file. According to the top document, there was a deal struck for information on Nikolai in exchange for immunity in a 2012 murder of a drug dealer.
Hell, these fucks traded on me for a case. Were they fucking stupid? he thought.
As he read the report and court documents, something to him didn’t seem right. There weren’t any sworn statements in the file, and there were two different signatures for the same judge. Nikolai put the rumors and supposed legal papers to the side to examine his targets.
Each family member had their own personal report with their picture paper-clipped to it. Nikolai glanced through the individual reports without focusing. His anger was still too high to even register the information. He flipped from one to the next, thinking about who his first target would be. He’d grown accustomed to taking lives. At first, it shook him to the core, but it was something that had to be done or he would’ve been the one in the pine box. After the first few times, it’d become second nature to him. He never killed anyone before who didn’t deserve it, but the two years locked away did something to him.
He pulled the next file from the pile and stopped dead in his tracks. He became so focused on the picture in front of him that he forgot what he’d been thinking a moment before. His mind shifted f
rom murder to something else in a heartbeat. His dick, which seemed to not take notice of any female lately, had sprung into full fuck mode. There were other photos in the file, but this one just stood out. It was a picture of Bianca Rossi, Luciano’s little sister.
She was smiling sweetly as she held Luciano’s son. Her silky black hair lay resting over her bare shoulder as she gazed at the camera. Her complexion was so fair, pale, and perfect. It was a complete contrast to his own. Her eyes were almost as light as his, but instead of hatred radiating from them, all he saw was love and joy. The smile on her face drove his heart wild, bouncing like a kid on sweets in his chest. A crazy, cloudy thought infiltrated Nikolai’s mind.
He threw his head back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, completely lost in thought. He tried to forget her for a moment and get back to his whole purpose—revenge. Collecting himself, he looked back down at the picture before him, but he still had the same reaction.
He’d left his last mistress behind. Katia had been good for a while but wanted more than he would ever give her. He wasn’t looking for a forever; there was no room for that shit in his life. She only lasted two months with him because he couldn’t tolerate a whiny broad. Now it was time for a new one. Although, he wasn’t sure that it wasn’t more than that with Bianca. Just her photo had done something to him and his cock. She might be the game changer.
Since he’d gone to America three years ago, he’d been without pussy. Not that it wasn’t thrown at him at every turn, but he’d been so focused on making things work for him and his organization that he put himself on a self-imposed abstinence. It wasn’t meant to last, but then he’d been arrested. Once he got out, he refused to deal with bitches at all. Between his scar and his distrust of people, women were off the table—until now. Bianca Rossi just became his spoils of war.
†††
Six weeks later Nikolai had gotten the news he’d been waiting for, and about time too. He’d been ready to fly back five weeks and six days ago. Bianca Rossi hadn’t left his thoughts. Nikolai had been a mess. All his time was spent locked away trying to figure out his next move where Bianca was concerned. Like a certain ring, her photo became his precious. Looking at it, which he did all day and night, was intoxicating to him. His revenge was overshadowed by his hunger for her.
The Russian's Captive (The Captive Series Book 2) Page 1