Russkaya Mafiya Spin-Off
By: International Bestselling Author Sapphire Knight
Undercover Intentions
Copyright © 2017 by Sapphire Knight
Cover Design by CT Cover Creations
Editing by Mitzi Carroll
Formatting by Brenda Wright – Formatting Done Wright
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
My husband - I love you more than words can express. Thank you for the support you’ve shown me.
My boys - You are my whole world. I love you both. This never changes, and you better not be reading these books until you’re thirty and tell yourself your momma did not write them!
My Beta Babes - Wendi Stacilaucki-Hunsicker and Patti Novia West. Thank you for all the love you’ve shown me. You’ve all helped me grow tremendously in my writing, and I’m forever grateful. This wouldn’t be possible without your input and suggestions.
Editor Mitzi Carroll – Your hard work makes mine stand out, and I’m so grateful! Thank you for pouring tons of hours into my passion and being so wonderful to me. One day I’ll meet you and one day I’ll squishy hug you!
Cover Designer CT Cover Creations - Thank you sooo much! Your creativity is amazing and always leaves me speechless! Thank you tons for your continued support and friendship.
Formatter Brenda Wright – Thank you for making my work look professional and beautiful. I truly appreciate it and the kindness you’ve shown me.
My Blogger Friends –YOU ARE AMAZING! I LOVE YOU! No really, I do!!! You take a new chance on me with each book and in return share my passion with the world. You never truly get enough credit, and I’m forever grateful!
My Readers – I love you. You make my life possible, thank you.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Common Terms
Dedication
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
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
Also by Sapphire
Moy – My
Sin – Son
Brat – Brother
Nyet – No
Da – Yes
Saystraa – Sister
Spaseeba – Thank you
Russkaya Mafiya – Russian Mafiya
THIS IS NOT A MAFIA BOOK.
This is a spin-off of from my Russkaya Mafiya series, but it is a standalone. There is mafia-ish stuff going on, but I repeat- this is not a full-blown mafia book! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy.
To Meili, Loki, Ares, and Bella.
It’s amazing I got this book finished with how much you assholes barked through it. Regardless, I love my Dobermans. Do a good deed, donate to an animal rescue and make a difference in the world.
WARNING
This novel includes graphic language and adult situations. It may be offensive to some readers and includes situations that may be hotspots for certain individuals. This book is intended for ages 18 and older due to some steamy spots. This work is fictional. The story is meant to entertain the reader and may not always be completely accurate. Any reproduction of these works without Author Sapphire Knight’s written consent is pirating and will be punished to the fullest extent of the law.
This is a standalone but can be read with the Russkaya Mafiya series also:
Secrets
Corrupted
Unwanted Sacrifices
Russian Roulette box set
Undercover Intentions
I hate this man standing beside The Master. I hate him so much; I wish he would choke on his own spit and die. The things Yema does to us—to me—are sickening. I thought the man from last weekend was going to take me away, but Yema wouldn’t allow it. I swear he only did it so he could get another week to degrade me further.
“Girl!” It’s said with distaste by The Master. As if I’m the scum on the bottom of their shoes.
I never understood why they put us through all of this if they hate us so much. Why keep us prisoner? Why keep us locked up, away from other people? You’d think if we were such a burden, they’d kick us to the street. I often wish they would. I’d much rather sleep on a dirty street curb than here—on clean sheets—only to be roused whenever one of them is bored or angry.
“He said, ‘Girl’!” the mean one yells again. This time a bookend flies toward my head. It crashes against the wall beside me, and I swear fury fills Yema’s eyes at the loud thump it makes hitting the drywall.
“Yes, Master? How can I serve you?” I go to him, dropping to my knees in front of him—pretending to worship him—as he wishes us to do. He thinks he’s the creator of all things, the one to offer us life, The Master.
He’s wrong. I remember my mother, the one who filled my heart with warmth and safety. I never had to fear her when she raised her hand or called my name.
My name…I can’t even remember my real name anymore. Was it Sasha? Or did they just pick a new Russian name and make me believe it belonged to me all along?
“I don’t see why anyone would want you with how slow you are.” He scowls, his cold, beady eyes glaring down at me.
Even full of bitterness, his features are handsome. Maybe because I don’t ever remember having a father, and this man has given me what little I do have? The others here I hate, like Yema…They touch and hurt me whenever they feel like it. It’s been so long now; I don’t even get sick from it anymore. I just make it fade away.
I remain quiet as I’m supposed to. I’m not allowed to speak. Sometimes I’ll mess up, but I try not to. His hand comes hard and fast when I don’t mind his rules.
Is it the businessman from the event who’s interested in me? Could he be talking about the tattooed man who looked at Yema like he wanted to cut his throat from one side to the other? The handsome one?
I hope so. He wasn’t friendly, but he had kind eyes. I’ve met very few men with a kindness shining in them as he had.
“You need to be ready for tonight. Go to the basement and prepare yourself. Do not make Yema wait for you.”
“Yes, Master,” I reply, staring at his feet until he’s turned away and my gaze is met with the fur from the rug I’m kneeling on. Only once he’s turned his back to me, do I stand and make my way to the basement.
Yema promised Mr. Masterson that he could take me this weekend. I’ve prayed every morning and every night that he remembers, that he comes back for me. He took Trixie, the angel-haired one last weekend. But that’s okay. I’ll be his new favorite, I know it and if not…I’ll kill her
.
The officer said, “You drinking?”
I said, “You buying?”
We just laughed and laughed.
I need bail money.
-Funny Meme
“Yeah?”
“Have you found Natasha yet?”
“Nyet.” Sighing, I replace the rocks glass of vodka back on the shiny, black bar top. Pulling the phone away as he goes silent, the screen flashes ‘call ended.’ He hung up on me—again.
Fucker.
Every time I hear from him, it’s a random phone call with the same question. So far each one’s ended with me forced to give him the same reply and him hanging up without a word.
If Niko weren't my cousin’s best friend and personal guard, I wouldn’t have started searching for his sister in the first place. Now it’s like an addiction. My own twisted drive is pushing me to hunt down and discover a woman who’s been kidnapped since she was merely a child. This world’s a fucked-up place to do that to a kid, that’s for sure.
It’s not even my damn department. I’m a cop, and not just your run-of-the-mill-parking-ticket-writer either. I’m undercover. I bust perps like Niko and the rest of my family, happily turning them over to the Feds. Hell, I almost was a Fed—and would still love to be—had it not been for my father popping up a while back, calling me out of the blue.
I’ve purposely distanced myself from that part of my family to prove that I’m nothing like that bloodline. I’m not Mafia, and I’m not a Masterson. Just to drive it in deeper that I’m different and I’ll never belong to that side of my family, my last name’s Masters.
Fuck. They’ve even got me speaking Russian now. I’ve never spoken Russian. I studied it along with the country my first year in college, and I was hooked.
I fell in love with the language at a young age, hearing my father speak it when I was a child. That only happened on the rare occasion he gave us a call, though, and I was lucky to catch him on the phone with my mom. The calls were never for me, only to speak to her. It used to kill me inside, but I grew to accept it. Mafia men are hard; they preach family, but it’s never true. The life always overtakes everything, and most of them end up losing their families and the people they’re closest to.
“Another?” My nod’s curt, and I’m interrupted by my damn cell vibrating again. Stupid thing is always going off. Shaking my head toward the fresh drink, I swipe over the screen.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Exterminator,” he grumbles immediately. He’s an outlaw biker I’ve come in contact with a few times. Criminal down to his bones, but that’s beside the point, I need information.
“Did you find anything?”
Finally, he’s called me back. I’ve been waiting for this guy to get back to me about another possible lead on Natasha. His motorcycle club went into Mexico for me, searching over a massive-sized cartel compound a few years back. They returned with nothing but a useless maid. To say I was disappointed is an understatement, and Niko was beyond furious it’s taken so long.
I swear if my chief gets wind of me doing all this shit, my ass will be toast. I still can’t believe that I initially agreed in the first place. I’m not supposed to get wrapped up in cases outside of the department. It’s against protocol.
“No. Just another dead end.”
“Fuck my life. Okay. Your money’s been transferred already.”
This time it’s me hanging up and tossing the device onto the counter top. It feels like I’m back to square one each time I hit a dead lead, and it’s costing a goddamn mint to head up the search for her. Where could these kidnappers be hiding this woman? Is she even alive at this point? I know she’s most likely lost in the sex trade; it’s discouraging and motivating at the same time. I couldn’t let my own sister drown in that filth of a life—if I had a sister, that is.
My father’s been funding this little venture. He thinks it’ll win back his nephews. I, on the other hand, know he’s a fool and should just stay the hell out of my cousins’ way. Instead, he attempts to meddle in their business, not used to being out of the loop and not in charge. He’s an idiot.
Yep, that’s right. I’m an officer of the law, and my father’s the previously pushed out, King of the Russian Bratva. It’s ironic how life plays out sometimes.
Some may wonder why I’m not busy filling the role as King now, but I’ve never been in that lifestyle. I wouldn’t know much about being a criminal, besides what I’ve learned as a peace officer. I’ve always veered in the opposite direction, especially seeing how paranoid my mom was while I was growing up.
My father stayed in Russia most of my life, so I grew up alone with my mom. She worked while raising me and we lived a fairly simple life. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I learned exactly what my family was about.
I didn’t know much about my cousins; Tate aka Tatkiv ‘Knees’ Masterson and Viktor ‘The Cleaner’ Masterson, until these recent years. They were the proclaimed Princes of the Russian empires since I was lucky enough to be hidden away. It was time for them to rightfully take their places at the head of the Russkaya Mafiya and Bratva but ran into some issues with their father, Gizya. He’s my uncle—my father’s brother—and as corrupt as the man himself. They’re definitely related, that’s for sure.
I helped make Gizya disappear without Viktor sinking him to the bottom of a lake or Tate beating him to death with a bat. You’d swear my cousin played professional baseball with the way that man can swing a bat at someone. Anyhow, I stepped in to offer them my assistance. I was shocked that they trusted me so easily, but they wrote it off as me being family.
Only the three of us know what really happened to Gizya and it has to stay that way.
That little experience forged a bond with two men I had no idea were so much like myself. They could be my own brothers, that’s how at ease I always feel when I’m around them. I was also a little freaked with how much we all look alike. Even with me pushing away from the Mafiya, there’s no doubt, by looking at me, where I come from and who my family is.
I’ve always known I was of Russian descent, but around those two, there’s no question left in my mind. My hair’s a bit lighter; I’m scruffier and covered in tattoos. Tate and Viktor have their fair share of ink, but my neck, hands, fingers, and calves are all done, whereas theirs aren’t. The three of us have hazel colored eyes, a trait passed down by our fathers, and we all stand with the same build—muscular, but lean. According to my father, it’s the frame of the perfect Russian leader.
He’d contacted me years back, needing my assistance. Niko’s wife, Sabrina, had been taken against her will during Viktor’s wedding, of all places. No one would expect anything like that to happen since the place was crawling with Russian soldiers and various men working security. I did what I could to help at the time. Granted, I wasn’t as invested as I am now or I probably would’ve found Sabrina even quicker than I had.
I’m fairly certain her abduction was by the same people who stole Niko’s sister when he was a child. Usually, that sort’s all interconnected when it comes to the sex trade. Everyone knows one another in the business; it’s almost like being a regular at a bar. Only it’s not as simple as a friendly customer at the local drinking hole. It’s a sick, fucked-up fetish, created by men wanting to control and abuse women.
With my newest idea gone to shit, looks like I may need to pack up and head to Houston. A buddy of mine I went to the academy with just so happens to be a Morelli. His gramps runs the Italian side of things in Chicago. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been searching for this woman for five years now.
I know—five years.
Huffing out a breath, I dial my father next.
“Da?”
“It’s me.”
“Moy sin!” My son, he greets.
“Da. I have business in Texas.”
“I’ll send my jet, nine p.m.”
“Spaseeba.”
“’Tis nothing. How are you, sin?”
“I’ll call you if I hear anything.”
I’m not calling to exchange pleasantries. I don’t care how he is, and he doesn’t need to know how I am. This is strictly business.
“Right.” He finishes, and I hang up again.
Stupid phone.
“Another drink?” The older bar owner offers, staring at my still-full vodka he’d placed before me earlier.
“No thanks, cash me out.”
Handing him two tens, I get to my feet, stuffing my cell in my pocket and grab my keys to my blacked-out Jeep Wrangler. It’s pretty badass, jacked up on a seven-inch lift with some chunky thirty-sevens and custom rims. It’s the one thing I spend money on to treat myself. “We’re good,” I say loudly and wave him off, so he keeps the change. It’s not much—I’m Russian, so I like expensive vodka.
“Thanks.”
He places the tip in one of the jars lining the bar, and I head out. The drive to my apartment doesn’t take long thankfully, so I scoop up my ready-made duffle. I swiftly trade out my attire and lock my apartment up tight. It’s nothing special, but it gets me by when I’m not busy on a case.
Flying in my father’s jet and then meeting the Morelli family, I need to reek of business opportunities. One thing I’m good at, with being undercover, is adapting to different situations. Straightening my custom-tailored suit my father sent for my academy graduation years ago, I load back into my Jeep and head toward the airport.
The lady comes over the speaker as I hit the UConnect button. “Say call or options.”
“Call.”
“Who would you like to call?”
“Call Bax.” That’s the code name I have in here for my chief, and if I ever have to speak to him when the heat’s on or if someone else checks out his number and doesn’t use that name, he knows.
“Calling Bax.”
It rings twice before he gruffly answers, “Bax here.”
“Chief.”
“Masters.”
Undercover Intentions Page 1