Owned by the Mob

by Raven Rivers

  Owned by the Mob

  Published by Raven Rivers, 2019

  Book three of the Russian Mobster Series

  © 2019 Raven Rivers

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Also from Raven Rivers:

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Mobbed-Up

  Sharon

  Jolted awake by the shock of being drenched with cold water, Sharon’s heart seized in her chest. Her skin turned instantly icy and her fingers were numb. Confused and disoriented, the thirteen-year-old forgot where she was for a brief moment. She’d gotten home from school, then what? Maybe someone had broken into their home. Concentrating, she racked her brain to remember. An image popped into her head of jogging with her bodyguard, Carlos. The sun was setting over the horizon, the weather was cool, and he was cracking jokes.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she recalled screeching tires, gunshots, and Carlos lying on the pavement. His huge, muscle-bound body proved no match for flying bullets. Two men, stinking of alcohol and sweat, pulled her back into a dirty van.

  The reality of her situation hit her like a sharp slap to the face. She needed to get the hell away from these awful men. Struggling to get up and run proved a futile effort. The tight bands constraining her movements were a stark reminder that she was trapped.

  Suddenly a man stepped in front of her, his sweat-soaked dingy shirt clung to his body. His old-fashioned, ill-fitting polyester dress pants were being held in place with a cheap leather belt. Refusing to look at the man standing in front of her, she turned her head to stare at the rectangular blocks making up the basement wall. Tony’s voice sounded off in her head. “Never let them see your fear, sis.”

  Somehow, being tied to an office chair made the inevitable slap to the face easier to stand. The older swiveling chair had some give, so she didn’t absorb the full force of the blow. Sharon had grown used to expecting the unexpected.

  Each time her world tilted out of alignment, something clicked into place in her mind. Some long dormant survival instinct stepped up and her own personality slipped back into the shadows. Unable to speak for shivering, she hauled in one shaky breath after another.

  Her cheek exploded in a blast of pain. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, kid.” Blocking out the man’s angry voice, she thought how absurd it was that the crazy man thought she would know anything about where her step-father hid his cash. Her old man was a freaking mobster. Her mind whispered, “Check under the doghouse in the backyard where his pitbull sleeps,” yet her lips uttered not a single word. Instead, her mind wandered back to the first time she ever met her step-father.

  Though she was only five at the time, Sharon could see how different he was from all the other stuffy, detached men her mother had dated. Mister Nash had always brought treats for her and her shy twin sister, Cassandra. He smiled and touched the top of her head with genuine affection. The man’s dazzling smile was infectious and he spared no expense in his lavish courtship of the beautiful dark-skinned doctor with two little adorable twin daughters. The way he looked at her mother was confusing. There was respect, admiration, and something she still didn’t quite understand.

  Her fondness for her step-father was a sharp contrast to how she initially felt about his son. The handsome mobster’s boy was an annoying prankster, and three years their senior. The wicked demon spawn thrilled in tormenting Sharon and Cassandra. He cut all the hair off their dolls or gave them Mohawks. She’d never forget him chasing down their cat, only to tie soda cans to the poor creature’s tail. The out-of-control mischief maker was a mess, that was for sure. Once his father had caught him pulling her scruffy little pigtail and decided he’d had enough. Sharon and Cassandra ran to their step-brother’s rescue, shoving him out the door before his father could give him the thrashing he so richly deserved.

  For all his evil misdeeds, Tony was endearing in his own way. The foolish boy had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to his new sisters. Though he might tease them mercilessly, no one else was allowed to even look at them wrong. Sharon grew up trusting that he had things under control and was only a step away whenever trouble started brewing.

  That’s why she’d mentally checked out of her current horrible situation. All she had to do was survive just a little while longer. Tony and his henchmen would come riding to her rescue, just like always. Her frail, tender body absorbed slap after slap as she dove deeper into her own mind to get away from the heavy-handed abuse.

  Some part of her mind knew the furious man was still screaming at her. However, her consciousness was a million miles away, secure in the belief that her step-brother would come soon. As if thinking it made it so, Tony came crashing through the door. That was always the worst part. Scrunching her eyes closed, Sharon tried not to think about what would happen when her brother came whirling through the door like a tornado raging out of control.

  Several gunshots sounded off in rapid succession. Suddenly, the door burst open again and the crazy man disappeared from her view. The next thing she knew, Tony was working the bands off her body. Quietly cursing under his breath, she felt the first strap go slack and then fall off. “What stupid fucker seriously ties a chick up with freight straps?”

  Lifting her head, Sharon tried to speak but her mouth wouldn’t work properly. Raising her hand, she ran it across her jaw to find it swollen and painful.

  Tony tugged her hand away. “Best leave off messing with your face. I’m getting’ you outta here, sis.”

  Lifting her from the seat, he proceeded to walk out of the small room, down the hallway, and out the front of the abandoned warehouse. She wanted to ask about the four men lying motionless on the floor along the way, but she still couldn’t talk. Staring at them over her step-brother’s shoulder, it occurred to her that no one was paying them any mind because they were all dead.

  A strangled cry broke from her lips. It was too much. Being grabbed off the street by someone with a grudge to settle with her step-father was bad. Getting slapped around was horrible. But knowing that people lost their life was almost impossible to process.

  Tony’s gruff voice gentled, “Don’t you dare shed a tear for those idiots, girl. It could have been Cassandra or your mother instead of you.”

  Jerking her head up to look in his eyes, she thought it over. White hot fury fired to life
in her gut at the thought of the awful man snatching her twin sister or mother. Cassandra was timid and kind-hearted. Being tied up, screamed at, and slapped around would have broken her.

  Tony must have seen her expression change because his voice turned steely. “That’s what I thought, sis. I swear to God the two of you are going to learn self-defense or die trying.”

  Sitting her down in the back seat of an SUV, Tony strapped her in. Legging it around the vehicle, he climbed into the other side and slid over beside her. Growling to his henchman in the driver’s seat, Tony shot the man an annoyed look. “What are you waiting for? Drive, you stupid fucker.”

  Squeaking out a single word, Sharon’s jaw barely moved. “Carlos?”

  Tony’s head jerked slightly to one side and his eyes closed. “Sorry, sis, he didn’t make it.”

  Tony was right. She needed to learn to learn some self-defense. Would her favorite bodyguard still be alive if she’d been more proactive when things went bad? It all happened so fast, there was no way to be sure even in her own mind.

  “Why?” Choking on the word, Sharon found her need to know outweighed her desire to avoid the pain of speaking.

  Rolling his eyes, Tony muttered, “Why do you think?”

  Lifting her hand she pointed to her dark skin, then pulled on her braids. Looking at him questioningly, she waited for his answer.

  Tony’s anger exploded. “It’s not because you’re black or a girl.” Punching the seat in front of him in frustration, he stated miserably, “It’s because pops is in the hospital and I’m fuckin’ weak.” At sixteen, Tony was anything but weak. Yes, maybe he was small and scrawny for his age, but he was meaner than a snake. Her step-brother also never backed down from a fight and rarely lost one. Honestly, most people just steered clear of him.

  Getting ahold of himself, Tony tried to explain. “Our old man is responsible for keeping lots of vicious criminals in line. They do what he says ‘cause he’s bigger, meaner, and his men enforce all his stupid rules. Since he’s been in the hospital, rumors are flying around that he’s not gonna make it. Every freaking thug who’s ever wanted to step out of line has somehow got it into his head that now is the time to make shit happen.”

  Sharon understood that well enough. When the cat’s away, the mice want to play. Tony felt obligated to fill his dad’s shoes, but no one was listening to the scrawny teen. Looking at her step-brother, Sharon realized his Italian heritage was on full display tonight. Everything from the light olive skin, chocolate brown eyes, and the usually stylishly debonair hair which was now an unruly mess screamed Italian mobster. His trademark custom-made dress pants, button-up shirt, and a gold ring were stereotypical enough to make her cringe.

  Unable to speak, she reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. She typed out her next most pressing concern for him to read, then showed him what she’d written:

  Cassandra?

  After glancing at the screen, he wrapped one arm protectively around her and murmured soothingly, “Your sister’s fine. She’s at the hospital. Dad’s out of surgery and in his room.”

  Typing out another message, Sharon had to concentrate to get her still shaking fingers to hit the right keys. This one read:

  Enough trying to act like your father, Tony. Stay with me at the hospital. I want you off the streets. It’s clearly not safe for us.

  He pulled back slightly. “Fuck that, sis. I’m gonna find the biggest troublemaker stupid enough to be operating in our territory and make him regret he was ever born. That should be enough to make all the others take notice.”

  She laid her tired head on his chest, adjusting it slightly to ease the pain on her jaw.

  Since Tony never missed a thing, he asked worriedly, “Are you going to be okay?”

  Slowly lifting the cell phone, she tried one more time to keep him safe:

  Stay. Please. I need you.

  Naturally, the stubborn, intractable bastard left her standing in front of the emergency room with one of his men. Watching him drive away, it dawned on her exactly what a difference eight years makes. She’d hated him when her mom first married his father. Now, Sharon found herself terrified that something was going to happen to him.

  Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she looked up at the starlit sky and wished her family weren’t criminals. Being mobbed-up was going to be the death of them all. A gentle tug on her arm by the new Carlos was all it took to get her moving for the entrance. Her life was all kinds of messed up.

  Chapter 2

  Working Man

  Alek

  The sun rose and set for twelve long years on the city that never slept. Tonight Alek found himself perched on a ridiculously small stool by a thigh-high table at The Avoy. This club was the crown jewel in Timur Chensnokov’s small selection of legitimate businesses. It was also the most popular in the area, attracting people from all walks of life. Anyone with some money looking for a good time knew this was the place to find it. The music was good, the drinks were reasonably priced, and the servers nice and friendly. Most importantly, the bouncers kept out the troublemakers.

  Timur didn’t mind his men indulging in whatever amenities his various businesses had to offer. Since it didn’t cost him much of anything, the man could afford to be generous that way. It was understood that they were not to cause trouble, and were to ensure that things operated smoothly.

  This explained why Alek used Chen’s Dry Cleaners to see to his laundry, Tender Touch Therapeutic Massage for his weekly massages, Kukhnya for his meals, and The Avoy for his off duty relaxation. Not that he was relaxing tonight. No, tonight he was tasked with providing protection for his boss as he met with his financial advisor.

  Looking nervously over the room, Alek zeroed in on one man in particular. It was strange how the biggest predator in the room look so unassuming, standing there on the dance floor. Alek was not quite clueless enough to underestimate Charles Nash.

  The man was well dressed and quite suave for an old-school Italian mobster. Slow dancing with his arms wrapped around his tiny wife, he spared no one else in the room a glance. Misses Nash was still breathtakingly beautiful even though she had to be nearing fifty. Alek didn’t trust the old man any further than he could throw him, nor did he like old buzzard man being so close to his boss. The two older mobsters rarely acknowledged each other in public with more than brief eye contact and a slight nod. Since they were more allies than enemies, Alek held his peace and anxiously monitored the situation.

  “What ya drinkin’ tonight, boss?”

  Glancing up at the pretty brunette, Alek couldn’t help but smile. The servers were doing some charity event this evening to raise money a local school and were all dressed like sexy teachers for the evening. This one was wearing glasses, had her hair piled on her head with a pencil sticking out, and was wearing a short skirt and white button-up blouse that barely concealed her goods.

  Intentionally looking at her face instead of her bulging breasts, he responded politely, “You look lovely tonight, Miss Sabrina. I’ll have the usual.”

  Winking at him, she gushed, “You’re always such a charmer. Be right back with your vodka.”

  Alek relaxed, glancing around once again to make sure nothing was amiss. His boss was still sitting in the VIP section with an open briefcase talking and with their accountant. Whatever they were doing looked like really boring shit to him. The pretty accountant was nice to look at, with her smooth skin and soft, brown eyes. Though Miss Bethany was off limits, Valisy and several of the other men watched her every move. Unlike Alek, they were all free to make decisions for themselves.

  Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Alek frowned to see Dina heading his way with a drink in her hand. Dina didn’t work at this establishment, as evidenced by the fact that she was not in the teacher of the night uniform. Nor were they friends, therefore she had no reason to be approaching him. Alek was already onto her little game of luring men in with her beautiful body, fleecing them of large sums
of money, and then tossing them aside. He had no intention of becoming the next gullible fool to be used by her.

  The moment she sat down, he spoke. “No.”

  “What do you mean by ‘no’?”

  “Turn around and leave.”

  “There’s no need to be like that.”

  “I do not wish to become friendly with one such as you.”

  “I never would have taken you for a man who listened to gossip, Alek.”

  “You may call me Mister Koshikov.”

  Not budging, she smiled slyly. “I like Alek better.”

  Alek reached out one large hand, jerked her from her stool, and gave her a little shove away from his tiny table. “You are blocking my view.”

  Taking a small step backward, she mumbled, “I didn’t know you were working.”

  “I am always working. Do not approach me again.”

  Alek watched out of the corner of his eye as she plopped down at the bar beside the manager. Braden would be considered a soft target for such an experienced manipulator. That’s why he wasn’t particularly surprised when he moved closer and began whispering in her ear.

  Charles Nash was now sitting in a booth, kissing his lovely wife’s hand. They were totally wrapped up with each other. The experienced mobster left nothing to chance when it came to taking his wife out. His men were spaced out at tables, doing a fair job of staying focused and blending into the crowd. He couldn’t fault the man for bringing protection.

  His eyes drifted back to Timur. The silver-haired man was now concluding his business with his accountant and they were gathering their things to leave. Alek stood up to follow them. Stiev stepped in front of him. “I wish you to stay.”

  “You know this not my night off.”

  Frowning, Timur’s money handler glanced back at his legitimate counterpart heading out the door with Timur. Easing back down onto seats, Alek waited for the other man to speak. Stiev leaned over, lowering his voice. “Although Bethany monitors the income from this establishment, I am tasked with keeping records on the side income. As you know, we work a couple of side jobs out of this location.”