Brutal boss, p.1
Brutal Boss, page 1
BRUTAL BOSS
BRATVA BROTHERS BOOK ONE
WILLOW FOX
Copyright © 2022 by Willow Fox
All rights reserved.
Edited by Marla VanHoy
Cover Design by MiblArt
V2
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ABOUT THE BOOK
I know what betrayal feels like. And how to punish people for it.
You don’t get where I am—at the very top of the infamous New York City Bratva—without making at least a couple of enemies.
And I’ve made way more than that.
I might try my best to protect people from con artists and cartel bastards, but that doesn’t mean I’m any better than them. When the lights go off, you can’t even tell us apart.
Madisyn sure can’t.
The first time I see her at Steele Concierge Medical, I think she’s just a nurse. Innocent. Oblivious. Unsuspecting.
The second time I see her, standing right in front of my compound in the pouring rain, I think it is a mere coincidence. Her car has just broken down, and she is helpless. Clueless. Vulnerable…
Now, I know she is anything but.
You don’t get where I am without being a manipulative savage. And Madisyn just messed with the wrong mafia boss…
BRUTAL BOSS is a steamy enemies-to-lovers Russian Mafia romance with no cheating, no cliffhangers, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
The Bratva Brothers were previously introduced in Ruthless Vow (Mafia Marriages Book Five), but it is not necessary to read Ruthless Vow before reading any of the Bratva Brothers series books.
CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
Madisyn
Chapter 2
Mikhail
Chapter 3
Madisyn
Chapter 4
Mikhail
Chapter 5
Madisyn
Chapter 6
Mikhail
Chapter 7
Madisyn
Chapter 8
Mikhail
Chapter 9
Madisyn
Chapter 10
Mikhail
Chapter 11
Madisyn
Chapter 12
Mikhail
Chapter 13
Madisyn
Chapter 14
Mikhail
Chapter 15
Madisyn
Chapter 16
Mikhail
Chapter 17
Madisyn
Epilogue
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CHAPTER ONE
MADISYN
Standing outside Steele Concierge Medical, I stare up at the tall, white building as it towers above me. I feel small and insignificant in comparison, but my contribution is more than just as a nurse.
“Waiting for something?” Hannah asks.
I take a swig from the cup of coffee in my hand. “The caffeine to kick in?” I was waiting for my colleague with the FBI, Special Agent Savannah Blakely, to make contact. She never did show up at the coffee shop.
Hannah grabs my arm and drags me in through the front door, oblivious to the fact that I secretly work for the FBI as a forensic nurse.
We show our badges to security before being granted entrance past the lobby for the elevators.
“Check out the eye candy at six o’clock,” Hannah whispers to me as we approach the long hallway of elevators. There are eight elevators, four on each side, making it so that no one has to wait too long for a ride up to their floor.
I suppose when you pay twenty-five thousand dollars a person per yearly enrollment fee, the least they can do is not make it a long wait to see your physician.
I inconspicuously glance in the direction Hannah suggests. A gentleman with a dark, scruffy beard, dark eyes, and tattoos covering his arms, chest, and up to his neck meets my stare.
It’s Mikhail Barinov, my target.
Is that why Savannah bailed on my ass this morning? Did she see him enter the building on her way to the coffee shop?
I wouldn’t expect a text or phone call from her. My FBI-issued cell phone is at my desk in the city. I have a burner phone that the bureau provided me with, and Savannah has direct orders not to use that phone number. Contact between us is kept to a minimum.
“Hot, right?” Hannah says with a wicked grin. “I hope he ends up as one of my patients today. I’d love to do a full physical exam on him.”
“I never took you for the tattooed, bad boy type,” I say. She’s got a boyfriend at home. He’s sweet, charming, and an accountant. There’s not much of a fantasy wrapped up in that package.
Hannah is a ray of sunshine, and Mikhail is positively trouble. Thankfully, she’s just looking and not going to ask for his phone number.
The elevator doors ding open. Hannah shuts her mouth, I do the same, and we step inside first.
Mikhail shuffles in as well, his suit coat off, draped over his arm. Accompanying him, is a bodyguard or one of his men. He has a half-dozen bodyguards based on the intel I reviewed before my undercover assignment.
I don’t specifically recognize the gentleman, but Mikhail did a short stint in prison awaiting his trial. It’s possible he made some new connections and grew his empire.
Neither appears to be injured or unwell at first glance. But Mikhail and his buddy could also be visiting a patient.
Or maybe he’s making sure he didn’t catch anything while behind bars. Who the hell knows why he’s showing up today?
The man in the prestigious suit coat presses the button to the third floor. There are a wide array of physicians and medical offices on the third floor. It doesn’t narrow down his reason for coming in today.
“Any lunch plans?” Hannah asks me, her mood downright chipper. Although she’s talking to me, she’s ogling the bratva leader. I’m confident that she has no idea who he is, or if she did, she’d shut it down right now.
“Just grabbing sandwiches with my new bestie?” I say, nudging her shoulder. “Assuming that we can get away for an hour.”
Hannah chuckles. “You’re lucky if you get a fifteen-minute break.”
My first assignment is to connect with Mikhail without appearing like I genuinely want to. If he senses that I’m desperate, he’ll see right through the charade. It must seem genuine, which is why he’ll need to make the first move.
That’s a tough sell in the elevator when he doesn’t know anything about me.
But he’s seen me.
That’s the first step.
And now that he’ll recognize me, hopefully, I can earn his trust.
The elevator dings, and Mikhail steps out along with his muscle, pretending that he didn’t even notice us or acknowledge our existence.
Except he did notice me.
His gaze locks with mine downstairs, and while I have to pretend it’s all business, there is something there. A spark that shouldn’t have been, and a stirring of feelings that make my stomach flutter and my heart rate quicken.
After the double doors shut, I shoot a look at Hannah. I can’t tell her he’s bratva, but he gives off the bad boy vibe. “You and bad boys with tattoos?” I joke.
“My parents sent me to boarding school. I guess I’m still rebelling.”
“Well, you'd better get it out of your system. Any day now, Mark is going to propose.”
I’ve never been deep undercover. I did a week-long stint with the Sanchez Cartel eighteen months ago, but I didn’t come anywhere close to their leader, and that’s nothing compared to the viciousness of the bratva.
After work, I catch a glimpse of Agent Blakely outside. Savannah is keeping a low profile, but the moment I lock eyes with her, she gives me the signal for the second stage of our plan.
While I’ve been working diligently at the medical center as a nurse, the team back at the New York City field office has been digging up information on the bratva and gathering up intelligence to analyze.
I head down the block to grab my car, destined to break down on my way home. The vehicle will overheat, and the engine will die a few blocks from the bratva’s compound if I’m lucky.
They had to pick the crappiest, coldest, and rainiest day in existence.
Some days, my job sucks.
I pull out of the parking garage and head down the block. Traffic is heavy, which isn’t uncommon for New York. If I weren’t undercover, I’d ordinarily take the subway to the FBI field office from my house.
But as Madisyn Taylor, I drive to work daily in a used car that the agency purchased. Surprisingly, the vehicle still has four wheels attached, but it’s well over two hundred thousand miles, and the outer body is an eyesore with its rust and paint discoloration.
Are nurses at the concierge center not paid well? It looks like I’m living paycheck to paycheck.
Is that the impression they want Mikhail to have? That I m destitute and for him to take pity on me.
I have memorized the directions to the bratva compound, and the rental property that I’m staying in is located a few miles past the location.
Rain pelts the windshield, and I pop on the wipers, struggling to see through the onset of weather. I’m not looking forward to what comes next.
I’m a bundle of anxious energy, which I have to contain if I want this to go without a hitch. I’ve trained for this moment, going undercover, being able to rattle off a lie without being caught.
Heading down the road and away from the city’s dense traffic, my check engine light pops on. I hit the gas a little harder, hoping that I’ll be able to make it to my destination before the deluge outside drowns me.
The engine sputters, and the oil light pops on next. The FBI really wanted to make sure my car broke down. The engine produces a horrible clicking sound and dies just as I pull up within walking distance of the compound’s fence.
I’d have preferred to be a bit closer. There are other nearby houses, but they’re not the intended target.
I step out of the vehicle into the storm. It takes seconds for me to become soaked. I’m dripping wet, shivering, and my clothes are clinging to my skin.
I hustle toward the guard gate.
“Excuse me,” I say. My teeth are chattering, and I’m not sure they can even understand the words coming from my mouth.
The guard pushes the window in his booth aside, sliding it to answer me. He’s out of the rain, dry as a bone. “This is private property,” he says. His voice is gruff, and he’s got a thick Russian accent.
“My car broke down,” I say and point at the vehicle a few yards away. I’m not sure if he can see it or not from his position inside of the booth, but he doesn’t look the least bit concerned about helping me.
“Try your cell phone.”
“It’s dead.” I pull my phone from my pocket. It’s an older cell phone that the agency provided me with, a previous model that doesn’t appear to give the same resemblance as a burner phone. The last thing I want is to draw more suspicion toward me.
If the battery hadn’t been entirely drained earlier, then the deluge indeed killed my phone. I show it to the guard on duty.
He grumbles and picks up the landline phone. “I’ll call a tow truck for you,” he grunts.
As I stand out in the cold, shivering, soaking wet, with the rain continuing to pour, a black SUV with tinted windows pulls up to the gate.
The driver’s window rolls down, and I recognize the man from earlier at the hospital, the bodyguard. Mikhail Barinov is seated in the front passenger seat.
The bodyguard doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. My presence is enough to warrant an explanation.
“The girl says her car broke down,” the gentleman in the booth answers. He opens the gate for their vehicle.
Thunder bellows out overhead.
Mikhail steps out into the deluge with an umbrella and hurries around to the passenger side to open the door for me. He slips out of his black wool coat, which is mostly dry, and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s a warm and welcome relief from the cold clothes that cling to my skin.
“Come inside, dry off, and we’ll get you on your way,” he says and opens the back door.
I am shivering and trembling from the frigid weather. The coat keeps me from making a mess of the leather interior with my wet clothes. “Thanks,” I say, and Mikhail shuts the door before stepping around to the passenger side.
The engine purrs as the driver hits the gas and guides the SUV forward past the open gates.
Shivering, I shove my arms into the warm coat and my hands into the pockets to get warm. My fingers graze over a small metallic rectangular object, a flash drive.
CHAPTER TWO
MIKHAIL
It’s raining outside, pouring, and some girl who barely looks old enough to drink is standing by my gate.
Maybe she’s older than twenty-one. It’s honestly hard to tell with her blonde hair clinging to her body.
It still feels like winter, except it’s not snowing.
Where the hell is her coat? Or at the very least, an umbrella?
There is an abandoned vehicle not twenty feet away, its hazard lights flashing. That car should be put out of its misery. It’s probably older than the vanilla-blonde-haired girl in the back seat of the SUV.
Luka doesn’t look the least bit pleased to be bringing her inside the compound, but it is on my orders, and I’m the fucking Pakhan around here. I make the shots and tell my men what to do.
Luka is a good bodyguard. He obeys my commands and is loyal to a fault. He’d have married my sister and been given my blessing if she wouldn’t have turned on the family. That little brat runs with the Italians. She dared to have me arrested and put behind bars.
That’s not to say she didn’t have her reasons, but I’m no ordinary man. I run the bratva. I’m the Pakhan, the boss of the entire operation. My work is my life, and my family consists of my men. Their blood runs with mine.
I won’t be imprisoned, and neither will they.
I rule New York City, and I don’t intend to let anyone or anything stand in my way.
“Come inside, dry off, and we’ll get you on your way,” I say as I open the door for her and invite her into the back seat.
Her teeth are chattering and slightly blue.
“Thanks.”
I loan her my coat, trying to keep the back seat from becoming a pool, and help warm the girl up.
Luka pulls around to the garage entrance to keep us from getting wet. After he pulls the vehicle inside, he opens the back door for her to step out.
“Come with me,” I say, having her follow me into the compound.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t let a stranger inside my home. Ivan would be expected to handle anyone outside the gate, but I’m feeling generous, and I find her soaking wet to be fucking hot.
She’s shivering and cold. The girl is vulnerable. I like women who are defenseless and weak. Not because I want to hurt them. No, I’m not that kind of monster.
I can help them and offer them a life they couldn’t ordinarily have—an opportunity.
But this girl hasn’t given any indication of her helplessness other than her broken-down vehicle, which did look pretty damn pathetic.
“I’m Mikhail,” I say, introducing myself as I open the door and lead her inside. “You should take off your shoes.”
She slips them off with ease. They’re black and slip-on, practical, which I’m not used to seeing. Usually, the girls who visit me wear fuck-me pumps and sexy boots that lace halfway up their legs.
Her socks are soaked and squish under her feet.
“Socks off too. I can’t have you making a mess in this place,” I say.
She obliges without so much as a word. She leans against the wall, and I grab her arm to steady her. I don’t need a giant wet butt print on the walls.
“Name,” I say when she hasn’t introduced herself yet. I’m a bit more forceful, but she’s focused on the task of removing one sock at a time.
Her toes are ghastly white from the wet clothes, which look even more stark against her bright red painted toenails.
“I’m Madisyn,” she says, her teeth chattering.
I steady her back onto her feet after her socks are removed.
“You’re soaking wet and need to get out of your clothes,” I say. I help her remove the coat I loaned her, and she doesn’t object.
Will she object when I tell her that she will have to remove everything in front of me? I can’t take a chance that she’s a cop or some girl wearing a wire trying to get information and have my ass thrown back in jail.
I’m doing everything I can to turn my life around. Well, stay out of prison anyway. It’s not like I’m going to start doing good deeds and being a good guy and all that shit.
