1. Mila
1
MILA
Present day…
T he blade feels smooth as I grasp it in my palm, my eyes closing, my lungs inhaling a deep breath.
Sweat drips from the tip of my nose onto the floor of the Petrov home gym, adding to the puddle at my feet. But the target across the room is what’s on my mind.
I picture it. Feel its location instead of see it, as if I can hear the rubber’s heartbeat.
When I feel the target’s location in my bones, I suck in one last breath and flip the blade so the handle is in my hand while planting my foot back. I hurl the blade toward the target as my eyes open and a roar barrels from my lungs. I nearly topple over, catching myself with one hand on the hard floor while staring at my blade, stuck a few inches to the right of the bullseye.
“Fuck,” I growl, stomping forward and jerking the knife from the rubber.
I go back to my spot twenty feet away, my teeth clenched as my eyes close. When I open them, the blade reared back to throw, I glimpse the person in the doorway and falter. The knife soars through the air but crashes against the target and falls to the ground.
Nikita glances at the knife with a disapproving frown that pulls my heart up my throat, but when he looks back at me, it sinks into its place and starts working double time.
“Pakhan.” I lower to one knee and bow my head. I’m panting from exertion, but as he comes toward me, his cane echoing off the wall with each step, I force my breaths to even.
He doesn’t stop until my sweat drips mere inches from his shoes.
“Why do you bother with this, Киса?”
I tense at the name. Киса… Kitten. I hate it.
“My purpose is to serve the Bratva. If the day should come that I must fight, I want to be ready.”
“Your purpose is to serve me .” He puts his cane under my chin and lifts so I’m looking at him. It’s lucky his eyes begin to roam because I don’t know how well I hide the contempt from my face.
It’s a privilege to serve the Pakhan. In some ways, I’m being ungrateful. If my father could see the thoughts inside my head, he would disown me. If Nikita could see them, he’d behead me.
But sometimes I feel that I am more than the duties I’ve been given. So much more.
“And you serve me very well,” Nikita adds.
He pulls his cane away and lowers, not an easy task for him with his bad knee, so this is an honor. A symbol of what I mean to him that he would never express with words.
Nikita Petrov, Pakhan of the Petrov Bratva, is not a man who kneels.
He cups my chin and runs his thumb over my jaw. “You’re my best girl, Mila.”
When he leans in, I close my eyes and relax my lips, but the sweat on my forehead feels wetter than ever.
“Should I clean up first?” I ask, just before his lips meet mine.
He laughs, sending warm breath over my lips. “You think I care about sweat?” When he reaches into his pocket, I already know what he’s grabbing. The knife clicks open with a flick of his wrist, and I reveal my neck when he prompts me with a pull of my ponytail.
There was a time when these games terrified me. When he terrified me.
I was thirteen when I came to this family, days before the devil I came to marry got his father killed and ran away like a coward. Then I was seventeen when Nikita’s father died, leaving him as the last Petrov male and making him Pakhan. That was six years ago. I’ve been his ever since, and I can’t say he doesn’t make me shudder as badly as he did back then, but I can say I know him. Probably better than anyone does. I know when he wants to hurt and when he wants to play.
He slices the knife across my collarbone, not too deep but deep enough to make me suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. Blood runs down my chest, beneath my sports bra, while Nikita’s tongue glides up my neck, his mouth stopping at my ear. “I don’t even care about blood.”
He takes my jaw in a tight grasp and jerks me to face him while my eyes close and I part my lips. He kisses me with a ferocity that’s so familiar it feels like home, and I feel the tiniest bit of warmth overtake me. Warmth that comes from something I want so desperately but will never have.
Power .
Just a taste. Just a sliver. Never enough to truly mean anything. Certainly not what I was promised as a girl, certainly not what I dreamt. But enough to lift my chest with my heavy breath and enough to bring my hands to cup Nikita’s face.
I slowly raise onto my feet, letting his hands circle my waist as he uses me as a brace to lift himself as well. Not that we’d ever discuss that he needs my help. He’s a strong man. And young for a Pakhan, only in his late thirties. His disability drives him mad.
He palms my breasts while I work the zipper on his slacks, our mouths never leaving each other’s as I urge us to the pull-up bar. I’m pushing it. Leading him like this, it isn’t smart, but the fact that he lets me is turning me on like crazy.
When we stop beneath the bar, I lift my arms so he can rip off my bra, then we hurry with the rest of our clothes. After one last kiss, my hand curving behind Nikita’s neck, I pull away and hop to catch the bar.
My muscles flex as I hold my weight while Nikita grips my hips, my legs winding around him as he impales me. I let my head fall back and moan as he fucks me roughly, savagely. If one doesn’t look closely, they might mistake it for passion, but it isn’t. It’s pure possessiveness. I am his. I will always be his.
And he will never be mine. But in these moments, these tiny moments, it feels like maybe I get just a piece of him.
“Come for me, Киса,” Nikita growls before biting down on my breast. My teeth clamp as I groan out my pain, but when the sting subsides, I register his pace increasing. He’s getting close.
I throw my head back and let out a pleasureless moan that’s loud and long as I arch my hips into him and pray he can’t tell that it’s fake. He stills, groaning as his hands grasp my back, and when he’s empty, he rests his forehead on my chest and pants.
My arms burn, my muscles begging me to release the bar, but I hold on until Nikita backs away. I drop to the floor, my arms feeling heavy and fatigued when I wipe the sweat from my forehead. But it’s worth it. Nikita would never be able to lift me. This gives him a taste of the old days, before his injury.
Without a word, he rolls his neck and limps to his clothes. It’s telling. It means our game is over. He is the Pakhan. I am the servant.
We get dressed in silence, the sweaty clothes feeling more disgusting than when I took them off. I need a shower.
“Have you spoken to your father today?” Nikita asks.
I turn to look at him but then lower my head. “Uh, no, I haven’t. Do you need me to?”
He fixes the top button on his shirt then straightens his collar. “No. I was just curious.”
I nod, but I know he’s lying. He must be waiting to hear from Papa.
It must be about Custard Street. We just increased our protection fees for the businesses there, and there’s bound to be blowback. My father is responsible for Custard Street.
Today, the underboss, Alik, is getting married. It’s highly unlikely Nikita will want to be bothered with the low-level nonsense my father is responsible for. If there’s ever a time I could help, even in the smallest way, it’s now.
“He’ll be at the wedding today,” I say. “I could ask him how Custard Street is going then tell you about it tonight.”
Nikita laughs. “What do you know about Custard Street?”
I lift my chin and try to shrug off the irritation that flares from his amusement. “I know that any time prices are raised, there are always a few stupid enough to resist. Some of the brothers may think you’re ruthless, but I admire your ability to make people fall in line, and so does my father. I assure you, if there are any problems, he’s taking care of them. He isn’t afraid to make an example out of a couple associates.”
The amused grin Nikita sports slowly dwindles and dies. I get the urge to lower my head, scurry back to the shelf Nikita keeps me on, but I resist. I don’t know, I must be feeling brave because I’m pushing it today. And he notices.
“You sure do know a lot about things that are none of your goddamn business.”
An exasperated sigh blows past my lips before I can stop it. “Pakhan, please. I’ve been a part of this organization for the better part of a decade. I hear things.”
“Your father tells you things,” he corrects, clearly not happy about it.
I shake my head. “He says nothing to me. I’m just not deaf . I hear you and the other men.” Once the words are out of my mouth and I catch the slight attitude in my voice, my stomach rolls. Nikita’s murderous gaze tells me he heard it too.
Now, I don’t resist the urge to lower my head. My shoulders hunch, and my breath catches. “I apologize, Pakhan,” I whisper. “I… I shouldn’t be eavesdropping. Please, forgive me.”
“No, Киса.” Nikita steps up to me and runs the back of his hand up my neck then to my hair. He wraps my ponytail around his fist before yanking my head back, making my scalp burn but not causing so much as a squeak to exit my mouth.
I’ve pushed it with him. Too far.
“Don’t be sorry.” He smiles at me, a cruel, unforgiving smile. “You want to play soldier so badly . You can’t help yourself.”
He breathes me in before letting go of my hair and stepping back. “Tonight you’ll get your chance… You get to be the one to pick up the earnings from the clubs. Well,” he tilts his head like he’s weighing that. “How about we take things slow? Pick up from Fun House tonight, and if all goes well, we can add more to your plate. I’m sure it’ll be nice to see the other whores.”
The other whores. Pointed. Meant to be hurtful. I should let it roll off my shoulders and chalk it up to Nikita punishing me for getting out of line.
But it still stings.
Worse, he’s taking my one desire, the only thing I’ve ever wanted from him, and he’s dangling it in front of me as a false offering. All I want is a chance to prove myself.
He’s setting me up to fail.
Fun House is a whore house in Naked City, which is the most dangerous part of Las Vegas. I’m a twenty-three-year-old Russian girl who’s never been allowed to drive. If anyone even gets a whiff of the cash I’m carrying, they’re mugging me. No question.
When he goes to turn, I blink and stand up straight. “Who’s driving me?”
He turns and gives me a lopsided smirk. “Driving you? Do you want me to send someone to hold your hand too?” He chuckles. “Are you sure you’re up to this challenge?”
My jaw clenched, I nod. If I speak, I’ll chance being disrespectful.
He thinks I can’t do this. I don’t know how much I should blame him for thinking it’s funny considering it is something that a male soldier could do without question. But no one does pickups in Naked City alone. It’s too risky.
But that’s okay because I’m going to prove him wrong. Even if I have to take a fucking bus or, hell, an Uber to do it.
He points at my knife, abandoned on the floor. “If I were you, I’d take the blade… It’s a dangerous world out there for such a pretty girl.”
With one last smile, he turns and leaves. And I’m glad for it. There are only a few hours before the wedding, and I planned to be showered by now. But I don’t leave yet. Endorphins rush into my veins as I wander to the punching bag.
I remember the day Nikita officially let me in the gym. I used to sneak in early, before anyone could even think about waking up, but over time, I came in later and later as my bravery grew.
Then one day when I was eighteen, at five thirty in the morning, Nikita couldn’t sleep. He heard me hitting the bag and laughed for what felt like an eternity when he found me. He said I looked cute with boxing gloves too big for my hands, punches that barely made the bag sway.
He fucked me on the gym floor and didn’t say another word about me being in the gym, the males’ sacred space. For us, that meant permission granted.
I was humiliated that day, but I got what I wanted. Today is no different.
I ball my hands and roar as I thrust my fist into the bag, sending it an inch along the rail. The chain rattles as it swings.
By tomorrow, I’ll be one step closer to getting what I want. I won’t be the Bratva’s whore. I’ll be their soldier. I’ll have some semblance of power, influence .
When I came to this country, I was promised too many things that went unfulfilled. I was supposed to be married to a future Pakhan. It would’ve given my family more power than our old home ever could have, but it was all stripped away.
One day, when Nikita sees the brutality I’m capable of… When he sees the strength he denies me…
Maybe I’ll get it back. I’ll have everything I was promised.
I’ll be Mila Petrov.