Owned by My Bestie's Bratva Daddy

Chapter 1

Hazel

I locked eyes with a man lurking in the shadows.

His massive frame was completely swallowed by darkness, the dim wall sconce at the end of the hallway outlining the full pecs and thick arms straining against his black T-shirt.

The man had to be at least forty—maybe older. But that didn't diminish his appeal. If anything, it gave him a dangerous edge that young boys could never pull off.

The faint light caught his prominent brow bone, deep-set eyes, straight nose. Every angle of his face was cold, hard perfection.

Just standing there, he radiated a commanding presence that made you want to submit.

One look and my breath turned hot, my heart hammering out of control.

But his presence confused the hell out of me.

This was a graduation party. Why would a man like this be here?

I searched my memory for every college professor and school administrator, trying to match a face to the man before me.

I came up empty.

No one I knew had this kind of psychological impact.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I finally saw what he was doing.

The man held a dark velvet cloth in one hand. In the other, a heavy black pistol.

He was cleaning the barrel.

I slapped a hand over my mouth and stumbled back.

Like he'd sensed my fear, the man slowly raised his right hand, pointing the black muzzle straight at my chest.

My blood froze.

My legs turned to lead. I didn't dare breathe, terrified any movement would make him pull the trigger.

In that suffocating silence, a low, rough whisper emerged from the darkness.

"Get lost. You don't belong here."

Heart pounding, I didn't look back. I spun around and fled that deadly shadow, stumbling toward the light.

Only when I stood under the massive crystal chandelier in the main ballroom did that crushing pressure ease.

I gasped for air, my palms and back drenched in cold sweat.

Were the rumors true? Was Anya's family really connected to the mob?

She'd never mentioned it. I'd always thought it was just school gossip.

I stood there, shell-shocked, not realizing I was blocking the walkway.

Until an impatient click of the tongue snapped me back to reality.

A woman in a purple evening gown stood behind me, annoyed.

I jumped and quickly moved aside.

The woman swept past, chin high, loudly complaining to her companions. "Where the hell did this hick come from? Are the guards outside blind?"

Muffled laughter rippled around me as they sized me up with judgmental, contemptuous stares.

"Isn't that Hazel Brooks?" A woman giggled behind her hand. "That dress looks like a thrift store find."

"God, she actually wore that to Anya's party? She's embarrassing Anya."

Only then did the humiliation hit me like a freight train. My cheeks burned hot enough to melt. I wanted to disappear into the floor.

I looked down at myself—wearing an old dress I'd borrowed from my mother at the last minute. The fabric had gone stiff and shiny from too many washes, the waist completely wrong, hanging loose on my frame.

I knew I'd done nothing wrong. But I couldn't find the courage to lift my head and fight back against their mockery.

I'd always known I wasn't pretty enough.

My features were plain, nothing special. My body wasn't hot enough—too much fat.

My background wasn't impressive either. I lived in the shittiest trailer park on the city's outskirts. My mom was drunk from dawn to dusk, only good for screaming at me. My brother's sole mission was taking what little money we had to underground gambling dens, then getting chased by loan sharks.

Faced with these brutal, unchangeable facts, shame had burrowed deep into my bones, into the core of who I was.

I could never hold my head high around these people.

I stood frozen at the edge of the ballroom, desperate to escape back to my crappy trailer.

At least there, I wouldn't have to face this suffocating disparity.

Just as I was about to bail, Anya strutted over in her heels.

I froze.

I couldn't believe the girl in front of me was Anya.

Anya's look tonight was completely different from her usual style. She wore a burgundy velvet gown, a dazzling diamond necklace at her throat, radiating elegant, powerful energy.

She looked like true royalty, not the girl who goofed around with me at school every day.

Only now did I truly understand the chasm between us.

I didn't even know how to greet her. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

But Anya rushed right up and threw her arms around me in a huge hug, then stepped back, hands on my shoulders.

"You look beautiful tonight, Hazel." Anya's voice rang out loud, like she was deliberately backing me up in front of everyone, and pulled me aside to sit down.

She glanced around, then leaned close to my ear, dropping her voice.

"Hazel, you have to be honest with me. You really don't have anything else to wear?" Anya asked quietly.

I lowered my head, nervously clutching the fabric of my skirt.

"This is the only thing I have that passes for a dress," I whispered back. "I had to borrow it from my mom."

Anya rolled her eyes.

"Saren couldn't buy you one new dress? She's such a cheap asshole."

I quickly pressed my hand over Anya's mouth, stopping her.

"Don't say that about her, Anya. She's doing her best. She just spent all our money last week on the trailer park fee." I defended Saren.

Even though I knew my mother was pretty terrible, I still instinctively wanted to protect her.

Anya sighed helplessly and moved my hand away.

I looked around at the opulent decorations, finally asking what I'd been dying to know.

"Anya, I have to ask. This is really your house? You're this rich?" I lowered my voice. "I seriously thought this was just gonna be a regular backyard barbecue."

Anya just shrugged.

"I'm not the rich one. This is all my father's." Anya shook her head dismissively.

"So is your father really in the mafia?" I swallowed nervously.

Anya raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying.

But I already had a pretty good idea. Since entering this manor, guests kept dropping the name of that notorious Los Angeles mob Pakhan.

Viktor Gromov.

At school, I'd heard people talk about Anya's background more than once.

But I'd never paid attention. If Anya hadn't said anything, she didn't want to tell me.

So since she didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to push. I changed the subject.

"When I was looking for Tyler, I saw a man with a gun."

Anya grabbed my arm. "You went to the back? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"I'm fine." I quickly reassured her. "I wasn't hurt."

Though I said that, thinking back to that black barrel aimed at my chest made me shudder.

Anya relaxed, but her face stayed serious. "Hazel, promise me you won't go back there. My father's security team is very... alert."

Her tone carried a hint of apology, but mostly worry.

"I know." I nodded, then shifted gears. "I just wanted to find Tyler. Have you seen him?"

The second I mentioned Tyler, Anya's expression changed.

"Yeah, I saw him. Tyler got here early."

I started scanning the crowd eagerly for Tyler.

Tyler was my boyfriend. Handsome, sunny, the guy tons of girls at school had crushes on. I'd always felt lucky as hell to be with him.

Today was special. I really wanted to see him.

I grabbed Anya's arm, asking impatiently where Tyler was.

But Anya sighed, and that subtle shift made me uneasy.

Anya squeezed my hand, warning me earnestly. "Hazel, you're a good girl. But Tyler is definitely not good news."

I could feel her distaste for Tyler, which stung a little. Anya had never liked Tyler. She always said he was too fake, too showy.

But I figured she just didn't understand him. Tyler treated me well, gently, always encouraged me. Sure, he had some minor flaws, but overall, I didn't think Tyler was a bad guy.

I was about to defend him when a few girls walked over with drinks and dragged Anya away.

"Sorry, Hazel. Something came up," Anya said helplessly. "Wait for me by the fountain, okay? I need to tell you something."

I followed Anya's instructions toward the fountain. But Anya's estate was massive—even with several maids giving me directions, I still wandered around for a while.

Finally I walked down a corridor and saw the fountain flowing in the moonlight. But before I reached it, sounds that made me blush crawled into my ears.

Urgent flesh slapping against flesh, mixed with a woman's syrupy, shameless moans.

Not that weird—graduation was coming, couples were going crazy. But they were bold as hell doing it here where anyone could pass by.

I instinctively turned to leave, wanting to avoid this uncomfortable scene. I tiptoed backward, terrified of making noise and disturbing the couple getting it on.

But just as I turned, a man's strained growl came from behind the sculpture.

That voice—I'd heard it for two solid years.

Tyler's voice. Absolutely. I couldn't be wrong.

And the woman let out a high-pitched moan. I knew that voice too.

Lacey Monroe. The social queen who'd led the charge mocking my body in high school and college, treating me like a joke, always looking down on me.

Tyler was screwing Lacey Monroe right now.

My brain went blank, then violent ringing filled my ears. I couldn't process this massive blow yet, but before I could accept the reality, their voices rang out crystal clear in the night.

Lacey used that nauseating coy voice to tease. "Where's that boring, tacky girlfriend of yours anyway? Facing that plain face and that completely unattractive body every day—how the hell do you stand it?"

I bit my lip hard until I tasted thick blood.

Tyler gasped, answering in a sweet tone I'd never heard. "Don't bring up that buzzkill. She won't even let me touch her, like some uptight old nun. Boring as hell. How could she compare to you, babe?"

Tyler's words completely shredded what little self-respect I had left and every fantasy I'd had about love.

Crushing betrayal and humiliation demolished me in that instant.

Two years. Two whole years. I'd worked two part-time jobs to buy him expensive birthday gifts, changed my wardrobe to match his taste, treated him like the only salvation in my dark life.

And he'd been rolling around with the girl who bullied me the most.

The massive humiliation suffocated me. Unable to face this ugly scene, I retreated like a coward, like a stray dog, stumbling out of the garden.

I don't know how I got back to the ballroom. The lights stabbed my eyes. The laughter and chatter sounded like the cruelest mockery.

I staggered to the drinks table at the edge, didn't check the label, just grabbed a bottle of hard liquor and tilted my head back, pouring it down my throat.

By the end, I'd lost track of how much I'd drunk.

The alcohol numbed my rationality and nerves at lightning speed.

My vision blurred and doubled. Everything spun. My steps turned light and floaty, like I couldn't feel the floor. My stomach churned violently, intense nausea rising in my throat.

I needed a bathroom. Now.

I stumbled away from the drinks table, trying to find a restroom sign. But everything spun—the gorgeous crystal chandeliers became fuzzy light blobs, guests in gowns became shifting color masses. I lurched down the hallway, completely disoriented.

This damn manor was too big. Every corridor looked identical—same paintings, same wall sconces, same thick carpet.

I turned one corner, then another, and realized I was completely lost.

It got quieter and quieter. The ballroom noise had faded to distant, muffled sounds. I realized I'd gone too deep, but right now I had no strength to go back. The churning in my stomach intensified. Cold sweat dripped from my forehead.

I needed somewhere. Anywhere.

I grabbed a brass handle, shoved open the heavy oak door, and fell into a dark bedroom.

Then a man's voice cut through the darkness.

"You've got balls."

I lowered my arm, forcing my heavy eyelids open to look.

The man from the hallway.

He stood in the center of the room now, wearing a black bathrobe that exposed a broad expanse of solid chest and faintly visible scars.

Those deep, emotionless eyes stared at me like I was trash.

The man issued a cold eviction. "Get out if you don't have a death wish."

Get out.

Another dismissal.

My drunk mother told me to get out of the trailer every day. Tyler had thrown me away like garbage behind my back.

Now even this stranger wanted to sweep me out like a stray dog.

The successive betrayals and rejections, combined with the intense alcohol, snapped the last thread of rationality in my brain.

I didn't follow his order. Leaning against the doorframe, I swayed to my feet, staring at that cold face. A strange anger and sadness nearly choked me.

"Am I so repulsive?"

The man narrowed those extremely dangerous eyes, his massive frame radiating suffocating pressure as he closed in. I felt the heat from his body, felt that absolute sense of power.

If he wanted, he could probably snap my neck with one hand.

I didn't retreat. Instead, I lurched forward a step.

I asked desperately. "Am I really that bad?"

The man stopped less than two feet away, looking down at me. Impatience flashed in his eyes as he grabbed my collar, clearly planning to physically throw me out like a rag.

I couldn't endure being rejected and thrown out again.

I desperately needed to prove to someone—to myself—that I wasn't some worthless, unattractive piece of trash, not what Tyler had said.

Under the insane stimulation of alcohol, in absolute desperation and collapse, I met the man's cold gaze.

One second before his hand touched my shoulder—

Without hesitation, I reached back and yanked down the zipper of my dress.

With a faint scraping sound, the loose old dress lost all support.

The fabric slid down my trembling body and pooled at my feet.