Paid for by the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #10)

Chapter 1 - Adrian

It has been almost two full months of peace. It seems unheard of. An impossible thing.

Nothing has gone wrong, and operations with the Kozlov Contracts are running smoothly. I don’t even want to say it out loud in case I break the spell.

I’m even managing to patch things up with Anka for the most part. It’s a work in progress, but since my sister’s marriage to Viktor Nikolai, I’ve been doing my best to let her know how sorry I am about the past. I’ve been trying to make it up to her. After all, it was me that fucked up so badly.

The guilt still sits with me sometimes. But it no longer consumes me as it has for the better part of this past year.

It’s dark outside. The night sky is a deep navy blue with a glimmer of stars.

Nothing like the stars I might see away from the city, but it’s beautiful nonetheless.

I’m sitting in a glass-walled boardroom in my office building this evening, overlooking the glimmering silhouette of Chicago’s cityscape.

Even in the dark, I can see the snow, glowing in the city lights as it coats buildings and sidewalks far below my sky-scraping tower.

I got back from Moscow this morning, and everything is going well there.

The glass of whisky in my hand chimes as I swirl the golden liquid over the ice blocks.

It’s the only sound I can hear. Up here, it’s easy to feel like this city is mine.

Like it belongs to me. In so many ways, it does, now that the Nikolai and Volkov families are working together.

The new alliance has shifted business and ended a decades-long rivalry.

The building is quiet, most of the lights behind me have been turned off, and I feel at peace after another good day. I’ll head home soon and maybe get in a gym session. All in all, I’m enjoying my new routine that isn’t plagued by stress and uncertainty. Dare I say life is good right now?

A low chuckle rumbles from my chest, and I smirk at the blurred reflection of my own face in the massive windows. Don’t jinx it. Life might be good right now, but experience has taught me many times how quickly things can change.

My eyes look ominous in the glass reflection, and my hair looks almost black despite being dark blonde. Tilting the whisky back, I drain the last of the golden liquid and set the empty crystal glass on the boardroom table.

“Sir? I thought you might still be here,” Ivan’s voice comes from the open door.

“About to leave,” I tell him, straightening the collar of my shirt and picking up my phone to slip it into my pocket.

“We have an issue.”

Instantly, my hackles are up.

Fuck. I hope this is something small. I knew I shouldn’t have jinxed it.

“Something that can wait till morning?” I growl, hoping he says yes to indicate the trivial nature of the issue.

“The courier that was headed to the Kozlov’s early tomorrow morning… we packed the goods, and there is stock missing.”

“Missing?” My brows knot together. “Did we miscount?”

“No, sir, someone stole it. Not a lot, but enough that it would have caused a massive problem once it reached the other side, and our part of the operation had not been managed correctly.”

“For fuck sakes. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to steal from me?” I snarl, clenching my fist, wondering if my peaceful era was coming to an abrupt ending with one person’s absolute stupidity.

No. I won’t accept that.

I’ll go out of my way to make an example of this asshole to make sure that the message goes out loud and clear that I won’t tolerate this type of shit.

I can’t have my new business routes affected by idiots taking chances. And the fact that this guy, whoever the hell he is, thought he would get away with it gives me an uneasy feeling. Do people think I’m weak?

Not a fuck.

No.

This was one asshole taking a chance.

“Who was it?”

“We have video footage. The guy didn’t even do proper research. He avoided the decoy cameras and was unaware of the hidden ones. Clearly a rookie.”

“Who was it?” I ask again, wanting a name.

Ivan glances at his phone. “The guy’s name is Ricardo Mendelez,” he says.

“I don’t recall the name?” I mutter, trying to figure out if I knew the guy.

“No, he was one of the bulk hires from HR to do the basics around the warehouse. He went through all the usual checks before he joined the team. Nothing suspicious was found on him. I don’t think this is linked to any of our rivals or an attempt to infiltrate.

It appears to be one Lone Ranger trying to make a quick bit of cash for himself. ”

A sneer touches my lips as I shake my head. “Fuck it. Give me his address. I want to pay him a visit right now.”

“You want to take a team with you?”

“No. I’ll handle this myself. This guy is going to become an example for any future asshole who thinks he can test me.”

Ivan nods. “I’ll text you the address now. I’ll have men on standby just in case. Shout if shit goes South,” he says.

It’s almost nine when I park outside the address I have on file for Mendelez.

It’s a shitty-looking house on a street that most people would avoid after dark.

Sitting in my car, I’ve been watching the house for a few minutes, trying to scope the situation.

So far, all I’ve seen is one guy moving about inside, making dinner, and drinking beer.

His curtains are open, oblivious to my observations.

He’s middle-aged, overweight, somewhat balding, and walks with a limp.

He doesn’t look like much from here. Maybe it’s time to take a closer look.

Finally, I push open my car door and step out into the cold night air.

My breath steams from my mouth like a dragon breathing a threat of warning to the man he’s about to set aflame.

I smile at the image. Maybe I should burn his house down. I can imagine the pain of having his skin cook right on the bone while he tries to scream, but can’t take a breath in because of the stench and the smoke.

Burning human skin is a horrible smell.

But no. Tonight I’ll leave the neighbors' houses safe. No point in taking out a whole block just to deal with one man. The people who live on either side of him have nothing to do with his transgressions against me.

A confident, but dangerous smile curves my lips up at the corners as I knock on his door.

Two raps. A third.

“Who the fuck is it?” A coughing growl comes from inside. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it.”

“Ricardo?” I call out.

“Who is it?” he asks again as he pulls the door open. The stench of old cigarettes and sweat hits me the moment the door opens just a crack.

As soon as it’s open, I kick it. Hard. The man flies backward and lands on his ass on the tiled floor. He yelps in horror, his eyes growing wide with fright.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“You don’t recognize me? My face?”

“No…get the hell out of my house!”

“Now now, that’s no way to disrespect your boss, Ricardo,” I muse, walking slowly toward him, slipping my hand into a black leather glove.

“Wha…what…who are you?” he stammers, stuck on repeat.

“My name is Adrian Volkov. And tonight is not the first time you’ve disrespected me. Is it, Ricardo?” I ask calmly as I pull my gun from the holster beneath my jacket.

His eyes flare wider as he scoots backward along the floor.

He manages to cling to an old wooden cabinet and pull himself to his feet.

Ricardo raises his hands in fear and stammers again, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Volkov.

How could I possibly have disrespected you, sir? I work in your warehouse and…”

“And your stick fat fingers got stuck in some things they shouldn’t have been stuck in,” I tell him, pulling the slide back to make sure there is a bullet in the chamber.”

“Mr. Volkov, I… I was….it wasn’t me. I don’t know why you think it was me!” he stammers, tripping over the lie.

“Interesting because we have you on video. You didn’t think a warehouse like that would have security cameras?”

“No... but….”

I raise my brows, waiting for his next attempt at explaining away this transgression.

“Yes?” I ask, dangerously amused.

I raise the gun. Pointing it at his head, while the man looks like he’s about to piss his pants.

“Well, I guess the conversation is over then,” I say quietly.

“Wait... just let me explain…”

I could toy with him all night. But I have better things to do.

My finger tightens on the trigger.

“Dad?” a voice calls out. My body goes stiff.

“Dad? I told you not to leave the door open. We can’t afford the heating bills.

I just stopped by to drop off some dinner.

Where are….” She stumbles to a halt right next to the cabinet in front of which her father is standing.

Her eyes drift in horror from her father to me. The gun was still pointed at his head.

Her mouth drops open, and I can’t help but notice how fucking beautiful she is.

She looks about mid-twenties. Maybe twenty-three or twenty-four. Young, vibrant, delicate features. Soft lips and bright eyes. Her long, chocolate-colored hair is loose over her shoulders, bunching around the fluffy collar of her black-and-white checkered tweed coat.

“Wh…” she stammers, unable to move except to drop the carrier bag of groceries she was holding. A potato rolls across the floor and stops at my feet.

Do I shoot the old man in front of his own daughter? That seems especially cruel. Not really my style, she isn’t a part of this. But if she is… it would be a lesson for her.

Her father notices my hesitation and grabs her. The sleazy old man drags his daughter in front of him and actually fucking uses her as a shield! I can’t believe my eyes. There are very few things in this world that can shock me…but this is definitely one of those things.

What the fuck kind of father would do that to his own daughter?

The girl screams because now the gun is pointed directly at her face instead of her father’s.

“Dad!” she yelps in horror.

“Shut up,” he demands, yanking the drawer of the cabinet open and grabbing a revolver.

At first, I imagine he’s going to point it at me, but the old man is apparently smarter than I took him for. He points it at the girl’s head.

She screams again, and her beautiful eyes become even wider. A nervous, uncertain laugh of disbelief spills from her lips when she mutters. “Dad, what’s going on?”

I cock my head to the side and lower my gun. What choice do I have? Everything that I can tell from her reaction is that she genuinely has no idea why someone would be pointing a gun at her father. Which means she can’t be in on the scheme.

“Let the girl go,” I demand.

“Get out of my house.”

“Give me back what you stole,” I say calmly.

“Get out of my house before I shoot her!” he screams angrily. The girl whimpers and squeezes her eyes shut.

“You’d shoot your own daughter?” I ask dangerously.

“Just leave, leave and….and….”

“How about this?” I interrupt him. “You give me the girl, and we consider your debts settled.

The last thing I want to do is leave this beautiful creature in the hands of an asshole like this. I want to rip her from his arms and push her behind me while I pierce three bullets right into his skull. But not in front of her. She doesn’t deserve that.

“An exchange?” the old man stammers in disbelief. “You want her?”

“Yes, Ricardo. An exchange. If that’s what you want to call it. A settling of debts,” I sigh.

He doesn’t even take a moment to consider what he’s doing or what the consequences might be for his daughter—he just shoves her toward me and takes a step back, keeping the revolver aimed right at us. “Take her,” he demands.

“Dad, what are you doing?” she yelps as I pull her to my side.

I’ll be coming back for this asshole. A man like this doesn’t deserve to live any kind of life in my city.

“Dad!” she screams again. “Tell him it’s a mistake!”

Her father says nothing as I drag her out of the house and onto the snow-covered ground outside.

She is still trying to pull away from me when I tug my car door open and push her inside.

My head is already scheming. How do I stop him from trying to take her back? Kill him, yes, obviously.

What if he is somehow tied to one of my rivals? They’ll demand the girl back and protect the old man.

I can’t let her go back to him, not after what he just did.

I guess there is one method that has been used time and time again without fail. Tying her to me permanently.

“Shut up and stop fighting,” I growl as I lean over her and grab the safety belt to clip it in.

“Who are you? What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” Questions roll from her lips.

I ignore them and start the car. I need to phone the lawyer and get paperwork drawn up. Now.

There’s no point in wasting any time getting it done. The sooner the better. Once she’s my wife, it won’t matter if he has connections to one of my rivals. She’ll be untouchable. He won’t be able to try to take her back.