Claimed by the Bratva Boss (Claimed #5)

CHAPTER ONE

Anastasia

My plan is quite simple—look for Fyodor Sokolov and make him pay.

For so long, I have dreamed of the opportunity to make Fyodor feel as much pain as I have felt.

Watching him go through the same pain I went through and realizing how much he hurt me is the one thing I desperately want…

and I am so close to getting what I want in such a way that he never forgets who I am.

However, there’s one little problem with getting my revenge on Fyodor. He is no ordinary man; in fact, he is the bodyguard to Dimitri Orlov, one of the heirs of Ivan Orlov, patriarch of the Los Angeles Bratva. Approaching a man like him won’t be easy, but that isn’t enough to get me to back down.

“I have never been the type to back down,” I mutter to myself as I look into the mirror.

For the past few weeks, I have been carefully studying Fyodor’s routine, trying to decide on the best way to approach him without drawing too much suspicion, and after so many days, tonight is the night that I will finally enact my plan.

Interestingly, tonight also happens to be my twentieth birthday.

If only Alexei were here.

My brother would have told me what it feels like to finally be in my twenties. Right from when I was a kid, I always looked up to him, and one of the things I wanted was to stand right next to him as an adult. But life had other plans for the both of us.

“You can do this. Tonight will be the start of your revenge,” I tell myself, trying to get over my nervousness.

Looking into the mirror one more time, I dab at my face to adjust my makeup. The man I’m hunting is right outside those doors, and if I’m going to get him to open up, I need to pretend like this is just a normal night to me, even though I am nervous as hell.

Not wanting to waste a single second, I step outside and make my way to the bar where Fyodor is sitting.

I have no idea why, but for the past three days, he has been sitting alone at this spot. At first, I thought he was waiting for someone, but the amount of alcohol he consumes proves otherwise. It’s almost as if I’m staring at a man who is trying to take away his pain.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask, pointing to the seat right next to him.

Fyodor looks at me with a raised eyebrow before he shrugs. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you very much,” I answer, pulling out the seat.

I shouldn’t be thanking him for anything.

It’s really difficult to hide how nervous I am, and even though it’s quite cool in the room, I can’t help but feel like someone has turned the heat up.

If Fyodor figured out what I was up to, he would never let me go.

I might be able to get away scot-free if I were back in Dallas, but this is Los Angeles, and the rules here are different.

Taking a deep breath, I calm my nerves, reminding myself that there’s a very good reason why I am here. Tonight will be the very first night in getting my revenge on Fyodor Sokolov, and I can’t afford to mess it up.

Realizing that I need a little bit of courage, I wave at the bartender, who makes his way over to me.

“Is there anything you’d like, ma’am?” he asks.

Getting into the bar took some planning, especially since I am not yet of drinking age, but Marina had no problem getting me a fake ID.

“A martini,” I answer. “And keep it coming.”

Striking up a conversation with Fyodor will be a little tough, judging by how he seems to be busy with his drink.

Coming on too strong would only make him suspicious, and I can’t afford that.

So, instead, I decide to just sit by myself and sip my drink without saying so much as a word.

But then ten minutes pass by, and I realize that if I don't do something, I might never get the chance to take this to the next level.

“Hello, beautiful,” a man with what seems to be a British accent says.

I roll my eyes, realizing that when I made the decision to step into this bar, it was inevitable that I would have to deal with men like him.

Let’s just get him away without Fyodor leaving.

With a smooth smile on my face, I turn to him and say, “How can I help you?”

I’m hopeful that he’ll pick up on the fact that I am not interested in his company. Sadly, the man, who introduced himself as Konstantin, fails to notice as he goes on and on about how he's an investment banker who is in Los Angeles to close a multibillion-dollar deal.

The more he talks, the more I wish he would pick up on the fact that I am not interested in this conversation.

“My dear friend,” Fyodor says, speaking for the first time. “You really need to learn how to pick up on subtle cues.”

“Who are you?” Konstantin looks at Fyodor with a deep scowl on his face. Fyodor doesn’t answer him as he takes another sip of his drink. “Are you talking to me, mate?”

Fyodor still doesn’t react, and at first, I doubt he’ll give a response. But then he says, “Yes, I am. If you were paying attention, you would notice she isn't interested in talking to you. A man should learn to pick up on cues.”

I am not sure whether Fyodor is trying to rescue me or if he has an ulterior motive, but before I can conclude which theory is correct, Konstantin makes his way to Fyodor, who simply ignores him.

Clearly, Konstantin has no idea who Fyodor is, because if he did, he wouldn’t be yelling at Fyodor.

The moment Konstantin places his hand on Fyodor, I know that tonight is most likely going to end in disaster.

One second, Konstantin is standing on his feet, yelling.

The next, he’s down on the floor, screaming in pain.

Okay, maybe tonight isn’t going to turn out how I planned.

A few minutes later, the two of us are outside the bar.

“I’m sorry,” Fyodor says as he brings out a cigarette and lights it.

“There’s no need to apologize,” I answer, realizing that Konstantin actually helped me break the ice. “You were defending my honor.”

He looks at me, his eyes studying me for a moment before he finally smiles. I realize that Fyodor is actually a handsome man. He has broad shoulders, a rugged look that any woman would find attractive, and a deep voice that contrasts with what I am used to hearing.

If I weren't here for a different reason, I wouldn't mind taking things further. But I won’t tonight—or ever. Not when I intend to destroy him.

“Since I got us bounced out of this joint, do you want to take this somewhere else?” he suggests.

I pretend to think about it, and after what seems like a few minutes of deliberation, I answer, “Fine, but only because you’re offering.”

Luckily, I wormed my way into his company, and from here on, my revenge will begin. Or so I think.

* * *

Three months later, sitting in the living room with my father, I realize how that one night turned out to be a huge mistake. I really should not have gotten drunk, but somewhere between the martini and the champagne later that night, I lost my bearings and fell for the charms of Fyodor.

Everything about that night was a big mistake, and if I could go back in time, I would never have gotten drunk with him. Hell, I wouldn’t have followed him in the first place.

Not only did I cross a line I shouldn’t have, but before I could tap his phone like I had intended, Dimitri Orlov showed up.

How they found us is simply beyond my understanding, but then, that’s the Bratva for you.

At first, I thought they had discovered who I truly was, but it turns out that there were other reasons for their arrival.

“Don’t you have something to say?” My father asks, breaking my line of thought.

My father, Matteo Federov, leader of the Texan Bratva, is not a man to be messed with, and ever since he found out about my condition, he has been swearing revenge on the man responsible.

“I know this happened three months ago, when you went to Los Angeles.”

My father will never give up easily, and he’s determined to know everything. However, I can’t bring myself to tell him that Fyodor Sokolov, the one man who caused me immense pain, is also the father of the child in my womb.

“I think I know who the father is,” Oksana, my nurse and nanny, provides.

Of course she’ll tell him everything.

Oksana might pretend she’s on my side, but the truth is that she answers to my father. She goes on to tell my father about my trip to Los Angeles and how she overheard me talking about it with Marina.

“A one-night stand?” my father says slowly as if he’s trying to wrap his head around how his daughter got pregnant. “Are you saying you got pregnant from sleeping with a random stranger?”

Fyodor isn’t a random stranger, but I have no reason to tell him that.

“It wasn’t my intention, Papa. We met at a bar, and things happened fast between the two of us,” I tell him.

“A one-night stand! My own daughter got pregnant from a one-night stand.”

Silence descends in the room, and I wonder what decision my father will make. But nothing could have prepared me for his next statement: “I guess we’ll both pay a visit to Los Angeles to find the man who is responsible for putting you in this state and deal with him accordingly.”

I look at him, not sure exactly where he’s heading with this whole conversation. Killing Fyodor that easily won’t give me any joy; I want to watch him wish he could die easily.

“What do you intend to do, Papa?”

“Find the man who got you pregnant and make him do the right thing, of course,” he answers as if I asked a rather silly question. “There’s no way my grandchild will be a bastard, and since you went down this path, I guess it’s time for you to get married.”

The words slowly sink into my head as I realize that my father wants me to marry Fyodor Sokolov, the man who took away the life of the most important person to the both of us.

This isn’t what I planned!