Sexting the Single Pakhan (Mafia Daddies & Bratva Bosses #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Laurel

As I pull my car up to the towering iron gates of the Volkov residence, for a second I honestly wonder if my GPS has made a mistake.

It's more fortress than house. I Googled Mr. Leonid Volkov. Of course I did. You don’t walk into a private meeting with one of Prudence Elementary’s parents without a little late-night curiosity.

The search results confirmed what I already knew: absurdly wealthy, quiet about it, very hard to find real information on. Not surprising. You don’t send your kid to Prudence unless you are wealthy.

Still… seeing it in person hits differently.

The gates loom ahead, matte black and spiked at the top, flanked by high stone walls topped with cameras.

I roll slowly toward the gate, the metal bars towering above my windshield. Before I even have time to look for a buzzer, a voice crackles through a hidden speaker.

“State your business.”

I jump, a small, humiliating gasp catching in my throat. My heart kicks hard against my ribs as I scramble to roll down the window.

“I—um, I have an appointment with Mr. Volkov,” I say, forcing my voice to steady.

A brief pause.

“Your name?”

“Laurel Harper,” I reply. “I’m… Alexei’s teacher.”

Another pause, longer this time, and then the voice returns. “Mr. Volkov is expecting you.”

The iron gates begin to slide apart with a low, mechanical groan.

I inhale slowly as I drive forward, my tires crunching softly over the gravel drive. My chest tightens when I notice the men stationed across the grounds, broad-shouldered, dressed head to toe in black, carrying guns.

They look downright terrifying, and panic spikes in my chest. For one wild second, the urge to throw the car into reverse nearly wins. I glance into the rearview mirror. The gates are already closing behind me.

No. This meeting is long overdue. I need to talk to Leonid about Alexei. About the way he’s always withdrawn. As his teacher, it’s my responsibility to have these conversations when a child’s behavior signals he isn’t coping well.

One of the men lifts his hand and motions for me to continue forward. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and obey. Thank God I sent Tasha my live location.

As the driveway curves, the full mansion comes into view, and my breath catches.

The structure is massive, all glass walls and pale stone, geometric and modern, like something straight out of an architectural magazine.

Floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the sunset in fractured gold.

Soft landscape lighting illuminates manicured hedges, water features, and smooth stone pathways that wind through perfectly trimmed greenery.

I sit there for a heartbeat, listening to my own breathing. Get it together, Laurel. It’s just a meeting. If you owned a place like this, you’d probably hire gunmen too.

I cut the engine, step out of the car and straighten up, my pumps crunching softly against the smooth stone driveway. I’m in my usual pencil skirt and blouse, my hair packed in a neat bun. My little Honda feels absurdly small and out of place next to the gleaming black SUV parked nearby.

As I approach the massive front doors, I press the small silver button beside the double doors, and a soft chime echoes somewhere deep inside the house.

I wait, shifting my weight from one heel to the other. Seconds stretch without anyone answering, so I ring again. Still silence.

My brows knit. In a place like this, cameras everywhere, armed men on the grounds, surely there’s a butler or someone. Maybe the staff stepped away. Or maybe… he expects guests to let themselves in?

The thought feels ridiculous, but so does standing out here like a lost delivery person.

I glance around, but there isn’t anyone in sight. Then I reach for the handle and turn. The door swings open without resistance.

Warm air rushes out to meet me, scented with polished wood, faint leather, and the subtle musk of expensive cologne. I hesitate on the threshold.

“Hello?” My voice comes out smaller than I intended, swallowed by the vast foyer.

No answer.

Marble floors gleam beneath a towering chandelier of dark glass and gold droplets. Plush charcoal sofas and low glass tables fill the room, gleaming in the fading light. A floating staircase curves upward into shadow.

“Hello? Mr. Volkov?” I call again. “It’s Laurel Harper. I’m here for our meeting about Alexei.”

I move deeper, and my eyes sweep over floor-to-ceiling windows framing the darkening sky, sunset streaking the Hudson below. The space is breathtaking.

“You know, it’s rude to come into someone’s home uninvited.”

I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.

A figure stands in the arched doorway that leads to what I assume is the kitchen or a hallway. A black robe hangs over broad shoulders, damp hair pushed back from his forehead as though he’s just stepped out of the shower.

Sharp cheekbones catch the light, a strong jaw shadowed with dark stubble, and his eyes lift slowly to meet mine. I’ve seen that face before. Not in person, but on my phone screen earlier today, in magazine photos and business headlines.

Leonid Volkov.

He holds a crystal tumbler in one hand, amber liquid catching the light. A cigar rests loosely between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward.

I notice the belt of the robe hanging loose and untied at his sides, the front gaping open completely. His skin is golden-tanned, tattoos snaking across his hard chest and ribs.

I quickly drag my gaze back to his face. “I’m sorry, I let myself in. The door was open, so…”

“You assumed you could come in,” he finishes for me, a slow smile curving his mouth. His gaze flicks briefly toward the door, then back to me. “You must be Ms. Harper.”

My pulse stutters at the way my name sounds on his tongue. I clear my throat. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Volkov.”

“Please call me Leonid.”

I nod once, too quickly, and open my mouth to say something, but my eyes betray me, sliding downward, despite every screaming instinct to look away, and that’s when I notice he’s completely naked underneath the robe. And I’m staring right at his cock.

God… it’s thick. Hanging between his toned thighs. The sight makes my throat go dry and my pulse roar in my ears. God… that cock is huge!

“So I’ve been told.”

I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. Did I just say that out loud? Heat explodes across my face. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Oh my God.”

I clamp my mouth shut, and drop my gaze to the floor, praying the ground will open up.

“Look at me,” he commands. I force my eyes up… only for them to slide right back down to his cock again.

“Eyes up here,” he says, voice low and rough. “Unless you’d prefer to keep staring. I don’t mind.”

I quickly look up to his face this time, determined to keep my eyes there.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

My hands flutter uselessly in front of me as I try to explain. “And sorry about saying your cock is big. I mean—” I wince at how much worse that sounds out loud. “Not that it’s not big! It is! Very! Obviously! I just—”

“I’m going to go ahead and shut up now, and see myself out. I’m so sorry.”

I spin on my heel, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process. My heels clack frantically across the marble as I bolt back toward the foyer.

I yank the front door open, and I half-run down the flagstone path to my car, purse slapping against my hip.

I wrench the door open, practically dive inside, and slam it shut behind me. Fingers shaking, I jam the key into the ignition.

The gates are barely wide enough when I barrel through. I slam my palm against the steering wheel.

“What is wrong with you, Laurel?” I scream into the empty car.

Why did I say that? Why couldn’t I just shut up like a normal human being?

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. I always do this when I’m nervous. Ramble, and think out loud when I absolutely shouldn’t.

“Idiot,” I mutter, gripping the wheel tighter.

What kind of grown woman blurts something like that to a student’s father?

This is bad. This is really bad. What if he reports me? What if he calls the school and tells them exactly what happened? How do I explain why I made an inappropriate comment to a parent in his own home?

My breathing quickens. I can practically see my career unraveling in front of me. God no. I can’t lose this job.

I’ve worked too hard to get here, late nights, student loans that I’m still paying off, scraping and saving, proving myself over and over just to earn my place at Prudence Elementary. If I lose this job, I lose everything I’ve built for myself.

My chest tightens as worst-case scenarios pile up in my mind. Starting over. Trying to explain to future employers why I was dismissed. The shame alone makes my stomach twist.

I exhale shakily, trying to slow my breathing. Okay. Breathe. Maybe he won’t report it. Maybe he’ll chalk it up to an awkward misunderstanding. I cling to the thought, hoping that will be the case.

I make it back to my apartment on autopilot. I drop onto the couch and just… stare at the blank television screen. What the actual hell did I just do?

I tip my head back against the cushion, eyes squeezing shut, and let out a long, shaky breath. “Fuck,” I whisper to the ceiling. “What a hot mess.”

My mind doesn’t stay on the embarrassment for long. It slides right back to him. But damn! I can’t stop thinking about that cock. I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like stretching me, filling me until I couldn’t breathe, until all I could do was cling to him and beg.

The thought sends a fresh rush of heat between my legs. I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache building there.

I need a voice of reason. Someone who will tell me to get a grip, or at least laugh me back into reality. No better person for that than my best friend Tasha.

I reach for my purse still slung over my shoulder and pull out my phone. Tasha’s working the bar tonight, so a call’s out of the question. I opt for text instead.

I open our chat and start typing, fingers flying.

Me: Girl you will NOT believe what just happened to me

Me: I went to Mr. Volkov’s house for the parent meeting as planned, and I walked in on him basically naked.

Me: Like robe open, fresh from shower, NOTHING underneath. And I stared. Like full-on stared. And then I BLURTED OUT “God, that cock is huge”

Me: In my defense IT WAS. Huge. Like porn-star huge but better.

Thicker. Longer. Perfect. God I’m so wet just thinking about it.

What I would give to have him split me open with that cock.

Pin me down, fuck me until I can’t walk, make me scream his name while he chokes me with those big hands and tells me what a good girl I am for taking every inch.

I’m sure he knows exactly how to use it.

I hit send, exhale hard, feeling a little better after letting it off my chest. I’m sure Tasha will get a good laugh when she reads my message.

I toss the phone onto the cushion, push myself up, and pad to the fridge in search of dinner. I reach for the leftover pizza from last night when Tasha came over.

I flip open the lid, the cheese slightly congealed, but who cares. I slide two slices onto a plate, and pop it in the microwave. The hum fills the quiet apartment while I snag the half-drunk bottle of Coke from the door shelf.

Ding.

I carry the steaming plate and the Coke back to the couch, kicking off my heels and propping my feet on the coffee table. I take the first bite, and a long swig of Coke, then reach for my phone to scroll through social media.

The screen lights up. My heart stops when I notice the chat header doesn’t say “Tasha”.

It says “Leonid Volkov”. I had messaged him instead of Tasha!

In my rush, I didn’t notice which chat I opened. My last messages were with Leonid, confirming our meeting. My thumb must have tapped the wrong thread.

I let out a loud scream, scrambling to delete the messages. But it’s too late. The blue tick indicates he’s seen it all.