Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart

Chapter Eight

Olivia

It’s been a week now. A week of living in this house with Leon and Anna. A week of eating meals with them. Pretending we’re a family. A week of spending all my waking minutes with Anna.

She’s a darling, and she’s gone through so much. Maybe I relate because I grew up without parents. I grew up with the Millers. And they were great people, but they were Denice’s people, not mine. Leon is her uncle, but he’s not her parent and no matter what, she knows it.

What she doesn’t know is that this ‘relationship’ is fake. That I won’t be staying on past the time Leon finds out what happened to Denice in that club.

Melanie, the nanny who basically does nothing but watch me play with Anna all day, is sitting in the rocker in the corner of Anna’s room, watching a video on her phone. Normally, we don’t talk. But I am starting to wonder about Leon.

I know he’s a murderer. And I know he’s a doting father figure. It’s hard for me to reconcile the two images I have of him.

“How long have you worked for Leon?” To me, it’s a reasonable question.

She looks up and it takes a second to remember my “place” here. I’m the girlfriend. So, the question has its own life now.

She cocks her head, and her long, straight brown hair hangs forward over her shoulder. “I’ve worked here for a couple months.” Her eyes are fixed on her phone, but her finger has stopped scrolling. She’s waiting for me to continue, and I have no idea what I’m even fishing for. “He’s good with Anna.”

“Yes. I’ve seen.” And I wasn’t asking about that.

“And he’s kind to me.” She smiles and it isn’t hard to see a woman with a crush. “He’s so…powerful.”

Well, there’s that.

“And he’s gorgeous.” She’s gushing now.

I can’t argue the point. He’s whatever the word is that comes ten steps above gorgeous. But I need to know if he’s the kind of man who would hurt a woman, despite his adamant protests after he’d just murdered a man.

“Does he try… I mean, has he ever…” I can’t ask this without sounding like I’m suspicious of the man I’m supposed to be dating and in love enough to live with.

“I wish.”

The little voice in my head says it doesn’t mean anything. Just because he hasn’t hit on her, hasn’t tried to lure her into his bed, hasn’t forced himself on her, doesn’t mean he won’t. It’s the very reason I sleep with my door locked. If I have to be in this house, it doesn’t mean I am giving him an all-access pass, no matter how he keeps managing to make me like him.

The fact is, he killed a man. Granted, it was a man who threatened his family. But there’s also a chance he’s a rapist. Although, I’m finding that harder to believe.

I should’ve talked to the witnesses when I had the chance. When the Millers asked me if wanted to. But at the time, I couldn’t bear the thought that people had seen her go with him and did nothing to stop it.

Melanie gives me a hard look. “I saw your picture in the paper, walking with those people.” Her lips purse and the conversation has taken a turn. We’re inching closer to the topic I want to discuss. “Leon is a good man. He would never hurt a woman. And he’s not the kind of man who would have to rape someone.”

“That’s not exactly a defense.” And though I’ve said it out loud, I didn’t mean to.

She raises her eyebrows and her lips purse, but her gaze is locked. I’m his “girlfriend.” What the hell am I doing?

“I mean, rape is about power. Control.” And he is the kind of man who has those, but more, I suspect he needs them as much as he needs air to breathe. “Not about how good-looking the assailant is.”

“You doubt him.” And it isn’t a question.

“No. No.” But I’m not a great actor. I stutter. Stammer. Fidget. A blind man could see I’m lying. “I mean, of course I trust Leon. He’s a wonderful man.”

She nods, but I haven’t convinced her. “I never see you two together.”

I smile. She’s crafty. Snooping. And I wonder for a minute if Leon is suspicious of the right one of us. I mean, definitely he needs to be suspicious of me. But something about her defies her innocent act.

I won’t rest until someone is punished for what happened to Denice, and if it’s him, the law has given up. I won’t. If it isn’t him, it was someone at his club probably connected to him and I will use any means possible to find that man and punish him. Kill him if I can.

Maybe Leon and I aren’t so different. I will kill to protect the people I love, to avenge the one who’d died.

“He’s very busy.” And because I’m failing to impress, I add, “He makes up for it when he can.”

I’ve crossed a line. Implied. Alluded. Wishful thought. To a teenager. With a five-year-old child ten feet away.

Oh, Lord.

But Melanie smiles. “I’ll bet he does.” Her nose wrinkles and her eyes narrow, but thankfully, Anna stands for her big ta-da moment, so our conversation is over.

“Look, Livvy.” She’s built a pretty impressive castle with her Legos. She’s remembered windows and rooftops, although one corner is higher than the others. “Can I show Leon?”

We don’t bother him any more than we have to, and we’ve been in there for something or other every day this week. But she’s proud, and Melanie is watching me, measuring every reaction. “We’ll show him later.”

Anna nods and smiles, comes to sit beside me. “My Uncle Leon loves Olivia. He told me so.” She is certain and smart, and she takes my hand, gives it a squeeze. Guilt makes my guts ache. I’m lying to a five-year-old. And her nanny. And the five-year-old is lying for me.

I give her a comforting pat with my free hand and smile at Melanie. “If you want to go for today”—I’m not sure if Leon has told her to watch me or not, since she replaced the goon who’d stayed with us the first couple of days —“I’m good staying with Anna.”

She shrugs. “Cool.”

And then she’s gone, and I can breathe. I need to talk to Anna about her fib to Melanie, but I don’t know if it’s over-stepping. Maybe I should let Leon do it.

Especially since she’s looking at me like I can hang the sun and moon and stars. For now, and until I speak to Leon, I’m not going to address it. Or anything else. It isn’t my place.

By the time I have her fed and bathed and ready for bed, she’s exhausted, yawning and trying so hard to stay awake in case Leon makes it to bedtime tonight.

Sadly, I know he won’t. He hasn’t been home all day and still isn’t. Every night, her hopes climb so high and by lights out, they’ve fallen so hard.

“I don’t want a story tonight.”

She wouldn’t make it through the first page anyway, so I pull the blanket over her. “Okay.”

“I wish Leon…” It’s more familiar than a bedtime prayer and she smiles when I open my mouth. “He’s busy. I know. It takes a lot of hard work to pay for all this stuff.”

I might’ve said it a time or two.

“I love Leon. Will you tell him?”

My heartstrings are stretched. “Of course.” I brush her hair back off her forehead, and she pulls my hand down to cup her cheek.

“I wish my mom would call more.” Her voice is wistful and sad.

More? “I thought your mommy was in heaven.”

Her little brow furrows. “No. My daddy is in heaven. My mommy hates Leon. And she isn’t ready for a little kid. But she loves me.” These are the lines she’s been fed, and she regurgitates them like she’s old enough to know all of it. Which she isn’t. She’s five.

“Oh, honey.” My heart breaks for her. She’s way too young to have such a tragic story.

“It’s okay. I have Leon.”

Busy or not, he only spends the barest minimum of time with her when he manages a minute at all. But I smile. “Yeah. You have Leon.”

“And I have you.” Her smile is a mirror of her uncle’s, straight white teeth, genuine joy, a pair of dimples.

I lean down and kiss her cheek. “You have me.”

I don’t add that it’s only for a little while because there’s no reason to upset her and there’s always a chance that even after this charade with Leon is over, Anna and I can still be friends.

I tell myself that over and over as I sit beside her until she falls to sleep.

This doesn’t have to end. We can still be friends. If it turns out that Leon is a liar and a rapist, she’ll need someone to help her through when I have him put in jail. And I will have him put in jail.

The front door opens, and I walk the other way. I don’t spend much time downstairs when he’s home and I don’t want him to think I’ve been waiting for him. Although today I have because I need to call Jacob. He’s probably out of his mind worrying.

He would never go to the police. We both knew, long before what happened to Denice, that Leon Krilov was dangerous and deadly and not a man who would take kindly to being messed with.

For the last few months, Marty Kincaid, Channel 7’s investigative reporter, has found a way to link Leon Krilov or a member of his crew to whatever lead crime story features on his segment. His sources are secure and compelling, but their evidence doesn’t always link. But it’s enough to use Leon’s name to incite fear. My fear for sure.

But it’s part of the reason Jacob won’t go to the police. The reason he will have contacted my boss with an excuse to keep them from looking for me.

The other part of the reason he won’t go to the cops is because he doesn’t trust them. When Leon was released the first time, when they didn’t even investigate Denice’s claims, we figured he has men on the inside. Jacob wouldn’t risk tipping them off.

But I need to let him know I’m okay. And as much as I don’t want to ask Leon for a favor, as much as I don’t want him to see that Jacob is my weakness, I have to ask him to let me tell my friend I’m okay.

Of course, hiding out—whether it’s in my room or in the pool—won’t get me anywhere, but I need to work up my courage. I’ve never been what one would call weak, but I’ve also never been a prisoner of a Russian crime boss either.

Not that my accommodations are lacking. Not like I’m pissing in a bucket in the corner or being force-fed bologna sandwiches. I have an Olympic-sized pool, a library stocked with rare first editions and mainstream fiction, and a gym with the most up-to-date machinery and equipment at my disposal. He’s given me the run of the house.

The only room I haven’t studied from wall to wall and ceiling to floor is his bedroom. Although I doubt it can live up to the fantasy. I’m not talking red room of pain, but I’m willing to bet there are a couple interesting knickknacks inside. Some blindfolds. Maybe a riding crop.

I suck in a breath. That riding crop fantasy is a panty-soaker and I’m better off to ignore it. But I give it an extra second of consideration before I shove it away in favor of changing into my swimsuit.

My clothes arrived—every stitch I had in the drawers and closet in my house—the same day I refused to let Leon use his blood money to buy me a wardrobe. So, at least I had the familiarity of my own things.

The pool is in the back of the house in its own room that smells of chlorine, and the air is warmed thanks to the windows on the east and north sides.

The water is glorious. Warm and soothing. The stress melts away with every stroke and I’m on my third lap when the door to the pool room opens and Leon walks in.

He’s beautiful in clothes, but out of them, he’s an Adonis. Statue-worthy. Breathtakingly incredible.

He doesn’t speak as he wades in at the end with the steps, and I can’t speak, so the only sounds are the water sloshing as he moves through it and my gasping because I’ve forgotten to tread water and how to kick for the surface.

A pair of strong arms pull me back to the surface, and if one could die of embarrassment, I would. If it was possible to think of anything besides his body pressed against mine, that is. “Are you okay?”

This is my chance to cover. To make this not the most humiliating experience of my life. To claim I had a leg cramp, save the moment.

Instead, I gurgle a “mm-hmm” and swim to the edge of the pool.

“Don’t go.” His voice is soft, and I could’ve imagined it, but I turn anyway. And my heart thumps. He’s moving closer. Too close.

“Anna missed you tonight.”

He nods. “I tried to get home in time to tell her goodnight.” And like he doesn’t expect me to absolve him or abuse him over it, the subject dies and he moves to the side of the pool beside me. “I watch you with her. She likes you.”

“I like her, too.” It’s true. And I’m not giving anything away by telling him. And maybe because he knows I’m important to her or maybe because I’m more relaxed now, I blow out a short breath and go for it. The worst he can do is refuse. “Leon, I need to call home. I need to let Jacob know I’m okay. He’ll be worried.” Where I found enough courage to elaborate, I can’t say, but I’m holding my breath now.

“Okay.” And that’s it.

“Really?” Because maybe okay doesn’t mean the same thing in Russian as it does in English.

“Yes. Tomorrow.” His eyes are hooded, and I can’t read whether I’ve made him angry or whether he’s showing me kindness for kindness’ sake. “I don’t want him calling the police.”

The way he says the word—with extra emphasis on the last syllable—is pleasing in a way I don’t understand but makes my belly tighter. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence passes between us and I’m not sure if I should speak or not.

“She’s been with me since she was a year old.” He’s staring ahead of himself and I don’t know if he means to talk to me so intimately, but I don’t want to remind him that I’m a prisoner. So, I let him talk. “Her dad—my brother—was killed and her mom was… not equipped to handle a baby. Or a toddler. Or a five-year-old.” He laughs. “I’m not sure I am either, but here we are.”

“She loves you.” I don’t know what else to say to him.

“She’s innocent. Doesn’t know what I am.” There’s no sadness in his tone. Just acceptance.

“I think she knows exactly who you are.” And quickly because he’s turned to look at me, I continue. “You’re the uncle who keeps her safe. Who chases away the monsters under her bed.”

And he’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. But as soon as I’m ready to lean in for just one taste of his mouth, he moves away again.

I don’t know if I’m happy or disappointed. Not that I’ll admit to either.

“I’m sorry about your brother. Were you close?” I want him to be the guy I hope he is. I don’t want him to be the one who raped Denice. More than anything, I want him to keep talking, keep confiding in me. Just so I can hear his voice.

“Twins. We’re twins.” He looks down. “Igor was bigger and brighter, a born leader. But… my father had to choose between us. Had to pick one of us to take over.” He shook his head. “Countries have gone to war over this kind of thing.”

“Igor didn’t agree with your father’s choice?” Our voices echo off the walls and windows and water, even though we’re speaking barely above whispers.

“No. And he took it out on Anna’s mother.” The edge in his voice could’ve sliced through paper. “And she came to my father.” I waited for him to go on and when he didn’t, I laid my hand on his shoulder. He looked at it long enough for me to realize I’d made a mistake, misjudged the moment, but when I went to pull it away, he laid his hand on top of mine.

Used his thumb to caress the veins.

“Bratva men don’t hurt women.” He continued touching me, staring into my eyes and the power of the moment washed over me. Not Leon’s power. “But Igor did, and my father had to expel him. Send him away. Cut him off.”

I want to know more, to hear all the details, but I can’t think how to encourage him to speak, and I want him to keep touching me. Keep looking at me.

But he shakes his head like he’s just figured out that touching me is wrong. “A few weeks later, my father came to me and said Igor was dead. Kidnapped. Tortured. Dead.”

The words snap me out of my trance. This isn’t some random guy I picked up in a bar. Not that I pick up guys in bars, but Leon is definitely not one of those. He’s dangerous. And his life is dangerous. And being delicious in a way most men aren’t doesn’t change that.

I sigh. There is a truth about life I learned a long time ago. “I don’t believe people are completely good or completely bad. There’s a mixture. So, if you’re telling me about your brother to make me feel sorry for you…”

He moves to crowd me against the side of the pool. “I don’t need your pity.”

I’m playing with fire. I know it. He knows it. And all the water in the world isn’t going to douse these flames. “What do you need?”

He doesn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he brushes his finger along my lower lip so that I shiver, then he cups my cheek and urges me to meet his mouth with mine.

And kissing him is everything. It’s perfection and emotion and danger and deliciousness. His fingers curl into my hair and our tongues slide against each other. His body pushes into mine, cock against my belly, my back against the tiles along the side.

When his mouth trails down to my throat and his tongue swirls along the pulsing artery, my pussy clenches. I want him. I’m all in when he lowers the strap to my suit.

But I’m not prepared for this. This rush. This intensity. I push gently, and he stops kissing me. Stops touching me. Leans his forehead against my shoulder. Then he moves back. Moves away completely.

“I also don’t take what isn’t given freely.” And he swims away, climbs out and walks into the house like I’m not trembling with need.

I haven’t been with a man in…too long to remember. Between work and Denice’s parents’ civil suit and then my revenge mission, there just hasn’t been time.

But my body is thrumming with need. I climb out and wrap in a towel, then head for my room like my ass is on fire and the extinguisher is under my bed. My mind is fixed on Leon. His eyes. His smile. The way his lips moved against mine, how his tongue tasted. His cock.

Quickly, I strip out of my suit and crawl under the covers, switch off the light. There’s a camera in my room and I wonder if Leon is watching, if he can see my hand on my nipple, pinching, while my other hand feathers down my belly and I gasp when my fingers brush my clit.

I’m already wet. Already on the edge. I rub and swirl and flick until the pressure inside me builds, then I slide open the drawer beside my bed and take out the vibrator that had been hidden in the overnight bag they’d used to pack my clothes.

I twist the bottom and it comes to life in my hand. I kick off the blanket and arch my back as I slip it inside my pussy.

In my fantasy, it’s his cock gliding in and out of me. I close my eyes and imagine him watching me. Imagine him touching me as my fingers slip over my clit while I work the vibrator with my other hand. I gasp because the pressure is building, and the fantasy is almost as potent as the vibrating cock I’m using to fuck my pussy.

“Oh, God. Oh Leon!” I come apart and my entire body clenches while wave after wave of passion washes over me until I’m panting and wheezing, and my body is drenched in sweat.

I’ve been with honest to goodness men who haven’t given me the kind of orgasm thoughts of Leon inspired.

Probably best we stopped when we did in the pool. Fucking more than the thought of him might kill me.