Paying The Bratva’s Debt by Cole, Jagger (best classic books to read .txt) 📕

The Russian says with amusement. “Enlighten me how that is, given your current situation.”

I glare at him. “He’s trying to protect this city from people like you, that’s how.”

“By sending his daughter to live with a man like me? The very type of ‘bad guy’ you claim he’s trying to rid this city of?”

I chew on my lip, simmering. “He’s not a bad man. Not like you.”

“You don’t know me, Fiona,” Viktor growls quietly.

“I think I know perfectly well who—”

“If you did,” he snaps. “You’d be ten times as scared as you are right now.”

I swallow, biting my lip. “I’m not scared of you,” I whisper.

He smiles and turns to look out the window. “Then you need to start paying attention.”

My lips purse. “I’m paying attention just fine—”

“We’re here.”

The car stops abruptly as he cuts me off. Someone opens my door from the outside. I look up to see one of the burly bodyguard types from back in my father’s office. Past him, I look up at a huge, elegant mansion, half covered in ivy and glowing with lights.

The other passenger door behind me opens and shuts. I glance back to see that Viktor is gone. But then suddenly, he’s in front of me, taking the bodyguard’s place. He looks down into my eyes, his crystal blue ones glimmering. He puts his hand out, and I tremble.

“Come, little bird,” he growls. “Come see your new cage.”

I bristle. I ignore his hand as I slide from the car. Viktor smiles to himself and turns. “This way.” His hand goes to the small of my back. I wish I could say I bristle or shake him off. But instead, I just simmer, like his warm touch is something I’ve been waiting for.

Flanked by his men, the big Russian leads me wordlessly to the front door. A man with a machine gun bows quickly at Viktor, ignoring me entirely as he opens the door. We step inside, only to be greeted by three other men with guns. Viktor grunts something at them in Russian, his voice dark and velvety. They all nod and filter away, leaving me alone with him.

“You can’t keep me here,” I whisper.

Viktor smiles thinly. “I can do whatever I like, actually.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“This is business,” he growls. “The kind your father never should have gotten involved in.”

“And if I scream for help?”

“I’d rather you not.”

“But if I do?”

Viktor’s eyes pierce into me. His perfect lips curl with amusement, which is both infuriating and horribly attractive. “Does it look like I’m worried about who may hear you?”

My mouth purses. I hear the sound of heels suddenly. I turn, and frown as the tall, beautiful brunette woman in an exquisitely tailored skirt-suit and thin-rimmed glasses steps into the room. She glares at me, but she doesn’t look surprised by my presence either. Like she’s been expecting me.

“Nina, this is Fiona.”

“Hello,” the tall, willowy woman says thinly.

“Fiona, this is Nina, my personal assistant. As I’m sure Lev told you when he called earlier, Fiona will be staying here for some time.”

“Of course, Viktor,” Nina says with a glowing, crystal white smile. But her look sours when she glances back at me. “Follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

“Um, I don’t have any…” I frown and turn back to Viktor. “What am I supposed to do about clothes? Toiletries?” I scowl. “I don’t even have my phone or wallet on me!”

“Clothes and toiletries have been sourced for you already, Ms. Murray,” Nina says with irritation.

“What? How?”

She purses her lips. “Because it’s my job, and I’m good at my job.”

“We left Chicago like thirty minutes—”

“I’m very good at my job,” she mutters testily. “Now if there’s nothing else, please follow me.”

“My phone? My wallet?”

“You don’t need either here,” Viktor growls.

“Yes, I do.”

His lips thin as an answer.

“This way,” Nina mutters. I turn to follow her. At the foot of one of the huge, curved staircases that sweep up the wall in the foyer, I turn back to glance at Viktor. He’s still looking right at me, though. I tremble before I turn and quickly follow Nina up the stairs.

4 Viktor

My hands are clenching, balling to fists as I watch her slink up the stairs. Okay, she’s just walking, but watching her is… enticing.

It’s dangerous, too. This is not a game I play, and women are not indulgences I allow myself. Not ever. I’ve spent the whole drive back to my home coming up with excuses for myself—why I’m doing what I’m doing; why I’ve made this insane decision.

But watching Fiona climb the curved staircase and then slink out of view puts it all into stark perspective. I’m not doing this for business, or for revenge on Thomas. I’m not playing a “long game” or four-dimensional chess of any kind. I’m doing this, because I desire her. I desire her more than I’ve ever desired any woman, ever. It’s a craving—an instant madness in my head. And it’s already thrown me into making at least one misstep.

I’ve shown weakness. Thomas might not know it or see it yet. But he might. If and when he dwells long enough on what transpired in his office today, he’ll spot it. And if my enemies spot weakness—even pathetic, toothless enemies like Thomas Murray—it could very well be my undoing.

I storm down the halls of my house to my office. The door slams behind me, and I head for the bar cart by the fireplace. I pour a healthy double splash of the Balvenie Fifty Year scotch I keep there. I drink and sink deep into the designer leather chair by the fireplace.

Forty-eight-thousand-dollar a bottle whiskey, in a fifteen-thousand-dollar vintage chair, in my fifty-million-dollar mansion that I was chauffeured to in a two-million-dollar Bentley. I allow myself a smug, satisfied smirk.

The difference between now and my youth is stark, to stay the least. But my rise didn’t come cheap. It didn’t come without sacrifice, and blood. And it sure as fuck did not come by making