Brutal Boss (Bratva Brothers 1)

I’m underdressed with sweats and a t-shirt on while Mikhail is in a deep black suit. He looks striking, albeit scary, but there’s something about him that I find quite unusual in a pleasant way.

He pushes my chair in, and I catch my breath, startled by the gesture.

Mikhail leans in, and his breath tickles my ear as he stands behind me. “Relax, I’m not going to bite.”

But he could. He’s the kind of man who would rip a man’s ear off if given a reason. Maybe he doesn’t even need a reason. Men like Mikhail gain power through fear and violence.

My feet are firmly planted on the floor. I still don’t have socks, and the floor is cool against my toes. I’ve gotten used to the chill, the light, feather-like hair standing up on my arms. “I wasn’t thinking you were,” I say.

I don’t let him see fear. He probably derives his power from the terror that he exudes. My team knows I’m here. They won’t let anything happen to me.

Except I’m not wired. There are no cameras or listening devices implanted inside the building. No one can see or hear me if I call for help.

I’m deep undercover, and there’s no getting out.

“You seem distracted,” Mikhail says.

“Just overwhelmed,” I say. It isn’t a lie.

“How so?” he asks and opens a bottle of red wine on the table. He pours himself a glass and then glances at me. “You are twenty-one, correct?”

I doubt he cares whether I’m old enough to drink or not, but I appreciate the compliment.

“Well over.” His remark is enough to lighten the mood for a moment, and he pours me a glass.

“Thank you.” I want to grab the glass and down the dark red liquid, but I wait for Mikhail to take the first taste.

Not that I suspect it’s poisoned. I just don’t want to seem rude.

He pulls out the wooden chair and takes a seat at the other place setting at the table. There’s no food out yet. I presume his staff will be bringing it to us.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask.

I don’t expect him to be forthright and confess all his sins to me, but any ordinary girl would be curious as to the magnitude of his house and his supposed fortune.

“You mean how can I afford all this?” he asks, gesturing to the house. He lifts his glass and swirls the wine around, smelling the fragrant aroma before tasting.

I always thought you did that before pouring two full glasses, but the man is remarkable. That’s for sure.

He inhales the scent deeply before bringing the glass to his lips.

I reach for mine and take a taste. It’s dry but has no bitter aftertaste. It’s a surprisingly decent wine.

“I’m a very lucky man,” Mikhail boasts. “But enough about me. I like to know everything about the guests in my home. Tell me all about yourself.”

I exhale a nervous breath. I have a decent cover story; I just have to make it believable.