Possessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 3) - Page 25



The boss, Mikhail, steps into his office, leaving the two of us alone. I fiddle with my hands as I sit on his leather sofa. It's nice, plush, but I'm not the least bit comfortable, especially while under his scrutiny.

"Nikita and my men will be dealing with the Italians. You are to stay here until they return."

There isn't anywhere else for me to go except Chicago. But I'm not about to bring my son into a massacre. I sent him away with his aunt to keep him safe.

"May I leave the premises to get my cell phone?" I ask. I left a handful of my belongings parked near the mansion in the car.

"Give me your keys, and I'll retrieve your belongings," Mikhail says.

I shove my hand into my pocket and hand over my set of keys and the miniature pink fuzzy handcuffs keychain attached. It was funnier when my sister Katie gave it to me. Right now, it feels highly inappropriate.

He clears his throat but does not comment on the keychain or anything else. Mikhail heads for the door.

"Don't you need to know which car is mine?" I ask.

"You parked outside, dark blue sedan, rust on the bumper and a scratch on the taillight?"

How'd he know that? "Yes," I whisper. I'm practically speechless. What else does he know about me?

"Stay here." Mikhail exits the office and shuts the door. He fiddles with it for a minute, and I suspect he's locked me inside.

I see his figure disappear through the frosted glass as he stalks farther away from the office.


I glance around the small space. For the enormity of the house, his office is quite humble. Is there more hidden behind a bookshelf or storage closet? I've probably had my nose in one too many books.

Standing, I glance at the nearest wall. There's nothing out of the ordinary. The wall is painted a soft shade of blue. It's calming. Tranquil.

Was that intentional?

I'm quiet and methodical as I poke around his office, glancing around the tiny space. There's no sign of any cameras or video surveillance. However, I hadn't noticed much inside the premises. Outside the property, is another matter.

The bratva thinks they can own me and make me do as they please. I'm not going to work for Nikita or his boss. There has to be another way out.

I scan the room, and my fingers graze over the walls, the small bookcase pressed against the wall, the filing cabinet nearby. The bookcase is new compared to the rest of the furniture that is covered in a light sheen of dust, minus the desk.

Mikhail must sit at his desk often. The wood at the top shows slight signs of wear. Dings on the side, the wood has imperfections.

There's movement outside the room, and I dart back to my seat, but it's too late. Mikhail opens the door, staring back at me. "Looking for something?" he asks.

He's direct, a bit abrasive. Although he hasn't laid a hand on me, I can't help but fear him. He's strong, and tall, and the cold gaze behind his eyes sends a chill down my spine.

"No, sir."

He hands me the cell phone that had been abandoned in my car, along with my keys. "You're quite popular," he says.

I glance down at the half dozen missed calls. Four are from my sister; the other two are an unknown number. Probably the Italian Mafia is sending me death threats if I don't fulfill my end of the bargain.

"Go ahead and listen to your messages. I'll be just outside the office," Mikhail says. He steps out of the room, leaving me with a semblance of privacy.

I listen to my voice messages. Katie's voice trembles, and there's a slight hint of fear as she relays that someone might be following them. She's paranoid. That's probably all that it is. My sister has quite the imagination, it comes with her job. The girl is creative, and that spark includes a dash of crazy now and again.

The only left messages were from Katie, and the last one, she sounds frantic. "Lucy, someone is parked outside the house. They're sitting in their car, watching us. I'm going to call the police, but I'm scared."

That's the last message from her. There are no texts, no other recent calls from her. A handful from the same unknown number between her earlier calls and after. Those all have a New York area code.

I dial Katie, but she doesn't pick up her phone. It goes straight to voicemail. I open an app on my phone that allows me to see her location. Usually, it's visible. It's turned off.

I can't sit around and wonder what's happened to Katie and Zion.

Grabbing the door handle, it's unlocked. I yank it open and hurry out into the hallway past Mikhail. "Where are you heading?" he asks.

"I have to go." I don't bother to explain. I have my car keys, and I'll try to get the quickest flight that I can to Chicago. Driving will take me all night. If I'm lucky, I can get there quicker if I fly.

"Where?" Mikhail is gruff and not the least bit apologetic in his tone and demeanor. He's probably not used to someone not following his orders. I'm not one of his men.

"My sister is in danger; they're after my son." It's the only thing that makes sense.

"The Italians?" Mikhail asks. His brow furrows, and he strokes his jaw.

I don't wait for him to say another word or convince me it's too dangerous. I hurry outside, running toward the main entrance gate for my vehicle out on the street.

"Let her pass," Mikhail shouts to one of the guards.

The guard opens the gate. It's slow and creaks, and I don't wait for it to be entirely up before I bolt through and hurry down the block for my vehicle. I jump in, start the engine, and slam on the gas.

With my phone tossed on the nearby seat, I instruct voice dialing to call the airlines, and I try to book the next flight out to Chicago. It helps that there are two major airports that I can fly into, and just as I pull up into the parking lot at the airport, I shoot off the digits for my credit card that I've memorized and hurry to the check-in kiosk for my ticket.

My heart hammers against my chest, and I breeze through TSA, rushing to make it onto my flight. The plane is delayed. I should feel flooded with relief, but instead, my stomach is in knots.

Katie and Zion are in danger every second that I'm stuck in the stupid airport. I want to help them, make sure they're all right.

I'm not even sure what I'll do when I get to Chicago. How can I help them? I swallow my nerves and line up along with everyone else to board the airplane as the flight attendants board first, along with the pilot.

It won't be long until I'm there, a couple of hours, and hopefully, everything is all right.

The entire flight is nauseating, and it's not just the turbulence from the flight or being stuffed between two people while I'm crammed in a middle seat.

Just thinking about all the horrible things that the mafia might do to my son or my sister is unsettling. My foot bounces against the floor. I'm overcome with boundless energy, fueled with worry. It's a horrible combination, making my stomach roil and my hands tremble.

I just don't want to get sick.

Tags: Willow Fox Bratva Brothers Crime
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