The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

I remember. I worked here during my summer and winter breaks from the time I was sixteen. I also remember what my father had said at the time.

“This firm is famous for defending murderers and criminals. Organized crime simply provides the guarantee of return business.” I flick my brows with a cool smirk.

This isn’t about some moral high ground. It’s Dick being a dick. He pushes me on purpose. He always has. I’ve had to work doubly hard to prove I deserved the spot in this firm, both because I’m female and because my father helped me get it. Now there’s some kind of campaign going on behind my back regarding the partnership. Dick’s building a case against me. Or maybe my dad. Likely both of us.

We’ll see.

As a woman in a cut-throat business in one of the most cut-throat firms, I’m always fully expecting the dagger that’s inches from my back.

My phone rings.

“That’s probably him. I have to go,” I breeze to Dick as I shove my feet back in my pumps and answer the phone.

“Mr. Turgenev and Mr. Baranov here to see you.”

“Send them in, please.”

I stand and walk around my desk, ready to shake their hands when they come in.

I should’ve been prepared for it.

I had that niggling feeling. Still, when the door opens and I catch the handsome, brutal face of the man standing there, the room swoops, dips, and momentarily goes black.

It’s him. Master R. My partner from Black Light, the BDSM club in DC.

The father of my child.

Ravil

“Lady Luck.”

I catch the elbow of the lovely blonde attorney as she sways. I’m so shocked to find her here—in Chicago of all places—I fail at first to notice the cause of her swoon.

Then I see it. Her belly protrudes indelicately below the button on her designer suit jacket.

Her pregnant belly.

I do the math very quickly. Valentine’s night. Broken condom. Five months ago. Yes, her bump is the right size to be mine. But I could’ve skipped the calculation—everything’s there on her colorless face.

She’s having my baby. And she didn’t want me to know it.

Blyat.

I may have thought many times about our night together. I may have even returned to the club in DC to seek her—without luck. But her thoughts of me have not been so fond.

She’s definitely not happy to see me. In fact, she looks downright alarmed.

As well she should be.

I take in a measured breath.

“Luck indeed,” I murmur, releasing her elbow as she quickly recovers, her ice-princess mask snapping firmly into place on her lovely face.

Lady Luck was the name she chose at the roulette event where I met her. Until today, I didn’t know her real name. Nor that we live in the same city.

“Mr. Turgenev.” She offers a slim hand to Adrian, who slouches a little as she shakes it, intimidated by her presence. “And Mr. Baranov, was it?”

“Call me Ravil.”

Or Master, as you called me the last time we were together.

Her brown eyes skitter to my face again. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. Pregnancy has softened her already lovely face with a few extra pounds. She has a radiant glow.

“Nice to meet you. Please, sit down.” She indicates the chairs across from her desk.

“You came highly recommended, Ms. Lawrence.” I sit, and I watch her as she shuffles the papers in her file. Her hand trembles slightly. When she sees me looking, she immediately drops the papers, snapping her head up and fixing Adrian with a shrewd gaze.

“So, you’re charged with aggravated arson. You allegedly burned down West Side Upholstery where you worked. Your bail posted at one hundred thousand and was paid by Mr. Baranov.” She flicks a glance at me then returns to focus on Adrian. “Tell me what happened.”

Adrian shrugs his shoulders. He’s one of the newest to join my fold. His accent is still thick, despite my edict that he must only speak English. I require that of all my men because it’s the quickest way to learn.

“I work at sofa factory, yes. But I know nothing about the fire.”

“The police found lighter fluid on your uniform.”

“I had barbecue after work.”

He sure did. Right after he broke into Leon Poval’s home, hoping to kill him with his bare hands. When he found the man’s apartment empty, he burned his factory down to console himself.

He’s obviously unconvincing, still in his defensive posture from being questioned by the police. I don’t tell him to act otherwise. It’s not my habit to reveal any cards before they should be turned over, even if she is working for us.

I’m also far less interested in Adrian’s case now that I am working out what’s going on with my beautiful attorney. Why didn’t she tell me?

“You were only hired there last week?”

“Da.”

I cut him a look.

“Yes,” he amends.

“Before that you worked for Mr. Baranov?” she glances my way. “As a...structural engineer?”