The Director (Chicago Bratva 1)

I shove my hands in my pockets to bury my irritation. I don’t sit with them. Not yet. They’re awaiting news from their leader. “She is my prisoner until the baby is born. After that, I have not decided.”

“This really can only go one way,” Maxim says. He lounges on the large red sofa, his feet propped on the ottoman, his hands behind his head. Like me, he prefers expensive clothes— button-downs and slacks. Shined shoes.

The others are in more casual attire—t-shirts and jeans or khakis.

I arch a brow. Normally, I appreciate his input. He’s a born leader and strategist. If he hadn’t been sent away by Igor, he would be next in line as pakhan for the entire organization when Igor dies. “What way is that?”

“You must keep her. Seduce her. Make her fall in love. Otherwise… she’s a high-power defense attorney. She has the intelligence and connections to bring us down. You don’t want to turn her into a weapon against us.”

I rubbed my face. “Nyet.”

Maxim’s right, but I want to throat-punch him for it.

Make her fall in love.

Dima chuckles from his work table. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with the image of glowing lines of code from The Matrix, his favorite movie. Dima has an office, but insisted on setting up a workstation out here, so he can watch television with the rest of them while he breaks every code ever written. “Making her fall in love might not be so hard.”

Maxim puts his feet down and leans forward. “What did you find?”

“Well, her Kindle is full of Viking romance, all bought after Valentine’s Day. Before that, she only read non-fiction.”

“So?”

He shrugs. “She has a thing for being carried off by big blond men. But it gets better. Way better. Guess what your little lady Googles late at night when she’s lonely?”

Goosebumps prick my skin. “What?”

“It’s good. You're going to like this.” He looks around, grinning and flicking his brows at all of us to make sure we’re listening.

“What?” I snap with impatience.

“Wait for it.”

“Dima,” Nikolai growls.

“Tell us!” Maxim raises his voice.

“Russian...spanking!” Dima shouts with glee.

The room erupts with jeers and laughter.

Part of me wants to smash them all for laughing at her expense, but I’m too pleased by the information.

My lovely lawyer did miss me.

When I mastered her at Black Light, it had been her first time playing with BDSM. She was on a rebound, and her friend in DC talked her into going. She came in dressed all wrong, but perfectly, in a red wrap-around dress. The moment I saw her, I knew I wanted her, but the evening was set up as a roulette game. Partners were picked by the role of the ball in the wheel. I’d planned to buy her from whomever she was paired with, but as luck would have it, Lady Luck—Lucy’s scene name—was paired with me.

“Did you spank her, Ravil?” Pavel sounds slightly alarmed. He’s younger—in his mid-twenties. His sexual experience might not be quite as colorful as mine.

All of their gazes fix on me, waiting for my response.

I shrug. “Da. Of course. I met her at the BDSM club Valdemar dragged me to in DC.” I spanked the hell out of her. Over my lap with a plug in her ass. It was hotter than Hades.

“Right. The exclusive club where you have to pay to whip a woman,” Maxim says, parroting my own words when I’d complained about going.

“Exactly this.”

“Guess you did quite a bit more than spank her,” Nikolai observes.

“Enough.” Lucy may be my prisoner, but I still don’t like her being disrespected.

My men force the laughter from their faces, resulting in the twitching lips and darted glances of school boys.

“So you will give her what she needs and make her fall in love. When the baby comes, she will stay,” Maxim sums up his take on the situation.

I purse my lips. “We’ll see.”

“Am I the only asshole to point out that families are against the Code?” Nikolai asks. He wasn’t separated from his twin when they joined, despite the edict, but they were an exception.

The mirth drains out of the room. Oleg sits forward, a crease on his forehead.

I don’t answer. Of course, this has been on my mind from the beginning. I’m also at the point where I tend to make my own rules.

But it would open me up for replacement. Breaking the Code would mean I’d have to worry about someone burying a knife in my back to send me on my way.

“I mean, I’m not challenging you, Ravil. You know that.” Nikolai takes on a conciliatory tone. “I’m with my family.” He tips his head toward Dima. “But he’s also in the brotherhood.”

I give him a nod.

“Someone in Moscow could challenge you,” Maxim says. “Especially if Igor dies.”

Oleg’s meaty palms form fists, the frown on his forehead increasing. I think that means he has my back, but it’s hard to say. He was fucked by his own cell back in Russia. He’s been nothing but loyal to me, but I don’t know what his feelings on breaking Code are. And well, Oleg doesn’t communicate much.