Obsessive Boss (Bratva Brothers 4)

He shoves a gun under my chin as two men blast the place with bullets. "Upstairs," I say. I don’t flinch or cower. I want to warn Nikita and his new flame that trouble is coming, but there isn't time.

"Best you run home and warn the family our fight isn't over," Otello says. He lowers his gun but doesn't shoot me. He has the opportunity. They could kill the dancers or the patrons, but they've let them flee out the side exit like they want them shuttling out that door while they stand guard, blasting the walls and tables, the bar and stage with bullets. Shrapnel flies in every direction, slicing my arm.

I heed Otello's warning. I get out while I still can, breathing, and my heart is beating. The Italians aren't known for their kindness or for letting men live, especially their enemies.

The parking lot is fraught with screams and fear. A fury of panic, as people jump into their vehicles and blare their horns, trying to cut each other off. Everyone wants to get away as quickly as possible.

I grab my keys from my pocket. My phone is in my office. I'm not going back for it. I jump into my vehicle, start the engine, and pull out of the parking lot. I head straight for the compound. I need to see Mikhail, the Pakhan, and tell him what the hell is going on at the club. They'll want to send reinforcements and backup, assuming it's not too late.

The building stills smells of fresh paint. The wood floors have been refinished and the interior redesigned and remodeled. But my nostrils tingle with the smell of gunpowder, and a chill runs down my spine, while there is no imminent danger tonight.

The additional guards at all entrances and exits keep the building secure. We have a new surveillance system that records everything on-site and sends a copy to the cloud for storage. Behind the bar, is a silent alarm that notifies the compound and Mikhail's men if anything happens.

Next time, we'll be prepared. But I hope there isn't a next time, that the war between the Italians and Russians is over for good.

Savannah struts out of the dressing room in a pair of silver lace-up pumps. They sparkle and match the sexy little outfit that she's wearing.

Is that one of our outfits? I can't recall a girl wearing it before, at least not as well as Savannah. That girl is a fucking goddess.

Her hair is tied back, and she doesn't glance at me as she stalks her way onto the floor and steps onto the smaller platform. Bailey or one of the other girls must have told her where she was positioned on stage.

We're not solely a strip club. If we were, it would be against the law. There's a 60/40 rule that any adult business must devote no more than 40% of its square footage to adult entertainment. We bend the rules. Greasing the right men helps them turn a blind eye. Mikhail had discussed making changes during the renovations, but it was decided to keep the same layout. Guests like to feel at home, and we have repeat clientele who choose our establishment over others.

Her platforms click over the wooden floorboards, and even with the pulse-pounding music, I swear I can hear and feel the beat of her shoes over the floor. She climbs onto the small stage and begins her dance.

I want to watch, mesmerized by everything about her. I stare at her a little too long, and she glances at me, offering a coy smile. She's a vixen. There's no way she's shy or new at dancing. The woman owns the stage by how her hips sway and she grabs hold of the pole. She's outshining the regular girls, who are used to the constant onslaught of attention from the patrons.

They're going to hate her. She's not playing fair or sharing attention. Though it's not her fault she's new, the men like fresh meat. And even though we're reopening now, she's still new blood on the dance floor. Our patrons tend to be regulars, and while they might have been frequenting other establishments until we reopened, one look at Savannah and I swear they're as hooked as I am.

I head in the opposite direction, for my office. I swear I need a cold shower and a stiff drink—a distraction.

I bide my time for most of the night in my office. I should be on the floor, greeting guests and ensuring everyone is happy. But I've heard no complaints, and I'm sure someone working the floor will find me if it is necessary.

"Come in," I say. If it were Nikita, he'd have barged in without thinking twice.

Savannah stands at the door. She's no longer in her silvery sequin attire, making it easier for me to look at her without my jaw hitting the floor. "What can I do for you?" I ask, placing my pen down on the desk.

"I'm new to the area," Savannah says. "I was hoping you might recommend someplace I could grab a late bite to eat?"

"At this hour?" I glance at my watch and stand. "Are any of the other girls accompanying you?" I don't like the thought of her wandering the streets of New York after two in the morning.

"I doubt it," she says and glances down at her feet.

Standing, I grab my suit coat off the back of my chair and slide it over my shoulders. "I'll go with you," I say.

"You don't have to do that—"

"I don't have to, but I am," I say. I shut off the lights in the office and lock the door. My hand falls to her lower back as I accompany her down the hallway and toward the back exit.

The club is closed for the night. The girls are heading out to their cars. Dmitri is the last to leave, with orders to lock up the place after I hit the road.

"Did you drive here?" I ask as we head out into the parking lot. I only take note of Dmitri's vehicle and my own. The other spaces are empty. The girls had just piled out together in unison. Savannah should be trying to befriend them, not the boss.

"I don't have a car," Savannah says.

"How do you get around town?"

"Subway, same as everyone else." She points in the direction of the station.

"It's fourteen blocks. You aren't walking to the subway." She's lucky the train runs all night, the perk of being a New Yorker. The city doesn't sleep. I hit the button to unlock the doors on my SUV. "Get in."

She sighs and relents, climbing into the front passenger seat. "Thanks. You can just drop me off at the station."

"I thought you were hungry."