Under Control: Chapter 3

I pour another vodka and place it down on the table in front of Oleg Fedorov. He accepts the drink with a grunted thanks and throws it back with no preamble as I return to my place across from him. The lights in the formal dining room are too bright, but a man like Oleg enjoys a little bit of flash and show, and I thought he’d appreciate the expensive artwork and the vintage chandelier.

Sometimes, flexing a little muscle and showing a little power can go a long way with a certain kind of person.

“When I find her, I promise you, Pakhan, I am going to kill her.” Oleg’s hands tremble with anger. His ruddy face is lined and creased from years of hard work, and his balding head gleams. A little gray stubble lines the rim of his skull. He’s well dressed in an expensive suit, but I know Oleg Fedorov would rather be in combat fatigues with a Kalashnikov rifle slung over his shoulder.

He’s a fighter and an old one. But after his commando days, he came over to America and began working as a mercenary and hired muscle for the various Bratva families. A man like that doesn’t usually live very long, but Oleg has a talent for making himself useful. He has two smart, hardworking sons, and his youngest daughter, Natalya, is allegedly a pretty girl. Over time, he slowly increased his family’s standing and prestige in Philadelphia, right up until I decided to make them into full associates of the Zaitsev Bratva.

My marriage to Natalya was meant to cement our relationship and start a new business arrangement moving forward.

“Nobody has to die, Oleg,” I tell him, trying to temper some of his rage. “Can you really blame the girl?”

“Yes,” he snarls. “Her father gave her an order. Her Pakhan expected her obedience. Instead, she runs off to France.” He spits the word like it’s a disease.

Turns out, Natalya was spotted in Paris living in some tiny hole-in-the-wall apartment.

“Natalya is not important. She was a mere formality.”

“Yes, Pakhan, but everyone knows about our arrangement. When word leaks that we can’t even control one single girl⁠—”

“It won’t matter,” I tell him, leaning forward. “Because I found a new wife.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. He reaches for his glass, but it’s already empty. I refrain from refilling it for a moment.

“You have?” he asks finally. “I mean, are you sure, Pakhan? We can bring Natalya back⁠—”

I cut him off with a gesture. “I have no interest in marrying a woman that will simply run away and make my life harder. I found a new wife, and that will be our story. Natalya did not work out, and instead, we chose to move forward with our alliance through different means. You will be given new territory in Old City and lucrative control of my club out in the Northeast. I’ll provide funding to expand your high-end watch business on Jewelry Row. Your sons will be brought into my organization and given new responsibilities and the opportunity to move up in my ranks. Natalya will be all but forgotten, and there will be no rumors or other whispers. Do you understand?”

Oleg sits back and considers. He’s not stupid—he knows the stakes here. I have been Pakhan for years now, ever since my father was gruesomely murdered. He knows I understand how to project unity and strength in order to keep the Bratva together, and he’s aware I’ll do anything for my family.

Allying with Oleg and his boys will do exactly that. The Fedorovs have a reputation for vicious brutality, and that’s exactly the kind of power I need right now.

“Very well,” Oleg says after a pause. “I can see how this might work.”

I get up and refill his vodka again. This time, he sips it, watching me carefully. I top up my own glass and return to my position.

“My new wife is not Russian. You will spread rumors that I have been married for some time, and my arrangement with Natalya was never real. You will make sure people understand that my new wife is pregnant, and I am marrying her to ensure there are no succession issues moving forward. Do you understand?”

“I understand, but this girl. Is she actually with your child?”

“Minor detail, one which can be easily fixed. Do you understand how this will work, Oleg?”

“Yes, Pakhan. I understand.” He nods to himself and blows out a breath. “It only feels very complicated.”

“Let me worry about that.” I raise my glass. “To our future together.”

“Za vas,” he says, and we drink to my health.

I see Oleg to the door. His sons are waiting for him down at the truck; they speak quietly to their father as they get in, and I can tell they aren’t happy. Those young men might be trouble, but they’ll be easily bought with money and toys soon enough.

“Don’t tell me that worked.” Anton’s waiting over near the staircase and barely looks up from his phone. “The old asshole bought it?”

“He didn’t have much of a choice.” I unbutton the top button of my dress shirt and shrug out of my jacket. “The old fuck wants to kill his daughter.”

“Can you blame him?”

“She’s his daughter.” I glare at my closest friend and top brigadier. He runs my personal security and controls most of our drug trafficking operations. We’ve known each other since we were young, and there’s nobody in this world I trust more.

Even though he pisses me off to no end.

“Yeah, but the girl ran away when she knew what was expected of her.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket and gives me a boyish grin. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re going soft. Killing her might be good.”

“Murdering young women just because they don’t want to marry a stranger doesn’t send the right message.”

“And what’s the right message? Marrying some random Armenian chick just because she’s got nice tits?”

I deeply, deeply regret telling him about Karine.

“You know that’s not why I made my offer.”

“Yeah, true, but that’s why she’s top of the list. Just admit it. You’re hard for that girl.”

He’s not wrong. Even though he’s being crude as fuck. Karine is gorgeous: slim and athletic with muscular thighs, small but full breasts, and smooth tan skin. Her thick, black hair would be perfect wrapped around my fist, while her thick, full lips suck and gag on my cock.

Yes, I want to fuck her into a gooey puddle of submissive bliss, but that’s not why I want to marry her.

“She’s got other uses,” I tell him, brushing past and up the steps.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“She’s buried in debt. I pulled her credit report and that girl and her mother are practically drowning right now. That makes her amenable to offers like mine.”

“Great, you can financially control her. That’s the basis for all healthy relationships.”

“Never said I needed something healthy.” I reach the second floor and he keeps following.

“I’m pretty sure you can find a dozen attractive young girls desperate for money all over this city. What makes Karine so special?”

I pause at the door to my room. What makes her special?

The way she looked at me as she stood naked in my formal sitting room.

Her mouth spread open. The shock on her face when I pulled the gun.

The blush on her cheeks when I threatened to spank her.

She wanted it. Fucking hell, she needed it, and ever since that moment, I’ve been hooked.

Maybe Anton’s right and this is all about finding some excuse to make that girl mine.

It wouldn’t be so outside of my personality.

I’ve been told I can be a little bit… obsessive.

Regardless of the reasons, Karine will come around. And if she doesn’t, I’ll just have to find a more creative way to convince her.

“She’s special because I say she’s special.” I glance back at my friend. “I have no reasons. Leave it at that.”

He shrugs and leans back against the wall. “Whatever you say, Pakhan.”

“Don’t be a prick,” I murmur, pushing open the door to my suite. “Believe me, she’s more than she seems.”

I shut the door behind me, cutting whatever smart-ass reply Anton threw my way, and try not to spend all day thinking about Karine’s little body dominated by my own, ruthlessly and aggressively taken and owned, destroyed and renewed, for two long, blissful years.