The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
Page 17
Part of me wanted to fail, at anything, just to spite him. I dreamed of being the monkey wrench in his scheming and plotting. But I could never bring myself to do it. So instead, I did what he wanted me to do: succeed. And now here I am, twenty-two years old after graduating college now law school early as well. All the right grades. All the right degrees, from all the right schools. All the right friends, no boys.
“Why the fuck are you not drinking?”
I grin and turn. Well, not all the right friends.
Zoey would be the one exception to my dad’s strict rules on who I see or hang out with. I may have been home schooled because my father rarely allows me to even leave our uptown townhouse. He may have pulled serious political strings to get college and law school to let me take classes remotely. I might have had my extracurricular activities and my friends hand-picked to make his political career look the best it could. But somehow, Zoey Stone slipped through the cracks.
It’s not like she’s completely bad news or anything. On the surface, she’s even exactly who my father would want me to hang out with—from the right family, has the money, goes to the right schools, and all of that crap. But she also has the freedom I don’t, complete with the ability to make bad choices, date glamorous older men, and party when she wants to. She’s almost certainly a bad influence. But sometimes, you need a little bad influencing.
It should make zero sense that my father would allow me to even live in the same zip code as her. But Zoey’s mom and mine were best friends. Cancer took them both around the same time, almost ten years ago. I guess even “image is everything” Thomas Murray wasn’t stone-cold enough to block me from hanging out with Zoey here and there after that.
“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Zoey grins and hugs me close. “And miss this debacle? Of course I’m here.”
“And of course, to support your dear friend Fiona while she’s made to play a pawn in a game she hates?”
Zoey grins. “That too. So…” she turns to glance over the huge crowd of guests. “How many of these people do you actually know?”
“Like, four of them.”
“Not including me?”
“Three.”
She laughs and turns to snag two Champagne flutes off a passing tray. “Here. Cheers, and congratulations!” She clinks her glass to mine. “And I’m really proud of you, you know.”
I grin, allowing myself to bask in the praise. My dad might have a ton of money and political influence. But I earned the accolades. I worked my ass off to graduate college early, get into law school, and then graduate that early too, with honors.
“Thanks,” I smile.
“And how many of these people you don’t know have come up to gush congratulations?”
“Oh, all of them. So long as my dad was looking.”
Zoey smirks. “So, he’s really doing it, huh?”
“Yep,” I mutter dryly.
Like I said, none of this is really for me. I’m the centerpiece, I guess. I’m the excuse for bringing all of these people here to my father’s townhouse. But the real goal here is money. Unofficially, this is Thomas Murray’s first fundraising gala for his bid to run for Mayor of Chicago. And having me here plays so well into that it might as well be movie scripted.
There’s not a single thing my father won’t or hasn’t used for his own agenda. After my mom died, Thomas Murray became the poster-boy for the hard-working single father. He played himself up like this Kennedy figure who was also raising his daughter all by his lonesome, tirelessly.
It was all bullshit, of course. My father didn’t raise me, an army of nannies, private tutors, and “finishing class” instructors to make sure I was ladylike enough for high society did. Not to mention the private chefs, maids, and personal shoppers because God forbid I go out to buy my own clothes.
“Hey, you look fucking hot by the way.”
I grin, blushing. “Thanks.”
“Now finish that,” she nods at my flute.
“I just got it!”
“And I’m going to go get us more, so…” she makes a “speed it up” motion with her hand. I laugh as I knock back the champagne and hand her the glass. I choke slightly, and she grins.
“Just gotta open the throat, Fi.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Relax the jaw, use lots of tongue. Eye contact is always—”
“Oh my God…”
She laughs as my face burns hotly. “Fancy law school degree at twenty-two, lots of job prospects, and a dad who’s going to be mayor. The only thing we need to do now is finally get you laid.”
I groan, feeling my face burn. “I’m fine, thanks.”
She giggles. “No, you’re not. Trust me. Okay I’ll be back with more booze.”
I shake my head and watch my friend disappear into the crowd.
“You look thirsty.”
I turn at the man’s voice. He’s handsome, and smug looking, and he reeks of old money. His blond hair is perfectly swept back and to the side, his square chin right off of a reality TV show poster.
“Chet,” he smiles. He passes me a champagne flute.
“Oh, thanks, but my friend—”
He ignores me and presses the glass into my hand. “And congratulations on your graduation.”
I smile. “Um, thank you.”
“So, has anyone scooped you up yet?”
“Hmm?”
He grins. “Any firms.”
“Oh, no. Not yet. I haven’t actually taken my bar exam—”
“Well, they will.”
I smile back at him. “Well, thank you, I appreciate—”
“I mean with your dad being Mayor and all.”
Being cut off is such a pet peeve. But I force a smile. “Well, we’ll see.”
“It won’t hurt, right?”
“I mean—”
“And you’re smart, graduated the right school,” he winks. “Beautiful…”
I blush, even though I know it’s a lame line.
“Thanks.”
“You know, my firm is actually looking. Cooper and Cooperman? Yeah I’m a senior partner there.”
Of course he is. The man has “smug, rich, privileged douchebag” written all over him.
“Oh, wow, really?” I ask with zero actual interest. This is exactly the kind of man my father ultimately wants me to be with. It wouldn’t even surprise me if he’s the one that sent him over to talk with me.
“Yep,” Chet grins smugly. “I could probably pull some strings. Talk to the partners, get you in there for an interview.”
My jaw drops in shock. “Oh my God, are you serious?!”
He grins. “Of course! What are you doing tomorrow night?”
My heart races. “Oh my God, nothing! Nothing at all! I could definitely come in and talk—”
“I was thinking more going out.”
“Oh! Okay, yeah, I could also—”
“You know with your dad taking office, you and me could be quite the power couple.”
The record scratches in my head. Yep, there it is. And naïve me walked right into it. There’s no pulling strings with the partners. He just wants to take me out. Even as I’m thinking it, I see Chet glance back around the room. Sure enough, there’s my dad, watching.
“My dad put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“Oh, no! No way!” Chet quickly backtracks. “I just wanted to introduce myself.”
“Is your firm really hiring?”
“Yes? I mean, for you—”
I groan. “Well, it was really nice to meet you, but—”
“Don’t you have a sewer to crawl back into, Chet?”
Zoey suddenly shoves her way between us, glaring at him.
“Zoey Stone,” he growls, frowning.
“She’s not interested. Fly away, scumbag.”
“Why don’t you let her speak for—”
“Trust me, she’s not interested. You’re not her type, Chet.”
He glares at her, and then turns to me. “Why don’t we let Fiona tell us what her type is?”
“Because I already know it’s not the type who like his girls young, rich, and unconscious, Chet,” she hisses.
He bristles, snarling at her. “Listen to me, you little—”
“Fuck off, Chet. Now.”
“Cunt,” he mutters. He glares at Zoey before he turns and slinks away.
“Ugh, fuck that guy,” she groans.
“My dad sent him over.”
“Well, your dad has really terrible taste in men for you.”
I sigh. “He checked all the boxes—rich, successful, and apparently a…” I frown into my friend’s face. “Wait, did you and—”
“Oh my God, no. Not me,” she makes a face. “Crystal Shoenburg used to date his brother though. Lots of family donations to sweep his predatory bullshit under the rug.”
I blanche. “Wait, that was Chet Brubaker?”
“Yep.”
I groan. “As in…”
“Son of Melvin Brubaker, CEO of Adonis Capital. That’s the one.”
I roll my eyes and turn to glare at my father. He’s not even looking though. “Glad to see we’ve evolved past arranged marriages for political means,” I grumble.
“I mean, does it actually surprise you? How many guys has your dad tried to set you up with because of their family’s money or political connections?”
“More than I want to count.”
She sighs. “So, you’re going to tell him today?”
“That’s the plan.’
“Well, I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks, Zoey.”
The plan is to finally tell my father I’m leaving my gilded cage. I mean I’m twenty-two, I have a law degree, and it’s ridiculous that I’m still living under his roof as basically a captive doll. So, I’m leaving. Even if it means getting cut off completely, I have to get out.
And today, I’m telling him that. No more suitors pushed on me. No more being a pawn for his political career. I want my life, and I want it now.
I arch as my father shakes some hands. Wilson, his chief of staff, comes up and whispers something in his ear. My father frowns and nods quickly, then he turns and makes a beeline for his office down the hall.
“Where’s he off to?”
“Oh, probably has Satan on the phone, offering my first-born child in exchange for a State Senate seat.”
Zoey snickers. “Well, no one’s allowed in his office, right?”
“True.”
“So, wouldn’t now be an opportune time?”
I bite my lip. She’s right. He’ll be alone and cornered. If I’m going to do this, it might as well be now. I turn and pass her my glass.
“I’ll be back.”
“Be brave!”
“Thanks.”
I slink away through the crowd. No one tries to congratulate me or stop me, not without my father watching. And that’s fine with me. I slip down the hall until I’m right outside his office door. I go to open it, but suddenly I hear voices arguing inside.
“Look, I already told you,” my father is saying sharply. “I can get you money now, or if you want to wait until after the election, whatever contracts you want are—”
“I am not interested in gambling on your political aspirations, Thomas.”
I freeze. The other man’s voice is dark and gritty, with some sort of Russian or other Balkan accent.
My dad laughs nervously. “Gambling? Please. This is a sure thing. And trust me, once I’m in, those contracts are going to be so sweet, you’ll get cavities—”
“I already told you, I am not interested,” the man with the smokey, dark, powerful voice sighs heavily. “We had an arrangement, Thomas.”
“I know, I know, and I’m trying—”
“I did you a favor.”
“I know that! And I’m so appreciative, I just—”
“A debt is owed,” the voice snarls quietly. “And today, I am here to collect.”
“Look, I’m trying, okay?! If you just give me a month, Mr. Komarov.”
I freeze, dread filling me. The behind-door crooked dealings with my father, the Russian accent, and now, a name I’ve seen in newspapers. The man my father is speaking to is the single most dangerous, violent, and notorious man in organized crime in Chicago. Perhaps even the whole country.
He’s talking to Viktor Komarov, the vicious, powerful head of the Kashenko Bratva.
“I’m not interested in giving you a goddamn thing, Thomas,” the Russian mobster hisses. “Except a further three seconds to tell me how I’m going to get my money, today. One.”
“Mr. Komarov, please! This is not how things are done—”
“Do not lecture me, Thomas. We had an arrangement. That is how things are done. Two.”
“Mr. Komarov!”
I hear the sudden metallic click of a gun on the other side of the door. I gasp loudly.
Too loudly.
The barking sound of a snarled command in Russian echoes through the door. Footsteps cross the room, and I gasp as I pull away from the door. But it’s too late. The office door yanks open, and two burly, terrifying men suddenly grab me. I scream, and my father is yelling, but they ignore us both. They yank me inside and throw me to the ground. The two of them storm over to me, when suddenly, there’s a barked command.
“Ostanovka!”
The deep, gravelly voice booms through the room.
I feel my heart pounding in my throat as I slowly look up. The two burly men move aside, and suddenly, I’m looking at a tall, broad-shouldered, completely gorgeous tank of a man. He’s even taller and bigger than his two bodyguards, and you can almost see the power rippling off of him. His deep blue eyes look right at me, captivating my gaze.
“Who are you?”
“Mr. Komarov,” my father fumbles, almost tripping over himself as he stutters over. “This is Fiona, my daughter.”
The brooding Russian’s eyes glimmer. They narrow at me as a shadow of a smile curls at his lips.
“Thomas,” he growls. “Our debt is settled.”
Keep reading!
Exclusively on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited!
Also by Jagger Cole
Standalones:
Her Rough Mechanic
Cherished
Captivated
Roping His Bride
Stalker of Mine
Hungry For Her
Wrapped Up In Her
Bosshole
Grumpaholic
Be Ours
Paying The Bratva’s Debt
The Bratva’s Stolen Bride
* * *
The Scaliami Crime Family:
(All standalone books which can be read in any order.)
The Hitman’s Obsession
The Boss’s Temptation
The Bodyguard’s Weakness
* * *
Power Series:
(All standalone books which can be read in any order.)
Tyrant
Outlaw
Warlord
* * *
Wants & Needs Duet:
All He Wants
Everything He Needs
* * *
Forever Always Duet:
Forever His
Always Hers
* * *
Tuff Built Series:
Big Deck
Hard Screw
About the Author
A reader first and foremost, Jagger Cole cut his romance writing teeth penning various steamy fan-fiction stories years ago. After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry him, though, which is a total win.
Now, Dad to two little princesses and King to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.
When not writing or reading romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey, and grilling outside - rain or shin
e.
* * *
You can find all of his books at
www.jaggercolewrites.com