Viktor: Russian Mafia Romance (Red Bratva Billionaires Book 1) Read online

  Viktor

  Red Bratva Billionaires

  Coco Miller

  COCO MILLER ROMANCE

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  Copyright © 2019 Coco Miller

  All rights reserved.

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  License Note

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review.

  This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

  Contents

  Books By Coco

  Introduction

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Also by Coco Miller

  Books By Coco

  Big City Billionaires

  Faking For Mr. Pope

  Virgin Escort For Mr. Vaughn

  Pretending for Mr. Parker

  Red Bratva Billionaires

  VIKTOR

  SERGEI

  MAXIM

  The Overwatch Division

  WYATT

  ASA

  CESAR

  Andolini Crime Family

  CARMINE

  GIOVANNI

  UMBERTO

  Bound To You Series

  Bound To Steele

  Introduction

  Warning: this love story isn't for the faint of heart.

  Her little sister is underaged and looking for a job.

  He's a Russian mafia boss who runs a strip club.

  And hires her by mistake.

  They may be tight on money.

  But big sis’ isn't haven't it.

  She storms angrily in the club to take the mobster to task.

  And sparks pop off like popcorn.

  Then he makes her an offer she can't refuse.

  And now she's in deep.

  It's all kind of crazy.

  VIKTOR is a steamy, workplace romance, stand-alone, Russian mafia romance. It is not appropriate for readers under 18 due to sizzling HAWT love scenes!

  Prologue

  Kennedy

  They say falling in love is easy, as easy as riding a bike. Well sometimes riding a bike is difficult. Your feet can get stuck in the spokes or you could wobble and fall off of it. So I don't know if I believe ...them.

  I think falling in love is more like breathing. Our hearts are built to open up, built to let another inside, to absorb another's pain, to learn, grow, feel, and sometimes... they break.

  Love is a gift. Holding someone's heart should be cherished not taken advantage of. Sometimes you can't help who you fall for. Sometimes you fight the feeling, wishing it away, not wanting to fall at all.

  I was in no place in my life to fall for any silliness. I had my sister to protect. I had dreams to achieve. I feel though that sometimes life doesn't care what you have planned. Like it's life's mean little trick to throw you off guard and blindside you.

  Life is messy. It's hard and long and it takes everything you have to get through it for most of us. And for what? The hardest part of life is living itself, and God knows that I know this more than anyone else. I was given a crash course of a hard life. It has been hard since the day I lost both of my parents. The day I swore to the heavens above that I would take care of my sister in their place no matter what. At first it wasn't too bad, but then she turned into this unruly teenager that made me want to pull my hair out...and hers.

  Yet putting all that aside, I felt I could do it. I felt I could trudge through life and make it. I was optimistic in a pessimistic situation. I was more than ready to rock my life out, on my own, and for my sister. Make the best of it. But I should have known things aren't always that easy. I should have known that meeting a bad man was probably in the cards for me. That falling for a bad boy was inevitable.

  I had always been fine being alone. I didn't need a man to help me or take care of me. Fuck that. I am a strong, beautiful, woman who could handle anything this life threw at me, and a man would never be the answer to all of my problems.

  Or would he?

  Chapter One

  Kennedy

  Do you know what it is? It's just a hyped-up mess. That's it. Life isn't that damn great. Sure people hype it up to be this amazing thing. People always talking about keeping a gratitude journal, counting your blessings and all that Oprah jazz; but for those of us who can't see past the grey skies and bleak horizon, what blessings?

  I haven't always been this hopeless, this depressed, this down-on-life, woe is me type of girl. No, I once had dreams. I once had goals. I once thought life would be amazing too. That was a long time ago though, because now all I see is despair, especially when it comes to my little sister Terrica.

  I take care of her, or at least I try to, but as soon as she hit her teens, Terrica stopped listening to me. Which is really hard considering that we're broke. I work every day trying to keep the lights on and the bills paid and it's not easy. Terrica offered to get a job, but I would rather her focus on her studies. The whole point of me working my ass off like this is so that she has more choices. Better choices.

  She needs to get away from this life. She needs to make it. I don't want her worrying about how to stretch groceries for another week or the art of robbing Peter to pay Paul. I don't want her living like this for the rest of her life. Hell, I don't think I can live this way for another minute.

  Every month I have to beg our landlord not to kick us out as I scrounge money together to pay him, and most months I'm usually short. Then my bills take a 'whichever is more important' priority. Electricity is high up there. Then food, gas, water. I usually get all the bills paid without getting them shut off, but not always.

  It's the same thing every thirty days. An endless cycle that I can't get ahead of. Once I make some extra money and think that I can finally save and get ahead, that's when my piece of shit car breaks down. So there you have it. Bye-bye extra money.

  I'm not good at this. Clearly. I wish more than anything that my parents were still alive. They left Terrica and me a few years ago by way of death from a car accident. That first year without them was the hardest twelve months I'd ever had to deal with, and while I'd like to say things are getting easier, that would be a lie. I think it's more like I'm becoming immune to the way life wants to use me and spit me out.

  And then today happens.

  I lost my job. It was unexpected but not surprising if that makes any sense. Now I'm really going to have to scramble. Being young, black, and an unemployed woman in the middle of Texas is hard as shit. Finding a job will not be easy. Especially once you throw into the mix my lack of college education and experience.

  It's the Catch-22 of the ages. No job, no experience. No experience, no job.

  "Let me find a job," Terrica says. "Let me help.
"

  For once it's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. For once, I want to buckle from the pressure and allow her to help, but then common sense and maybe a little bit of pride kicks in. I can't let her risk graduating high school on time just to help me out. I made a promise to my parents. Graduation for Terrica is the goal.

  "It'll be fine. I'm sure something will come up. I've got a couple of irons in the fire."

  "Kennedy, you're being crazy. I can work and go to school. Many kids my age do it all the time."

  "Many of those kids don't need five hours of study time either."

  I shake my head, glaring at her with my best 'let's drop the subject' look.

  "It's senior year, Kennedy. I don't even have that many credits left. I won't have to study as hard as I had to last year."

  "Oh, we're playing that game? Like it's so easy for you to get good grades. I have a final report card on file from last year that begs to differ. You need all the time you can get to knock these last few credits out and graduate. No distractions. No job."

  Terrica rolls her eyes and snatches her history textbook off the dining room table.

  "Fine, but I really wish you'd let me help."

  I smile to myself because I can tell that she believes that things aren't as bad as they seem. I must be putting on a good act because things are actually that bad. Even though I really should let her get a part-time job after school to help us- I won't. I made a promise. School comes first.

  "It'll be ok. If you just do your part, we'll be fine."

  Like most teenagers, Terrica is distracted by everything like television, her cell phone, boys, music, and makeup. Sometimes I'm envious of how oblivious she is to the real world. The adult world. A harsh and unforgiving world that I purposely shield her from. Sometimes I wish I could live that cluelessly but I can't.

  "I'm going to bed." She walks off to her room and I sigh.

  I need to think of something to do and quickly, or she and I will be out on the streets very soon. I consider calling the one auntie who checks in on us now and then, but then I quickly decide against making the call. She has her own family to feed.

  I grab the newspaper, glancing over the classifieds, trying my best to find anything that can make me some quick money, fast. An hour later, when I've circled more than half the job opportunities, I turn out the light and head off to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow something will fall into my lap.

  As I lay my head to sleep, I pray. Yes, I pray to anyone listening that somehow we get out of this mess we're in. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I'll figure out this mess. Tomorrow I'll find a way to figure it all out. I have to.

  I smile to myself, knowing that it can't get any worse. It just can't. I hoped that my last job would have lasted a little longer, but that's okay. I still have faith. I know I can do it. Rent is due, along with a mountain of other bills, but I've got this. I'll figure it out.

  Maybe I'll step outside of the box. Maybe I'll try something different. Can't hurt, right? The bills pile up no matter what I do, so I might as well get crazy with it.

  Funny thing though, before I can do anything of the sort, my sister has beaten me to it. Why doesn't she ever listen?

  Chapter Two

  VIKTOR

  "Boss, the new recruits are here," Nicholai, my second in command, says after he cracks the door open to my office.

  "Any good prospects?" I ask, saving a document really quick to my computer so I can shut it down before getting started with the interviews.

  I've learned from experience to keep anything personal as far away from the new recruits as I can. The high-class strippers I deal with are one tax document away from running me into the ground. I trust no one, especially the women who work for me. Just because they take their clothes off for more money than your average hole-in-the-wall dive bar, doesn't mean they are any more trustworthy.

  "The first one is fucking hot, and I want a shot at her after you're done with her. The second is acting like a fucking queen, so fuck that. And the third one hasn't shown up yet."

  "When the late one gets here, send her in. You know how I feel about disrespect."

  I hate when people are late, especially when they are late for an appointment with me. My time is precious. My time costs me money. It is one of the few things I agree with the man I call my father about. When she gets here she is going to wish she didn't even bother showing up. Because tardiness is not in my game plan.

  The one thing Nicholai doesn't realize is he thinks I am busy screwing these girls into high heaven during each interview, but I'm not. Not even close. It's all perception. And, being an asshole is one of my best features. It gains me respect in my world, and it also makes people afraid to question anything I do.

  "You got it, boss," Nicholai smirks with understanding. "I'll send in the first one."

  When Nicholai closes my door, I run my hand over my stubbled jaw. I am not in the mood for this shit today. I want to go home, open a nice bottle of red, and chill.

  Texas became prime Bratva territory when Boris moved here. For some people, when they think of the mob, they automatically picture some New Jersey schmuck with money stashed away at his mistress's house. That kind of thinking is fine by me. It allows me to conduct my business and stay under the radar, exactly where I like to be.

  My business is no longer as cut-throat as Boris, the man who had taken me in and I call my father, made it. When he was murdered, I beat the shit out of anyone that tried to take my rightful place as the head of the business. Many challenged me. Mostly because I wasn't a blood relative. Yet after some broken knuckles and hospital visits, soldiers in the Bratva figured out really fast that they weren't taking this away from me. Some even call me a monster. I don't give a fuck.

  As soon as I earned the respect I deserved, I started erasing the shit Boris had gotten us into. My first task was getting rid of all the fucking drugs he had shipped in. The thing about living in Texas? The Mexican border is close. Real close. Drug trafficking is a walk in the damn park, and the park is all mine. But I am determined not to go out as Boris had. No, I want to be classier. Smarter. I want to build, to grow. I want no part of illegal drugs.

  Street drugs are easy money, but they put you on everybody's fucking radar, and, as I said, that is somewhere I don't like to be. So I cleaned up the town, got rid of all our heavy drug affiliation, and here we are. Sitting pretty.

  Don't think I'm some softy though. My new business turned us away from the prying eye of the district attorney, but having Mexico so close is still a gold mine, and I am a fucking miner. So instead of hard drugs, I smuggle other drugs. Yeah, yeah, I know...I'm a hypocrite. I already told you that I'm an asshole.

  Now we deal with antibiotics and pain pills. The real drugs in America. Everyone knows that if they need something they can come to my pharmacist, Gary. Gary is the fifth pharmacist I have been through since taking over the business. The other ones, well, let's just say they needed to prescribe some pretty heavy stuff to breathe comfortably. So far, Gary has been the most trustworthy. He only prescribes drugs to the people who need it. No more glassy-eyed, pill-popping druggies looking for a fix. Just businessmen in suits and PTO moms. This is my business, and business is good.

  Nicholai sticks his head in and gives me a wink before opening my door wide. A curvy little piece with huge tits saunters in on six-inch hot pink stiletto heels. She is wearing a matching hot pink dress with cutouts on the sides, her breasts straining to get out, and those hips jut out the holes just begging to be gripped as she is being pounded from behind.

  "What's your name?" I ask, my cock doing some straining of its own. Hey, come on don't hate--she's practically naked here.

  "Kandi," she answers, batting her too thick with mascara clumpy fucking eyelashes. She didn't even try to put on some more natural-looking fake eyelashes like my other girls. No, she just painted on some cheap makeup. As if that is going to impress me.

  Tits and bo
dy? Impressive.

  Skin and the vanilla fragrance of her skin, also impressive.

  Not putting in the extra effort to please me ... no fucking way.

  She is so low-trash, low rent. Not at all like the upscale girls, I generally hire to 'perform'.

  "Nope, we already have a Kandi. Sorry, you'll have to try again."

  I lean back and let my eyes roam over her smoking hot body, all curves, and hills. Sure, I already know that I'm not going to hire her, but I want to have a little fun. And, not the her sucking my dick kind. Although, that's what Nicholai always thinks that I do back here in my office. He reveres me as a God, wanting so badly to be me. Ha, who wouldn't?

  Kandi pouts and then brushes her pink-tipped fingernail over her bottom lip. I guess she thinks by sucking me off she might get the job, 'cause that's the vibe I am getting from her.

  Just the thought makes me feel better. My mood has been off for a week now. In fact, the reason I am interviewing new talent has to do with my pissed off attitude. One of my girls recently overdosed on heroin, which means someone is dealing fucking street drugs into my territory. When I find out who is undermining my authority, they are going to be a dead motherfucker. I don't tolerate disrespect.