Page 1 of Bratva's Secret Girl

1

HAYLEY

“I got it.”

My sister Payton looks up as I enter our little apartment. “Oh!” She’s conflicted for a second, her gaze flicking between her phone and me.

Part of me wants to give her shit for being on social media rather than studying, given I’m the one supporting us while she does her degree, but I’m too excited.

With a visible struggle, she puts the phone down. “That’s amazing, well done! Remind me which job this was?”

I huff a laugh as I go to the tiny kitchen and put on the kettle—celebratory tea is the best tea—and Payton follows. It’s a fair question. I’ve been applying for manager jobs in hospitality for months now. They’ve all been a dud, until I finally got a break.

“This one.” Pulling out my phone, I message her the job advert. I know she cannot absorb information by listening, but more to the point, I am still processing a lot of feelings about the interview and in particular my new boss, and I can’t trust myself not to just blurt out about Mr Zaitsev rather than important details.

Payton gives an excited squeak. “That’s a big pay raise!”

“I know.” I grin at her when our eyes meet. She looks like me, but prettier. Pale blue eyes, straight brown hair—hers is down whereas mine is in a bun from work—and a heart-shaped face.

Still intent on reading, she drifts to the fridge to get milk, and passes it to me as I throw tea bags into our mugs.

“Mr Zaitsev is your employer. Russian?”

“Yep.” Thankfully she isn’t looking at me, because I’m blushing. He said to call him Maxim. Payton would have a fit if she saw him. He’s exactly what she’s scared of in London. Tall, tattooed on his neck and hands. He was wearing a nice suit. But he smiled at me, and I don’t know why, but I felt totally at ease with him. Despite his Russian origins, he had only a soft accent. But he called me “malishka”, and I went weak, even though it probably just means, “employee”, or “girl”. He has grey eyes, is at least a foot taller than me, maybe six-foot-four, and had this energy as he asked me about my qualifications and experience that made me squirm with inappropriate heat.

I’ve never felt like I did with him.

“He’s nice.”

“Hmm.” Payton frowns. “Are you sure you want this job?”

“Yeah, I think so.” That’s a lie. I’ve already said yes, and I’d rather play with a hungry tiger than disappoint Maxim.

She feels guilty about how I took care of her, especially when she was younger. I keep telling her she just needs to pay me back by doing amazingly in her degree, but she doesn’t listen.

“It’s in green witch,” Payton says dubiously.

“Uh, no.” I repress my smile. Sometimes she’s such a non-Londoner. I am too, but when we moved here, she was sixteen and I was starting my course in Hospitality Management. I was lucky to be able to get Payton out of the care system to stay with me. I know London well after spending all my spare time searching for our sister, Taylor. “It’s pronounced Gren-itch.”

“What?” Payton looks like that disbelieving cartoon rabbit meme.

“English. It’s stupid,” I agree.

“For sure,” she grumbles. “Where is it anyway?”

“Greenwich is South of the river, on the East side of London.”

Her gaze flies to mine. “Really?”

“Yep.” I try to sound unconcerned. We live in Richmond, in the West. The kingpin here is not someone you’d want to be related to, given he reputedly was involved in the murder of his whole family, but otherwise is pretty chill. For a mafia boss.

And Richmond is safe and leafy, with big parks. East London has a very different reputation.

Funny though, I didn’t get dangerous vibes from Maxim. Just kind, and perhaps a bit protective. I mean, he looked scary, with the tattoos and being as tall as a giant, and had a low, rough voice that made my tummy flip, but he was so nice.

“I’m not sure you should take it,” Payton says, furrowing her brow with anxiety.

“It’s more money,” I emphasise with a shrug. My sister is sheltered. We’ve been struggling to make ends meet, and I know she’s worried too. She’s been selling stuff online and that’s why it’s Yorkshire tea bags rather than cheap ones that I yoik out of our mugs. Payton puts milk in—lots for her, a bit for me—and passes me mine.