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Story: The Bratva’s Innocent Kidnapped Bride (Fokin Bratva #6)
I should have been on my way out after another successful dinner service at my favorite business, but there wasn’t a chance in hell now that that piece of shit Arkadi was still on the premises. The fact that he had the audacity to show up at all had me on edge, but to be so bold as to make an attempt to steal my chef out from under me had me seething.
And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it at the moment, at least not the way I’d like, which was to escort him off the property with my foot up his ass. Not since my older brothers were determined to keep the peace with that asshole and his organization. There was a time when we would have obliterated him and his people and sent the parts that were left of them back to Moscow, but something about settling down and starting to have kids had them really seeing things differently.
It was like a pesky love virus had them by the balls. No more wars, just peace treaties, and endless discussions. We’d even given up a little bit of our southern holdings, a huge mistake in my opinion, because it had made the slimy bastard bold.
Arkadi Mikhailov was trouble. Every last one of my brothers knew it as well as I did. He’d been giving us hell since he arrived on the scene a little more than eight years ago. He was vicious, ruthless, and probably would have gotten along great with us if he’d taken our original offer to join forces all those years ago.
Yeah, that was my dumb idea, because the guy was smart and knew how to make money. After being swindled and lied to, and having a property swiped out from under me, I was well over that way of thinking. Now, I wanted to obliterate him so the Fokins could continue as the only Bratva family in California.
I didn’t like sharing. What’s mine was mine.
And Emerson was mine.
When my longtime chef decided to retire, and my top sous chef didn’t want the position at any salary, I thought I was screwed. I’d built Khoroshiy from the ground up, ignoring the jibes that I was copying my older brother Maxim, who had his popular diner chain with raucous, loud music.
My place was elegant fine dining, with haute cuisine. Only the best.
When word got out I needed a new chef, there were hundreds of candidates, and plenty of them were qualified. But they were all boring, set in their ways, and I knew there’d be no training their old habits out of them. I was loath to hire someone straight out of culinary school, though… until Emerson breathlessly ran into my kitchen.
From the moment she pulled her wild red hair into a ponytail and looked up at me with her big green eyes, she was mine. She wore jeans and a pink t-shirt that clung to her dainty curves, and it was almost like a physical blow when she hid her lush body under her oversized chef coat, raring to show me her skills.
She was only two minutes late but apologized as if she’d shown up on the wrong day. Clearly, she wasn’t from Los Angeles, and I was already impressed with her attitude. It was cute how she bragged about winning some small-town cooking contest, and I asked her to whip me up her signature dish as a test. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her as she turned into a powerhouse of confidence once a knife was in her hand.
Halfway through, I tossed her a curveball. Stop what she was doing and use only the ingredients she had chosen to make a dessert. Any other chef would have burst into tears, and I would have admitted that it was a joke. But Emerson bit her lush lip and actually made a lime basil pie that knocked my socks off.
I mean, I was going to hire her for something anyway because I needed her in my life, but that trick got her the coveted position of head chef. I liked watching her get flustered, and continued giving her impossible tasks, just waiting for the day she lost her well-maintained control and told me off. There was something lurking under her demure southern manners that made my cock stiff. So far,, she’d only risen to every demand, but I was having a hell of a lot of fun trying to rile her up.
No way in hell was I going to lose her to the likes of Arkadi Mikhailov.
Which was actually pretty funny, considering that I had just started wondering if I was going to have to fire her. Or at least rethink my stance on dating employees.
No, my delicious little chef was staying with me.
I glanced at my watch, and poked my head into the kitchen, where they were finishing up the last of the desserts. The guests would linger over drinks and coffee for some time, and normally, I’d be long gone by now. After the restaurant closed, I usually checked in on some of my bars and small shops that stayed open this late, or helped out with my brothers’ many businesses, since they were all so caught up in family life lately.
Thinking of my brothers magically made my phone ring, and I answered Ivan’s call, all while keeping my eyes on Emerson.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ivan asked after my tense greeting. “You sound pissed off.”
Ivan was a brand new father and had just gone through quite a bit, so I forced myself to stop sounding how I felt.
“Arkadi’s eating at my place,” I said through gritted teeth.
There was a second of silence. “I know we’re getting along with him, but you didn’t have to invite him into your home,” he said.
I could hear his grin. “At the restaurant, shithead,” I said, finally smiling. I went ahead and told him about the attempted poaching.
“I’m going to have to get in there again,” Ivan said. “If your new chef is so good she’s already getting other offers, I guess Daria and I will have to find a babysitter.”
I grumbled, but not at Ivan. The host came back and spoke to Emerson, then she followed him from the kitchen with a look of annoyed determination on her pretty face. Normally, I loved that look. It was close to the one that she got when I gave her a new, nearly impossible assignment to fulfill. It was slightly different, though, with a tinge of anxiety, and I didn’t like that at all.
I followed at a distance, not about to take my eyes off of her until Arkadi left the premises. It was only the fact that the place was packed that night that I hadn’t already forcefully thrown his ass out.
“Damn it,” I hissed into the phone from my spot in the hallway. “That fucker is talking to her again.”
“Listen,” Ivan said in his soothing voice. “You know he’s just trying to rile you up. Or maybe he honestly enjoyed the meal. Chill out, or he gets what he wants, which is for you to lose your shit.”
Ivan’s words were true. I was very close to losing it. But I stopped caring when I watched Arkadi grab Emerson’s hands. I hissed a low curse and stepped forward.
“Nik?” Ivan said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh fuck no,” I said. “Now he’s pulling her right up to him.”
“Calm down,” my brother commanded. “Aleks doesn’t want any—”
I ended the call. Yeah, I knew damn well our eldest brother wanted peace right now, and I didn’t care. Not when my arch-enemy had his hands on my woman. That was an engraved invitation for problems.
In a flash, I was at their side, knocking Arkadi’s hands away and stepping between them. Emerson gasped and tried to pull me away, but I was immovable as I glared daggers at Arkadi.
“Hello, Nik,” he said coolly, as if I wasn’t about to smash his face in.
He glanced around, but I was well aware there were still plenty of patrons who might not enjoy a violent show. It was something else I didn’t give a single shit about at the moment.
“Mr. Fokin, please,” Emerson said from behind me. “Everything is fine.”
“That’s right,” Arkadi said, his sneer just begging to be wiped away with my fist. “Your new chef can do whatever she wants, can’t she?”
He reached around and made a grab for Emerson’s arm again, but she dodged him at the same time as the side of my hand sliced into his wrist, hard. Ignoring what had to hurt, he did a sidestep, yanking Emerson against him. She shoved away, turning into my chest with a harsh gasp of fear.
Enough was enough.
“I’m only going to say this once, Mikhailov,” I growled, wrapping my arm around Emerson. “You need to stay the hell away from my wife.”
Emerson squeaked, and Arkadi’s eyebrows shot sky-high. He grinned with delight, certain he’d caught my lie.
“Oh, really? I must have missed the wedding announcement,” he said, taking a step closer.
I stopped him with the flat of my hand. I was milliseconds from bashing his nose into his brain, but Emerson’s hand closing around my shirt and her whispered plea to not make a scene stopped me.
“Your wife seems to have a lot more sense than you,” he said.
Arkadi refused to stop grinning. I had hoped my off-the-cuff lie would have stopped his interest in Emerson, but he clearly didn’t believe me. Keeping her close, I leaned over her to glare at him. Even getting right in his face, he didn’t have the sense to back down. My hand clenched into a fist, and Emerson sucked in a breath, tightening her grip on my shirt.
“Please don’t,” she whispered.
Fine. I could be calm for her. For now.
“Your meal is on the house tonight,” I gritted out to Arkadi, instead of relieving him of a few of his teeth. “So don’t waste anymore time, and get the hell out. I don’t want to see you around here again.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2 (Reading here)
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
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- Page 9
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