His Demands: An Age Gap, Billionaire Boss Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)

A sudden knock at my office door gives me a jolt, shattering the delicate conversation with Julie. Such interruptions are unheard of in my rigorously controlled schedule, each minute accounted for, each meeting meticulously planned.

A sense of foreboding washes over me as I rise, offering Julie a brief, terse nod, an unspoken signal that something unexpected is afoot.

My heart rate quickens as I stride toward the door, a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. In my world, surprises are rarely pleasant, often harbingers of trouble. As I reach out and grasp the cool metal of the doorknob, a knot forms in the pit of my stomach, a primal instinct warning me of danger lurking on the other side.

I pull the door open, and my worst fears materialize before my eyes. Standing in the doorway, exuding a dangerous aura, are figures ripped straight from a chapter of my life I thought I had closed for good.

Two Russian gangsters with cold, calculating eyes, subtle bulges of concealed weapons beneath their shirts, are a clear threat, a reminder of a world I left behind.

And standing between them looms a ghost from my past. None other than Boris Abramov, the head of the Bratva I once served.

However, Boris has changed. The strong, intimidating figure I remember now replaced by a man who’s let himself go. His once lean frame is now bulky, his suit straining against the added weight. His face, previously sharp and cunning, is now flushed with signs of overindulgence.

But his eyes, cold and calculating, haven’t changed. They still hold a hint of the man who once commanded fear and respect in the circles we ran in.

The air around the men feels charged, the atmosphere heavy with the unspoken threats they bring.

‘Greetings, Ivan,’ Boris says, his voice heavy with an accent that takes me back to my homeland. His eyes scan the room behind me, taking in the details with a predator’s interest.

I stand in the doorway, a barrier between them and my world, a world that includes Julie, sitting just a few feet away. My mind races, calculating the potential reasons for this unexpected visit, the implications it carries, none of them good.

‘Hello, Boris,’ I reply, my tone controlled, giving nothing away. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ My words are carefully chosen, a blend of caution and veiled hostility. The Bratva is not an entity one trifles with, and Boris’ presence here is a clear indication that the past is not as buried as I’d hoped.

He smirks, a hint of the cunning man I remember so well flickering in his eyes. ‘Oh, Ivan, can’t an old friend stop by to catch up?’ His words are light, but they carry a weight, a hidden meaning that’s not lost on me. “You remember Sergei?”

Oh, I remember him alright. “Let’s talk outside,” I say, nodding down the hallway. “There’s a conference room where we can—”

Boris, still an imposing figure despite his deteriorated state, has other plans. He brushes past me with the arrogance of a man used to taking up space, stepping into my office uninvited.

“I like this room just fine.”

Boris’ gaze sweeps over my office, taking in the luxurious furnishings and expensive art with a sardonic sneer. ‘Quite the palace you’ve built for yourself here, Ivan,’ he remarks in Russian, his voice dripping with a blend of envy and disdain. ‘Seems you’ve done well for yourself.”

His eyes linger on a particularly expensive piece of artwork, and his lips curl into a mocking smile. ‘Opulence suits you, doesn’t it? A far cry from the back alleys and shadowy deals of Moscow. But no matter how high you climb, remember, the roots always show.’

I stand at the threshold, a silent barrier between Boris and the world I’ve built here. My mind races with the possible reasons behind Boris’ presence, along with the potential threat he poses not just to me, but to Julie, as well. Her involvement, even as a bystander, complicates things in a way I’m not comfortable with.

As Boris’ eyes linger on her, I feel a protective instinct kick in, one that I’ve never associated with my professional demeanor. She’s my assistant, but in this moment she represents something more, something that Boris and his world should have no part of.

I need to control the situation, keep Julie out of whatever Boris has planned.

Quickly, I introduce her, ‘This is my assistant.’ I shoot her a look, a silent message. “And she doesn’t need to be here for this conversation.”

Attuned to my thoughts, she promptly asks, ‘Will there be anything else, Mr. Stepanov?’

I respond with a firm negative, masking the turmoil inside me with a façade of indifference. Julie then says, ‘I’m taking the rest of the day off.’ Her voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent of uncertainty that only I notice.

I let her go, maintaining my stoic expression as my mind races with dangerous possibilities.

As she leaves, I turn back to Boris and his men, my mind shifting gears. I need to deal with this right now, handle whatever it is that brought him here. His gaze on Julie lingers a moment too long as she walks away. ‘Nice assistant you have there, Ivan. And that ass…’ he says, leering openly.

I clench my jaw, forcing myself to keep my composure. Responding with anger will only escalate the situation, give Boris the reaction he’s looking for. But I can’t let it slide.

‘She’s unavailable,’ I state firmly, my voice edged with a warning. “And there will be no talk of my employees in such a disrespectful manner.”

Boris snorts with a smirk, as if amused.

In my mind, Julie is already mine, even if she hasn’t agreed to marry me yet. The thought of him or anyone else ogling her is intolerable.

Shifting the focus, I ask, ‘Why are you here, Boris? It’s been a long time.’ My tone is direct, cutting through his insinuations and lewd remarks.

He seems to enjoy dragging out the moment, reveling in the discomfort he’s causing. ‘How about some vodka, Ivan? For old times’ sake?’ he suggests, nodding toward my small office bar. “Perfect way to start the day.”

Reluctantly, I pour him and Sergei—who has made himself comfortable on my couch—a drink while carefully maintaining my stoic demeanor. I hand each a glass, and immediately after Boris takes a sip, he gets to the point. ‘The Bratva needs your expertise on a few matters.’

My response is immediate and unequivocal. ‘No,’ I say sharply, without needing to know the details. ‘I left that life behind me, Boris, and I have no intention of reentering it. You knew that when I left Russia.’

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t seem surprised by my refusal. He’s testing the waters, probing for weaknesses, but I’m not the same man I was when I worked for him. I’ve built a new life, a legitimate one, and I won’t allow him or anyone else to drag me back into the shadows of my past.

The Bratva might have been a part of who I was, but it’s not who I am now. And it’s certainly not a world I want Julie to be exposed to, even peripherally. My refusal is as much for her protection as it is for my own resolve to stay out of that life.

As Boris sips his vodka, eyeing me with a mix of calculation and amusement, I stand firm. My decision is made, and no amount of persuasion or coercion will change it. I’ve fought too hard to become the man I am today, and I won’t let the ghosts of my past threaten that.

He chuckles, a sound that grates on my nerves. ‘Ivan, you know how it is. Once Bratva, always Bratva,’ he says, a smugness in his tone that I find particularly irksome.

I stand my ground, my voice firm. ‘Anton Mikhailov released me from my duties. I am no longer bound to the organization.’

But Boris waves off my words as if they are mere inconveniences. ‘Mikhailov did not have the final say. I did not agree to your release. You are expected to follow orders.’

His words are a stark reminder of the ties that still bind me to a world I desperately want to forget. ‘I’ve made a new life, Boris. I am not at your beck and call,’ I retort, my frustration growing.

Boris, seemingly unfazed, prepares to leave, his parting words hanging heavy in the air, a threat disguised as a casual remark. ‘I’ll be in touch with instructions for your first job,’ he says with a cocky smirk, implying an inevitable return to the dark dealings I’ve sworn off.

As the men leave, closing the door behind them, I’m left with a sense of foreboding. Boris’ visit and his expectations are a complication I don’t need, especially now, as I’m on the verge of starting a new chapter of my life. A chapter that, I hope, includes Julie as my wife.

The word ‘wife’ resonates in my mind. Julie hasn’t agreed to my proposal yet, but more than ever, I feel the urgency to protect her, to shield her from the dangerous world that’s just barged back in.

My mind begins to strategize. I need to handle my old boss and his expectations while keeping Julie safe and oblivious to the threats that loom over us. I cannot, I will not, let my past entangle with the future I hope to build with her.

Boris’ words, ‘I’ll be in touch,’ echo in my mind. I know the Bratva’s reach is long and their memory even longer. But I’ve battled with them before and I’ve come out stronger. This time will be no different, except now, I have something more to fight for.

The Bratva may think they can control me, but they’re about to learn that Ivan Stepanov is not a man who bows to anyone’s will—not anymore.