Ruby Mayhem: A Russian Mafia Romance (Vyronov Bratva Book 1)

The scenery outside the tinted window of the limo is changing rapidly.

Cityscape is making way for suburbs, and eventually, to the wide lawns of opulent estates. I pull my attention away from the passing wrought iron gates and settle against the butter-soft leather of the upholstery. At least I’m traveling in style.

“How much further will we be going?” I ask the driver. Aside from a murmured greeting as he’d opened the door for me, the man hasn’t uttered a word. It’s making me edgy. I feel even edgier when he doesn’t reply to me.

“Hello! Anybody home?” I clench my teeth. This is pissing me off. “Hey! Would you like me to tell your boss how rude you were to me?”

Asshole.

The driver’s shoulders shift. “Not long now, miss. Maybe half an hour.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

The guy shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead.

Whatever. It’s not like I’m here to make friends or anything. I look out of the window again. The houses are getting increasingly stately; grand and imposing, with towering columns and intricate architectural details. Each one seems larger and more extravagant than the last, with perfectly manicured lawns and sweeping driveways. Each one has a sense of wealth and opulence, reflecting the elite status of its owners. Showing off wealth in the most tasteless display of one-upmanship. It turns my stomach.

However, one thing’s certain: if I’m going to be living in a place like one of these, it’ll certainly be comfortable. At least Roxie was right about that. And my dad won’t be able to dictate my life anymore.

Yeah.

Kirill Vyronov will be doing that from now on.

I huff out a breath and lift my chin. I’ve spent enough time moping and feeling sorry for myself. And that’s something that feels a little easier after my last conversation with my father.

“It’s going to be worth your while, Teetee,” he’d said. There’s been something almost like remorse in his eyes when he’d said it.

“Sure, Dad. Worth my while. Can’t wait.” I’d turned my back on him when the driver took my bag and stowed it in the trunk.

“I’m serious.” Dad had taken my arm and turned me to face him. “A million dollars, Tiana. That’s what you’ll get out of this.”

“Yeah. That’s what you’ll get out of it. A million dollars. The price you set on my head.”

“No, baby. He’s going to give you a million too. Just for you.”

I’d stared at him then, my mouth dropping open.

His answering smile had seemed pathetic in its eagerness. “So you see, this is going to be good, baby. For all of us. You’ll realize that soon.” I’d flinched when he’d put a hand on my shoulder, and he’d removed it quickly.

“Goodbye, Dad,” were the last words I’d said to him before sliding into the open door of the limo. I didn’t look back as we drove off, though I sensed he’d stayed there watching as the car drove into the distance.

I hope he felt like shit.

I hope he still does.

Fat chance of that.

But now, I find myself thinking of that conversation.

A million dollars?

Not that I’m the type who is hungry for money. I never was. But I wonder what a person could do with that kind of money. What if…

A fresh start…

A new life…

Away from my father and the monster who thinks I’m his possession…

What if I can figure out a way to escape and make a run for it?

Would that make me a thief?

I lose sight of the passing houses as my mind begins to play with the idea. I could begin again, far away from Dad and his bullshit.

But how?

I’m going to have to be strong, just like Roxie said. I can live through this. Do what’s necessary, get my hands on that money, and then find a way out. If I don’t find an opportunity to escape, maybe I can negotiate my way to freedom. I just have to be smart, play my cards right. Do whatever I have to do.

Like give away my V card and fuck a complete stranger?

I rub a hand over my eyes; they’re burning. I feel like I haven’t slept for a lifetime.

Come on, Tiana.

You can do this.

I can. I know I can. I’m resourceful. Patient. I’ve learned to deal with heartbreak and disappointment. How much worse could this be?

Maybe he’s some kind of sick pervert.

Maybe he’ll expect—

I yank my thoughts away from that idea. I can’t leap to any conclusions before I know what I’m facing. But with a million dollars, I could live my own life the way I want to. So what if I have to do some things I don’t want to do? Lots of women have to do that anyway. Loveless marriages. Shitty bosses who grope their secretaries. The Me Too Movement didn’t start over nothing. It doesn’t make it right, but women face this sort of thing all the time. I can do it, too. And as soon as that cash is in my hands, I’ll find a way out and never look back. Gone from my father. Gone from my old life. And gone from Kirill Vyronov.

My shoulders straighten as I fill my lungs with expensive leather-scented air and drop my head back against the headrest.

This will be good.

I can do this. I-

The car comes to a stop, and I jerk upright. We’ve driven down a long driveway and drawn up outside a huge mansion.

My jaw drops.

The place is impossibly imposing. Tall and regal, its grand facade boasts multiple stories and towering columns. The sun gleams off of dozens of windows and the double doors of the entrance are made of rich, polished wood. The lawns are impeccably landscaped with vibrant flowers and lush greenery. My eyes feel huge as I take in the sheer size and opulence of the place.

This is my new home… at least until I get the hell out of here.

I’m glad my driver is quiet again because I’m speechless. The door opens and he waits as I swing my legs out and slide out of the car.

Holy shit!

“I’ll get your bags, miss,” the driver says, proving once again that he actually has a voice. I can’t summon the attention to be impressed with him. I’m too busy staring up at the huge double doors. I actually jump a little when they open, expecting to see the man who owns me. But the figure that emerges is of a thickset woman with mouse-blond hair pulled back into a severe bun.

“Miss Avants,” she says as if she’s been expecting me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Anya. Come with me.” Her voice is brusque. Clipped off with rounded vowels. Russian. Of course, she’s Russian. And now that I think about it, my so-called owner spoke the same way. Although his voice was very different. Deeper. Richer. I shiver, although the air is warm.

“You will come?” Anya presses, and I realize she’s still waiting for me.

“Um… of course,” I say, then try to move quickly up the stairs without feeling like I’m scampering.

Calmly, Tiana.

You’re a grown woman.

I reach the tall doors, take a deep breath, and step in. It’s hard not to do a double-take. The interior of the mansion is just as impressive as the outside. The entrance hall is grand and spacious, with marble floors and a sweeping staircase leading to the upper levels. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over everything. As I step inside, I feel like I’m in some kind of ridiculous palace. Who spends money like this? Who even has money like this? It’s inconceivable.

“Come, come,” Anya says, gesturing for me to follow her. She leads me through several rooms, all equally lavish and luxurious, until we reach a large door at the end of a corridor. As we reach it, it feels as if all of my muscles seize. I come to an abrupt halt.

“Mr. Vyronov is waiting for you in his study.” She pushes the door open, and still, my muscles refuse to cooperate. She clears her throat.

“Right. Yes. Of course,” I stutter. I set my mind on my goal again.

Get the money.

Find a way to escape this prison.

I take a step in, and she shuts the door behind me, leaving me feeling trapped until I manage to pull my wits about me. Yet again, I’m looking at a room that seems too plush to be real. Except where the others were bright and airy, this one is purely masculine. Dark wood paneling lines the walls, and the furnishings are large and imposing, giving me the impression of a throne room rather than an office.

And in the center of it all sits a huge man behind a huge desk.

Broad, powerful; even seated, he exudes a sense of being larger than life. But it’s more than simply his physical presence. His pure animal magnetism is undeniable – although I’d love to deny it. I try to ignore the way his shirt pulls across his massive chest or the way the light picks out the fine silver strands in his dark hair.

Kirill Vyronov.

I try not to choke as my mouth dries up. After the first time I saw him, I’ve been wondering if I’d simply imagined how good-looking he was.

I didn’t.

If anything, I probably didn’t give him enough credit. As bizarre as it is to say this, the man is next-level hot. But he’s surely an arrogant bastard because he barely seems to notice that I’m here. He doesn’t even bother to stand up as I enter the room, just gestures for me to come closer with one hand while he holds his phone to his ear with the other.

What the hell?

Asshole.

“Da,” he says into the phone, his voice almost unnaturally deep and rich with that accent I remember. “You know what to do. Make it happen.”

He hangs up and turns his attention fully on me. I can feel my heart racing in my chest as he stares at me with eyes that look too much like a stormy sky. His dark, greying hair is styled in a perfectly messy way that makes him look effortlessly handsome. Not a wrinkly old billionaire; definitely not.

And I hate the fact that I’m even noticing.

“You have arrived safely, I see,” he says, standing up from his seat and walking around the desk to stop in front of me. I’m standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, my hands clasped in front of me. I tilt my head to look up at him. He is as tall as I remembered. And broad, too. His shoulders strain against the cotton of his black dress shirt.

“What did you expect? That your driver would take me off to some other guy who buys women?” In spite of my bravado, I’m feeling incredibly small under his intense gaze. The feeling gets worse as I see his lips twitch. They’re oddly sensual for a man; firm, perfectly shaped. His jaw is square, and there’s a dimple in the center of it.

And why the hell are you looking at him, Tiana?

Jesus, I definitely need to get my head examined.

I fold my arms over my chest, glad that today I’m wearing a plain blue T-shirt and not a see-through tramp dress. Although, when his eyes dip down, I feel just as exposed.

“I expected that my driver would do as instructed,” he says, reaching out to brush a curl from my cheek. I don’t notice that I’m holding my breath until he lowers his hand, and the air rushes from my lungs. “Just as I expect you to do the same, Tiana.”

“In your dreams,” I mutter. My voice is hoarse. He chuckles, and I try not to squeeze my eyes shut.

Play it cool, Tee.

Focus on the task.

Take the money and find an escape route.

I keep repeating the words in my head as he sweeps a gaze from my eyes down my chest to my feet and then back again. I feel it like a hot touch on my skin, and when his stare pauses on my chest, I know that my nipples are poking against the fabric of my shirt. And my folded arms are only serving to push my breasts out.

For fuck’s sake!

I told myself I can’t think of him that way and look at what I’m doing. This has to stop. Now.

“There are other things that happen in my dreams, little bird. But that’s a matter for another discussion.” His eyes lock with mine again, and there’s amusement in his. Fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepen slightly, and I know that inside, he’s laughing at me. Which makes me hate him even more.

Think of the money.

You can do this!

Though in another life, I wouldn’t need the promise of cash to make me want this man. Which makes me wonder why he’d feel that he needs to pay for me. I can’t think of many women who’d turn him down. And if anything, the thinly veiled air of danger only makes him more appealing.

Not that I find him appealing, of course. I most certainly don’t. That would be perverse.

“So you have me here. What happens now?” I tighten my arms over my chest and stick my jaw out belligerently.

He cocks his head, that square jaw angling slightly. “What do you think happens now, Tiana?”

The question hangs in the air like a swirling cloud of tension.

And for the life of me, I can’t answer it.