Owned by the Boss Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Owned by the Boss copyright @ 2020 by Brook Wilder and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

  BOOK 2 of the Ivanov Bratva trilogy

  BOOKS IN THE IVANOV BRATVA TRILOGY:

  TAKEN BY THE BOSS

  OWNED BY THE BOSS

  HELD BY THE BOSS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Owned by the Boss

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  BOOK 3 – HELD BY THE BOSS

  OTHER BOOKS BY BROOK WILDER

  Owned by the Boss

  Chapter 1

  Stella

  I know Lukas is watching me from somewhere. Ditching him hasn’t been easy, and I doubt I’ll have long. Ever since the attack was carried out against my family and Danya’s father, the families have been on the verge of all-out war in the streets. It doesn’t help that no one trusts anyone with the Russo name anymore.

  The Ivanovs, the family I married into, are out for blood. The De Lucas are right behind them.

  I thought Danya had been overprotective before the attack. Now, I’m damn close to simply being put under house arrest. Part of me hates him for his excessive rules regarding my life now. The other part is grateful to have a husband who gives a shit about my safety and my life. I hurry down the street wearing dark jeans and a black shirt, boots, and a large sunhat to cover my hair. The sunglasses are big enough to obscure most of my face. They don’t stop me from glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. My life has made me paranoid. I hate that.

  I step into the large bookstore and walk straight to the back of the main floor where there’s a small café. It’s off the street, the only reason I agreed to meet this man there. I curse him again, ignoring the stares I get from the people I pass by. None of them know the hell I’ve been through these last few weeks. They can judge me all they want.

  A few harsh glares aren’t going to hurt me, not after hearing my mother be shot over the phone. Not after almost losing Danya.

  Not after realizing we’re both trapped in this madness, and it’s about to get worse.

  The corner table away from the few other patrons is empty, so I aim for it and take a seat. I check the time on my watch, having left my cell in the Mustang parked four blocks away. I’m about ten minutes early. Dammit. I wanted to get here, get this meeting over with, and get the hell back to the mansion. Mikhail Ivanov’s viewing is today. Danya woke up this morning and when I asked him how he was, all he did was stare at me with a lost look in his eyes. It quickly turned cold as he slipped out of bed and went to get dressed. By the time I was up and out of the shower, he was gone, leaving a note saying he’d be with Nadia, his mother, and would meet me at the funeral home this afternoon.

  “Come on, you bastard,” I mutter under my breath as I remove my sunglasses. “Just get here already.”

  I consider ordering a coffee, but my stomach is in knots. My uneasiness is mostly due to this meeting I didn’t want to come to. The rest of it comes from the fact that in a few hours, I’ll be surrounded by Ivanovs. After Joseph, my idiot father, turned on them, quite a few voiced their opinions on weeding out the rest. I’ve endured more than a few heated glares over the last few days. Overhearing Danya talking to Lukas about how much danger my life is in only brought home how much trouble is about to come my way. Then I got a call from the one man I would’ve loved to talk to months ago before I married Danya and became so entangled in this bloody life of mine.

  Jack Bennet is a renowned journalist known for exposing corrupt politicians. He’s been all over the world, but he mostly focuses on issues at home. I watched many of his interviews before I ever started auditing journalism classes. His interview tactics are impressive; the way he throws his targets off balance and gets them to trip over their words. Several congressmen and women have been brought low because of an interview with Jack.

  But now he wants to speak with me, and I have to fold my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking with my sudden nerves. I’m not even sure how Jack was able to get ahold of me in the first place. All I received three days ago was an email saying he saw the documentary I created with those journalism students and he wanted to meet. I ignored it the first four times. By the fifth email, I gave in and agreed to hear him out, but that’s it. I’m on much shakier ground now than I’ve ever been before, partly because of that damn movie and partly because of the man I love. In the past, I would’ve gladly turned over everything I knew about the families, including Danya.

  Now, I have to do everything I can to protect the man I love and our future, whatever the hell that might entail.

  My hands curl around my stomach, remembering the conditions of Mikhail’s will. A baby. Danya and I have to have a legitimate heir before he gains control of the Ivanov family. That was once our way out, but now … shit, I can’t bring a baby into this world. Not until I know we’ll be safe from our enemies. That day, I fear, will never come.

  “Stella?”

  I jump at the sound of the male voice, biting my tongue at the same time.

  “Sorry,” the man, who turns out to be Jack Bennet, says in a rush as he sits down opposite me. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He holds out a hand as he adds, “Jack Bennet. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me.”

  I don’t return his smile and hesitate to shake his hand. After a few tense seconds, I finally do. “Yeah, seemed like the only way to get you to stop emailing me.”

  His laugh is charming, as is his smile with a single dimple in his right cheek. He’s about ten years older than me if I recall. Single, good-looking, and dresses impeccably. His dark brown hair is a bit on the messy side, but it fits him well. He runs his hands through it, then scoots his chair in a bit closer.

  “I can be a bit persistent, yes.”

  “How did you get my contact info?”

  He taps his fingers in a steady, quiet rhythm on the table. “Brittany said you helped them with the documentary. She’s my little sister.”

  I sit back in the chair. Brittany’s last name is Bennet? How the hell did I miss that detail? “Right, well, your sister shouldn’t be handing out my information. I’d appreciate it if you would tell her that for me.”

  “Why don’t you tell her yourself? You still have some schooling left to finish, don’t you?”

  I let my gaze turn blank at his prying and his assumptions. “What did you want to talk to me about, Jack? I don’t have all day.”

  “Ah yes, the funeral for Mikhail is today, isn’t it?”

  The urge to run hits me so hard I have to grip the edge of my seat to stop myself from doing just that. I came here to see what this man wants. I’m not leaving until I know. I don’t answer and simply wait for him to get to his point.

  “That documentary of yours,
it hits pretty close to home,” he goes on, not seeming put off by my lack of talking. “How is it you wound up married to Danya Ivanov?”

  Just keep to the barest facts. That’s what I tell myself as I clear my throat to give myself a few more seconds to compose myself. “We grew up together. Childhood friends who fell in love. Why wouldn’t we get married?”

  He shrugs. “Seemed rushed is all. No one has any information regarding the two of you before the wedding. I’m merely curious about your life … and him.”

  Red flags shoot up in my head. “Oh? What about him?”

  “I watched the documentary, the whole thing, not just the preview that was shown at the charity ball. It’s curious to me why there’s so much information on the families and those within them, but nothing about Danya.”

  If he only knew. There was quite a bit on my husband, but after we were married and we both admitted the truth about what we were to each other, I removed it. Anything pertaining directly to Danya was pulled out. I didn’t even tell the others I did it.

  “And?” I say calmly.

  “And it’s curious is all. It’s no secret your husband has quite the reputation for being exactly like his father. Heartless. Cold. A killer,” he says, lowering his voice as he talks. “Tell me, Stella, do you enjoy being married to a murderer?”

  My pulse jumps, and I find myself holding my breath. I know what Danya’s done, and I’ve accepted it. I don’t need some journalist telling me who my husband is. My job now is to protect Danya as fiercely as he protects me. We’re loyal to each other. I might hate the families. I might hate the life we’re in, but I will not betray the man who loves me so deeply, he’d do anything to protect me. Anything. Besides, Danya’s not the only one with a coldness in him.

  I smile, but it’s not a happy one. It’s a warning for Jack to tread carefully. He’s messing with a situation he knows nothing about. “I know your tactics for getting information,” I tell him, pleased when my voice is steady. “I’ve seen your interviews, how you push and push until the subject is completely thrown off guard. I’ve seen people crack under pressure from your interrogations. It’s impressive if I’m going to be honest with you, truly it is.”

  “Thank you,” he replies with a grin.

  My own smile fades and there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his dark blue eyes. “However, I am not one of those people. You sit there and you ask me if I enjoy being married to a murderer, but you have no idea what you’re asking me. You have no idea what Danya and I have been through. You do not know us.” Jack opens his mouth, probably to tell me about all the information he’s dug up on the families over the years, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “You’re about to put your foot in a trap, Jack, a trap that will suck you down and never let you go. My advice is for you to drop whatever it is you’re working on when it comes to Danya and myself.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “You take it however you want.”

  He sighs as his lips spread wide in a smile that is more predator than friend. “You must really love him to protect him like this, even at the risk of your own life.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snap.

  “Rumor has it there’s been a shake-up amongst the families,” he says with a raised brow. “Your name has come up quite a few times with my sources, as has Danya’s. It would appear from an outsider’s perspective at least that you two are about to be in a very … difficult situation.”

  I force my hands to remain on the table and not fall to my stomach. “I’m not sure what you’re speaking of.”

  “Yes, yes you are, Stella. You know damn well the walls are closing in. Your husband’s life is on the line, as is yours. Do you really believe he can protect you forever? Or that he won’t be brought down one way or another? How much blood are you willing to see spilled, hmm?”

  I nearly lunge across the table to smack him but stop myself in time. I remove my hat instead, but his smirk tells me he knows he’s getting to me. “What do you want with Danya, huh? What?”

  “He rubs shoulders with some of our dear politicians, does he not?”

  I blink, unsure of where this line of questioning is going. “And? So do lots of other men in the state.”

  “Ah, but not all of them are wealthy like Danya and his family. See, the money never lies. You follow the money, you find the corruption, the coverups, the murders. You find a shitload of information that can bring down the most powerful people in the country.” He reaches over and rests his hand on mine. I try to yank it back, but he squeezes hard, and suddenly I’m staring not at Jack Bennet but at a younger version of my father.

  The image sends a jolt through me, and this time, when I tug on my hand, it comes free. I stand and snatch my hat off the table. “You’re going to sit there and tell me you’re one of the good guys and I’m one of the bad? I see the same monster lingering in your eyes as I do in so many others. Goodbye, Jack. Do not contact me again.”

  “Not even if I can get you out of this life? You and Danya?” he asks, and I freeze.

  “You can’t,” I whisper harshly. “No one can.”

  “Oh but I can. All I need is one thing from you. Just one.” He stands as he says it and whispers right in my ear, “I need the information you left out of that documentary. I need everything you did not tell the others about the families.”

  I open my mouth to tell him off then stop. What am I doing? Jack Bennet might be a renowned journalist, but how do I know he’s asking these questions just for his benefit? My name is nowhere on that documentary, and all he has is Brittany’s word that she got her information from me. After I returned to the mansion with Danya, I erased any history of emails between the students and me. There’s no hard evidence that I’m involved at all.

  Now the question remains … is Jack digging for information for himself or someone else?

  I square my shoulders, look him right in the eye, and say, “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about. The documentary you mentioned? Never heard of it.”

  “Too late to lie now.”

  “Who says I’m lying? You show me proof I’m involved and maybe we can talk, but as far as you’re concerned, I had nothing to do with it. I have no information to give you. None.”

  He laughs as he nods. “You are a tough one.”

  “Have to be in this world, but I’m sure you know that.”

  “Listen, I get if you don’t trust me, but I’m telling you the truth. I can get you and Danya safely away from this life. Isn’t that what you want before anything else happens?” His eyes flick to my stomach then back up. “All I’m asking for is time with you and your husband. Nothing more.”

  I flinch and take a step back. Does he know about the damn will, too? A tiny voice in my head says he’s telling the truth. The rest of me screams that he’s trying to pull a fast one. Where is he getting his intel? I glance at my watch. Shit, I’ve been here too damn long.

  “It’ll never happen, and I need to leave. This meeting is over, and you will not contact me again.”

  He catches my wrist but lets me go immediately when I raise my other hand to hit him. “Just take my card. If you change your mind, if you decide you want to work with me, or if you find yourself in need of a friend, call me. At the end of the day, you know we both want the same thing.”

  I think about not taking it, but then it’s in my hand and shoved in my pocket. “Fine.”

  “I mean it, Stella,” he says, his tone serious. “The world you’re trapped in is going to eat you alive. I can guarantee your safety, both of yours. Can your husband say as much?”

  I grind my teeth, turn on my heel, and storm out of the bookstore. What game is he playing at? He can’t guarantee me and Danya shit except a one-way trip to the bottom of the harbor. I pick up the pace, rushing around pedestrians until I reach a high-end clothing store only a block away. It’s the other reason why I chose the bookstore with the café. I needed an alibi for where I was thi
s whole time.

  I duck inside and aimlessly pick out a black dress for the funeral. All the while, my brain is racing, running through my conversation with Jack. He wants intel on the families, more than what’s in the documentary. He wants intel on Danya specifically. Why would he even mention that Danya works with politicians if he didn’t want to bring him down?

  “Guarantee our safety, my ass,” I mutter.

  “Beg pardon?” the woman behind the counter asks, startled.

  “Sorry, just talking to myself.” I put on my most charming smile as she finishes ringing up my purchase. I thank her and leave the store, headed for my Mustang.

  I don’t trust Jack, not even a little bit. There’s more going on than he’s willing to tell me. He’ll have to do a hell of a lot more to gain my trust. I reach my Mustang and slide in behind the wheel. I turn on my cell phone again and put the keys in the ignition. I’m about to start the car when I remember the business card in my pocket.