Savage Boss (Fire & Vice) Read online

  Savage Boss

  Fire & Vice Book 4.5

  Nikita Slater

  Copyright © 2020 Nikita Slater Writing Services Ltd.

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

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Contents

  Note from the Author

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  What’s next for Fire & Vice?

  Have you read Nikita’s bestselling dark mafia romance novels?

  Bonus: Driven by Desire

  Excerpt: Loving Vincent

  Also by Nikita Slater

  Stay connected with Nikita!

  Note from the Author

  Dear readers,

  Thank you so much for purchasing Savage Boss! This book is not a standalone, it is the sequel to Savage Vendetta. You must have read Savage Vendetta for this book to make sense. For the best reader experience you should read both Savage Vendetta (book 4) and In His Sights (Book 7) before reading Savage Boss. There is also mention of characters from the other books in the series, and there will be minor spoilers to their stories, but you won’t miss anything if you haven’t read their stories yet. I hope you enjoy Savage Boss, it was truly a pleasure to write another instalment in the Fire & Vice series.

  XOXO,

  Nikita

  This one is for my fans, especially my Sitnikov lovers. Thank you so much for giving me an excuse to revisit Vladimir, Jane and the whole Fire & Vice world. Love to all of you, thank you for being so fucking amazing.

  Prologue

  Moscow, 1989

  His arm trembled, his mind raced, and he begged God to get him out of his current situation. Though his insides were chaos, not a single twitch gave him away. Twitches weren’t allowed. They were weakness. And if there was one thing Vlad was not allowed to do, it was show weakness.

  Unfortunately, Vlad’s father considered everything about Vlad weak. From his lean, wiry fourteen-year-old body to his thoughtful mind and his love for his mother. Vlad could do nothing but take his father’s abuse and hope that one day he would be strong enough to show his father he deserved the life gifted to him.

  Thus, at fourteen-years-old, in an effort to prove his worth to his father, Vlad found himself holding a gun on a man who was tied to a chair and sobbing for his life. Victor Sitnikov stood unmoved next to his son, his face a picture of granite, his arms crossed over his chest. He smelled of cigarettes, sweat, and gun oil. A familiar smell that sent shudders of fear and distaste through his son.

  “Do it, Vlady.”

  Vlad pulled the trigger.

  It was a clean shot to the middle of the forehead. The man’s head was flung back as he slumped, unmoving.

  Dead.

  Vlad felt burning hatred. Not for the victim in the chair, but for the father who forced him to kill the man. This wasn’t Vlad’s first kill and it wouldn’t be his last. He’d learned at a young age that it was him or them. Because he had no choice. Because he was being made into the image of his father. What little of his mother he was born with had been steadily beaten out of him over the years. Any sense of compassion, understanding, love. Soft emotions that had no place in the Russian Bratva.

  Vlad was a fighter. Even at his relatively young age, he was becoming feared on the streets of Moscow. He was Victor’s deadly shadow; the youngest enforcer in the Bratva. He was proud of his accomplishments and hoped that one day his father would see him as an equal.

  Instead of praise, Victor pulled the gun from Vlad’s hand, cuffed him in the side of the head with the hot metal and growled, “Clean up your mess.”

  Vlad stood with his shoulders straight, unmoving as his father strode away from him. Once he was out of earshot, Vlad approached the body slowly, his gaze on the face of a man he’d once accepted sweets from.

  His name was Kostya. He was a shopkeeper who’d had a difficult year and could no longer afford to pay for the mob’s protection. Victor was making an example of him, showing the other building owners and shopkeepers in his territory that failure to make protection payments would result in swift and brutal retribution.

  “I’m sorry,” Vlad whispered to the dead man before setting about untying him from the chair and disposing of the body.

  Two years later.

  Vlad felt great. He was young, strong and feared. He was king of his small section of Moscow. He’d been his father’s loyal weapon for two years and his hard work and perseverance were finally paying off. Victor was going to go to the Bratva and officially name Vlad as his successor.

  It was finally time for Vlad to take a prize.

  Svetlana.

  She was fifteen, one year younger than Vlad. Beautiful and sweet with long smooth hair, long smooth legs and a smile that lit up the long Russian nights. Vlad was positive he was in love and nothing would stop him from taking what he wanted. Not even Svetlana’s affiliation with the Petrov family, Victor’s oldest enemy in the Bratva. Victor was convinced Petrov stole his seat of power within the Bratva when it should have gone to the Sitnikovs.

  Svetlana was Petrov’s niece, but wasn’t really part of the family. Her mother, Petrov’s sister, hadn’t approved of her brother’s affiliation with the mob. She’d taken her young daughter and moved to the city where she opened a sewing shop in Victor’s district.

  Vlad had met the girl, who had been minding the store when he’d shown up to collect payment from the mother. Vlad would love to say that he was smooth and suave with the girls, but in reality, he had little experience with the opposite sex.

  Sure, he had raging hormones like the other boys his age, but he’d been driven pretty much since birth to prove himself capable of taking over the Sitnikov family one day. Girls were a distraction, not one he could afford.

  Until Svetlana. She was going to be the exception.

  If all went well, one day she might become his bride. The woman who would produce his future heirs. He blushed as he thought of fucking Svetlana. It was an image that had been occupying his every other thought since he met her a few weeks ago.

  Tonight, they were going to consummate their budding relationship; they were going to kiss by the Moskva river outside the Kremlin and Vlad was going to present her with the silver bracelet he’d taken from a jeweller as payment for protection.

  He scaled a fence and walked quickly down the alley toward her mother’s shop. Before he could reach their meeting point by the dumpster, someone jumped him from behind, punching him in the back of the head and throwing him to the pavement.

  Vlad rolled away and leapt to his feet, knife in one hand, while his other fist went straight into his attacker’s throat. Luckily, Vlad realized who was on the ground on his knees before he gutted the man. It was Sergei, one of his father’s oldest friends and another enforcer. Vlad knew him well as they often worke
d together, though Sergei’s loyalty belonged to the elder Sitnikov.

  Just as Vlad was about to demand what his father’s man was doing in the alley, the old man’s rough voice sounded from behind him. “Boy!”

  Vlad swung around, lowering the knife.

  The back door of Svetlana’s mother’s shop was open behind Victor and light was flooding the alley. Vlad’s stomach sank to his shoes. His father knew about Svetlana and judging from the expression on his face, he didn’t approve of the association. Vlad wasn’t surprised. Any connection to Petrov was blasphemy to a Sitnikov.

  “Sir.” Vlad stood a little straighter as he faced his father’s wrath.

  “You dare to drag the Sitnikov name through the mud by darkening this whore’s doorway?”

  Vlad thought his father was talking about Stevlana’s mother, Tatiana, but he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. He would stand up for his girlfriend and her mother, the same as he would stand up for his mother and his infant sister. Vlad didn’t give a shit what his father did, so long as he didn’t beat on the women in their family. Since Vlad grew bigger and stronger there was an unspoken agreement that Victor wouldn’t touch the women of the family so long as Vlad worked for him, obeyed his commands, made the Sitnikov name proud.

  “She’s not a whore,” he snapped at his father.

  Victor’s shoulders stiffened and he lifted a fist to punch Vlad, but Vlad sidestepped him and brought his knife up, not quite a threat, but a warning.

  It took Victor a moment to control his temper, but once he did, he spoke calmly. “This association disappoints me, Vladimir.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Vlad said stubbornly. “I love Svetlana. I will continue to see her.”

  Victor couldn’t hold his vitriol back this time. “You stubborn little fuck. I knew I should’ve drowned you at birth like the mangy dog you are.”

  Vlad was so used to his father’s insults that they no longer touched him. “Are you finished?” he asked coldly. “I have plans.”

  Vlad decided then and there that he would move out of his family home and into the city. He was young but he was wily and smart. He could easily make his way in Moscow without riding his father’s coattails. The thought of leaving his mother and baby sister, Anastasia, in the same house as their violent father made his guts burn, but he had to move out or Vlad would end up killing his father. Vlad would have to do his best to protect his mother and sister from afar.

  “Da,” Victor said in a drawl, “I am finished.”

  Those three words sent a shaft of ice down Vlad’s spine. He shoved his father aside and lurched for the open back door of the shop. He flung himself inside, but he knew before he even saw the carnage. The metallic smell of blood wafted in the air.

  He stopped in his tracks and shouted his pain as the reality of what his father had done punched him in the gut. On the floor of their cozy kitchen were two women, Svetlana and her mother. They were dead, laying in a pool of their combined blood, their throats gaping open in horrific yawns.

  Through a numb haze, he heard his father enter behind him. Victor stood beside Vlad and placed a falsely comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight enough that Vlad was pulled out of his frozen horror.

  “We don’t associate with Petrov whores,” Victor said before spitting on Svetlana’s body. “You will be more careful in your future associations, da?”

  When Vlad didn’t speak, Victor squeezed the back of his neck so hard, Vlad thought he was trying to strangle him.

  Finally, Vlad spit out his agreement, “Da.”

  “Excellent!” Victor crowed before releasing Vlad’s neck and slapping him hard on the back. “Now, clean up this mess and get your ass home.”

  Victor released Vlad’s neck, turned and walked away, leaving Vlad to dispose of the dead bodies of his girlfriend and her mother.

  Without conscious thought, Vlad turned on the spot, leapt on his father’s back and slit his throat from ear to ear with the knife he was still holding. As Victor dropped to the floor clutching his neck, his loyal guard dog came hurtling through the door.

  Using the element of surprise, Vlad was able to throw himself on the larger man and slam his knife into his neck, severing the carotid artery. Vlad leapt out of the way of the flailing arms and watched dispassionately as the two men died together on the floor next to the bodies of two innocent women.

  Vlad went to his father as Victor took his final breaths and kneeled next to him. Victor’s face was a picture of shock and panic as his eyes began to dim.

  “Dos vedanya, father. I will see you in hell one day.”

  Three years later.

  “It is the judgement of the Moscow chapter of the Bratva that you travel to America to manage our overseas interests. In return, you will receive a cut of all business conducted on our behalf. You will also have our permission to seek new avenues of business.” Romanoff looked up sternly, his steady black gaze on the vicious young enforcer. “Establish yourself and make us proud.”

  Vlad sat calmly at the high table of the Bratva, his brain whirring with possibilities. Representatives from most of the Moscow Bratva families were in attendance: Volkov, Romanoff, Grekov, Grigorovich, Maximov and Petrov. Though there was no seat for Sitnikov, the name had been respected before the death of his father. It was now both respected and feared.

  Vladimir ran the streets of Moscow. It had become his personal playground. His word was law, his brand of terror legendary. His was the name whispered in the streets, like some kind of bogeyman, which was saying something for a young man of nineteen.

  Every obstacle Vlad had encountered in his life made him stronger, brought him to this point. Now, in an attempt to ship him far away where he could no longer terrorize their city, the Bratva were handing him a new playground on a silver platter. America. The land of opportunities.

  “Congratulations, boy.” Petrov’s deep voice boomed across the table. He gave Vlad a paternal smile. Vlad returned his regard with a nod.

  After Vlad killed his father, he’d gone straight to Petrov to tell him his sister and niece were dead. It was a calculated move on Vlad’s part to approach a known enemy of his family with bad news, but it had paid off. After his grief had waned, Petrov had taken Vlad under his wing and taught him the ins and outs of the Bratva, information Vlad’s own father hadn’t given him. Vlad and Petrov had formed a wary alliance and eventually Vlad had worked the streets as Petrov’s enforcer.

  If Petrov approved of the plan to send Vlad to America, then Vlad had no doubt it was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Petrov owed Vlad a blood debt from when Vlad had saved his life. Vlad had been horrifically scarred in the incident and Petrov had vowed his loyalty. Vlad now trusted the older man to have his best interests in mind.

  “I will require a second-in-command to accompany me,” Vlad said boldly. “I name Boris Grekov.”

  Chapter One

  20 years later

  Vlad was sick and fucking tired of cops. He paid these assholes a fortune to stay out of his business. They shouldn’t even be blinking in his direction. Yet here he was, languishing in a dimly lit dingy interrogation room waiting on the lead detective.

  He’d been told he was needed for questioning in the murder of Dennis Yankovich, Vlad’s accountant. The chief of police had personally walked Vlad into the building, telling him it was just routine questioning because Vlad had worked closely with Yankovich. Vlad knew better. Some overeager young detective was attempting to prove himself by taking down the biggest, baddest mobster in town. They were about to find out what happened when they pissed off the Boss.

  Of course he had done the Dennis Yankovich job. Vlad had decided to give this one his personal touch as a reminder to the rest of the city’s underworld not to fuck with him. Dennis had embezzled from Sitnikov and he’d ended up in the river with Vlad’s signature necktie.

  Anyone who came after Vlad would find himself in a similar position, including cops who thought they could get away with
sniffing around his business. Vlad had a simple rule for the cops in his town; nose around his turf, lose the nose.

  Vlad was forced to wait for over an hour for the interrogation to begin, likely a calculated move meant to rattle him. He thought about leaving, since he wasn’t under arrest, but decided against it. He was curious about the man who’d had the balls to demand his presence for questioning. Clearly an idiot. Only a complete moron would know of Vlad’s reputation and still come after him.

  He was about to rise from his creaky metal chair and ask for a cup of coffee when something changed. Nothing noticeable, but a slight shift in the energy of the room. He was being watched.

  Vlad lifted his cold gaze to the one-way mirror and stared hard at his own reflection knowing there was someone on the other side watching him. Though he couldn’t see the person he could feel them, the gaze, the curiosity, the energy.

  The door opened and in walked the most stunning woman Vlad had ever laid eyes on. She was breathtaking. Not classically beautiful but arresting. Her body was short and compact, tucked away in ugly conservative clothes that she probably thought gave her a professional image. Vlad could imagine the bounty that lay underneath though. She had severe shoulder length black hair with long bangs, but somehow the cheap haircut only served to enhance the unique beauty of her face. She had high cheekbones, wide, almost too-big eyes, dark winged eyebrows, golden brown eyes, and full lips that proved utterly fascinating to Vlad. So much so that he couldn’t speak as she introduced herself and her partner then proceeded to grill him.