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Chapter 1
Mila let herself into the dark, used car showroom. It was late at night, and the pitiful lock on the front door had been useless. She’d picked it in under twenty seconds. Any common thief could get past it.
Her attention was captured by the soft light streaming from the back office. The sounds of her heels clicking against the dirty tiled floor didn’t bother her. She bypassed the poor excuse for cars as she made her way through the showroom. She wasn’t worried about him running. Her men surrounded the building, leaving nowhere for him to go. She wouldn’t need any help with this job.
Used car salesman, Marvin Danovich, owed her brother money. He’d taken a hefty loan from the family to save his used car business, and tonight, she was here to pay him a visit to remind him of the money he owed. He had one week until his payment was due, and she would be the one to collect it.
She loved her job. She was a brigadier, captain, in the Tokhan Bratva, reporting to her brother and father. Her father, Salagin “Sal” Petrovna, was the pakhan back home in the motherland, Russia. Her older brother, Pasha, ran the Bratva in New York City, while their cousin, Nikolai, ran Atlanta. Both of them reported to their father.
The Tokhanskaya Bratva, better known as Tokhan Bratva, was founded in the early 1980’s by Salagin. He was a former tailor in Moscow who had served a prison term for fraud. He began the brotherhood in the Tokhan District of Moscow not too long after he was released from prison, where he began recruiting the local aggressive men as foot soldiers. He then hired and used a thief-in-law, Anton Malkovich, to make a name for the themselves amongst established criminals. Over the decades, the Tokhan Bratva grew to be one of the most powerful Bratvas in all of Russia.
There was always some other, smaller mafia, trying to make a name for themselves or challenge her father, but they always lost. Sal Petrovna was a ruthless mafia boss who proved repeatedly that he was not going anywhere. The Tokhan Bratva was on every government watch list, but it didn’t phase them at all. Money was the root of all evil, and every person had a price to turn their head the other way. Her brother and cousin ran the crime family in the States and would continue the family’s legacy.
“Who’s there?” a voice called out from the office. Mila remained silent as she arrived at the door.
A gasp escaped the middle-aged bald man as he flew out of his chair, knocking it over. She could tell that with a normal, unsuspecting woman, he would have been a smooth-talking car salesman, trying to take advantage of her.
By the way his hands shook as he pushed his glasses up his nose, he knew who she was.
He’d better fear me.
Tonight would be just a friendly warning. If she had to come back, it wouldn’t be good. She wanted him to know that she meant business.
And she did.
No one fucked over the Tokhan Bratva, not even the smaller fish. She had a reputation to uphold, and letting even one person get away with something would tarnish her record.
The glock strapped to her leather-encased thigh spoke volumes. His eyes traveled down to her weapon, and his body froze in place.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.
There was no need to go in with guns blazing quite yet. She took a few menacing steps into the small office and stood in front of his desk, where she rested her hands and glared at him. She would scare the shit out of him today, but if he was late on his payment, he would suffer. Broken fingers would be the first form of punishment for just being a day late. She had that form of torture down to a science, taught to her personally by her father.
“Broken fingers on their non-dominant hand will ensure they pay. You wouldn’t want to break the dominant hand’s fingers, he would need those to make the payment,” her father had said to her many years ago.
“Kollektor,” he’d muttered in Russian with fear on his face. Collector.
She never got tired of hearing the nickname that was given to her by her comrades. Anyone who knew of her, knew that she wasthe best at her job. She was always successful, and if the person didn’t pay up, their body would never be found, plain and simple. There was no reason to run because she always tracked her targets down. They would always suffer more for making her work harder.
“Good. You have heard of me.” She was pleased that she didn’t have to explain who she was. “Then you know why I’m here. You borrowed a hefty sum of money from my brother—”
“My payment’s not due yet!” he blurted out, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“I know, but I just wanted to stop by to ensure that you remembered that.” She let her hand purposefully brush her gun. His eyes followed her hand’s movement.
“Yes, I do. I’ll have the money, I promise.”
“Good, because believe me, you don’t want me to have to come back. It would not be a pleasant visit,” she threatened, her eyes narrowed on him. It wasn’t like her brother would miss the twenty grand that he loaned the car salesmen, but it was the principle of the matter. They loaned him money, he should be honorable and pay it back as agreed, with interest.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, sweat literally dripping from his forehead. She was disgusted by how much of a coward he was. She would bet if she snatched his pants down, she wouldn’t be able to find his balls.
“Good night then.” She turned and walked out of the office, leaving him shaking in place.
The sound of a body crashing to the floor echoed behind her, causing her to smile. The overweight man had probably fainted; she had that effect on people. She quickly made her way out of the stale showroom and breathed deeply when she walked out into the warm, New York night air.
A dark luxury sedan pulled up in front of her. Davor Jastrow, her right-hand man, stepped out of the passenger door and opened the back door for her. Without a word, she entered the vehicle. Once Davor closed the door, she settled back against the plush leather seats. Her brother’s taste in vehicles was exquisite.
“Everything go as expected?” Oleg asked from the driver’s seat as he directed the car onto the street.
