All Chapters of A Taste of the Bratva King: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

TamaraIt's 8:15 a.m.The fluorescent lights in the precinct buzz with their familiar electrical hum as I push through the glass doors. The scent hits me immediately— burned coffee, industrial disinfectant, and that particular staleness that comes from too many people working too many hours in too small a space. Normally, this cocktail of chaos and routine feels like coming home. Today, it feels like stepping into someone else's life.My desk sits in the corner of the bullpen, a fortress of organized efficiency surrounded by the controlled mayhem that defines the Boston Police Department's administrative wing. Two monitors glow with case files and scheduling software, while my coffee mug— the one Dad brought me back from a conference in Chicago— sits exactly where I left it yesterday. Everything is the same. Everything should feel normal.But I'm not the same woman who sat here yesterday morning.The memory of candlelight and velvet chairs drifts through my mind unbidden. TMG— The Mas

TamaraMorning rolls around sooner than expected.I wake to the familiar knife twist in my pelvis, except this time it feels like someone's added barbed wire to the blade. The digital clock reads 6:23 a.m., but I've been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours, each wave of cramping jolting me back to awareness like an electric shock.Rolling onto my side doesn't help. Neither does the heating pad I keep permanently plugged in beside my bed. The pain radiates from my lower abdomen down into my thighs, up through my ribs, making every breath feel deliberate and costly. My lower back aches like I've been lifting concrete blocks in my sleep.This isn't normal, Tamara.You can't keep pretending it is.I catalog the symptoms I've been tracking in my phone for weeks: pain that's getting worse instead of better, periods that arrive two weeks late or disappear entirely, exhaustion that sleep doesn't touch, and the sharp, stabbing sensation every time Viktor tried to...I push that thou

TamaraThe air in Fatal Seduction feels different tonight.Maybe it's me that's different— broken in ways I'm still learning to understand. The burgundy velvet and amber lighting that once felt mysterious now feel like sanctuary, like the only place in the world where I can exist without pretending everything is fine.Jack recognizes me immediately, his dark eyes softening with something that might be concern. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't offer sympathetic platitudes. Just nods toward the familiar hallway and slides a lace mask across the polished bar."Room Five," he says quietly. "Same as before."My fingers tremble as I take the mask. The delicate lace feels fragile, like it might disintegrate if I grip too tightly. But then again, everything feels fragile right now.The corridor stretches before me, each step echoes my heartbeat— erratic, desperate, alive despite everything trying to kill it. The scent of sandalwood and roses grows stronger as I approach the familiar door, an

TamaraThe cool night air hits my face as I step out of The Fatal Seduction, and I feel like I'm floating.My skin still hums with electricity from TMG's touch. The memory of his hands, his voice, the intensity of our connection sends warmth spiraling through my chest.For the first time in months, I feel alive. Powerful. Like myself again.My phone buzzes insistently from my purse as I walk toward the parking area, but I ignore it. Whatever crisis needs my attention can wait. Right now, I want to hold onto this feeling— this sense of being desired, heard, valued. TMG gave me something tonight that I'd forgotten I deserved.The phone buzzes again. And again. Twelve missed calls when I finally check the screen, all from Viktor.Not tonight, I think, sliding the phone back into my purse. Whatever he wants to fight about, whatever new accusation he's manufactured, I don't have the energy or the desire to engage. The contrast between how TMG treated me— with reverence, with attention, wit

SergeiJesse isn't just stealing from me— he's positioning himself to eliminate me entirely. Once his network is established, once he has enough clients and resources, he won't need Sergei Sidorov anymore."What about Viktor's accusations?" I ask."Kozlov was right about the missing money, wrong about the cause. That Henderson delivery he was screaming about? Jesse took the full payment and reported it as a failed placement. Client got their baby, Jesse got his money, and we got fucked."Everything slots into place with sickening clarity. Viktor's rage wasn't about imaginary money— it was about real theft that I was too blind to see. While I dismissed his accusations as paranoia and jealousy, Jesse was systematically dismantling our partnership from the inside."How long have you known?" Radimir asks quietly."Suspected for a few days. Had confirmation yesterday." I scrub my free hand over my face. "Viktor came into my office making wild accusations. I thought he was losing his shit,