All Chapters of A Taste of the Bratva King: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Sergei"We're done here.""You bet we are."I ignore his comment. I pay the bill without another word, walking through the restaurant with Jesse trailing behind. The summer night air hits us like a wall of heat as we exit into the parking lot.Our cars are parked side by side— my BMW and his pristine Mercedes, both symbols of success built on blood money. I stop beside my driver's door, keys in hand, but I don't open it."Jesse." My voice carries across the empty space between us. "One last chance. Pay back the money you stole and walk away. Then we never see each other again."He looks confused, like he can't believe I'm still pushing after his threats. "I thought we just went through this.""I won't say it again. Be smart and walk away without consequences.""Be smart?" Jesse's arrogance returns full force, transforming his features into something ugly and unfamiliar. "No, you be smart, you fucking cunt. Threaten me once more and I'll expose you to the cops and ruin your life. You u

TamaraI've been waiting in Room Five for nearly an hour, and the anticipation is killing me.Tonight feels different. I feel different. The steam from my shower still clings to the air, mixing with the familiar scent of sandalwood and roses that makes this space feel like a sanctuary. But I'm not here for sanctuary anymore. I'm here for him.For TMG. The man I've thought about every night since my first time here, my fingers finding myself in the darkness while imagining his hands, his mouth, his body claiming mine.Viktor is gone. Really, truly gone this time. And with him went the last thread connecting me to the woman who apologized for taking up space, who minimized her own pain to make others comfortable. That woman died in a parking lot outside this very building, buried under the weight of accusations and dismissed suffering.The woman sitting here now— draped in nothing but a silk robe that whispers against my bare skin— wants something different. Something real. Something th

SergeiThe guilt eats at me as I drive through Boston's sleeping streets.My hands shake against the steering wheel— not from fear, but from the weight of what I've done. What I've felt.The woman from Room Five. Her skin under my hands, the connection that burned through me like live wire. I've never experienced anything like it— raw, honest, spiritual in ways that sex has never been before.And that makes it worse.Masha gave me permission. Told me that she understood men have needs, that she wouldn't ask questions as long as I remained discreet. But permission doesn't erase the sense of betrayal.It wasn't supposed to feel like that. It was supposed to be release— physical, meaningless, forgettable. Instead, it was everything I didn't know I was searching for, wrapped in lace and candlelight and the kind of trust I don't deserve.Chert voz'mi!I broke every rule I've ever set for myself.The VanishMe information burns in my memory. Giving her access to me outside those walls, outsi

TamaraThe morning after feels like swimming through honey— everything slow, thick, weighted with the memory of his hands on my skin.I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in Room Five, feeling the heat of his mouth against my throat, the way he filled me so completely I forgot my own name.My body hums with a restless energy that has nothing to do with exhaustion. Even now, twelve hours later, I can feel the ghost of his touch between my thighs.I ended up touching myself again in the darkness of my bedroom, fingers working frantically as I replayed every moment. The memory of his thick length stretching me open, the low growl he made when I clenched around him. I came so hard I had to bite my pillow to muffle the sound, but it wasn't enough. Nothing will ever be enough now that I know what real desire feels like.He's awakened something in me I didn't know existed. Some desperate part of myself that craves his possession like oxygen. The slip of paper with his Vani

TamaraThe antiseptic smell burns my nostrils as I watch my mother's chest rise and fall beneath thin hospital blankets.I've been here sixteen hours straight, my body folded into this uncomfortable chair that's probably seen more vigils than anyone should have to keep. The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in harsh, unforgiving tones that make Mom look smaller than I've ever seen her.Fragile. Breakable. Human in ways I never wanted to acknowledge.My eyes burn from exhaustion, but I can't sleep. Can't close them without seeing Dad's face the last time we spoke, the way he held me just a beat too long when I left his house. Like he was memorizing the moment. Like he already knew.How did I miss it? How did I not see that he was drowning?The machines around Mom's bed beep with a steady rhythm, monitoring vitals that crashed when the news hit her. When the police called to say they'd found Jesse Yevgeniy's body. When suicide became the word that shattered what was left of ou