Page 1 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

PROLOGUE

Igor

Bass pulses through the ceiling speakers like a wave, pulling everyone into a dim haze.

Strobe lights flash, slicing through a mist of neon. A loud blend of electronic dance and hip-hop fills the air as bodies gyrate, moving against each other in sync.

There’s scattered laughter from different angles, the clinking of filled glasses, and excited shouts for more drinks from some of the guests.

I rest my arms against the cool steel railing and lean forward, watching the sea of spinning movement from the glass balcony at the private area, and my gaze drifts across the crowd until it finds my brother standing like a carved pillar near the regular entrance below.

Even from up here, he commands space.

The contrast between us hits me like it always does.

Growing up, people often said we looked alike. That might have been true years ago, when we were still boys running through the same dirty streets. But we couldn’t be any more different now.

I run a hand through my pure brown hair. His, though the same deep brown at first glance, carries stark gray streaks at the roots.

He’s significantly taller, his frame towering over most of the other men in the room, with paler skin that never seems to take the Miami sun and muscles carved from countless brutal hours in the gym.

Where my eyes are brown, his are ice blue, cold and piercing, capable of freezing a man in place before the strike comes.

We’re like fire and ice.

I’m the fire—the heat that builds, the blaze that consumes obstacles and lights up the night with ambition. And he’s the ice—calmer, composed, almost unnervingly still most of the time. He can stand in the midst of havoc and never raise his voice. But when provoked…that’s when the ice cracks and the monster is unleashed.

I watch him now as he scans the room with those arctic eyes, one hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a lieutenant.

He catches my gaze from below and gives me the faintest nod of acknowledgment before returning his attention to the man standing beside him.

Satisfaction settles in my chest. I lift the glass to my lips, fingers curling around it as vodka burns deliciously down my throat.

It’s Velour’s grand opening night, and so far, every detail of the event has unfolded just as I planned. Which is good. Very good.

Almost nothing excites me more than the execution of a good business move, when everything flows seamlessly, uninterrupted, with all the pieces coming together and alive. When that happens, I can feel the reins of control in my grasp, nothing moving until I raise a finger.

At the ground floor, there’s brisk movement from the entrance as brawny bodyguards, all dressed in plain black suits, file in with some of the most powerful men in Miami tightly secured between them. The men make their way up the crowded glass staircase to the upper level and the VIP lounge that’s only a few meters away from where I’m standing.

Over there, gold lights gleam over polished marble as they settle on black tuxedos.

The new arrivals wave attendants over, and minutes later, there are at least six ice buckets encasing the most expensive wines from the cellar moving toward them.

In that section, I have cunning politicians, ruthless businessmen, and notorious cartel partners, all raising their glasses in the air, toasting to more success—success that’s being paid for by their fear and loyalty to me.

Tonight isn’t merely a celebration. It’s a declaration carved into the night itself—a bold statement that my empire is no longer discussed in whispers. It’s displayed, radiant and merciless, for every soul in Miami to witness.

I swirl the vodka in my glass and let a slow smile curve my lips.

One year ago, a measly attempt was made to break me.

A minor inconvenience was disguised as betrayal, knives sharpened in the dark by someone I underestimated.

But here I am. I rose from those ashes like a phoenix, a storm reborn with greater intensity and resilience.

Tonight, every pulsing light, perfect dancer, and armed man moving silently at my command proves that I’m untouchable.

Pride burns hot in my chest.