Free Glazov (Born Bratva Book 1) by Suzanne Steele Page B

chosen to carry on his legacy. For the first time in my life, my tendency to act responsibly was working against me. The women before me had all been Bratva groupies, passed around from man to man like party favors. I was the first woman he ever had who was a responsible businesswoman, and though he was a mobster, he was also a businessman. It took more than brawn to rule over his organization. It took brains, and if Glazov was anything, he was smart.
    I looked up to view a gentleman in a dark suit standing in front of my desk. I should have known when I smiled and his countenance remained stoic that he did not come bearing good news.
    “Kathleen Sanders?”
    “Yes, how may I help you?”
    “You can start by doing yourself a favor and breaking up with that thug boyfriend of yours.”
    It suddenly hit me that this guy was from a branch of law enforcement. Judging by the way he was dressed, I guessed it was the FBI. He donned the standard dark suit, white shirt, and no-nonsense attitude that went with the stereotypical G-man.
    “Well, you can start by showing me your credentials and telling me what branch of law enforcement you work for.” Though I already had the feeling this guy was FBI, I needed to see those credentials before I spoke to him.
    Though my voice and demeanor were calm, my heart was beating out of my chest. I had known, in the back of my mind, this day would come. Sooner or later, whoever was following and watching Glazov would attempt to come after me. It was probably standard practice for them to go after the person they saw as the weakest link. A wave of relief washed over me when I realized they could have gone after my assistant. I was shocked I didn’t fear them questioning her for her safety’s sake. I just didn’t want her revealing any information about Glazov and getting him in trouble. For the first time in this chaotic journey I was on, I realized I didn’t want him to go to prison because it meant being away from him.
    The man standing in front of my desk tossed down a badge, and sure enough, he was FBI. I hadn’t really needed the proof; I was simply stalling for time so I could wrap my brain around the fact that I was now a known associate of the Bratva. The woman, who spent her whole life being responsible so she could avoid trouble, was now being questioned by the highest branch of law enforcement in existence.
    “Miss Sanders, you seem like a nice lady who has quite a bit of business sense. I would be willing to bet that Alexander Glazov has forced you into a relationship with him. I can help you escape him.”
    Here it was, being offered to me on a silver platter. It was a way to escape but at what price? Witness protection? I would be forced to leave everything I had spent a lifetime building. Once again, I felt a wave of anger towards my assistant rush through me. Anyone who thought addiction didn’t affect anybody but the addict had never been close to one. The reason I had helped her in the beginning was the same reason I kept protecting her—her children. I grew up without a mother, and I would never wish that hell on anyone. I would continue to protect her from Glazov.
    “Well, Mr. Turner, I’m sure that is a wonderful offer, but the problem is I know nothing of Mr. Glazov’s business practices. I can also assure you that I have not been forced into anything by anyone.”
    “So, you admit you’re choosing to date the most dangerous Russian mobster on the FBI’s radar of your own free will?”
    I looked him right in the eye and said, “I think you need to go because, as far as I’m concerned, the government crossed a line when they sent you to monitor who I fuck.”
    His face remained stoic. “Very well,” he replied, and as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Glazov
    I eyed Yafon as I chuckled, “That woman of mine is one fiery redhead.”
    “That she is, sir. That she is.”
    “The government crossed a line when they sent you to monitor who I fuck.