Page 7 of Daddy Brigadier

“Why didn’t you give me the arms dealing business?” he asks grudgingly.

My eyes snap to his face. Apparently, not giving him my power in the Bratva is an insult.

I roll my eyes. “You get what I fucking give you,” I remind him.

His face flushes with anger. “Bullshit,” he retorts flatly. “You don’t trust me.”

A cruel laugh bursts out of me. “You’re not worthy of sitting alongside the Savin brothers.” I dismiss him with a wave like a lowly soldier.

The gold ring around my finger settles into the hollow of my hand like a metal reminder of my position in the Bratva. Not that I need one. But one day, I’ll pass this ring down to him too, along with my position as Brigadier. He’s intelligent, but does he really possess the tenacity required to be a Bratva boss?

I see the determination in his eyes and his desire to earn my approval. As a father, I want him to succeed, to prove me wrong, to become the powerhouse I believe is hidden within him.

I cover my face with my hands, peeking between my fingers to muffle my voice. “Why don’t you start by finding out who the hell is stealing from us?”

Weapons sales are down twenty percent despite my network putting more guns into the hands of mobsters, drug dealers, and gang members. It’s not about the money. It’s about the lesson a person must learn about never stealing from the Bratva.

“I’ll find out who it is, Dad,” he promises, his voice just above a whisper as the waiter approaches us.

“Good evening, sir,” the waiter greets as he deftly pours a glass of rich red wine, placing it beside my Scotch. “Have you decided what you’ll be ordering tonight?”

“I’ll go with the Porterhouse,” I say, savoring the deep, sweet notes of the wine as I lift the glass by its stem.

“An excellent choice,” he says, nodding, then turns and takes the rest of the table’s order.

I gently pat Daniel’s hand, reminding him that tonight is all about him.

The moment I stand, the table falls silent, and every pair of eyes turns to me.

“Cheers to my son Daniel, the new CEO of Volkov Enterprises.”

The business leaders at the table all lift their glasses in celebration. Each one of them has served me well, and now they’ll do the same for my son.

When my food arrives, I shovel as much as I can into my mouth. With my wife’s passing, dining alone often means my meal gets replaced by a generous pour of Scotch, even though I have a chef available for me at all times.

As conversations buzz around the table, I find myself growing bored, my gaze drifting across the busy restaurant in search of something that catches my interest.

I take a bite of my steak, relishing the deep, savory flavor. “Hmm,” I moan in delight, my gaze drifting across the room until it settles on a nearby table.

There, the hostess seats a woman I immediately recognize, the same one who has been haunting my dreams and occupying my every thought. I almost need to rub my eyes to check she isn’t a mirage. She’s real and sitting in the chair across the table, facing me directly. When the hostess places the napkin on her lap, her gaze meets mine, and she nods at me approvingly.

I raise an eyebrow.What the fuck?

Scanning the stark, unforgiving walls of the restaurant, a sense of unease comes to me.

Everything appears ordinary, aside from my security team stationed nearby. Perhaps this is just a coincidence after all. Is she here to meet someone? A date? The mere thought of another man getting close to what I already desire so intensely ignites a fierce anger within me.

Tonight, she has shed her good-girl image, wearing a daringly short, tight black dress paired with striking red high heels. Her lips’ hue matches the shoes. She’s a temptress sent to seduce me.

The waiter approaches her with a bottle of white wine.Expensive!She has good taste.

After he fills her glass, she raises it to her lips, her eyes fixed on mine. As the glass glides across her lips, she casts me a playful wink.

My hand hides under my napkin as I tug on my balls, trying to alleviate the rush of excitement her lips have just sent to my throbbing cock.

I’m tempted to walk over, grab her by the neck, and pull her into the bathroom. Once I have her to myself, I’ll strip that dress and fuck her so fervently that the entire restaurant will hear her crying my name.

My thoughts are abruptly cut off when the waiter sets her meal in front of her. She, too, has chosen the Porterhouse. As she takes her first bite, I can almost hear the satisfied moan that escapes her lips while she chews delicately, her eyes closed, head slightly tilted back as if in the throes of orgasmic pleasure. Or perhaps that is just my wishful imagination. When she finally opens her eyes again, she takes another bite, keeping her gaze on me, enjoying my own meal.