Mila let herself into the dark, used car showroom. It was late at night, and the pitiful lock on the front door had been useless. She’d picked it in under twenty seconds. Any common thief could get past it.

Her attention was captured by the soft light streaming from the back office. The sounds of her heels clicking against the dirty tiled floor didn’t bother her. She bypassed the poor excuse for cars as she made her way through the showroom. She wasn’t worried about him running. Her men surrounded the building, leaving nowhere for him to go. She wouldn’t need any help with this job.

Used car salesman, Marvin Danovich, owed her brother money. He’d taken a hefty loan from the family to save his used car business, and tonight, she was here to pay him a visit to remind him of the money he owed. He had one week until his payment was due, and she would be the one to collect it.

She loved her job. She was a brigadier, captain, in the Tokhan Bratva, reporting to her brother and father. Her father, Salagin “Sal” Petrovna, was the pakhan back home in the motherland, Russia. Her older brother, Pasha, ran the Bratva in New York City, while their cousin, Nikolai, ran Atlanta. Both of them reported to their father.

The Tokhanskaya Bratva, better known as Tokhan Bratva, was founded in the early 1980’s by Salagin. He was a former tailor in Moscow who had served a prison term for fraud. He began the brotherhood in the Tokhan District of Moscow not too long after he was released from prison, where he began recruiting the local aggressive men as foot soldiers. He then hired and used a thief-in-law, Anton Malkovich, to make a name for the themselves amongst established criminals. Over the decades, the Tokhan Bratva grew to be one of the most powerful Bratvas in all of Russia.

There was always some other, smaller mafia, trying to make a name for themselves or challenge her father, but they always lost. Sal Petrovna was a ruthless mafia boss who proved repeatedly that he was not going anywhere. The Tokhan Bratva was on every government watch list, but it didn’t phase them at all. Money was the root of all evil, and every person had a price to turn their head the other way. Her brother and cousin ran the crime family in the States and would continue the family’s legacy.

“Who’s there?” a voice called out from the office. Mila remained silent as she arrived at the door.

A gasp escaped the middle-aged bald man as he flew out of his chair, knocking it over. She could tell that with a normal, unsuspecting woman, he would have been a smooth-talking car salesman, trying to take advantage of her.

By the way his hands shook as he pushed his glasses up his nose, he knew who she was.

He’d better fear me.

Tonight would be just a friendly warning. If she had to come back, it wouldn’t be good. She wanted him to know that she meant business.

And she did.

No one fucked over the Tokhan Bratva, not even the smaller fish. She had a reputation to uphold, and letting even one person get away with something would tarnish her record.

The glock strapped to her leather-encased thigh spoke volumes. His eyes traveled down to her weapon, and his body froze in place.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

There was no need to go in with guns blazing quite yet. She took a few menacing steps into the small office and stood in front of his desk, where she rested her hands and glared at him. She would scare the shit out of him today, but if he was late on his payment, he would suffer. Broken fingers would be the first form of punishment for just being a day late. She had that form of torture down to a science, taught to her personally by her father.

“Broken fingers on their non-dominant hand will ensure they pay. You wouldn’t want to break the dominant hand’s fingers, he would need those to make the payment,” her father had said to her many years ago.

“Kollektor,” he’d muttered in Russian with fear on his face. Collector.

She never got tired of hearing the nickname that was given to her by her comrades. Anyone who knew of her, knew that she was the best at her job. She was always successful, and if the person didn’t pay up, their body would never be found, plain and simple. There was no reason to run because she always tracked her targets down. They would always suffer more for making her work harder.

“Good. You have heard of me.” She was pleased that she didn’t have to explain who she was. “Then you know why I’m here. You borrowed a hefty sum of money from my brother—”

“My payment’s not due yet!” he blurted out, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“I know, but I just wanted to stop by to ensure that you remembered that.” She let her hand purposefully brush her gun. His eyes followed her hand’s movement.

“Yes, I do. I’ll have the money, I promise.”

“Good, because believe me, you don’t want me to have to come back. It would not be a pleasant visit,” she threatened, her eyes narrowed on him. It wasn’t like her brother would miss the twenty grand that he loaned the car salesmen, but it was the principle of the matter. They loaned him money, he should be honorable and pay it back as agreed, with interest.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, sweat literally dripping from his forehead. She was disgusted by how much of a coward he was. She would bet if she snatched his pants down, she wouldn’t be able to find his balls.

“Good night then.” She turned and walked out of the office, leaving him shaking in place.

The sound of a body crashing to the floor echoed behind her, causing her to smile. The overweight man had probably fainted; she had that effect on people. She quickly made her way out of the stale showroom and breathed deeply when she walked out into the warm, New York night air.

A dark luxury sedan pulled up in front of her. Davor Jastrow, her right-hand man, stepped out of the passenger door and opened the back door for her. Without a word, she entered the vehicle. Once Davor closed the door, she settled back against the plush leather seats. Her brother’s taste in vehicles was exquisite.

“Everything go as expected?” Oleg asked from the driver’s seat as he directed the car onto the street.

“Da,” she murmured as she watched the city lights speed by. “We shouldn’t have any problems from the fat salesman. I think he pissed himself before me.”

Both Oleg and Davor were recruited into the brotherhood by Mila. Their criminal reputations preceded them, and she knew that they would be an asset to the brotherhood. It was she who spoke to her brother and convinced him to make them on. They both pledged their allegiance to her brother and the Tokhan Bratva, becoming Vor, or made men.

“Well, you know you have a certain way about yourself,” Davor chuckled. “You tend to make men shake in their boots from fear, and women hate you because you’re powerful and beautiful.”

She snorted at his comment. Both men chuckled as they reminisced of other times grown men had pissed themselves from fear of her. She found it downright disgusting and rolled her eyes at some of the tales they shared. It was always hard for her to even find someone to date. She knew she had high standards, but a girl shouldn’t settle. She knew what she wanted, and she would be damned if the man of her dreams would be anything but what she wanted.

“Where are we going?” she asked, starting to feel restless. She unstrapped her glock from her leg and placed it in the secured compartment in the armrest.

It had been a while since her last sexual encounter, and she was starting to get the itch. She was close to Oleg and Davor, but thought of them as brothers. She would never cross that line, and she knew that being who she was, they had never thought of it either. If even one of them had hinted at being interested in her, her brother Pasha would have had both of them strung up by their ankles and beaten within an inch of their life.

“Where do you want to go?” Oleg shot a glance back at her with an eyebrow raised.

“Let’s go have a drink and celebrate. I didn’t have to shoot anyone tonight,” she bragged.

“That’s certainly something we could celebrate,” Oleg chuckled.

“To the club then?” Davor asked.

“Da.” She nodded slowly. Their family owned a popular nightclub, the Cherry Eclipse. She needed a good drink and to go on the prowl tonight for someone to release her sexual tension with.

“Mila’s on the prowl,” Davor announced as Oleg guided the car toward the Meatpacking District.

“What’s wrong with that? Why can’t I find a man that would be compatible with me? A manly man. Someone who doesn’t quake in his boots at the first sign of a strong woman, and can handle me?” she asked.

Most men were scared of her brother and threatened by her. No one wanted to be the one to break the heart of the local mafia boss’s sister who was damn good with guns and knives. It would take a special man to settle down with her. She wanted to be able to find someone that she would share her life with, someone she could raise a family with. Just because she was in the bratva, didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear the pitter-patter of feet running around her home.

“I’ve told you time and time again, you can’t date yourself.” Davor laughed. She allowed the jokes because they were a family, a brotherhood, with an impenetrable bond shared between them that could only be broken in death.

She leaned forward and smacked him upside the back of his head. He always could bring a smile to her face. It was a long-standing joke between the two of them—her dream man was the male version of herself.

“Very funny,” she scoffed, settling back into her seat to enjoy the ride.

Twenty minutes later, they arrived in the Meatpacking District and pulled into the front of the exclusive hotel where the Cherry Eclipse was housed, on the roof. It was the perfect location for the popular nightclub, which offered beautiful views of the Hudson River.

It was Friday night, and the club would be packed to capacity. She pulled her clutch from the armrest compartment. Grabbing her cell phone, she shot off a quick text to her brother to let him know she was done for the night.

Cherry Eclipse? he wrote back. She chuckled. Her big brother knew her too well.

Yup, she responded. Going to have a few drinks and have some fun.

On my way.

Let’s party, she wrote back, ready for just that. It wasn’t that often that Pasha would come hang with her at the club, but seeing how he owned it, he needed to show his face once in a while.

The valet opened her door and held his hand out. She threw her phone back into her clutch and took the outstretched hand. It was a little before midnight, and it was time for her to relax and enjoy what was left of the night.