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  AGGRESSIVE RUSSIAN

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 94

  FLORA FERRARI

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  A Man Who Knows What He Wants Series

  Aggressive Russian

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  Series

  Newsletter

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2019 by Flora Ferrari.

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  Book 1: Baby Lust

  Book 2: Veteran

  Book 3: Built

  Book 4: Bambino

  Book 5: Rescued

  Book 6: Leader

  Book 7: Professor

  Book 8: Burned

  Book 9: Worldly

  Book 10: Pistol

  Book 11: Policed

  Book 12: Driven

  Book 13: Lucky 13

  Book 14: Lumberjacked

  Book 15: Protector

  Book 16: Carpenter

  Book 17: Italian Stallion

  Book 18: Gardener

  Book 19: Budapest Billionaire’s Virgin

  Book 20: Billionaire’s Babysitter

  Book 21: Cocky CFO

  Book 22: Fireman’s Filthy 4th

  Book 23: Mechanic

  Book 24: SEAL’s Secret

  Book 25: Police, Pooch, and Smooch

  Book 26: Fireman’s Fake Fiancée

  Book 27: Billionaire’s Virgin Ballerina

  Book 28: Bitcoin Billionaire’s Babysitter

  Book 29: Veterans Day Daddy

  Book 30: Cowboy’s Christmas Carol

  Book 31: Police Officer’s Princess

  Book 32: Statham

  Book 33: Bodyguard

  Book 34: Greek God

  Book 35: Billionaire Single Dad's Babysitter

  Book 36: Mountain Man

  Book 37: SEAL’s Justice

  Book 38: Royal Romance

  Book 39: Doctor Mountain Man’s Special Delivery

  Book 40: Crocodile Dan D

  Book 41: Mountain Man’s Secret Baby

  Book 42: Doctor Bad Boy’s Secret Baby

  Book 43: Cop’s Babysitter

  Book 44: Nanny for the Cop Next Door

  Book 45: Small Town SEAL’s Saving Grace

  Book 46: Cop’s Fake Fiancée

  Book 47: Billionaire’s Nanny

  Book 48: Cowboy’s Babysitter

  Book 49: Steamy

  Book 50: Brother’s Best Friend

  Book 51: Possessive Professor

  Book 52: Firefighter’s Babysitter

  Book 53: Soldier’s Secret Baby

  Book 54: Ward’s Independence Day

  Book 55: Doctor Next Door

  Book 56: Possessive Policeman

  Book 57: Coached by the MMA Fighter

  Book 58: Boss’s Babysitter

  Book 59: Virgin in New York

  Book 60: Rock Star’s Baby

  Book 61: Possessive Protector

  Book 62: Possessive Australian

  Book 63: Best Friend’s Brother

  Book 64: Possessive Cowboy

  Book 65: Summer Romanced

  Book 66: Possessive Prince

  Book 67: Lovers’s Enemy

  Book 68: Cop’s Best Friend

  Book 69: Possessive Firefighter

  Book 70: Football Next Door

  Book 71: Doctor December

  Book 72: Possessive Canadian

  Book 73: Blue Collar Billionaire

  Book 74: Possessive K-9 Cop

  Book 75: Possessive Brazilian

  Book 76: Hockey Obsession

  Book 77: Possessive Boston Irish American MMA Fighter

  Book 78: Halloween Next Door

  Book 79: Possessive Russian

  Book 80: Baseball Mine

  Book 81: Cop’s Caribbean Captive

  Book 82: Instalove Island

  Book 83: Dad’s Best Friend

  Book 84: Thanksgiving with Dad’s Boss

  Book 85: Possessive Italian Neighbor

  Book 86: Possessive Portuguese

  Book 87: Possessive Christmas Cop

  Book 88: Russian’s Obsession

  Book 89: Possessive Doctor’s Christmas

  Book 90: Possessive Parisian Pilot

  Book 91: U.K. Boxing Day

  Book 92: Jealous Russian Stalker

  Book 93: Italian Mountain Man

  Book 94: Aggressive Russian

  AGGRESSIVE RUSSIAN

  Her dad asks me to watch her…from a distance.

  She doesn’t even know I exist, until I can’t stay away any longer.

  I should tell her the truth about what’s really going on, hidden in plain sight.

  Her future is bright, and she deserves to know everything, including the darkness in my life...and hers.

  But all she really needs to know is that she will be mine, no matter who, or what, tries to get in my way.

  *Aggressive Russian is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with an HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

  NEWSLETTER

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  CHAPTER 1

  Julie

  I step out of the Master Theater and onto Brighton Beach Avenue in Brooklyn.

  Being new to New York I wanted to take in my first theater performance, and Off-Broadway seemed like a much kinder option for my perpetual three-figure checking account.

  And the prices were kinder, but the language was not.

  The entire performance was in Russian, a harsh, lacerating language even for a story like Romeo and Juliet.

  I would have gotten up and walked out if it wasn’t for the fact this was my only entertainment option for the month, and that I knew the story well enough to at least follow along, despite not knowing what was being said.

  I chalk it up as a loss and realize there’s no point in crying over spilled milk. Thinking about it will only cause me to lose time and at this hour I need to catch the B1 bus at Brighton Beach Avenue and Brighton 12th Street and get back to the hipster enclave that is Williamsburg, or Billyburg to the people around my age of twenty-two.

  Moving quickly I arrive at the bus stop which is literally less than one hundred feet down the street from the theater. It should
be a perfect escape route back home but instead there’s an out of order sign with directions to turn around and backtrack a couple blocks to Brighton Beach Avenue and Coney Island Avenue.

  I pull out my phone and hit the Google Maps app to check the subway schedule there.

  Another wait, but not too bad.

  “Where you going?” a booming baritone voice calls out, startling me and my whole body tenses, snapping back a bit and I almost trip over my own two feet.

  My eyes dart from my phone to the man in the driver’s seat of the taxi in front of me.

  His deep set eyes, dark hair, and black leather jacket have me wondering if this guy belongs driving a taxi or as an extra in the movie Taken, which is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now.

  “It is not safe here now for womans.”

  Womans?

  Okay, so English isn’t his first language, and normally that wouldn’t be a big deal. New York is so incredible in large part because of all the cultures you can find here. I know cab drivers are often foreigners, again nothing to worry about, but something about the way this guy is leaning back in his seat, yet giving the steering wheel a white knuckle grip while his expression is as empty and cold as a Siberian winter, tells me that something is off.

  “I’m just calling my boyfriend to pick me up,” I lie. “He’s almost here. His MMA fighting practice just ran long tonight. Thanks.”

  “He is Russian?”

  “No. I mean what does that matter? I’m fine. Thank you,” I say, plastering my chin to my chest as I look back at my phone, but keep my peripheral vision on this guy.

  There’s something about him that’s scary, yet thrilling at the same time. It’s the complete opposite of what I feel on a daily basis in Williamsburg. Has a woman ever gotten wet over a guy in “lightweight pink Turkish denim,” as I overheard one guy at the coffee shop this morning describing his pants to the awe of his jealous friends.

  Uh…no thanks.

  Finding a real man amongst guys my age is so impossible I’ve forgotten what one even looks like…until now.

  This guy has woken up the woman inside me from a slumber that was so deep I didn’t even know how bad my femininity’s permanent hibernation had become.

  I feel my nipples pebble underneath my clothes, including my thick jacket, and know it has nothing to do with the cool breeze coming off the Atlantic just a couple blocks away straight in front of me, and everything to do with him.

  “Tell him to turn around. I am telling you. It is not safe for you here now.”

  I don’t look up, just tapping my phone pretending like I’m doing something but in reality my mind isn’t even on my phone…it’s focused on that deep, smoky voice of his and how I can’t control the tingle that runs up my spine each time he opens his mouth.

  I hear the car door open and I take a step back on the sidewalk.

  The man steps out and stands up, his body seemingly straightening forever.

  Oh my god, how tall and big is this guy? I’m terrible with numbers but he must be, what…six five? Maybe six six?

  And those shoulders. Good lord. Where he found a leather jacket like that that tapers from those shoulders to his trim waist is beyond me. He must have had it made…maybe in whatever country he came from.

  “Get in, before there is problem,” he says, opening the back door.

  Problem? And how about an article in front of your nouns, buddy?

  I step back again and suddenly feel a huge object bump into me from the side, knocking me completely off balance.

  “Sorry,” the voice says softly, but deeply as the man who bumped me steadies me so I don’t fall.

  He doesn’t make eye contact, just keeps on walking.

  “You should have got in cab as I asked,” the man in front of me says, my eyes raising to meet his.

  What in the world is he talking about? I should get in the cab so some equally giant guy didn’t bump me? Some guy with more manners than this brute?

  “Your watch,” he says calmly.

  My mind jerks to my naked feeling wrist and I realize my watch is missing. It’s my mother’s watch, the one she gave me the day before she passed away…the one I guard with my life.

  “Hey!” I yell at the man and start taking off down the street.

  Suddenly I feel the taxi driver’s hand on my wrist, stopping me dead in my tracks.

  “Get in cab as I said, and lock door.”

  He muscles a keychain with three keys into my hand and calmly walks down the street after the man.

  I look at the keys in my hand, realizing they are indeed car keys. There’s a Mercedes logo on the key and I hurriedly walk around to the back of the car where I see the same Mercedes logo and also /////AMG C43.

  But I’m still not getting in the car. I’ve yelled at the TV during enough scary movies when the too stupid to live girl, or guy, does something that causes me to immediately give up on the film and stop watching.

  But I can’t stop watching him.

  He takes long strides down the sidewalk, practically gliding. His motion is so effortless, so fluid, as he closes the distance on the man who bumped me.

  His hand shoots into his jacket pocket and he removes something black, quickly covering his head. Is that a balaclava?

  Ten feet from the man. My body is covered in goosebumps.

  Five feet from the man. My heartbeat is racing so hard I can feel it pumping in the side of my neck.

  He whistles and the man slowly turns around.

  Too late.

  The cab driver’s hands come up, grabbing the man’s skull, one hand on each side.

  The cab driver’s hips cock back and he unleashes them forward like a corkscrew, the energy transferring from his midsection through his hands as he snaps the man’s neck.

  My hands pull back in fear and I fall straight on my ass, trembling.

  The other man’s body immediately goes limp and the driver quickly drops down into a Slav squat, his hands releasing from the man as he catches my falling watch out of the air just before it hits the ground.

  He pivots on his heel, leaving the other large man in a pile of his former self, disregarding him like a bag of trash just feet from the front of the theater entrance.

  The last of the theater attendees are still filing out and I see one older lady look at the body and scream bloody murder as the driver walks swiftly towards me, his shoulders swaying in a way that I swear I’ve seen before from only one other person in my life…Vladimir Putin.

  I scramble backwards on the sidewalk, trying to get away from him, but he’s too fast, grabbing me by the arm and jerking me to my feet as his thumb applies pressure to my wrist just enough for me to lose my grip on the keys, which are now suddenly in his hand.

  His other hand scoops me up underneath my hamstrings with his fist, which is still closed around my watch I think, and he stuffs me into the back of the car like cargo, slamming the door shut.

  I reach for the door, hearing the locks engage, as he steps inside the driver’s side door, which he never shut since he first stepped out.

  The car revs to life and we take off from the curb with lightning-quick acceleration as he shifts through the gears, steering the car with the precision of someone who not only drives for a living, but someone who’s had professional experience with this kind of maneuvering.

  Once he gets up to speed his right hand comes off the stick shift and twists, coming into the back seat area.

  I pull back, my back pressing against the bench seat as I try to get as far away from him as possible.

  Slowly the fingers on the hand open and there sits my watch in his palm.

  I reach for it, still keeping my body as far away from him as possible. Once I get close enough I grab at it like a starving wolf lurching out for a piece of meat, pulling my hand back quickly.

  His hand slides forward again and onto the stick shift before lifting it and removing the balaclava, stuffing it in his pocket.


  “My boyfriend. He’s going to call the police,” I say.

  “Police do not come to Brighton Beach…at least not the kind you think.”

  “My boyfriend. He’ll track my phone. He’ll know you have me. He’s following us right now.”

  “There is reason you live in New York and not Los Angeles. You are terrible actress.”

  I sink down into my seat knowing there’s no point in even trying to pretend. He’s right. You can see right through my charade from a mile away.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, thinking of how I can dial 911 without him knowing.

  “Home.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Julie

  “Are you okay?” my roommate, Anna, asks.

  I quickly move past her and into my room where I plop down onto the floor.

  “Jules…everything okay in there?”

  “Yeah, fine. Just need a minute.”