Silent Heart: A Broken Hero Mafia Romance (The Vlasov Bratva), page 1
Silent Heart
Alexa Michaels
Contents
Copy Right
About Silent Heart
Author’s Note
Trigger Warnings
Playlist
Dedication
Part I
Chapter 1 – Harley
Chapter 2 – Harley
Chapter 3 – Kolya
Chapter 4 – Harley
Chapter 5 – Kolya
Chapter 6 – Harley
Chapter 7 – Harley
Chapter 8 – Kolya
Chapter 9 – Harley
Chapter 10 – Harley
Chapter 11 – Harley
Chapter 12 – Harley
Chapter 13 – Kolya
Chapter 14 – Harley
Chapter 15 – Harley
Chapter 16 – Kolya
Chapter 17 – Harley
Chapter 18 – Harley
Chapter 19 – Kolya
Chapter 20 – Harley
Chapter 21 – Kolya
Chapter 22 – Harley
Chapter 23 – Harley
Chapter 24 – Kolya
Chapter 25 – Harley
Chapter 26 – Harley
Chapter 27 – Kolya
Part II
Chapter 28 – Harley
Chapter 29 – Harley
Chapter 30 – Harley
Chapter 31 – Harley
Chapter 32 – Harley
Chapter 33 – Harley
Chapter 34 – Kolya
Chapter 35 – Kolya
Chapter 36 – Harley
Chapter 37 – Harley
Chapter 38 – Kolya
Chapter 39 – Harley
Chapter 40 – Harley
Chapter 41 – Kolya
Chapter 42 – Harley
Chapter 43 – Kolya
Chapter 44 – Harley
Chapter 45 – Harley
Chapter 46 – Harley
Chapter 47 – Kolya
Chapter 48 – Harley
Chapter 49 – Kolya
Chapter 50 – Harley
Chapter 51 – Kolya
Chapter 52 – Harley
Chapter 53 – Harley
Stalk Alexa & Become One of Her Villainous Darlings
About The Author
Copy Right
Silent Heart Copyright © 2024 Chowen Publishing House LLC All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition All Rights Reserved
Print Edition: All Rights Reserved
Editor: North Pines Editing LLC
Cover design: Covers By Aura
Interior Art: Atra Luna Graphic Design
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
About Silent Heart
Harley
He’s different. He isn’t one of us; he isn’t one of them. When one of the biggest houses on the lake is sold, word goes around. But instead of speculating what the new neighbors are like, I find out firsthand and am promptly hired as a swimming instructor. What’s odd isn’t that my pupil seems to be a natural in the water. It’s that he sleepwalks. And not just around his property, but all the way around the lake—to find me! I’m going away this fall. I’m finally able to make a career change and pursue my dreams of becoming a veterinarian. I can’t let a pair of storm-blue eyes stop me. Not even if my touch seems to be the only thing capable of soothing the beast inside. But the secrets he’s keeping, the demons he’s hunting, they’re catching up to him. When they find him, they’ll destroy the fragile peace he’s found.
Silent Heart is part of the Vlasov Bratva, set in the Midwest Underworld series. It’s a stand-alone darker mafia romance, with no cheating, a guaranteed HEA, and no cliffhangers. A morally grey romance, this book may not be suitable for everyone.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the Midwest Underworld! If this is your first encounter with the Vlasov family, I’m delighted you’re here! If you’ve already read a different cousin’s story, thank you for returning to this dark and wicked corner of the fictional world.
The story you are about to read is a darker contemporary romance. Silent Heart contains mature content that is not suitable for all audiences. Reader discretion is advised. The top dogs in the criminal underworld don’t play by any rules but their own—neither do those who venture into the dark with them.
When I started writing Kolya, when he appeared in the other books, I didn’t realize he would have the physical episodes that he does. Like my other MMCs, he has an Achilles’ heel, but it’s a very different type of brokenness. It’s a situation that feels like it should be in a fantasy or paranormal novel as the result of a curse, not in a modern contemporary novel without witches and hexes.
The thing is, Kolya’s episodes are very real.
Early in the writing process, Kolya started taking on the personality of someone I know in real life. Which meant Kolya also ended up with one of the physical maladies of my friend. I was worried I wouldn’t represent the situation well, and immediately reached out to this friend, who suffers from a laundry list of symptoms tied to physical trauma. The poor thing’s been dealing with all of this for over a decade now. In recent years, an interest symptom has arisen from the condition: Periods of unconsciousness due to chronic fatigue.
In real life, the medical community writes off my friend’s experience. He can’t find anyone who listens—I don’t even want to repeat what the last MD told him. They can’t easily explain it, so they don’t try. That’s the trouble with more rare conditions, I feel like. Unless you have Dr. House championing you, no one helps. They like to try and put bandages on one or two symptoms, but that doesn’t fix the whole picture. That’s what my friend is going through. (As of right now, that friend is saving up to go to what they call a functional medicine facility. It will look at the whole situation—or that is the hope—and treat every aspect, not just isolating the symptoms that arise. We’ll see how it goes!)
My biggest worry with writing Kolya’s episodes was that readers might think I was making these periods of black-outs up. I want to make it clear that I didn’t. I haven’t listed the other symptoms tied to the physical trauma, focusing only on the chronic fatigue, but it has very real origins.
So! To my friend, you are one of the strongest people I know. If I’ve even captured a fraction of your strength in Kolya’s character, I’ll consider this a job well done.
And thank you, dear readers, for joining me on this ride! It’s time to flip the page and let the action begin.
Xoxo,
Alexa
Trigger Warnings
References to sex trafficking rings
Adult language
Violence, fighting, and criminal warfare
Killing
MMC with physical trauma
On page romance
Family drama due to inheritance
Kidnapping & a hostage situation
Playlist
Kolya’s Song “I Want To Know What Love Is” by Foreigner
Harley’s Song “I’m Going to Love You” by Cody Johnson & Carrie Underwood
Everytime We Touch Song by Cascada
Without You by Mariah Carey
So Sick by Ne-Yo
Timber by Pitbull
Without Your Love by Christ Stapleton
Just a Dream by Nelly
In Case You Didn’t Know by Brett Young
Hey Look Ma, I Made It by Panic! At The Disco
Nobody by Ariel de Balkan feat. K2 Papa
Boulevard Of Broken Dreams by Green Day
The Kind of Love We Make by Luke Combs
Think I’m In Love With You by Chris Stapleton & Dua Lipa
Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts
Dedication
Just like the winds that blow the clouds away and spring that warms after the winter, the broken road can lead you exactly where you’re supposed to go.
Part I
~ Summer ~
Chapter 1 – Harley
“Table four is ready for their tab, the order is up for your six-top, and they’re out of paper towels in the ladies’ room,” Jonathan clipped out as he passed me in the expo station.
Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath. The Landing was slammed tonight—a big old welcome to summer and tourism.
This was why you took the seasonal job here, I reminded myself as I finished filling the sodas. It certainly wasn’t to parade around in the same, unimaginative uniform—which still fit from when I worked here in high school, thank you very much. Patting my apron to make sure I had adequate straws, I ventured into th
Looking at the sea of patrons, I turned their heads into cartoon dollar signs. In the grand scheme of things, the bustling summer only lasted a few weeks. Just a short span of this craziness, and then I would be in the big city and too busy to waitress.
“I can do this,” I breathed, sliding to a stop in front of table three. “Coke with lime, Mountain Dew, and three root beers.”
I passed out the drinks to the snotnosed kids sporting sunburns and didn’t miss the subtle glances of the two older teens toward the bar. I groaned inwardly. These kids were going to try and con their way into getting an adult beverage. They would badger their parents like every other entitled rich kid coming to the lake. Granted, most Wisconsiners’ views on the alcohol laws were far more lax than residents in the surrounding states. If they were dining at some hole-in-the-wall joint, even the sheriff’s deputy would buy these underage girls drinks—don’t ask me how I knew that.
But the Landing had a strict serving policy. Mr. Janke had a reputation and came down hard on underage drinking. It wasn’t just the liquor license the owner was worried about. His own kid was in the same grade as me but never walked in cap and gown due to a drunk driving incident that ended his days right before graduation.
Gosh, I haven’t thought of Beau Janke in years. That had been one I thought I was going to marry. The long string of boyfriends after only proved how sweet first loves could be.
Table four flicked their fingers impatiently, making little check signs in the air. I finished jotting down the food order from table three, dropped the black book at table four, and sailed into the lady’s room.
After replacing the paper towel roll, I stopped at the sink. Baby strands of hair frizzed over my face. Dampening my fingers, I brushed them over the whispies.
“Those are not greys,” I assured myself.
And if the colorless strands weren’t as golden as the other blonder ones, it was due to the stress of finishing the online math class last week and working every night at the bar on top of my full-time day job at the clinic and the daily farm chores.
“Some good sunshine, a few hours on the lake, and I’ll look twenty-something again,” I promised my reflection, before bursting back into the restaurant.
Where I discovered that the two-top in the back was seated. Clenching my jaw, I considered delaying greeting the two-top, because table four was waving their ticket book, leaning in their chair to make sure I saw them, and one of the kids at table three had spilled their root beer.
But a quick glance at the occupants of the two-top had me stopping mid-step.
The dark-haired newcomers were as close to a pair of supermodels as was humanly possible without photoshop. They looked almost unreal sitting there all muscley, tanned, and inked. A mirage brought on by stress and exhaustion. But I wasn’t the only one looking. They’d attracted the attention of anyone with eyes. And why wouldn’t they? Men didn’t look like that—not in these parts.
Even seated, it was obvious that they were tall. While they had impressive builds, it wasn’t their physique that entranced me. The more I stared, the more something itched under my skin. Having spent more time around animals than humans, my highly developed sixth sense screamed that these two were different.
The hard part was, whatever vibe I was feeling from them, I didn’t know if I should run toward or away from them.
As if sensing my interest, the larger of the two men lifted his gaze, immediately pinning me with a stormy blue stare. I fell. Not literally, but there was a moment I found myself spilling into those depths. It was as if a vast chasm had opened, and I was the lucky soul to peek into the abyss.
Before he slammed a hard wall into place, forbidding my discovery of the multitude of secrets down there.
“Good evening, miss, can you help us? I can’t decide between the local Hefe Weizen Wheat microbrew, the summer Leinenkugel shandy, or an Old Milwaukee,” a lively voice quipped.
I had to tear my gaze away and force myself to respond to the second man. His features were similar, but this one had a darkness about him that he wore with a laughing grace. His blue eyes even twinkled. It made him look too damn pretty for his own good.
“Ah, nobody drinks Old Milwaukee unless they’re old, bald, and fat or a teen stealing it for a party,” I said before thinking better of it.
Damn! I had to get a grip on this waitressing thing. Just because I didn’t want to come back to it wasn’t an excuse to be bad at it.
“I like her, she’s honest,” the pretty one smirked. “Oh! Nice cowgirl boots. Those are awesome!”
“Thanks,” I responded quickly. They were just plain brown boots. “They’re my favorite.”
“I need a pair of those,” twinkles mused. “My cousin had some, but I’m rethinking my criticism of them.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
The other man simply watched in silence.
“Okay, so one craft brew—because the shandy sounds too fruity—and one iced tea,” the pretty one continued. He leaned over the table, addressing the silent one. “But I am tasting that beer.”
“Alright, ID please,” I breathed, ignoring the twist in my gut that I had other tables waiting for me.
Twinkle eyes threw back his head and laughed. “Miss, I’m as old as you are.”
“And I’m twenty,” I lied. “ID please, until you’re forty—which you’re clearly not—I check. It’s my job.”
“Ah, damn that collagen shit I’ve been taking. Keeping my baby face soft.” As he spoke, he dragged out his ID and presented it to me, wedding band flashing in the light.
Someone caught him already? No matter, it wasn’t him that called to me.
It was the other, who hadn’t spoken a single syllable. I was hyper aware of him.
Lucas Williams and Kole Williams. Both were from Chicago, and both were over thirty, although pretty one was barely that. It was unfair how nicely men aged.
“Brothers?” I handed the identification cards back, secretly loving that it gave me the ability to satisfy my curiosity.
“That’s what our parents say,” twinkle-eyed Lucas beamed. “How are the cheese curds?”
Kole took the ID back, and the pad of his thumb brushed against my skin. Electricity crackled through me, leaving a chill skittering over me.
Oh, my lanta! What the hell was that?
“They’re delicious.” Unfortunately, my voice came out as a squeak. “Want some?”
“Absolutely.”
I scooted away, snatching the booklet and ignoring the peeved looks of the guests at table four, while gracing Abbi, one of the bartenders, a grateful smile for her help with the spilt root beer.
By the time I circled back with the drinks for the two-top, it was just Kole at the table. He was silent, staring into space across the table. But to think he wasn’t aware of me would be incredibly naïve. He tracked my movement as I hurried over.
Determined not to be intimidated by his good looks and strange energy, I flashed a winning smile. “So the beer for you, huh?”
His voice was rough. I felt it brush over me. “Yes, ma’am.”
I blinked. That was…hot. “Well, let me go grab the curds and then I’ll get you two something for dinner.”
Thankfully the beer didn’t slosh as I set it on the cocktail napkin.
“Did they tip you?” His abrupt question made me falter, my body stopping and twitching like a video tape stuck on rewind.
“Excuse me?” I clarified.
Those steady eyes watched me for a moment, before the man jerked his chin toward the vacated table four. “They were rude.”
They were. But…. “It’s my job. Part of the joys of table waiting. We’re understaffed tonight because of the weekend, and—”
The man leaned forward, grabbing my wrist. If it was static electricity before, it zapped me this time, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I sucked in a sharp breath. Through the sudden buzz in my brain, I noticed smaller details like the fact that his hands were large—very, very large—and they were rough. Working hands. Strong hands.
