Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Alexei Rozanov | Andrei Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Bratva Ilya Rozanov, Russian Mafia, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sugar Daddy, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Autistic Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Natural Born Killer Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander is a STRONG MAN, crime boss, College Student, Found Family, ongoing work

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-01 Updated: 2026-05-03 Words: 39,402 Chapters: 7/?

Below Zero (And My Lips Bleed)

Summary

Shane Hollander, D1 hockey star & NYU biology student accepts an executive assistant position to one Ilya Rozanov - Bratva boss.

or

Shane's exterior and calculated aptitude for detail makes for a better partner in crime than employee.

Notes

Recently I read a Bratva fic that I loved at first and then it got.. convoluted. Anyway my friend shanesholly told me it's cause half of it had been done (allegedly) with AI and that made me want to rip my eyelashes out one by one and set them on fire. Taking the general NY Mafia/Sugar Daddy trope into my own hands, I thought I'd write my own dream Hollanov AU Bratva fic to fill the void that was left in me after the aforementioned discovery. Do not feed my work through AI or create generated images based on the story. As a working composer and writer in film & games professionally, I'm INCREDIBLY Anti-AI. Support real artists and create your art using your big beautiful unique brain.

Anyway, thanks for reading this fic I haven't written anything on here in a while.

**Side note, the facial hair mentioned for Ilya is the look Connor Storrie had early on in the press run for the show. yum yum yum.

Chapter 1: Conversion Rate

Shane Hollander stared blankly at his laptop screen, dappled with greasy fingerprints from when his lab partner Hayden had been pointing at their shared kinesiology homework earlier that evening. Using his shirt sleeve, he methodically wiped the screen clean until it shone under the fluorescent lights of the study hall.  He looked at the table in front of him and let out a deep sigh. There was order here; pens and pencils on the right, his notes on top of his textbook neatly stacked beside them, sticky notes ready to be used placed directly above the writing utensils. On the left; a can of ginger ale, two Nature Valley granola bars, and his cellphone - everything he needed to get lost in another four or so hours of study before heading back to his apartment across the river. He’d be home late and get about five hours of sleep before having to make the commute all the way back to campus for his morning class, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Three weeks prior, Shane had lost his job. Despite the fact that there was a slight pang of relief that washed over him when he got the call, it did mean that he would have to make further sacrifices to continue his education in New York. As an international student, Shane was already paying a great deal to stay in the city - the conversion rate from his dwindling high school savings being a major detriment.

Thankfully his hockey scholarship was paying for a majority of his tuition, but even so, things were not looking good. He’d managed to find a run down apartment to share out in Queens with Hayden before starting his program a couple of years ago. It was nice to have his high school best friend join him at the same university on his own scholarship. The major difference between their two situations was their home life. Hayden’s parents had money, so he could focus on his studies, practice, and go out on the weekends with their teammates. Shane wasn’t so lucky. His parents had spent almost all of their income on hockey training during Shane’s youth, which he was forever grateful for. The plan originally was that he would be good enough to compete in World Juniors and be scouted from there. He’d declare for the draft and sign to a team (most likely sitting in his first year) as a young star. Everything went haywire after an ACL tear when he was 17 ended his season early. When he turned 18 he still declared, but the questions surrounding his recovery and whether or not he was potentially injury prone meant he went undrafted and instead accepted a scholarship for NYU to play in the ACHA D1. The new plan was that he’d play there for a couple of years and get his opportunity again when the time was right. If all else failed, Shane would  finish with a degree in biology and pursue a masters in sports science. At least that way he’d most likely be able to get a job in the NHL and continue to work in the field he loved. Unfortunately this new plan was sprung into action without much time to think about finances, and with no college fund and only a couple years of savings in his bank account from seasonal summer jobs, he was forced to make it work any way possible. That’s how Shane ended up sitting in a study hall thinking about the lengthy commute and the dietary sacrifices he was going to have to make in the name of saving what little money he had left. Truthfully though, he just needed a new job.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

After a few excruciating hours rewriting and organizing his notes from the day’s lectures, Shane’s phone lit up. 

Hayden: you coming home ever

              or are you moving into the library

Shane: I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’m almost done reformatting my notes. Also I’m still in the study hall, not the library.

Hayden: you know you could do that here right

              you literally have a laptop dude

Shane: Being at home is too distracting. I need to focus properly if I’m going to get these done before I have another batch to worry about tomorrow.

Hayden: whatever man

             just dont get sick we cant win without you

Shane: I won’t. See you tomorrow.

Hayden: yep

Shane glanced at the time, 2:30AM. He knew he had to sleep to be ready for the upcoming practice later that afternoon, but everything in his brain was screaming at him to finish the task at hand before turning in for the night. He had three more pages of notes to reformat before heading home. If he focused hard enough he could most likely finish up within a half hour or so, which would allow him to get home by 4:00AM and sleep until around 8:30AM - a bit less than he had originally wanted but enough that he wouldn’t collapse on the ice. Just when he started to type out the last few pages, he received an email notification from the job recruitment centre he’d signed up for the previous weekend.

**New Job Posting** 

Secretary/Executive Assistant (No Hours Specified)

Remote Daytime - In Person Nights (22:00-04:00)

(No Pay Specified)

Description:

Manage schedule day to day and front of office at night. Business is 24/7, applicants are required to be alert and discrete. No previous experience required. Applicants must be organized, timely, and physically adept. Interviews will be conducted in person without the client present and recorded for private review. Once reviewed applicants will be dismissed or invited for an in person interview with the client under NDA restrictions. 

Job Training Provided

Shane knew the posting was strange at best, but still told the recruiter to apply on his behalf like he always did. Every job application was a hail mary at this point, the market being what it was. He was sure he’d get an interview seeing as his prior seasonal work was a desk job answering phones, but assumed that he’d be cut after the initial screening. Shane was the ideal fit for the job as laid out in the requirements, but his detached and cold demeanor was rarely an asset in a social position. In the past he’d been able to rely on dry humour and smart comments to break the ice so he figured he’d try to do the same if he got a call to meet the interviewer. He kept his hopes abysmally low regardless.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

A few days went by without so much as an email. Under normal circumstances Shane wouldn’t be bothered by this. He’d used websites like Indeed to apply for dozens of jobs before and never heard back - that was standard. This wasn’t a simple website though, this was a serious recruiter. He’d taken the time to meet with them and pay for their services which meant that silence on the communication front was unacceptable. As he sat watching the Canadiens game, he decided to take matters into his own hands and send a strongly worded email to the recruiter explaining his disappointment. It took about three hours of fretting before Shane was satisfied with the email he had typed, deleted, retyped, and proofread dozens of times. As his mouse hovered over the send button, he paused seeing one new email pop in.

Application Accepted (Interview Details)

Shane opened the email. Laid out before him was an incredibly detailed message discussing the time and location of the initial interview, as well as an NDA to sign, three different waivers - for an interview? - he thought, and a dress code. Everything seemed relatively fine up until that final two word phrase on the list. He was to dress semi formally, which he was able to do but not in a very convincing way. His dress shirts were slightly too small on him after gaining more muscle over the summer and he imagined his pants were the same. He’d borrow something from Hayden but he was much thinner than Shane was and slightly shorter, and no one else would be able to lend him a helping hand before he had to run out the door in only two hours to get to the location on time. In fact, he’d probably have to leave as soon as possible, since the directions were so convoluted. Must be some sort of test, he thought.

If he took an Uber to the address listed it would only take him 15 minutes to get there, but he wouldn’t have money for groceries next week. If he took transit it would take an hour and a half - and he still had to walk from there to get to the final interview spot. Shane started to panic. He couldn’t back out of the interview or the recruiter would most likely drop him, but this was starting to feel like some sort of elaborate trafficking plot. He couldn’t understand why the location wasn’t at a regular office building, or why he’d need to sign multiple waivers just for an interview. He opened the posting again and scanned it for any possible detail he may have missed; was there a phone number, email, business name, address, a client name, anything that would make this seem like a real job opportunity and not something more nefarious. There was nothing to latch onto. His head was screaming, ears buzzing, he needed a drink of water. Stumbling to the kitchen, Shane grabbed a glass from the cupboard and squeezed it slightly too hard - the cheap, thin material shattered in his hand. Great, Shane thought, now I’ll be bleeding for the interview too. Thankfully the monotonous task of picking shards of glass out of his palm was calming him down from his near panic attack. Shane wrapped his hand in a bandage and changed into his dress shirt and pants - very snug, as expected - and grabbed his keys and wallet from the bedside table before stepping into an Uber. He needed this job, groceries could wait.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The building he was dropped off at was a water treatment plant on Randall’s Island. Everything in the general area was shutting down for the day as the sun set behind the industrial buildings. Taking in his surroundings, Shane opened the email and tried his best to follow the directions listed to get to the final location. Sure enough, after about a 20 minute walk in very cheap, uncomfortable dress shoes, Shane arrived at a small unmarked building with a few men and women standing outside. By the look of them, they were all applicants as well. Some were older and clearly not suited for the physical nature of the job (whatever that was) while others seemed to be young and eager like him - minus the eager part. Shane stood a bit of a ways away from the group hovering near the door and stared out at the water, listening to the industrial soundscape and distant chatter from the chipper applicants who’d no doubt be better suited for the position. He contemplated leaving, or even going in for the interview and telling them he was no longer interested. He felt out of place, this job wasn’t for someone like him and he didn’t even know what the pay would be. Shane knew that any listing with no pay transparency was either a really good sign or a really bad one. There was never an in between. 

The door creaked open and a tall gentleman with short dark hair ushered them inside. Shane glanced up at him slightly and noticed his nose was crooked - definitely broken a few times in the past, and there was a bit of ash clinging to the edge of his shirt collar. Neither one of them smiled at each other. Once inside, all the applicants were sat in a waiting area and brought in one by one. All told there were about 20 men and a handful of older women waiting for their turn. Shane was hyper aware of his surroundings, taking everything in as best as he could. His years of captaincy and desperate need for order allowed him to catalogue every issue in his vicinity. One of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling was dimmer than the rest, the table had a scratch on the left side, a man in a green cardigan was tapping his foot - the rhythm clashing with the tick of the clock above the door. One woman in the corner was staring at him intently and wouldn't look away even after he acknowledged her. The whole place was unnerving. The interview process seemed to be quick and ruthless, with a couple people walking into the room and being dismissed within a few seconds of entry. Oddly enough this seemed to help with Shane’s nerves. He’d rather be dismissed quickly once they saw his hand - bandages now starting to show blood through them - than sit through an excruciatingly drawn out process where he’d have to watch his words and plaster a fake smile to his face. They got about halfway through the applicants before the short haired man called Shane’s name.

He stepped inside the room, it was decorated nicely with leather chairs and an oak desk stationed in the centre of the room. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke and Karl Lagerfeld cologne lingering in the air, a scent that felt masculine but relaxing to Shane’s surprise. He sat in one of the chairs across from the desk before the interviewer had made it there.

“You sit before being told to,” his voice was rough, a light Boston accent slipping through.

“It’s an interview. I’m assuming the chairs aren’t just for show.” Shane’s eyes darted from the interviewer’s face and down to the desk in front of him. It was littered with papers - applications most likely - an ashtray and an empty glass sat next to the messy piles. As he let his eyes float back up, they stopped on the ash on his collar again. Straight past him there was a small table with a variety of liquors, each one more expensive than the one beside it. The last bottle on the right was hardly poured, and yet it was off-kilter. That was going to drive Shane nuts.

“You’re right, they’re not.” The man smirked and extended a hand over the desk, “Marleau. I’ll be interviewing you today.” Shane tore his eyes away from the bottle and raised his bandaged hand to answer.

“I’d shake your hand but I don’t want to get blood on you,” Marleau raised an eyebrow. “Accident, nothing to worry about.”

Marleau snorted and gave him a once over. “Vague response, noted. Just a reminder Mr. Hollander that this interview is being recorded for private review later on. The client is also watching from the same camera. At any point he might cut the interview short, it’s not my decision and it’s not meant to be personal. Understood?”

Shane’s mind was racing a million miles a second. Finally he was getting the information he craved before arriving. They met at the docks, the interviewer is clearly from Boston, the client is male and judging by the interior decor and the secrecy of the location - wealthy. It had been about a minute and a half since they entered the room, he’d lasted longer in this seat than anyone else had. In fact, the seat was cold. It seemed like perhaps none of the other applicants even made it to the sitting down part, which had to count for something.

“Understood, Mr. Marleau.” Shane gave him a curt nod, his eyes flitting back to the bottle again. Marleau looked down at his phone as it lit up and furrowed his brows. 

“I’m going to skip over all the shallow questions and get right to the point Mr. Hollander.” Shane’s ears perked up, but he remained calm and focused. “None of the applicants here have been suitable for the position. Many are too old, some are too weak, others are… unfocused. You seem to check all the boxes, regardless of your injury and ill fit clothing. So I’ll ask only one question. Why are you here?”

Shane stared through Marleau as he spoke, his colder exterior being brought out at the mention of his appearance. He knew he wasn’t of equal financial standing and that his attire would be an issue, but he didn’t expect a man with ash staining his shirt collar to be the one to make a remark about it. 

“I hired a recruiter after being fired from my old position. I need a job, and this is a job. Allegedly.” Shane allowed himself a smirk. Marleau’s eyes never left Shane’s face, he seemed to be searching for something specific, but it was putting Shane off more than anything. “Look, I don’t know who you people are, and although it would be nice to know I’m not exactly in a position to decline any offers at the moment. You give me the job and I’ll do it well, that’s not a problem. Also, you have ash all over your collar which makes your comment on my unprofessional appearance pretty ironic.”

Marleau looked down and brushed what he could off of the white fabric around his neck. Before he had a chance to respond, the door behind him opened. Shane struggled to keep his composure as his eyes landed on the gentleman casually standing in the doorframe before him. He was tall and clearly muscular, his suit perfectly tailored to hug his body in a way that dripped money and confidence. His hair was curly and a sort of dirty blonde, which matched the small bit of facial hair that sat upon his upper lip and chin. His skin was clear and dappled with beauty marks, the angled features of his face picking up the light in the room and highlighting his lips and cheekbones. Shane had been somewhat struggling with his sexuality since he was a teenager. He’d dated women in the past and even had a steady relationship in freshman year, which ended after a series of terrible sexual endeavors which left both him and his girlfriend completely unsatisfied. Over the last decade or so, he’d definitely noticed certain men, but it was never something he acted upon. He kept his focus trained on hockey, school, and whatever job he had secured at the time. Once his freshman girlfriend Rose and him had broken up, he swore off dating in college altogether. A few one night stands with women that attached themselves to him at parties he was forced to go to was all he had attempted since then, and those were just as terrible as the times before. He was pretty sure that at this point he just wasn’t going to ever be attracted to anyone, and maybe that would be fine. Sex and romance wasn’t for everyone anyway. It was only now as he stared into the hazel eyes of the gentleman before him that he realized he had been entirely incorrect. 

“Mr. Hollander, da?” The man asked. Russian, Shane noted without getting up from his seat.

“That’s me.” He replied with a grin. 

“Stand up.” Shane took a deep breath in and obliged. “You have signed NDA?” His eyes raked over Shane’s body before settling on his face, just below his eyes. If he was thinking anything at all, he wasn’t giving it away. Shane’s mouth went dry, so he gave a curt nod instead of a verbal answer. He was having an increasingly difficult time focusing on anything other than the stature of this new interviewer. Now that Shane was standing he could see that he was a few inches shorter than the Russian, but they were definitely equals in musculature. Shane clenched his jaw and allowed his eyes to dart back to the bottle on the back table for a brief moment. 

“Why do you do this?” The man asked.

“I’m sorry?” Shane narrowed his eyes, unable to discern what he meant. 

“Your eyes. You keep looking to back of the room. You did it when Marleau was talking, and now with me. What is the problem? Are you scared?” There was something burning in his eyes. Shane wondered if it was interest or merely rage, maybe a bit of both. Either way, he wasn’t about to let someone he’d just met intimidate him over nothing but a couple small glances to an imperfection in the room. Instead, he let out a polite laugh and licked his lips.

“I’m not scared,” he pointed at the bottle on the table, “the last bottle of vodka on the right isn’t straight. The rest are all in line but that one isn’t. It’s been bothering me since I walked in here.” Without permission he turned away from the gentleman and walked over to fix the bottle. Immediately the room felt better. Shane let out a small sigh of relief and looked back, raising his eyebrows at the man who just grilled him over nothing. To his shock, the man’s face broke into a genuine smile which in turn made Shane’s stomach flip. 

“You start tomorrow. 10pm, Marleau will pick you up. Wear something nice, I have - ah,” he stopped.

“Reputation.” Marleau offered without looking over at him. 

“Da, this. Reputation.” His mouth gripped every syllable of the word, and with that he turned to leave.

“Apologies,” Shane blurted out, “but what's your name? Or what should I call you?” The man smirked. 

“Rozanov.”

Chapter 2: Pulling Buttons

Chapter Notes

As said previous, please do not feed my work through AI or use it to generate images. As a writer & musician full time I am Anti-AI and do not condone this whatsoever. Please support real artists and use your big beautiful unique brain to create.

Translations in the notes at the bottom!

Ilya Rozanov sat back on his leather sofa, staring at an empty room displayed on a giant flat screen TV. His legs were splayed open with one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other hanging over the arm of the sofa - cigarette in hand. Hiring boring people for even more boring positions was one of his least favourite responsibilities. He’d normally let Marleau cover it, but if someone was going to be working so closely with him he had to be involved. There was no way he was going to communicate with someone he didn’t like, let alone someone who might be skittish or stupid enough to blow their cover in dire situations. Ilya had spent the last several days going over applications with a few of his closest confidants, only bothering himself with the task once his men had run thorough background checks on everyone and checked for possible connections to their competitors.

Hiring an executive assistant - as dull as it seemed - was risky. For the last several years, Ilya managed himself quite well. He was on time to every meeting, worked himself sick occasionally, and took care of every aspect of the business. Since closing in on new territory however, it was starting to grow in ways that he never could have fathomed. The new challenge became wrangling the monstrous empire that threatened to boil over every day, and he could no longer do it alone. An executive assistant was suggested by Marleau, who watched Ilya come close to burning out completely on several occasions over the past few months. Between shootouts and restless nights waiting for drops, it was a shock to most of the men working closely with him that he was able to stand on two feet at all. His exhaustion was rivaled only by his ambition, so Ilya sat and waited for the interviews to begin. 

One by one each applicant filed into the room and was a disappointment. Many of the men were much too old for the job. Even though he was sure they would be fine at keeping a schedule and staying out of his way, every aspect of the day to day life had the potential for danger. Whoever signed on would have to be capable of self defense at the very least, and it was clear that no one entering the room for their interview would be able to hold their own if necessary. The sixth applicant who entered the office flinched at the sound of Marleau closing the door. By the looks of things, none of these people were going to be able to handle their world.

“Blyat,” Ilya was exasperated, “eto chertovski glupaya ideya.” Ilya snuffed out his cigarette and picked up his cellphone, dialling Marleau immediately. 

“Boss,” he answered.

“No to this one. Leave our messages open and watch for my dismissals, I’m growing impatient.” Ilya hung up and stood to pace in front of the television. He was only one room over, so he could technically go out into the lobby and reject anyone he didn’t like the look of immediately. He wasn’t supposed to show himself until he was certain of the choice however. Every applicant had signed an NDA, but you could never be sure what someone would be willing to sacrifice to the wrong person for the right compensation. Each rejection went quicker than the one before it.

   Ilya: no

          nyet

          fuck off marleau

          no

          absolutely not

          you are playing hilarious prank on me???????

They’d been through fifteen or so applicants before a broad shouldered young man stepped through the door and immediately sat down in one of the room’s leather chairs. Ilya stopped pacing and stood directly in front of the screen, watching. Ilya couldn’t see his face properly on the livestream, but judging from the way he moved and the clothes that were slightly too tight on his frame, he was an athlete. Ilya sifted through the stacks of applications on the coffee table and found the one belonging to Shane Hollander. A biology student at NYU, high GPA, smart, star D1 hockey centre, Canadian. He was definitely someone who could physically hold his own. Not only this, but Hollander easily answered Marleau as if he wasn’t nervous at all, and Ilya even let out a short laugh when he used protective language to refer to the job. Ilya wasn’t against hiring someone with a bit of a mouth, as long as they’d do what they were told when he needed them to. Hollander seemed to have the makings of everything they were looking for. The only problem was the fact that he was… distracted by something.

After Hollander was done ribbing Marleau for his stained collar, Ilya made the abrupt decision to enter the room and make his presence known. As soon as he stepped through the door he paused, his breath catching slightly in his throat. Hollander was not a small man, not that he looked that way on camera. Sitting in front of Ilya though it was all the more evident. He could see the buttons on his shirt pulling slightly over his chest, the way they tugged when he took a shallow breath in. His right hand was bandaged and bloody, something he brushed off like it was nothing despite the wrappings becoming a deeper shade of red throughout the short interview.

Ilya dragged his eyes up to Hollander’s face where he watched as he studied him, analyzing every detail from Ilya’s hair down to his clothing, with his eyes hesitating over his mouth. It made Ilya’s skin itch. He had a stony expression, and whether or not it was great acting or his natural disposition was a question Ilya would have to answer later. For now, Ilya found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the freckles that decorated Hollander’s cheeks, like a light dusting of cinnamon over a fresh cup of coffee with cream. Ilya’s favourite. His skin was slightly tan, his eyes a deep brown that cycled through an array of emotions too quickly for Ilya to dissect. Krasivyy, he thought. 

“Mr. Hollander, da?” Ilya asked. Hollander had the audacity to stay seated while Ilya spoke to him. It was strange, having someone act so nonchalant towards him.

“That’s me.” 

“Stand up, you have signed NDA?” Ilya didn’t tower over Hollander as he expected, his posture and demeanor made up for the couple of inches they missed between them. His pants, much like his shirt, were too tight on his frame which Ilya wasn’t going to complain about. His figure was muscular, defined. Just when he thought he had Hollander’s attention, the man’s eyes darted away - distracted again.

“Why do you do this?” Ilya snapped.

“I’m sorry?” Hollander narrowed his eyes, pretending not to know what he was being asked no doubt. 

“Your eyes. You keep looking to the back of the room. You did it when Marleau was talking, and now with me. What is the problem? Are you scared?” Ilya pressed him. If he could scare him easily then he knew Hollander wouldn’t be the right candidate for the job. At this point Ilya was almost hoping the young man wouldn’t be hireable since he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get anything done if this was the executive assistant who’d be periodically hovering about his office every night. Instead of backing down, Hollander let out a polite laugh and licked his lips. Ilya swallowed, watching the movement.

“I’m not scared.” Hollander stated. He pointed towards the liquor table in the corner and continued. “The last bottle of vodka on the right isn’t straight. The rest are all in line but that one isn’t. It’s been bothering me since I walked in here.” Something in Ilya’s brain shortcircuited. After an evening spent following nearly impossible directions to an unmarked building, cutting open his hand, and being interviewed by two large, intimidating men in suits, the one thing that Hollander was most concerned with was the angle of a vodka bottle in the corner of the office. Ilya watched as he turned away from him and walked over to fix the bottle. The man’s shoulders immediately relaxed as he spun back to raise his eyebrows at Ilya, urging him to continue the interview. He couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it all. Kakoy strannyy chelovek, he thought to himself.

“You start tomorrow. 10pm, Marleau will pick you up. Wear something nice, I have - ah,” he stopped. The words escaping him as he thought about Hollander in a tailored suit, he cleared his throat and blinked a few times.

“Reputation.” Marleau offered without looking over at him. He must’ve thought Ilya just didn’t know the word in English. It was better for him to think this anyway.

“Da, this. Reputation.”Ilya turned to leave as quickly as possible, he had to grab another cigarette and clear his head before the night’s regular meetings across the river started. He couldn’t take the thought of Hollander with him, despite what his brain might want. 

“Apologies,” Ilya stopped as Hollander spoke, “but what is your name? Or what should I call you?” He turned back around to face him and smirked. 

“Rozanov.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya sped to one of his apartments in his Phantom as quickly as possible, avoiding traffic and pedestrians as he weaved in and out of the lanes when he could. Hollander. The name flipped over in his mind on repeat, unable to come up with any other words since he walked out of the interview room just a few moments earlier. The world whipped past him. The cool fall wind turned frigid as his speed increased and he welcomed its frozen bite against the left side of his face. He was much too hot. Ilya trudged through the private parking lot his building supplied penthouse owners and leaned against the cool metal of the elevator as it climbed to the top floor. As soon as the door chimed, Ilya started unbuttoning his suit jacket and dress shirt, removing them while stepping through the door and onto the clean hardwood of the open apartment. He poured himself a drink - vodka - and sat down in front of the computer in his office. 

“Davayte posmotrim, chem vy zanimalis', Hollander.” Ilya searched Hollander’s name for a couple of hours. Photos from high school hockey championships, the World Juniors, articles detailing his injury and slow recovery. He found podcast clips discussing his draft prediction, local newspaper headlines from his hometown of Ottawa discussing his potential. Ilya downloaded photo after photo from Hollander’s public instagram - of course it was public, he had no reason to hide. Most of the photos were of boring meals he ate and people he seemed to be friends with. There were a couple pictures of him and a young woman named Rose. He posted so infrequently that it only took Ilya one scroll to go back three whole years. A man named Hayden commented on almost everything and called him “roomie” under a more recent post from a bar in Soho. The ones that Hollander were visible in immediately went into a folder on Ilya’s computer. It was a dossier, a collection of everything about his new executive assistant.

Ilya did this for every new employee, just not to this extent. Usually he tried his best to find information that could be useful if things got difficult. Some would say he was blackmailing them, but to him it was an insurance policy. Not Hollander though. He couldn’t find anything to use against him other than his friends and family. Ilya wasn’t above the occasional kidnapping if it meant efficient results, but something tugged at him, telling him it would be wrong to do so in this instance. He had a clean record and was a perfectly polite, boring Canadian boy. There was no reason for Hollander to have such an effect on him. 

Ilya tugged at his belt buckle, swiftly removing it and undoing his pants. He tossed everything in the laundry bin in the closet and stepped onto the cool tile floor of his ensuite before turning the shower on. “Ochnis', Ilya,” he breathed as he stared at his reflection above the marble counter. The water pounded onto the shower floor, the building steam creating a fog that crept its way along the perimeter of the mirror. The condensation blurred the edges of the glass and brought focus to Ilya’s face, much like the way Hollander had blurred the edges of Ilya’s vision and drawn his entire focus hours before. His cock twitched, half hard hanging between his legs. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth together, stepping into the scalding heat of the shower he wished to drown his thoughts away with. Ilya denied himself the pleasure his body clearly wanted. In no world was he going to let himself succumb to the weakness that he’d displayed all night. His father’s words rang in his ears, 

“Ty slishkom myagkiy, Il'ya. Ty pryamo kak tvoya mat', polon mechtaniy i glupykh emotsiy. Ty slabyy mal'chik. Slabyy.” 

Ilya breathed deeply and let his arousal subside. The following day was important. Several large meetings were lined up into the early morning hours, and it was to be Hollander’s first night on the job. He took one last look at the tabs on his computer before shutting it down and putting on a fresh suit for his upcoming engagements. He’d return to the folder another time.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

As 10:00PM was fast approaching, Ilya found himself to be rather restless in his office. His men were out stationed in other parts of the house. Most of their business was conducted under the safe protection of night, with Marleau heading up the important operations when not providing 24/7 security. On a night like this, he’d be out picking up Hollander from his apartment and bringing him here to get him set up to begin work. Ilya knew that he had no idea what he had signed up for, and felt a twinge of guilt in his gut for subjecting him to a life that was so far removed from what he was used to. Ilya needed the assistance however, so what was done was done. He heard Marleau’s steps echoing down the hallway before the door to his office pushed open. Hollander stood behind him, slightly to the right. He was wearing the same outfit he had on the day before, only this time the shirt was a wine red colour and not white. His hand was still bandaged, but with a clean wrap.

“I went over everything with him on the ride here,” Marleau explained with a confident smirk. “You shouldn’t need to do anything, sir.”

“Thank you, Marleau. You may go. Hollander, stay for a moment please.” Marleau exited the room and Hollander stared back at him. He continued. “Did Marleau go over my specific wishes or just the general information?”

“General information,” Hollander paused, a brief look of concern dashed across his face before adding “sir.” Ilya’s heart pounded. It had been years that his men had called him sir, but it never sounded as good as it did tonight slipping through Hollander’s lips. Ilya sniffed and turned away, grabbing a cigarette and setting it alight. He took a slow drag with his back turned to his new assistant before walking back to where he stood previously. He took his time looking over the man before him. He didn’t have to rush now that he was officially on staff and not going anywhere. The taught fabric of his dress shirt clung to his shoulders, still one size too small. There was a single vein on the side of his neck that occasionally pulsed when his jaw clenched. Hollander’s eyes rarely met his own, and instead drifted down to his lips and throat. Even as they were half hidden beneath dark lashes, they held him captive.

He found his gaze floating down towards his freckles again, then further - pausing to rest on his lips, soft and relaxed. There was a warmth to Hollander that contrasted Ilya’s cold nature in a way that was nothing short of magnetic. The hardened exterior that was on display in the interview was just as present here, but there was something about the way his posture relaxed and the edges of his mouth were upturned that said he felt more comfortable than the previous night. Ilya wanted to break the exterior down as soon as he had the chance to. It was an enthralling experience, watching someone break and crack under the pressure you applied to them and them alone. It was especially rewarding when the person you discovered underneath was someone you didn’t expect. Ilya had a feeling that Hollander wasn’t just the detached young man standing in front of him, or the perfect boy he saw pictured online. There was something lurking beneath the surface, and Ilya promised himself he’d be the one to pull it out. He took another drag and licked his lips before diving into business.

“You do not message or call me unless it is business related. You do not hover, you do not enter the office without knocking first. All my client calls will go through to you instead of me. You’ll need to brush up on everyone I know, don’t know, might know, will know, could know. It is your job to know my life and the people in it almost more than I do. Following so far?” Hollander nodded. “Good. You will answer me verbally as well. Refer to me only by Mr. Rozanov or sir. You will hear other men call me boss, you do not call me this. That is earned in time.”

“Yes, Mr. Rozanov.” Ilya could swear Hollander’s mouth twitched. There was a heavy silence between them, tension that was thick but comfortable. He could stand here staring at Hollander for hours without saying a word. Unfortunately, Ilya had work to get to.

“Tonight you look over my upcoming schedule and stick close to Marleau. Ask him any questions you might have, not me. I will text you if I need something specific. You’re dismissed. Close my door when you leave.”

“Of course, sir.” With a nod, Hollander was gone. Ilya collapsed into the plush chair by the window and closed his eyes. It was going to be a very long night.

Chapter End Notes

Blyat - Fuck
Eto chertovski glupaya ideya - This is a stupid fucking idea
Nyet - No
Krasivyy - Beautiful
Kakoy strannyy chelovek - What a strange man
Davayte posmotrim, chem vy zanimalis' - Let's see what you've been up to
Ochnis' - Wake up
Ty slishkom myagkiy, Ilya. Ty pryamo kak tvoya mat', polon mechtaniy i glupykh emotsiy. Ty slabyy mal'chik. Slabyy. - You're too soft, Ilya. You're just like your mother, full of dreams and silly emotions. You're a weak boy. Weak.

Chapter 3: Rules and Regulations

Chapter Notes

I haven't written smut in like 84 years so please be kind while I get back into the swing of things LMAO also I hope you guys like my sexy Bratva Marleau cause he's very heavily featured in this chapter.

As said previous, please do not feed my work through AI or use it to generate images. As a writer & musician full time I am Anti-AI and do not condone this whatsoever. Please support real artists and use your big beautiful unique brain to create.

Shane returned home with the official job offer folded in his hand and immediately shed his uncomfortable attire. Collapsing on his bed in his boxers, he smoothed out the paper over the duvet cover and went through every line of the contract over and over again. The pay was much better than his previous minimum wage job of course - this one having a set salary of $50k USD to start, and half of his responsibilities could be taken care of while he was in between school and practice since his in person hours didn’t start until late into the night. He knew he’d eventually be exhausted by the lack of sleep - especially since there weren’t any nights off from the position for the first several months  - but it was a job. The fact that the man he got to work for looked like a Russian Adonis didn’t hurt either. Shane tried his best to push the thought of Rozanov from his mind as he lay back and let out a yawn. Finally the stress of being unemployed and completely broke was over. Maybe now he could have a bit of fun with his teammates before heading to work, or buy Hayden and his girlfriend Jackie lunch rather than the other way around for once. He still wasn’t entirely certain what Rozanov did for a living, but it didn’t bother him that there were secrets to be kept. Everyone told him he was a terrible liar, but for all intensive purposes no one knew how much he kept from others. Keeping things hidden was unfortunately one of his most practiced skills, one that would come in handy at work now that he was employed under an NDA and going to have to keep his attraction to his boss under wraps. Stop thinking about him, dumbass, Shane thought, turning on the end of a Bruins game to distract himself.

Final period, 3-1 Tampa up, Boston down a man. Kucherov deftly navigated through defenders, deceiving them with his intentionally relaxed puck handling. Shane wondered where he learned the skill to so easily exploit his opponents without being the fastest man on the ice, since speed was one of Shane’s best assets. Would the KHL have been able to utilize Kucherov in the same way? Did Rozanov ever play in Russia before he came to New York? Shane thought. Rozanov was built like a hockey player, tall and strong with wide shoulders and thighs. Shane inhaled quick and sharp, his hand hovering over his growing erection. He thought of those same thighs pressing against him, the pressure bearing down on his crotch as he leaned back against the edge of a desk, a place where anyone could walk in - dangerous and thrilling. Rozanov, the name bounced around in his head as he slipped his hand under the elastic of his boxers and pulled his cock out, leaking from the slit already. “Fuck, this is bad,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around the base and giving himself a slow tug, using the precum as lubricant with every stroke. He imagined Rozanov’s lips, his tall figure looming above him, his hands - his hands, Shane thought. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at them, but he knew they’d be strong and large. Rozanov would use the perfect amount of force, wrapping around the back of his legs and squeezing the pressure points on the sides of his neck until he’d have to gasp for air. Shane’s strokes increased with every new thought until he flew over the brink, cum spurting over his hand and dripping down onto his boxers. “Holy shit,” he panted, wiping himself down with a tissue before walking to the bathroom wrapped in a towel to have a cold shower. Shane hoped that getting off to Rozanov once early on would make everything easier, a one and done experience to mitigate any lingering thoughts and get the overwhelming feelings of attraction he had out of his system. He tossed and turned all night and knew deep down he was wrong.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Classes were simple the following day which Shane counted as a blessing. He didn’t need to take many notes and could probably get them reformatted before he got picked up for his first day. He swung his duffle bag over his shoulder and walked up 19th St towards Chelsea Piers Sky Rink for afternoon practice.

“So?” Hayden plopped down on the bench in the locker room beside him. “Did you get the job?” Hayden had spent the night at Jackie’s after learning Shane had a late night job interview. Shane thanked the gods above for that since he was in no mood to spend time with anyone after he’d returned from the long trek home.

“Damn right I did,” Shane smiled down at him. 

“Dude, fuck yes! What is it?” Hayden’s eyes lit up. Even if he could be a touch overbearing at times, Shane was forever grateful to have a best friend by his side who cared as much as he did.

“It’s an executive assistant position for some big businessman. I don’t really know what they do to be honest, I think they’ll tell me tonight at training.” Shane pushed his feet down into his skates, the familiar squeeze around the base of his ankle and toes a quiet comfort after the previous days’ strange events.

“Wow, bigtime job. No more cutting pizzas in the back.” Hayden snorted. “You sure you’re good to work at night though? Cause that fucking sucks ass.”

Shane shook his head, “yeah man, I’ll be fine.” 

“Just don’t wake me up when you get back every morning. I’ll kill you.” 

“Noted.” Shane smiled over at him while he finished lacing up his skates.

Besides the fact that the cuts on his right hand hurt like hell, practice wasn’t too bad. Shane’s accuracy was sharp as ever and his speed was unmatched among his peers. Hayden managed to set him up for a couple decent assists in their scrimmage, and his edges were getting better and better with each practice that went by. Shane even suspected that Hayden might be spending more time at the rink with their other friend J.J - who was also improving rapidly - than he was letting on, which was good news for the team and their upcoming stretch of fairly difficult games. Everything was looking up for him. Hockey was going well, he’d finally gotten a job, his ex-girlfriend Rose stopped trying to set him up on secret dates with men from her film program, and his grades were still up. It was almost frightening how good the last week was to him. So of course right when he started to feel great about the new leaf he’d turned over, Marleau showed up at his apartment building three hours earlier than he was supposed to.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Marleau stepped through the door of the apartment. Shane watched as he scanned the surroundings, clearly judging the way that he and Hayden lived in their cramped shared space. He looked entirely out of place surrounded by their second hand furniture and tables littered with Hayden’s notes. Shane had tried his best to get him to put his work away every time he was done with it but evidently it hadn’t stuck. 

“Sit wherever you want Marleau, do you want a drink?” Shane went to the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water. Hayden had offered to head to J.J’s once he saw Marleau standing in front of the main doors to their building and got spooked by his demeanor. He wouldn’t be home by the time Shane left for his first shift.

“I’m good, thanks.” Marleau called out to him. When Shane returned to the living room all of Hayden’s papers from the coffee table had been replaced by a manilla envelope and a small black box.

“What’s this for?” Shane asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s what you’ll need to get started.” Marleau opened the envelope to reveal a stack of papers. “Every client, employee, contact, you name it has a file dedicated to them just like this one. This file is mine. Never print them out, they’re stored digitally at the Carriage House - Karetnyy Saray - our main headquarters in Greenwich. This is just an example.” He handed the file over to Shane. Everything was well catalogued, although Shane thought there were some areas they could improve on. That wasn’t his problem though. The file was dense and detailed everything he would need to know about Marleau from his family history, his criminal background, every one of his friends, his wife, and even some photos of him from around the city taken in secret. Shane thought about the immense amount of information they probably had on him already seeing as there were hundreds of articles about him from back home and his accounts were all public. The thought made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

“Why do we need this much information on our contacts?” Shane stared at Marleau with concern written all over his face. 

“Our business… is dangerous. We need to know that the people we communicate with don’t have any potential problems.”

“I’m gonna need you to be a bit more clear than that.”

“Hollander, I know you’re not stupid. I think you’ve probably guessed who we are already.” Shane’s head started to spin. The warehouse, the attire, the vague job details, individual dossiers, a Russian boss. Bratva, he thought. Shane had signed a contract to work for the Russian mafia here in New York. Sure, he wasn’t going to have to fight anyone or do anything too dangerous. He would be a pencil pusher - Rozanov’s assistant who booked meetings behind the scenes and brought him coffee. The thought of doing that job surrounded by such tense circumstances changed things however. 

“You’re Bratva.” Shane swallowed.

“Correct. Da, as Mr. Rozanov would say. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Marleau’s face was devoid of emotion as he stared directly at Shane. 

“No - I - I mean I expected what you guys did wasn’t entirely legal - or I guess what I mean is,” Shane stopped and took a deep breath, placing the file back down on the table before him. “I had a feeling that whatever you did was secret for a reason. A few things stood out to me at the interview - Rozanov’s accent being one of them of course - but I didn’t think it would be as crazy as this.” Marleau continued to stare at him, unmoving. “It’s not a problem. I still want the job. Just try not to let me get killed, or even worse, caught.”

Marleau let out a barking laugh. “You know, I think you’ll be just fine. No promises on the killed part but we’ll never let you get caught. You have my word.” He stood and grabbed the papers to return them to the envelope. “Your turn to sit,” he instructed. Shane sat down on the couch, his eyes dropping to the black box in front of him. 

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Marleau started, “it’s nothing, I’ll get to it eventually. First things first, a couple ground rules while working at Karetnyy Saray.” Shane made a mental note to start taking Russian next semester. “Everyone you see there has been vetted and cleared. It’s a brotherhood, that’s why it’s called Bratva to begin with. If you have any problems with someone you bring those problems to me and not to Mr. Rozanov. You do not answer to anyone but him and myself, don’t let them boss you around. Trust me, they will try.” Marleau opened the black box to reveal a brand new smartphone and turn it on. “This is your business phone. Do not use it for anything personal whatsoever. If you need to call your mom, you use your personal cell. If you need to book reservations for a hot date, use your personal cell. I don’t want to see you use this phone for anything other than Bratva business until the end of your days. Understood?”

“Got it.” Shane replied.

“Good. You won’t have a dedicated workspace, you’ll mostly be in the main seating area outside the boss’s office with a computer that we provide to you. Don’t bring your work home, except for the phone obviously. I’ve already loaded all the contacts you’ll need to the device and pinned Mr. Rozanov’s to the top. He will be your main point of contact for anything business related. We will provide you with any intelligence necessary to do your job. You’re welcome in the building at any time, regardless of your hours. So if you need to stay late or even study for an exam in the quiet of the house, you’re welcome to. It’s not just a place of business, it’s a home away from home for a lot of us - myself included.”

Marleau continued on for a couple of hours, primarily going over different members of the organization. Some were younger and dealt with issues behind the scenes and some were veterans that Rozanov had brought with him from Russia. There was apparently some tension between him and his brother Alexei who had stayed back home in Moscow to run the other side of the business from there. Shane wasn’t supposed to bring him up unless a call or meeting with him was explicitly scheduled by either party. At the end of their lengthy discussion, Shane changed into his too tight pants and a wine red shirt. He’d have to remember to spend some of his first paycheck on new clothes to fit in, even though he knew he’d still look out of place in whatever he could afford compared to someone like Marleau who was decked out head to toe in designer. 

“You’re wearing that?” Marleau raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s this or I’ll show up in my boxers.” Shane put his hands on his hips.

“Your funeral.” With that, the two left the apartment and drove to headquarters for Shane's first night on the job.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The Carriage House was massive. To be more accurate, it was two carriage houses connected to a large Brownstone to create one expansive property in the heart of Greenwich Village. A couple of men stood on what Shane assumed was a rooftop garden, smoking cigarettes and peering over at him and Marleau as they entered the front door. They were greeted by several masked faces all donning rifles, tactical vests, and black flat caps. Rozanov clearly took his security very seriously. They made their way down winding halls towards the main brownstone and up two flights of stairs. Shane couldn’t get over the scope of the building he was walking through. Every surface was scrubbed within an inch of its life. The white marble accents shone and every piece of leather had been perfected oiled. The fabrics and drapes were decadent and clearly heavy with colours from their patterns being accented across the rooms in the form of throw pillows, artwork, and hundreds of books. The space was masculine and warm. For someone who appreciated order the way Shane did it was a dreamland. He quickly understood why Marleau said it felt like a home away from home. The last thing he wanted to do was leave now that he’d seen the place. 

When they finally reached the third floor, they approached a pair of solid oak double doors. Two security guards standing on either side. Marleau knocked and pushed inside, revealing Rozanov in a navy suit standing by a bookshelf. 

“I went over everything with him on the ride here,” Marleau said. Hollander stayed slightly behind him. “You shouldn’t need to do anything, sir.”

“Thank you, Marleau. You may go. Hollander, stay for a moment please.” Marleau exited the room and suddenly Shane was alone with Rozanov. From this distance, Shane could take him in in his entirety. He was tall and stood with his shoulders back. His suit was modern and pressed, not a wrinkle to be seen. The light from the bookshelf sconces lit up the left side of his face where a prominent mole sat upon his cheek. He looked distinguished and somehow older, even though Shane suspected he was only a handful of years older than he was. The thing Shane was most interested in were his hands, which were just as he’d imagined. Strong and veiny, large enough to wrap around someone’s throat with ease for pleasure or something more nefarious. His fingers were long, nails trimmed, and they’d clearly been used for something physical at some point judging by their lean muscle. There was nothing delicate about him. Shane took a breath in and tried to focus on Rozanov’s face while he continued. “Did Marleau go over my specific wishes or just the general information?”

“General information,” Shane realized he wasn’t entirely sure how to address him, so he went with his instincts, “sir.” He was sure he saw Rozanov shift slightly at the honorific, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he dragged his eyes across Shane’s face and body. He was suddenly very embarrassed by the fact that his clothing didn’t entirely fit - he should’ve listened to Marleau and tried for something else. Shane’s heart pounded, everything in him was practically begging Rozanov to say something rather than continuing to assess him for another second more. As if he could hear Shane’s inner thoughts, he sniffed and turned away from him to grab a cigarette. He lit it with ease and returned to his position by the bookshelf, all the while letting the smoke drift from his mouth. Shane blinked, catching himself staring again.

“You do not message or call me unless it is business related. You do not hover, you do not enter the office without knocking first. All my client calls will go through to you instead of me. You’ll need to brush up on everyone I know, don’t know, might know, will know, could know. It is your job to know my life and the people in it almost more than I do. Following so far?” Shane nodded. He’d thank Marleau for the bit of prep he’d received earlier. Otherwise, hearing these orders for the first time from Rozanov as his eyes pierced him would’ve drawn blush to his cheeks.“Good. You will answer me verbally as well. Refer to me only by Mr. Rozanov or sir. You will hear other men call me boss, you do not call me this. That is earned in time.”

“Yes, Mr. Rozanov.” Shane suppressed a grin, the silence between them growing thick with tension. 

“Tonight you look over my upcoming schedule and stick close to Marleau. Ask him any questions you might have, not me. I will text you if I need something specific. You’re dismissed. Close my door when you leave.”

“Of course, sir.” Rozanov turned towards his desk, dragging a finger along the surface as Shane left the room. He closed the door and ran a hand through his hair. Working alongside Rozanov was going to be more difficult than he anticipated. He’d have to try to detach himself to the best of his abilities if he was going to focus for more than two seconds while standing in the same room as him. 

“Hollander.” Shane looked to his right to see Marleau sitting on a sofa, beckoning him over. He made his way into the seating area and saw a long built-in desk waiting for him. The serene atmosphere and the brand new computer would be perfect for Shane’s long study sessions, much better than the hall at NYU. He didn’t mind Marleau’s presence either and knew that he wouldn’t be around all the time anyway, seeing as he was the one who went with Rozanov to nearly every engagement. He’d been informed on the drive over that there was a kitchen with a chef on staff 24/7 which would be ideal for keeping his diet on track when he didn’t have time to cook at home. For the first time since learning he’d be working for the Bratva, he felt comfortable - more or less.

“This is for me, right?” He asked Marleau, tilting his head towards the computer.

“You got it. All yours. If I were you I’d start brushing up on all those files. Pyotr from intelligence sorted them for you from high to low priority. The boss’s calendar is also on there but it’s looking a little blank. He hasn’t been keeping up with filling it out - that’s where you come in.”

As if being summoned, Rozanov appeared in the hall and snapped his fingers at Marleau.

“Let’s go. Meeting with Dean on the docks in an hour, I want to get a coffee first.” Marleau stood and slapped his hands against his thighs.

“Take your time settling in, Hollander,” Rozanov said with a nod, “just make sure you do it before tomorrow morning. Da?” He smirked and walked away, Marleau in toe.

Shane sat down at the computer and began to go over everything in detail before opening his own blank documents to recreate the files in a way that made more sense to him. He slowly built diagrams, reformatted the text, and inserted hyperlinks to other documents in the system for better access to necessary references. After about three hours of constant typing, he sat back to look over all of the high priority files that he’d redesigned. It wasn’t his job to fix - or rather, rework the documents provided by Pyotr’s team, but it helped him keep things straight and definitely aided him in memorizing the details pertaining to each individual contact and client. The only file he hadn’t yet finished was for one Rurik Popov. In fact, he was concerned about even starting it. There were over a thousand images for Rurik alone. His written dossier went back 30 years with notes from Rozanov’s father outlining just how dangerous the man was. It was going to be a big undertaking to restructure that one. Shane’s work phone lit up with a new message. 

               Mr. Rozanov: Schedule a meeting for me on Saturday with Sanya Kiselyov, no Marleau

               Hollander: Right away, sir. Day or night?

               Mr. Rozanov: Night 

               Hollander: On it.

Shane opened Sanya’s file and went through the details. Sanya had ties to weapons dealers from both Russia and Poland. The Bratva had been doing business with her for over a decade, longer than Rozanov had been in power here in New York. There were dozens of photographs of her with her family and employees at galas across the city with countless people scattered in the background that he’d eventually have to learn the names of. He closed the file and booked a late night meeting at a lounge that Sanya frequented in her photos. It would most likely make her feel comfortable and it wasn’t too far away from headquarters, giving Rozanov enough time to schedule several more around it. He called the Kiselyov secretary, the lounge, and texted Rozanov the details:

               Hollander: You’re booked at LyricSolo here in Greenwich at 01:00 on Saturday. Sanya is confirmed.

               Mr. Rozanov: Well done.

It was difficult to describe the warm feeling Shane experienced receiving his first bit of praise from his new boss, but if the blush creeping up his neck was any indicator that he enjoyed it, then he must have enjoyed it a lot. The hours passed and Shane’s eyes began to burn. When 4:00AM hit, his phone buzzed with a text from Marleau.

               Marly: You’re outta there, kid. See you tomorrow, same time. I’ll pick you up :))

[Hollander liked this message]

Shane snorted, Marly. Shaking his head he shut the computer down, and headed on home.

Chapter End Notes

I have a bit ol PLAN for the next chapter so stick with meeee! i know this one had a lot of info and backstory on my version of the bratva but i felt like it was kind of necessary to set everything up for the upcoming additional chaps hehe, come say hi on twt at the same name!

Chapter 4: Schedule Change

Chapter Notes

Okay so funsies, this chapter flips perspectives quite a bit - but i used my little starry thing to separate like usual. Up until this point as you're aware, each chapter has been one perspective, but I HAD to switch it up to execute this properly. It's a LONG one and a bit of a doozy, but I had so much fun writing the nitty gritty details of their escapades and piecing things together from chap1. I hope you all enjoy! Chap5 will come over the long weekend at some point, i've been in flow state with this fic tbh. The next chap will have oodles more ilya/shane in it :3 shoutout my barber maurizio

As said previous, please do not feed my work through AI or use it to generate images. As a writer & musician full time I am Anti-AI and do not condone this whatsoever. Please support real artists and use your big beautiful unique brain to create.

Translations in the notes at the bottom!

A couple days had gone by since Hollander had started working for Ilya. His schedule had never been more organized, his coffees were perfectly made and hand delivered, and Hollander never entered the office or bothered him unless it was absolutely necessary. He was the perfect employee, which Ilya both loved and hated. So when he arrived to work on a Thursday night in his slacks and an old henley of all things, Ilya was shocked. 

“What in god's name are you wearing, Hollander?” Ilya raised his brows at him. Hollander looked down at himself as if he forgot what he looked like, which was ridiculous. “Is this some kind of joke? You leave your dress shirt in the car or something?”

“Um, no Mr. Rozanov - sir - I uh,” He swallowed. Ilya had learnt since hiring him that getting Hollander worked up was quite fun. “I haven’t received my first paycheck yet actually and I only own two dress shirts so… I had to settle for this today.” His face flushed a soft pink, bringing a small grin to Ilya’s lips. About seventy percent of the time, Hollander had proven to be a confident and calculated young man. He wasn’t afraid of Ilya or any of the men who worked for him, to the point where he’d even overheard Hollander snap at a security officer for moving his belongings off of a chair in the seating area. It was only when Ilya poked and prodded him about his appearance or stared at him silently for too long that the tough exterior cracked around the edges, revealing the nerves shaking underneath. Ilya beckoned him closer and took out his wallet. 

“Here,” he held his black card out for Hollander to take, “go with Marleau tomorrow morning and buy a bunch of new clothing. He knows where I get my suits tailored. We can’t have you walking around here looking like a stray. It’s pathetic.” Ilya shook the card at him and Hollander gently removed it from his fingers. 

“Right, okay. You can deduct it from my pay - I don’t want to take your money or anything.” 

Ilya let a short breath out of his nostrils and sucked his teeth. Of course Hollander would be concerned about taking more from him than he believed he deserved. He was blissfully unaware that over the last few days, Ilya had been trying to come up with ways to show his appreciation without crossing a bright red line he was too scared to touch. He had men in his ranks who had been with him for years, some of whom had been in the business since his father’s days. Never had Ilya offered to purchase clothing for them when they needed it. It was expected that the gentlemen would buy what they could afford - many of which already owned proper attire since they were on average a decade or so older than both him and Hollander were. There was a part of Ilya however that longed to give him more, he just couldn’t risk anyone finding out so early on. Thankfully, this was the perfect opportunity to disguise such a desire with a solvable work related issue.

“You are not taking. I am giving.” He waved Hollander away and put his feet up on the desk. “Go now, your shirt is making me sick. Do not arrive tomorrow without a tailored suit. I will send you home.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Shane stood in front of a tall mirror in the back of an Italian tailor’s workshop in Brooklyn. He and Marleau had spent the morning trying on different jackets, slacks, shirts, vests, and the accessories to match until he had seven or eight different options he could play with. Spending time with Marleau was fun. He’d never had a big brother or anything close to that, but he imagined it would’ve felt similar. After a morning of being poked with pins and spun around like a ballerina on a pedestal, Marleau took him to get a quick bite and dropped him off for an afternoon class. Rozanov’s black card was burning a hole in his wallet. He was grateful - and slightly insulted - that Rozanov had offered to pay for a full new wardrobe specifically for his work with the Bratva. The other employees were dressed to the nines every day, and Hollander was merely scraping by wearing clothing he had purchased in his freshman year when he realized he was going to have to take Rose out on real dates to nicer restaurants than the occasional fast food chain. Truthfully, Shane hadn’t even looked at the black card since he got it. He immediately stuffed it in his wallet and was too afraid to take it out for anything other than the explicit purchase of his new attire. A couple of his classmates had given him an odd look when he slid into the passenger seat of Marleau’s Mercedes in front of the campus courtyard, but he shook it off and let his mind wander back to the thought of Rozanov’s generosity. Now, standing in front of the mirror in an all black ensemble finished as a rush order, he realized why it had been so important to his colleagues that he dress appropriately. 

“Damn, Hollander,” Marleau smirked from behind his coffee, sitting in a viewing chair to the left, “you should consider wearing this stuff more often - not just at work.” 

Marleau was right of course. The way the fabric hugged his body was perfect. He looked professional, confident, and even a little dangerous. The all black was a nice choice made by the tailor and Marleau together while Shane tried on a pair of dress shoes by the front window. It worked well with his dark hair and eyes. 

“How long until the other pieces are done?” Shane asked Maurizio, who stood admiring his work. 

“You’ll be able to pick them up tomorrow, I have a few people working on them.” The man bagged Shane’s old clothes and threw them into the garbage out back. In any other circumstance Shane would’ve been pissed off by that move, but Maurizio had done such a great job he couldn’t be anything but thankful towards him. 

“Great, I’ll pay now.” Shane grabbed his wallet and finally removed Rozanov’s black card from its place. He looked down at the name and inhaled, his breath hitching slightly. Ilya, he read, Ilya G. Rozanov. Shane had meant to spend some time researching his boss in great detail, but between work, school, practice, and trying to get some sleep he hadn’t had much time to do so. On top of this, there wasn’t even a file about Mr. Rozanov on his computer. There wasn’t one for his brother Alexei either. Reading his full name for the first time made Shane feel like he was finally getting pieces of information on the man that had embedded himself into his psyche since the moment he walked into that small interview room days earlier. Ilya, he thought again. It was a beautiful, almost sensuous feeling name - one that suited him well. Shane wondered who was lucky enough to be able to call him that behind closed doors. Family, friends, lovers. Marleau cleared his throat.

“Hollander.” With that, Shane snapped back to reality and handed the card over to Maurizio. The total due was enough to make Shane feel like passing out, but Marleau didn’t seem to be moved by the gigantic number on the register at all. He snatched the card from the machine when the transaction went through and put it right back where it belonged in his wallet. He’d give it back to Rozanov as soon as he saw him that evening - which Shane didn’t realize wouldn’t be for a while.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Marleau brought Shane to work a few hours earlier than normal. Shane didn’t care. He had planned on getting a head start on restructuring the Rurik Popov file anyway. The men and women in the house made sure to compliment him at every corner on his new suit. By the time he made it to the third floor of the Brownstone he was sure his face was beet red from the amount of attention he had been getting as he navigated his way through the massive headquarters. Shane wasn’t a fool. He knew that he was a good-looking man and often had to brush people off at bars and parties all throughout high school and college. A couple guys on his team called him “pretty boy” which occasionally got under his skin since he knew they didn’t mean it in a nice way - but it was better to be pretty than whatever they were. The thing he wasn’t used to were the lingering eyes from a handful of the men who secured rooms and hallways in front of him. He was pretty certain that he’d never been afforded much male attention, but thought maybe he just hadn’t been watching for it until more recently. Before heading to his computer in the seating area, Shane made a stop to Rozanov’s office. As he raised a hand to knock, one of the guards leaned over.

“Boss is already gone. Should be back when your shift is done, kid.”

Shane tried his best to hide his disappointment. He didn’t want to hang onto Rozanov’s black card any longer than he needed to. Plus, he wanted to see Rozanov’s reaction to his new suit since it was so important to him that he dress nicely while working under him. He spun on his heel and made his way to his usual spot in front of the computer monitor. 

Rurik Popov’s file opened to a page of countless addresses, monikers, business names, and connections. Nothing was organized properly due to the sheer volume of information they kept on him and their need to track him at all times. Shane had learnt from Marleau that Rurik was Rozanov’s biggest competitor. After he’d pushed deeper into Rurik’s territory, Popov had started to snatch up the Bratva’s smaller clients by offering them slightly better returns on their sales and lower prices on their purchasing to turn anyone he could against Rozanov’s team. Rurik was dangerous, and although rarely violent towards senior members of Bratva staff, he wanted nothing more than to take what he believed was rightfully his - which was all of New York. Unfortunately for him, Rozanov was more machine than man when it came to his drive and ambition. He went days without sleeping to ensure that his territory was secure and constantly met with low level clientele in person to show them his loyalty despite their ranking among his distributors and buyers. He was smart, doing business on the ground and placing his trust in the very few people who had been with the organization since before his time - minus Marleau. Shane had yet to earn that trust and knew it would be a difficult undertaking to obtain, but he sought it all the same. Shane started small, opening a new document and typing out information line by line in a way that made more sense to him. He added maps and diagrams of the addresses as well as locations he frequented to ensure that if he needed a visual reference there would be plenty available to him on the fly. He went through almost all of the written information on Popov over the course of several hours and a bowl of salmon and rice from the chef downstairs before turning his attention to the next part of his venture.

It was at 12:15AM sharp that Shane’s stomach sank as he opened the photo portion of the folder. He stared at a black and white photo taken from a CCTV camera just outside Greenwich and the few people that Rurik stood with smoking a cigarette. The location wasn’t the issue - a small sub shop he had passed on his way to work every now and then when Marleau had to drive him from practice just north of their headquarters. The problem was who was with him. Shane jumped into action, opening file after file to figure out where he had recognized the colleague to Rurik’s right. It was a stroke of luck that Shane had even opened that first photo to begin with since it was timestamped from two weeks ago and there were countless other photographs taken since then. He stood up and paced around the room, shaking out his hands and counting his breaths. He had to calm down if he was going to get anything done and figure out why alarm bells were sounding off in his head. Rozanov had a meeting in 45 minutes with weapons smuggler Sanya Kiselyov at LyricSolo not far from headquarters. Sanya, Shane snapped his head back towards the monitor and sat down in his chair, frantically searching for her file in the database. It was only four days ago that he’d reorganized it and gone through every photo in the folder to figure out a good meeting location. There in the top right of a gala photo taken only one month prior was the same colleague in Rurik’s photo from two weeks ago. It was well known among the Bratva that anyone who colluded with Rurik’s contingent at all could not be trusted - and so seeing Sanya smiling at someone who was speaking with both sides wasn’t something Shane was willing to take lightly. He picked up his cellphone, his heart rate slowing and focus closing in on the task at hand. While Shane felt nervous and overwhelmed at times in his day to day life, he performed much better on the ice when under heavy pressure. This moment felt similar - if not more concentrated. He briefly thought back to the game before World Juniors, where adrenaline and a burning passion for the sport drove him to a near perfect performance before he got taken out. He refused to go down this time. He called the Bellemont Hotel & Bar and booked a private room for the same time, then turned his attention to the more pressing task: getting Sanya to the new location. Shane dialled the number for her assistant and stared at the photo on the screen before him. One ring, two, three, four.

“Speak.” A slight bit of tension released from his shoulders at the answer.

“Melanie, it’s Hollander for Mr. Rozanov. Apologies but I had to change the location for his and Mrs. Kiselyov’s meeting.”

“That’s certainly abrupt Mr. Hollander. Could you explain the reasoning to me please? We’d be happy to reschedule the entire thing for another day instead at the same location.”

“No!” Shane jumped in too quickly, “No, that won’t be necessary. The mistake was mine. I have Mr. Rozanov booked for another meeting right after this one and the locations were too far to travel to in time” 

Melanie sighed on the other end of the phone. Shane assumed that she would know he was new, since it seemed like everyone in their network was well aware of each other’s moves.

“Mr. Hollander, I cannot say that I am pleased to have to change locations for Sanya this evening, but you’re in luck. Her next engagement was pushed to tomorrow. Would you like another location suggestion?” Shane could hear her typing on the other end of the line. 

“I’ve actually already booked a private room for the pair at Bellemont Hotel & Bar under Mr. Rozanov’s name for the same time. I deeply appreciate yours and Mrs. Kiselyov’s flexibility. We will ensure this doesn’t happen again in the future.”

“Of course, Mr. Hollander. I am sure it won't.” Melanie hung up the phone. The next task was by far the worst of all. 

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya’s phone lit up beside him. Hollander. 

“Yes, I’m on my way to the meeting. What do you want?” Unless it was of dire importance, there was no reason for Hollander to call him so close to his next engagement. 

“I’ve changed your meeting location with Sanya.” Hollander’s voice was sharp and firm. Ilya pressed the brake and screeched the car to a halt on the side of the road.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Hollander?” 

“Your meeting with Sanya is now at the Bellemont Hotel & Bar, private room.”

“Why? I’m already around the corner from LyricSolo. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ilya was furious. He’d spent the evening travelling to different heroin distributors in the North-East end of the city to check in on their supplies. It took almost an hour to travel South back to Greenwich and now he’d have to turn around and go back from whence he came. 

“I’ll explain it to you when you’re back. Either go to the new location or miss your meeting. Sanya already confirmed.” Hollander hung up on him. 

“Chert! Tebya potom uvolyat, Hollander!” Ilya shouted and slammed his hand against the steering wheel before peeling out to speed to the new location. He drove through the city like a madman, barely following any traffic laws and flying through intersections with a blatant disregard for his and anyone else’s safety. Nothing made Ilya more angry than incompetence - and unless Hollander had a very good reason for changing his plans tonight, he’d have to be punished. 

Ilya arrived at the bar and walked to the private room at the back. He was still earlier than Sanya was, so he ordered himself a vodka and sat back on the soft velvet booth, listening to the live jazz from the small stage near the entrance float through the crack of the door. He stared at the flickering candle before him, thinking of all the ways he was going to scream and curse at Hollander when he got back to headquarters after his final engagement. The pretty face and smart mouth that captivated him from the get go would leave through the double doors of Karetnyy Saray in tears and most likely not return. Ilya wasn’t dead set on firing him, but a probationary period at the very least would be necessary to ensure that he didn’t continue to do whatever he wanted and control Ilya’s schedule as if he was in charge. Ilya was, and always would be. About thirty minutes went by and there was still no sign of Sanya - one more thing to unleash on Hollander. Ilya assumed that she didn’t get the memo or was standing Rozanov up instead of committing to their arranged meeting due to the unprofessionalism displayed tonight thanks to his ill-behaved executive assistant. Just as Ilya was about to finish his vodka and head out towards the main bar area, the music stopped - no applause. Something was very wrong. He fumbled for his cellphone and saw three missed calls from Marleau and two from Hollander. Opening his thread with Marleau he read:

Marleau: It’s a setup

              Call Hollander ASAP

               I’ll pick you up next door

Call, Hollander? Ilya questioned - but he trusted Marleau with his life, and so he dialled. 

“Mr. Rozanov.” Hollander answered.

“Marleau said to call you of all people.”

“You need to trust me.” At that, Ilya let out a quiet chuckle.

“I’ve known you for less than a week, Hollander. It’ll take a little bit longer than that-”

“Shut up and listen to me.” Hollander was going to get it for cutting Ilya off later, but Ilya stayed silent and  allowed him the opportunity to continue. “Behind you there’s a door by the wine rack - no handle. Press and open.” Ilya stood and followed Hollander’s instructions. He was right, it was a dummy door. 

“How-” 

“Go down the hall to the right and keep walking until you see a keypad - the code is 2424. Go down the stairs and out into the cellar, you’ll be in the pizzeria next door. There’s a side exit from there, Marleau is waiting. Be quick.” Hollander hung up on him again. 

Behind him, Ilya could hear muffled voices from the main entrance, so he ducked into the cold back hallway and closed the door behind him, tearing off towards the exit and racing back to headquarters while sitting beside a similarly confused and angered Marleau.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya stomped up the stairs towards the third floor seating area to find Hollander sitting in his swivel chair chewing on the end of a straw. If he wasn’t so angry, he’d have taken more time to watch the way his mouth wrapped around it - but now was not the time.

“My office. Now.” He heard Hollander grabbing stacks of papers before following close behind. When they reached the interior he slammed his hands down on his desk and looked up at him. Marleau stood off to Rozanov’s right, ready to jump in for support if necessary.

“I am going to give you exactly five minutes to explain every bit of your behaviour tonight because I am a very, very generous man.” Ilya drew out the end of the sentence and stared into Hollander’s eyes. To his surprise, he held his gaze rather than dropping it like normal. 

“Happy to.” Hollander took a step towards the desk and moved Ilya’s belongings off to the side before placing a photograph of Sanya and some associates on the wooden surface.

“I told you not to make printouts. It was one of the first rules I gave you, Hollander,” Marleau’s tone was harsh, echoing the boiling emotions radiating from Ilya. The pair were always in sync. It was a benefit that came from working with an old friend.

“Yeah well it’s a stupid rule.” Hollander fired back at him, unwavering. “Maybe if your intelligence team was allowed to make physical copies instead of flooding the database with junk, Mr. Rozanov wouldn’t have been set up tonight.”

“Are you accusing my team of something Mr. Hollander?”

“I don’t know Mr. Marleau, should I be?” Hollander refused to back down.

Ilya looked over at Marleau who was clearly ready to snap. 

“Enough. This isn’t our fucking problem right now. Talk, Hollander.” Ilya’s fingertips were pressing into the solid oak desk, white and burning from the pressure that was keeping him from flying off the handle. Hollander cleared his throat and continued.

“When I originally booked your meeting for tonight I had looked over a bunch of the photographs your intelligence had given me so I could choose a good location for both of you. This photo stood out to me because of that woman in the top right corner.” Ilya and Marleau leaned closer to the photograph. She didn’t look like anyone important, just a middle aged woman with frizzy brown hair and lips pressed into a thin smile. Sanya was looking in her general direction. Ilya shook his head and took a breath in before glancing over at Marleau. He was white as a ghost, staring down at the photograph with wide searching eyes. Hollander followed Ilya’s gaze.

“Marleau,” Ilya started. He glanced up at Ilya before shaking his head and turning his full attention to Hollander, taking a small step back. The two seemed to share a brief understanding that Ilya was not in on.

“Continue, Hollander.” He said, eager to know what could flip Marleau’s demeanor in such a big way.

“When I saw her in the photograph originally a few nights ago I didn’t really think anything of it.” Hollander reached back into the folder. “I recognized her but couldn’t quite pinpoint where so I left it alone, until I saw her here in this photo with Rurik while going over his file tonight.”

There with the same frizzy hair was the woman from the gala, this time donning  an unreadable but incredibly intense expression. Ilya knew immediately that having an associate who consorted with both Sanya and Rurik was a problem. No one with a head on their shoulders would try to work both sides, it would be a death sentence. In a perfect world, this would merely be a strange coincidence - but Ilya didn’t believe in coincidences. 

“Marleau knows this woman too. She was at my interview, sir. She was essentially staring right through me, even after I acknowledged her. I got the job before she had the chance to meet Marleau.” Ilya’s heart was pounding. Thanks to Hollander’s attention to detail, he and Marleau had both managed to escape what might have been a hit from Rurik. After Hollander had secured the job and the woman was sent home, the plan most likely changed using a check in with Sanya as bait - someone he had put his trust in time and time again. 

“When I saw the connection, I quickly changed your meeting location to the Bellemont because I used to work there as a barboy - that’s the job I got fired from. We used the pizzeria next door for our room service and ran the orders through the back hall. If you’d have gone left instead of right you would’ve ended up in the maintenance wing. I didn’t know what else to do since I don’t really know the LyricSoho that well. If something were to happen I was sure I could get you out of the Bellemont though.” 

Geniy, Ilya thought. He watched Hollander swap folders with one substantially larger. 

“This is her application folder. Marta Miller, 42 years old from Brooklyn. She allegedly worked as a legal secretary prior to her release. Everything you would think to look up about her is in this folder - it’s too perfect. While you and Marleau drove back I thought I’d do my own research but I couldn’t.” 

“Why?” Ilya was enthralled. 

“She doesn’t exist.” You could hear a pin drop in the office. 

“What do you mean she doesn’t exist?” Marleau asked.

“She’s a ghost. There’s no trace of her online at all, not even the photos you apparently pulled from her social media accounts. Those don’t exist either. She’s not real.” Hollander stepped back. Ilya’s head was swimming. He’d have to order Marleau and Pyotr  to do a full intelligence report which would take weeks to complete. This type of mistake was deadly and could’ve ended not just the Bratva in New York, but could’ve ended his life as well. Ilya placed a cigarette in his mouth and sparked it, letting the nicotine calm his nerves before turning his attention back to Hollander.

 “If you want to fire me I understand.” He looked away from Ilya and down at the desk instead, “It’s not my job to run intelligence or even look that closely at your clients but, I had to do something once I figured it out. Plus I kind of hung up on you a bunch and was an asshole to both of you so…. I -  I’m sorry.”

Ilya laughed and licked his lips. For the first time that night, he really looked at Hollander standing in front of him. A genius trapped in the body of a pretty boy hockey player, wearing a perfectly tailored all black suit purchased on Ilya’s dime. He looked beautiful. The crisp black collar of his shirt hugged his neck,  a silk tie drew his eyes down to the jacket button that joined the fabric around his waist - accenting his figure. There was no doubt in his mind that Maurizio enjoyed working on the cut of this particular garment. Who wouldn’t when they were afforded the opportunity to touch and fawn over Hollander for hours on end without anyone raising an eyebrow at them. Learning more about the way Hollander’s mind worked only made Ilya’s desire for him grow. He flitted his eyes back up to Hollander’s face. The crinkle between his furrowed brow was cute as anything, and his dark eyes were intense and full of concern. Ilya felt a pang of guilt deep in his stomach for lashing out at him earlier. Of course he had a plan all along and was doing his job better than Ilya could have ever expected him to, and Ilya felt like a fool for not trusting him. He’d be sure to make it up to Hollander as soon as he was able to.

“Of course.” He blew out a puff of smoke and straightened to walk around his desk.  “You see this Marleau? The smartest fucking guy in the entire Bratva is stuck as a lowly assistant.” 

“I’m not a lowly assistant, I’m an executive assistant.” Hollander muttered. 

Ilya smiled at him. “Da, that’s right.” He said - his tone a touch too fond. Ilya turned to Marleau, “Go to Pyotr with these files and remind him why it’s important that he does his job properly. You’re both dismissed.” 

Ilya watched as Hollander slowly followed Marleau out of the room. Just before he exited, he stopped him from leaving.

“Hollander.” He turned and caught Ilya’s eye. “I am sorry for not trusting you. You did good today. Thank you.” A bright red blush shot up Hollander’s neck to his cheeks. Ilya’s heart skipped. 

“Just doing my job, sir.” He nodded and closed the door behind him as he left.

“No,” Ilya said to himself, “you are doing much more.”

Chapter End Notes

Chert! Tebya potom uvolyat, Hollander - Damn! You're fired later, Hollander
Geniy - Genius

Chapter 5: What Do I Know

Chapter Notes

HERE WE GOOOOO finally getting into some shane x ilya content in this chapter rahhhhhhhh pls enjoy!

As said previous, please do not feed my work through AI or use it to generate images. As a writer & musician full time I am Anti-AI and do not condone this whatsoever. Please support real artists and use your big beautiful unique brain to create.

Translations in the notes at the bottom!

Several weeks had gone by since Rozanov began trusting Shane more thoroughly. He was given a proper office on the same floor and was told he didn’t have to work the same strict hours every night. Having a more flexible schedule was a massive benefit with hockey ramping up through the winter months. Even so, Shane found himself heading to work earlier than his previous hours required and often staying later. He enjoyed spending time with his colleagues and having a quiet office space to study in, and oftentimes felt more at home there than he did with Hayden in his living room. It felt good to be useful and appreciated. Rozanov had also been taking more of an interest in Shane’s nightly work. He checked in frequently when he was at the headquarters and asked the occasional question about Shane’s life outside of the business. Though their conversations were usually short lived and duty called him away, Shane drew them out to the best of his abilities. Any time with Rozanov was time well spent.

          Rozanov: When will you be in tonight

          Shane: Around 9. Do you need me to come in earlier?

          Rozanov: No

                         9 is good

                         I will see you in your office then

          [Shane Hollander liked this message]

Shane put his phone in his bag and chewed on his mouthguard. Rutgers was the visiting team this Saturday afternoon. The crowd at Chelsea Piers was midsized. As a club team, NYU didn’t get the same type of media coverage or attention that a team in the NCAA would. He often thought about how far he had fallen from his time on the Canadian Junior team to where he was now. Studying biology and playing for a school that was low enough in hockey rankings to be completely forgotten about in the world of sports. It was only thanks to that original success that Shane still had the occasional scout come to his games. He always impressed, since the other players were much below his level - including his own teammates. Rutgers ended up being an easy 4-1 win for them, with Shane scoring a hat trick and getting an assist on J.J. Every game was more or less exactly the same. Shane carrying the team on the ice and then getting painfully ignored by them off of it. He wasn’t the type to go out to parties after their wins or drink the rare losses away alongside his peers. Eventually they stopped asking and didn’t even bother to converse with him unless it was specifically related to their games and practice. Hayden and J.J were different of course and knew him better than most, but recently Shane had been wondering how his life in the hockey world felt so much more lonely than his life with the Bratva. How people who he spent entire days with - some even years - understood him less than the handful of men and women he was surrounded by at work for only a couple of months. He guessed the difference was probably because the Bratva didn’t require him to be anyone he wasn’t in order to be accepted by them. With them, he just was. 

When they returned to the locker room after the win, Shane quickly stripped out of his uniform to go shower, but not before Hayden stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Shane buddy,” Hayden gave him a pleading look, “you’ve gotta come out with the team tonight.”

“I have work Hayden. I can’t just not go.” Shane adjusted the towel around his waist.

“Even if it’s just for an hour. Last night you went in three hours early, it’s fucking nuts dude. You’re like a workaholic or something.” Hayden was right. He’d been spending hardly any time with his friends and even less time at home - mostly just stopping in to grab some food, shower, and change. Sometimes he even slept on the couch in his office instead of heading home since the headquarters were much closer to campus than his apartment was. The plush couch covered in throw pillows and blankets picked out by Rozanov’s team wasn’t any less comfortable than his terrible Ikea mattress was either - in fact it was quite the opposite.

“Let me text my boss and see. But no more than an hour, okay?” Hayden’s face lit up at the response.

“Fuck yes dude.” Hayden walked towards the showers as Shane reached back into his bag for his phone.

          Shane: Hi, Mr. Rozanov. Would you mind if I came in at 10 instead? There’s been a change of plans.

          Rozanov: Where are you coming from?

          Shane: Soho. It’s a team celebration. 

          Rozanov: Send me the details and I will pick you up

                         At 10

                         Be dressed for work already

                         You’re my Marleau tonight 

You’re my Marleau tonight, Shane ran the words over in his mind a few times. He’d never been asked to join Rozanov for anything. Occasionally he and a couple of the security officers or Marleau himself would go grab a bite after his shift had finished at the diner down the road from them, but Rozanov never tagged along. Going out on a job wasn’t in his contract and wasn’t something he’d had thought to prepare for. Being a glorified administrator for the Bratva’s highest ranking member was one thing, but being witness to whatever he got up to at those engagements was completely different. Suddenly, Shane wasn’t feeling too well. He showered quickly and spent much too long on his hair while thanking himself internally for having the foresight to bring his work clothes in a garment back so he wouldn’t have had to go all the way home after the game. A couple of his teammates whistled and smacked him on the back when they saw him get dressed for the evening in a grey three piece suit and tie. He zipped up his bag, put his old watch on, and decided to leave his street clothes in the equipment room overnight. 

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

As expected, any bar on a Saturday night was going to be busy. This was terrible for Shane because there was nothing he hated more than overcrowded, loud spaces full of drunk, reckless idiots. At least tonight most of the idiots were his teammates. Him and his two closest friends stood further inside with their drinks - beer for Hayden and J.J, and a soda water for Shane. The bar didn’t have ginger ale so if you asked him, Shane would tell you it was one of the worst night’s he’s had in a long time. He’d rather be screaming at people on the phone and trying to save someone from getting shot over standing in the sticky darkness holding a freezing cold glass of liquid TV static. The guys on the team kept coming over to him, trying their best to set him up with women who had clearly been interested. He looked out of place in the best way, and the attention he received was reflective of that. For almost an hour, Shane engaged in polite conversation with a few girls. One refused to remove herself from his orbit so Shane bought her a drink and kept her talking since it was better than having to talk to his teammates about why he’d rejected her. She was obviously pretty and seemed nice enough. Her soft hands touched his on the bartop and she constantly leaned in laughing at jokes that definitely weren’t funny enough to have brought on such an exaggerated reaction. Normally Shane would’ve brought her home and tried his best to have a good time. Tonight however, he had the perfect excuse to leave early, and that excuse walked into the bar five minutes before he would’ve left himself. 

Shane caught Rozanov’s eye across the room and the whole world froze. He had no reason to come inside to get him unless there was a safety concern and they needed to go, but by the way he sauntered over to where Shane stood, that couldn’t have been further from the case. He saw a couple people turn to look at him. The way that Rozanov’s energy shifted the entire feel of the bar was hypnotic. His strong presence was always of note when he would enter a room at Karetnyy Saray and all the eyes snapped towards him, but it was something else entirely to watch him draw a similar amount of attention in a room full of young drunken college students who had no idea who he was. It was utterly magnetizing.

“Mr. Rozanov,” They shook hands, Shane watching as his boss’s eyes drifted from his face down to the girl hanging off of Shane’s arm. “Oh this is, uh -”

“Kelly!” She stuck out her hand, and was immediately denied. Rozanov gave her a small grin before turning back to Shane. Something on his face said he was unimpressed.

“Are you done here?” Rozanov asked. 

“Yeah, uh, Kelly I’ll text you or something.” Shane lied.

“You don’t even have my number yet,” she fumbled for her phone, “I’ll text you instead.” Immediately Shane felt a shift in the energy around them and looked up to catch Rozanov rolling his eyes. 

“Ms. Kelly, Hollander here is not interested. I’m sure you understand.” Her eyes darted from Rozanov to him several times before she put her phone back in her pocket and frowned. 

“Okay, whatever,” she mumbled something about Shane’s “daddy” telling him what to do and grabbed her drink, pushing past Shane to return to her friends. He let out a sigh of relief and followed Rozanov out of the bar and into the quiet of his Phantom. He’d be sure to text Hayden and J.J that he left later. 

“Thank fuck,” Shane rubbed at his eyes and sank into the plush interior of the passenger seat. Rozanov let out a low chuckle beside him.

“You don’t like them, hm?”

“No, definitely not,” Shane replied, “bars suck.” 

“I meant girls.” Rozanov kept his eyes on the road, but a small knowing smile sat upon his lips. Shane snapped his head toward him. 

“I - no - I mean yeah no, for sure -  I totally do. Girls are great, really nice.” He let out a shaky laugh and smiled out the window. “I’m not being very convincing am I?” 

“No. Not even a little bit.” Rozanov looked over at him briefly. He was sure he caught a sparkle in his eye. Shane inhaled and looked out the front window, licking his lips. He sensed a moment of understanding between the two of them - unexpected but welcome nonetheless. The city lights flew by as they sped toward their location, Shane’s hands starting to shake from the reality of the situation setting in. For the first time he was going to be seen in public as a member of the Bratva and not just someone known among their colleagues in secret. It was a big and dangerous step, one he hoped wouldn’t come to haunt him in the future. Rozanov pulled into the back of a large building and shut the car off. The silence between them was palpable.

“No valet?” Shane said, cutting the tension. 

“There is, but you are anxious. Ask me your questions before we go in.” Rozanov angled his body towards Shane and studied his face. He was sure that by now the warmth he felt in his cheeks was visible in the light pooling in from the parking lot’s streetlamps. 

“Well,” he started, “I guess I just wonder, why me? I mean, Marleau is always the one to go with you to these things - him or your girlfriend Svetlana so it just doesn’t make sense to me why I’d be the choice tonight.” Shane stared at him for a moment before looking down at his lips. 

“Svetlana is not my girlfriend, just old friend, and Marleau is great person to bring to drops and check-ins but not formal events. He is not so well spoken. You, however, are.” He offered Shane a comforting grin. “Also, you know everyone here and I need you to use your beautiful brain to … notice things, da?” 

Shane could’ve done a backflip after hearing Rozanov pay him such a genuine compliment. 

“Okay. I can do that,” Shane replied, his hands fidgeting. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Rozanov reached into the back seat, his palm resting on Shane’s thigh to steady himself. Shane felt like he was electrocuted, the spot where his hand rested tingled and burned. As Rozanov sat back in his seat he pulled his hand away, his fingers lingering a touch longer than necessary. Shane ached at the loss of his touch. 

“This is for you.” Rozanov handed him a green velvet box, and he immediately recognized the Rolex logo on the top. 

“You didn’t.” Shane’s jaw dropped. 

“I did.”

“Mr. Rozanov, I can’t accept this.” Shane’s brow furrowed as he met his gaze and shook his head.

“You can and you will. It is a thank you for helping me a few weeks ago.” 

“Sir, you already gave me an office for that.” The box began to grow heavier in Shane’s hands as the seconds went on. 

“That was a work thank you. This,” Rozanov opened the box for him, “is a personal thank you.”

Shane looked down at the watch. It was definitely worth more than his entire life. Gold band, Gold framing, with a white face. In the centre was a custom gold and diamond inlay of the Bratva logo and Shane’s initials where two and four should have been - his jersey number. Rozanov removed it from the box for him and flipped it over to reveal another personal detail - his hiring date etched into the back. There was thought put into this gift, especially the jersey number which Shane was incredibly moved by. Rozanov discarded the box and casually took Shane’s hand, deftly removing his old watch and throwing it into the back seat. He slid the new piece of jewelry over Shane’s wrist and fastened it. Rozanov’s hands were calloused and warm, his touch surprisingly gentle. To think that Shane had imagined his hands on him weeks ago and now they were touching him for a fleeting moment was like something out of a strange daydream. 

“There, much better.” Rozanov gave him a quick once over and turned to get out of the car. “Let’s go.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The party was much more Shane’s speed than the crowded bar he had just come from. A soft string quartet played in the foyer and servers made their rounds with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Everyone there looked expensive, and thanks to Shane’s hard work redoing most of the files intelligence had given him he recognized almost everyone there. Rozanov made sure to stop and greet a dozen or so people before steering them through the halls to a drawing room. Every time the pair would leave someone behind, Rozanov would press a hand gently on Shane’s lower back to guide him away and back into the bustle of the reception. He wondered if Rozanov ever acted this way with Marleau but he couldn’t imagine it. With the pair of them being so acquainted it wouldn’t be strange for Rozanov to show him that type of affection, but Marleau always seemed to stand at a slight distance and gave off a different type of aggressive energy than Shane knew he did. Him and Rozanov were close all evening, elbows occasionally bumping, their fingers touching when they passed each other glasses of champagne or someone’s business card. Their proximity was intoxicating. 

When they arrived in the drawing room they were met with a small circle of people: Boris - an arms purveyor, Natalie - his wife, Henry - a distributor, and Sanya. It was then that Shane realized why they were at this party, and why Shane was the choice of comrade for the evening. 

“Mr. Rozanov, it’s a pleasure to see you,” Henry spoke. Shane knew that every word from his mouth was slime. While a successful distributor for the Bratva, Henry often took too much of the cut for himself - according to Pyotr’s records. Rozanov hated when his colleagues didn’t pay their employees properly, which Marleau occasionally commented on, citing that Rozanov often gave the gentleman at their drops overly generous tips and told them not to tell their boss. He invested in his people, so they invested back in him. 

“Henry, how is your father?” Rozanov had clearly read up before he arrived. 

“He is alive, unfortunately.” The circle laughed, and Shane politely joined them. “His time is drawing near though, he can barely lift a spoon to his lips anymore. Still sharp as anything though!” 

“That is good. I’m glad to hear that he’s still himself.” Rozanov took a sip from his champagne flute, his tone dower. He hummed before continuing. “I’m sorry, I am being rude. This is Shane Hollander,” Rozanov paused and stole a glance at him, “he’s new.”

If the others hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to shake his hand, he would have been hung up on hearing his first name slip from Rozanov’s lips, but there was no time for reflection. Sanya was the only one who gave him pause before reaching out to take his hand in hers. Her gaze was cold and her shoulders were tense. Shane could tell that she recognized his name and had strong feelings about it - good. 

“So this is your assistant then? I hope he’s getting better at his job.” Sanya smirked.

“He could not be better. I am sorry I missed you a few weeks ago, I had to… slip away.” Rozanov stared at her with daggers in his eyes, jaw clenched. 

“Yes, well, we will find another moment to get together. I’ll be sure to have my assistant arrange it instead this time.” Shane was growing angry. He knew that the intention was to get him to snap and lash out at her, showing that he was volatile and that perhaps the others should consider doing business with her and Rurik instead. He wasn’t going to let that happen, but he also had to speak his mind. 

“I would be happy to field recommendations from Melanie, Mrs. Kiselyov, but Mr. Rozanov is a very busy man as I’m sure you are aware.” Shane’s media training from years ago was finally paying off. “It might actually be a benefit to have Henry join as well to speed up the process.” Adding another currently present party to the occasion would certainly throw a wrench in whatever plans Sanya had to leave the Bratva’s clutches behind for Rurik, and it would ensure Rozanov’s safety if they met in person. No one, not even Rurik’s men, would risk carrying out a hit on multiple high level individuals at once in a single location. Shane looked up at Rozanov beside him and gave him a small wink from behind his champagne glass. His face broke into a toothy smile which made Shane feel weak in the knees. It didn’t help that he was slightly tipsy. 

“Mr. Hollander, do you not think I am also busy?” Sanya let out a pointed laugh, faking offense. 

“I am certain that you are. Perhaps coordinating with Henry first would be best then, and I can structure Mr. Rozanov’s schedule around what works best for both of you. Unless, there was someone else you wanted to meet with first?” He gave her a knowing smile. Shane heard Rozanov take a deep breath beside him. He knew that he was toeing a dangerous line with Sanya, but he refused to show any sort of weakness in front of members of his circle. If Shane was going to gain their respect and show Sanya that he wasn’t someone to be pushed around, he had to at least walk up to the line that dared to be crossed. Sanya blinked and her cold exterior slipped ever so slightly. Shane saw a bit of fear show in her eyes before she pushed it away and gave him a taut smile.

“No,” Sanya put her champagne flute down on the side table next to her, “I’ll have Melanie reach out to you right away Henry, we would love to continue our business discussions as soon as possible.”

Rozanov had yet to take his eyes off of him, making Shane feel almost powerful.

“Well that’s settled then. It’s a smart idea Mr. Hollander. I see why you keep him around.” Henry gave an approving look towards Rozanov. 

“Yes,” Ilya said, still staring, his eyes full of mirth, “not just a pretty face, hm?” The circle laughed again, Rozanov’s charm breaking the seemingly insurmountable tension that had been building moments before. Shane’s cheeks blushed a bright red which only made their colleagues laugh harder. Rozanov wasn’t laughing however, his eyes stayed trained on him, that bright smile never leaving his face. Earlier, Shane had thought this was one of the worst nights of his life. How quickly that thought had changed.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Marleau hadn’t stopped smiling, his back leaning against one of the many bookshelves that lined Rozanov’s office. Shane stood in the middle of the room, embarrassed but flattered all the same.

“Marleau, you don’t understand, he was amazing,” Rozanov continued. Shane had been standing there for what felt like hours while he gushed over Shane’s performance at the party that evening. “Sanya’s eyes were ready to pop out of her head, I’ve never seen her look like that before.” He was pacing back and forth in front of his desk.

“You think she’ll tell Rurik?” Marleau asked.

“Oh, I know she will. That’s what I want.” Rozanov stopped pacing and sat down on the edge of his desk, looking directly at Shane.

“Wait,” Shane raised an eyebrow at his boss, “why would you want her to tell Rurik?” 

“Shane, moy dorogoy,” from the side of the room Marleau coughed, “I want Rurik to know that we are aware of his…” he tutted and snapped his fingers at Marleau.

“Antics?”

“Da, yes, is good word. Antics.” Rozanov stood back up and walked towards him, seemingly unable to stay still for any length of time since they’d gotten back to headquarters. 

“Do you think he’ll try something again any time soon?” Shane was concerned. He understood why Rozanov would want Rurik to be careful, but he’d already gotten too close before. If they were going to keep up with him they’d have to fix a lot of the problems with intelligence to do so - but that was out of Shane’s realm of responsibilities. 

“Nah,” Marleau answered on Rozanov’s behalf, “you probably freaked Sanya out enough tonight that he won’t even think about it for months at least. His plan was really good to begin with - he’d have never expected that the reason it failed was because we had a boy genius dismantle it internally.”

“Until tonight.” Rozanov looked at him appreciatively.

“Until tonight.” Marleau echoed, walking behind Shane to squeeze his shoulders and give him a shake.

“You’re a natural, Hollander,” Rozanov cooed. He placed his hands on Shane’s arms and gave them a quick rub. Shane felt like he was going to melt out of his skin. “I’m going to have to start bringing you everywhere.”

“Hey!” Marleau protested, locking his arm around Shane’s neck and bringing his head down into a playful headlock. “Don’t go replacing me now.”

The three laughed as Shane tried to get out of Marleau’s hold - somewhat halfheartedly.

“Marleau, is not possible my friend. Okay, go on both of you. I have some calls to make.” 

Shane finally wrestled out of Marleau’s hold and stood to look at his boss. Rozanov licked his lips and gave him a wink before waving him away and turning his chair around. Shane left the office pushing Marleau around, thinking he hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Shane was spending more and more time with Rozanov as the days went on. Mostly, Shane was tagging along with both him and Marleau to the occasional check-in. He would take mental notes of dates and times, locations, names that filtered in and out of conversations and how they were related to one another. He kept a journal on the computer in his office of everything to go back to if he needed it. Things were going smoothly for the Bratva, and Shane was largely responsible. While Marleau was a bit of a bulldog used to intimidate their partners when they needed to, Shane was a different type of frightening - he knew things. His silence and dark, somewhat detached eyes scanned surroundings and took in the people standing in front of him. The way that Rozanov introduced him to new people and often caught his eye silently told their clients that he was closer to the boss than they would have expected for a simple assistant. Shane was starting to feel like he belonged and looked forward to leaving class and heading to work for the night, even if sometimes the work was nervewracking. It was a cold December night and Shane stood in his office going over some paperwork when Rozanov entered. Shane could tell that he was slightly nervous, which was a strange thing to witness.

“Everything alright, sir?” Shane started. 

“Yes, of course Hollander. Just thinking.” He stood staring at him.

“About?” Shane put his paperwork down and walked towards him.

“Nothing important,” Shane raised his eyebrows at him, “what you don’t believe me?”

“Sir your hands haven’t unclasped from behind your back and you keep looking away from me.”

“Well,” Rozanov smirked, the confidence Shane had grown accustomed to returning to the man in front of him. “Since you asked, I have a gift for you.”

“Another one? Sir-” Rozanov cut him off.

“Just accept it, Hollander.” He handed him a small jewelry box. When Shane opened it, two gold diamond earrings shone up at him - one a small hoop, the other a Bratva stud. They were delicate, beautiful, and clearly very expensive. “I noticed you have your ears pierced but I’ve never seen you wear earrings.”

Shane looked back up at him, “yeah I got them pierced in high school. My friend wanted to get hers done but she was too scared so I volunteered to go first.”

“Very nice of you,” Rozanov cocked his head.

“Hm, except she chickened out after so I was the only one who did it.” He laughed. “These are beautiful, thank you.”

“Yes. They will look nice with your watch. Maybe the all black suit I bought you as well.” Rozanov’s eyes trailed down his body. Shane felt his pulse quicken. 

“I’m sure it would. Head to toe Rozanov, huh?” He made an effort at a light joke. Instead, it had the opposite effect. Rozanov’s eyes snapped up to his, something burning and hungry danced across his face. Shane watched as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Rozanov hummed.

“Yes. You will wear this for me tomorrow, I think.” His voice was commanding. For me, Shane thought as a flush creeped up his neck to his cheeks. Oh, it all clicked. His breath caught in his throat. Rozanov wasn’t dressing him up and doting on him for his work performance, he was doing it for more personal reasons. No, Shane realized, for pleasure. The tailored suits that hugged his figure, a private office just down the hall from his, the blankets and throw pillows on the couch that made him want to stay there longer, the Rolex, and now the earrings. The first string of presents could’ve been written off as professional appreciation. He needed work clothing and he was performing well in his position - just not the position Rozanov wanted him in, it seemed. This one small exchange recontextualized their entire professional relationship. All of a sudden, every small touch and glance that Rozanov had given him since their interview felt heavy with the weight of desire. When Shane thought back to the party he remembered Rozanov’s guiding hand on his back and the small lingering touches when exchanging champagne glasses. The way their colleagues rushed to shake his hand and give him their attention meant something now too. Rozanov was being possessive, and people could tell. Shane had spent weeks dreaming about what it would be like to have him. His lips and hands on his body. Knowing that Rozanov might actually be thinking the same thing changed everything. A switch went off inside him, this was something he could work with. 

“I’d be happy to, Mr. Rozanov.” He held his gaze, watching Rozanov’s smirk falter ever so slightly. Shane was going to have fun with this.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya was embarrassing himself with how many times he had looked over at the clock on the wall to check the time. He was counting down the minutes until Hollander finally got to work. After giving him the earrings he’d had custom designed by Bvlgari, it was evident that there was finally an understanding between them - at least that’s what Rozanov thought. He still felt a bit nauseous however, worried that he had maybe shown his hand too quickly and scared Hollander off. That perhaps he would show up today and work like normal, with no intention of reciprocating whatever it was that Ilya was looking for - he himself wasn’t even sure at this point. He just knew he wanted to stare at Hollander all day and spoil him as often as possible, other people’s opinions on the matter be damned. 

It was just after 10:00PM when there was finally that familiar, steady knock on his office door.

“Enter,” Ilya called out. Shane walked in, looking exactly the way he had instructed him to the day before. It took Ilya’s breath away. He was always good at following rules, but there was something undeniably more provocative about it this time. Blyat, Ilay thought. He stood up and walked around to the other side of his desk, leaning against the edge and taking Hollander in. Strong, upright, hair perfectly parted. Head to toe Rozanov, just like he had said the previous night. Ilya was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t stopped thinking about those words since they flooded his head with visions of Hollander being obviously his and his alone, the idea of everyone around them knowing not to get too close, not to touch what was Ilya Rozanov’s. As Ilya swept his eyes across Hollander’s face, he noticed a bigger change. There was something different about his eyes. They weren’t kind and curious the way he’d come to know them when they looked at each other, nor were they cold and focused like when he stared at his work or catalogued a client’s discussion. No, they were mischievous - dangerous. Those eyes could only mean one thing: he knew. Ilya could feel his arousal growing.

“Evening, Mr. Rozanov.” 

“Good evening, Hollander,” he swallowed, trying to calm himself down, “did you need something?” Ilya smirked at him. Normally this would make Hollander blush and turn away, but this time the pink rosy cheeks arrived and he stayed. Staring. 

“No.” He grinned.

“So you just came in to interrupt me and leave?” Ilya prodded.

“Yes.” Hollander’s gaze was unwavering.

Ilya was half hard at this point, his hands white knuckling the top of the desk beneath him. He’d never have guessed that Hollander had been hiding this side of himself from him this whole time. A brat underneath a gentle, boring exterior. Ilya stalked towards him, and reached a hand out to grab his chin and jaw. He sharply turned Hollander’s face to the side to get a better look at the earrings he’d purchased. Bozhe moy, Ilya thought, on krasivyy. Hollander seemed to relax a bit under his touch which only made Ilya want him more. He turned his freckled face back to look at him directly and dropped his hand to back away. 

“Well?” Hollander asked. 

“I was right,” Ilya admitted, “they do look nice.” He watched as Hollander tried to hide himself perk up from the compliment. He looked Ilya up and down, his eyes resting on his crotch, eyebrows raising. Ilya was doing a poor job at stopping himself from getting hard, but Hollander didn’t seem to have a problem with it. He licked his lips on instinct.

“We have to leave for our 1:00AM in an hour. Are you taking me or Marleau tonight?” Hollander teased.

 “You, obviously.” Ilya saw him exhale, “now fuck off Hollander, I’ll meet you by my car.” He gave him a playful look and sat back down on the edge of his desk.

As soon as Hollander was out of the room, Ilya closed his eyes and threw his head back. “Chto ty so mnoy delayesh', Hollander?” Ilya whispered to himself, removing his cock from his trousers and spitting in his hand. All previous restraint that Ilya had was gone. The look in Hollander’s eyes, the way he melted ever so slightly at his touch, how he stood there with confidence and teased him while still following direction. He was perfect. Ilya imagined taking him in his office, bending him over his desk and fucking him until tears ran down his sweet freckled face. Until he begged and pleaded for him every night. From their discussion in his car, Ilya got the impression that Hollander had yet to experience anything sexually with another man. The thought of Ilya being the one to give him that first experience was thrilling. Hollander would be tight and likely oversensitive, his favourite. Ilya felt like he was going crazy. He’d had sex with people in his office before; clients, colleagues, employees - he wasn’t above it. This was something different. He stroked himself to the thought of Hollander’s blushing face, the way his dark eyes looked at him full of mischief and a hint of appreciation. Head to toe Rozanov, he thought again, sending him over the edge. Ilya came onto the hardwood floor, whiting out his vision. After cleaning up his mess, Ilya sat down in his chair, concocting another plan to get Hollander right where he wanted him. 

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

TIS I THE FIC AUTHOR BRINGING YOU SOME BEAUTIFUL ART BY @ronsgayforvi ON TWT. CLICK THE EMBED IMAGE TO GO SEE THE FULL PIECE WOWOWOWWOWO. Literally my jaw dropped seeing this piece just wow omg. Thank you so much for bringing Bratva Ilya to life. Everyone go interact with their work its so beautiful!! Thank you so much Ron!

Chapter End Notes

Moy dorogoy - my dear
Blyat - Fuck
Bozhe moy - Oh my god
On Krasivyy - He's beautiful
Chto ty so mnoy delayesh - What are you doing to me

Chapter 6: Spasibo, Mama

Chapter Notes

oh shaney, oh ilya, you are so sweet and soft and tender and also very scary LMAO i hope you all like this chapter - i think it'll be a "FINALLY" moment for a lot of you

find me on twt @ ilyaskotenok! i post 1 billion fic ideas and sneak peaks there

Do not feed my work through AI or create generated images based on the story. As a working composer and writer in film & games professionally, I'm INCREDIBLY Anti-AI. Support real artists and create your art using your big beautiful unique brain. Translations in the notes at the bottom.

Shane sat in his office. Christmas had come and gone, and he’d spent the time back at home with his parents the way he always did. It was nice, getting to go back to Ottawa and have a nice home cooked meal prepared by his father. He’d bought his parents gifts this year, the first time in a long time thanks to his salary and Christmas bonus, one that he’d tried to argue against when Marleau had presented it to him before leaving for vacation. He’d only been working for the Bratva for a couple of months, so the idea of him getting a bonus worth 50% of his salary made no sense to him - well - it made a little sense. The last couple weeks of December had been tense between him and Rozanov. They’d clearly come to an unspoken mutual understanding. Shane would play dress-up for his boss in all of the expensive possessions he’d been gifted, and in return Rozanov would get some sort of satisfaction or pleasure out of it. It was beneficial for them both; mostly because Shane would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t also getting pleasure from the arrangement. He liked the way Rozanov looked at him when he showed up the way he was instructed to. There was something possessive in his boss’s eyes whenever he dragged them over Shane’s body and stared at his face until he blushed under his freckles - freckles that Rozanov couldn’t seem to stop looking at day in and out. The Christmas bonus was clearly an extension of this, but Rozanov had decided to send Marleau to take care of it instead of going about it himself. Besides him, Marleau and a couple others on staff, everyone else would be getting their bonuses in the new year - which Shane had learnt was when his Russian colleagues celebrated Christmas instead. 

Tonight, however, was a big night. Shane had been to over a dozen drop offs and meetings since he joined Rozanov for the party where he’d humbled Sanya  several weeks back. This time it was different. Rozanov had called on Boxing Day, asking Shane to come back early and join him for an in person meeting at a very highly regarded restaurant uptown. He remembered booking the private room before he’d gone on vacation and assumed that Rozanov would bring Marleau or potentially Pyotr since the client - Marcus Deangelo - was more or less the biggest heroin connection they had in the city. Shane had never wanted to meet someone like him and would’ve rather stuck to staring at low level runners and dealers to make them antsy from just behind his boss’s shoulder. Now, he was going to be expected to be much more present - much more known. He fidgeted with his tie and earrings, constantly preening and pulling to try his best to self soothe but nothing was working. Shane stood to pace around his office before making the decision to go confront Rozanov about the situation. He stomped around the corner and entered his boss’s warm office without knocking - something he’d never done before. Rozanov’s head snapped up from the paperwork on his desk, giving him a concerned look.

“Are you okay, Hollander?” He stayed still.

“No, actually. I’m uh-” Shane shifted, his eyes darting around the room. Everything felt out of place, despite the room being exactly the way it always was. It didn’t matter now though; the lights burned, his skin itched, his head was pounding. Not good, he thought. 

“You are having panic attack,” Rozanov stood and pulled one of the leather chairs over to where Shane was standing, “sit, Shane.” His knees buckled and he went. He placed his hands on his face and rubbed at his eyes, willing himself to recover. His mind wasn’t helping, screaming at him for being unprofessional, for exhibiting embarrassing behaviour in front of Rozanov, reminding him that the frequency of his panic attacks before he got this job was how he got released from the last one. The stress of school, hockey, and keeping up on busy nights with rushes as a barboy had gotten to him to the point of near dysfunction. The feeling of impending doom and debilitating stress had him choking and panicking behind the hotel more times than he could count in the final few months he’d worked there. It’s one of the reasons why he was so relieved when he was let go, even though it meant he was unemployed instead. That was a different type of stress. After working for the Bratva though, his panic attacks had become more infrequent. Having a sense of control and order in his environment had helped him keep them at bay. The knowledge that everything was about to change for him tonight brought that problem back with a fury though - it wasn’t a change that he was necessarily ready for.

Rozanov remained at his side, not touching him. He heard light footsteps and the clink of a glass on the table beside him, realizing that someone had entered the room to be of assistance before they drifted out the door again and he was alone with his boss.

“I - I think I’m fine, I -” He stuttered.

“You are not fine,” Rozanov was firm but not unkind, “drink.” He handed Shane a glass of water and waited patiently for him to finish it. His eyes never left his face. “Now, tell me what is wrong. I will fix it.”

Shane could tell that Rozanov was being earnest. The concern in his eyes twinged with fear - he looked almost desperate to help in whatever way possible. Shane’s heart flipped at the notion. 

“I’m uh - I’m concerned about the meeting tonight. This isn’t a quick check-in, it’s important.” Rozanov stared at him, urging him to continue. “I’m scared. I don’t want to say something wrong or embarrass you. I also uh - I am scared of people knowing…” He trailed off.

“Knowing you are not just an assistant.” Rozanov finished for him. 

“Yeah. I mean - I am just an assistant but, the responsibilities they - they’ve been increasing. I guess people might think I’m more important than I am.” 

“You are important, Shane.” Rozanov gave him a grin. “You’re the only one I trust to come with me tonight. I will keep you safe, and you will sit and observe. You do not have to say anything unless you want to.”

Shane burned from the admission that Rozanov trusted him with the job, even more than the others in the organization who had been there longer. He’d earned that trust in a shorter period of time than he’d intended, and he wasn’t going to break it even if his worries crushed him in the pursuit of that perfection. Shane swallowed.

“Okay,” he said, nodding. 

“Okay.” Rozanov stood and held out his hand to help him stand. He took it, that brief touch sending a rush through his body that shocked him back to his usual self. “You know more about Marcus than anyone here, except maybe me and the intelligence team. You do not need to worry, da?”

“Da.” Shane said, smiling. Rozanov returned a toothy grin and brought a hand up to cup his face, his thumb gently brushing at the freckles on his cheek. 

“You never have to worry when you’re with me, I will take care of you.” Shane’s breath hitched as he leaned into the gentle touch. A slight fondness flashed in Rozanov’s eyes as he watched Shane relax, then dropped his hand quickly as if remembering himself. “Go, get your coat. We’ll leave now.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The restaurant was lively for a meeting so late at night. Shane recognized a few high society individuals seated at booths and tables that lined the walls of the building, slightly obscured by dimmer lighting and velvet curtains. The room that Shane had booked was one of three private booths, specifically the one near the kitchen. Knowing how important this meeting was, he pulled out all the stops to ensure Rozanov’s safety before realizing he’d be included in those precautions as well. He’d procured blueprints of the building by finding the architect’s website and skimming the portfolio. He located where all of the cameras in the business were by checking their marketing materials and scrolling through the photos from individuals who had tagged the location on their socials. He knew this booth had a clear sightline to the main window and door when the left curtain was open, and so he made sure to sit on that side of the booth to hide Rozanov from view. To most people, Shane was just another wealthy looking man having a meal - his boss on the other hand was recognizable. The pair slid into the booth and ordered a bottle of wine. Shane wasn’t going to drink, but knew that Marcus and whoever he brought with him would be happy to partake with Rozanov. 

“Is there some sort of strategy, or…?” Shane asked, realizing how closely the two of them were sitting together in near privacy. He could smell Rozanov’s cologne from this distance, masculine and warm. 

“Yes. I speak, you watch. Same as always.” He winked and thanked the waiter as he poured him a glass and set out three more. Shane’s hand darted up to stop the gentleman from pouring on his behalf but Rozanov insisted. “You don’t need to drink it - but Marcus will think it is rude if you don’t at least have one sitting in front of you.”

After about fifteen minutes of small talk, Marcus and his associate slunk into the restaurant and caught Shane’s eye. He gave them a nod and they made their way toward the booth. Shane leaned over slightly and whispered to Rozanov before they got closer.

“The man with him is Joseph Mauro, he’s an attack dog.” Rozanov just nodded, his eyes never leaving the gap between the curtain and the wall. As the two men entered, Shane felt a hand press down on his thigh, just above his knee. It was grounding but intentional - he wasn’t to stand to shake their hands. Shane realized this wasn’t a friendly meeting, it was one meant to intimidate and extract information. That’s why he needed me and not the others.

Remaining seated, they exchanged pleasantries and gestured for the men to join them. Rozanov poured them each a glass of wine with his signature knowing smirk plastered across his face. 

“Business, yes?” He took a sip of his wine. 

“Yes, right to it then.” Marcus flitted his eyes over to Shane who refused to look away. He held his gaze and let a grin pull at his lips, ensuring that Marcus knew he wasn’t to be underestimated but didn’t have any ill intent - unless required. “I have three new shipments coming in next Thursday, but I cannot distribute them to your dealers throughout your territory at once.”

Rozanov scoffed, “Obviously.” 

“I will move one shipment through and bank the others across my warehouses - I need to have a guarantee that you will purchase them, however. It is difficult to hold onto such a large supply.” 

Shane immediately noticed Marcus hesitate after speaking about his warehouses. Why are you nervous, Marcus? He asked himself. His eyes moved down to his hands, lightly tapping on against the stem of his wine glass. 

“Of course, Marcus. You know how I operate. I will buy the one shipment and then give you 35% up front for the other two. No more than that.” Rozanov’s tone was firm. Shane hadn’t ever seen him negotiate in person before. The drops and check-ins were always relatively simple exchanges. Seeing him in his element here lit a fire in him that he hadn’t expected, it was… hot. It made him instantly more attentive in a desperate effort to exceed expectations - to please.

“Mr. Rozanov, during our last meeting you mentioned 40%. I trust you wouldn’t go back on your word?” Shane felt Rozanov bristle beside him at the slight. 

“You know I would not. The terms of this agreement have changed though, Marcus. We agreed on that number when you had two shipments, not three. I will not do 40% up front for another entire warehouse that cannot be distributed in the same time frame. Is too much.” 

“I understand, but this is a high quality product.”

“I do not doubt that.”

“But you doubt its ability to sell.” Marcus prodded, “It already sells well, why wouldn’t it in the future. It’s not as if we are running low on buyers.”

It already sells well, Shane focused on the statement and ran through the conversation again quickly; three new shipments, across my warehouses, it already sells well. Shane’s eyes narrowed. What am I missing?

“We always have buyers, Marcus. That is not the issue. The issue is the time frame, you are asking me to put up 40% for a product that won’t be able to be distributed until the summer. It is a very large deposit, I will not do it.” Rozanov took another sip of his wine and glanced over at Shane. He felt his eyes on him but wouldn’t stop staring at Marcus in front of him. 

“It has always been 40%, Mr. Rozanov. There is no reason why the extra 5% should be an issue. We’ve been working together for years - consider it a loyalty bonus.”

“It’s not that it’s an issue, Marcus. It’s just that I don’t want to do it. So I won’t.” Rozanov shrugged. It took everything in Shane not to smile at his arrogance. Here they were sitting across from one of the biggest drug importers in New York, and Rozanov was somehow strong-arming him into a deal that he clearly didn’t want to take. Marcus leaned forward.

“I cannot, and will not hold onto that product without the additional 5%. It’s too dangerous and you know it. I need to know that I can pay my guys on the other side - guaranteed.” Marcus pressed his finger into the table to hammer home his point. 

“Are you saying you will sell to another person? If you will not hold, you will sell?” Shane saw Marcus swallow. Nervous again.The silence stretched on a bit longer than Shane or Rozanov liked. He raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

“No. However, it puts us in a very difficult situation and we might need to do our own running if something goes down.” Compensating for future issues.

“We are all in difficult situations. Look at me. I haven’t had a shipment from you in four months,” it sells well, “yet I am not dropping my price and begging you to give me your product. I make it work. I’m sure you can make it work.”

“Mr. Rozanov. I am asking you to level with me here. Perhaps your dealers might be able to push into other territories, allowing you to buy more than one shipment up front?” More up front, after nothing for four months?

“We’ve already pushed too much this year. I do not need a war brought to my doorstep because of one extra shipment.” Shane watched as Marcus shifted. One, he moved on one. It already sells well. Shane was on the precipice of something, he’d almost pieced it all together when Joseph finally chimed in.

“Boss, you mentioned the 40% for two that you discussed. Maybe we could settle for that and leave the other at 35%.” 

Gotcha, Shane thought. Of course it was the attack dog who would let something slip. It’s one of many reasons why Shane so rarely speaks in situations like this - the last thing he would want to do would be to ruin a plan of Rozanov’s. Thankfully, Joseph wasn’t as nervous about such a thing. Shane watched as Marcus sniffed and nodded, seemingly not realizing that their negotiation was about to crumble. He glanced over at his boss to check in, but Rozanov didn’t seem to notice an issue either. He was going to have to speak up. 

“Apologies gentlemen,” he started, Rozanov’s head snapping toward him. Shane paused to look at him, hoping that his eyes conveyed the ‘trust me’ he was trying to send his way. Rozanov relaxed. “I was sure, Marcus, that you said you had three new shipments coming in. We were going to buy the first one, and the other two would be purchased at 35% until distribution.”

“Yes, kid. That is how we started off the discussion,” he laughed, looking at Rozanov with a disapproving look. Shane could feel his boss start to bristle with nerves beside him.

“Right. I’m just wondering where the third shipment that Joseph just mentioned comes into play then?” Beside him, Ilya let a short breath out of his nose. “How would we purchase one shipment full up front, two shipments at 40% and a third at 35% if there were only three new shipments to begin with?”

Marcus’ face went pale. Shane was sure he could see both men across from them sink into their seats in an effort to disappear from the conversation. He glanced to his right to steal a look at Rozanov. He was staring at him with an appreciation so acute it made Shane’s heart ache. Rozanov tore his eyes away from him and instead burned holes through the men across from them. 

“So you have four shipments or three? I don't like being lied to, Marcus.” He warned.

Marcus shifted uncomfortably, “There are three total, Mr. Rozanov. My associate here is just confused.” Shane pressed his leg against Rozanov’s under the table. He’s lying, he thought to himself. 

“I’m sure he is.” Rozanov gave him a dangerous smile. “Let’s put a pin in this and discuss again in a few days, da? I will not change my stance but maybe you will change yours.” The men nodded and got up to leave, but Shane had one more thing to say. 

“Gentlemen, before you go,” Rozanov leaned back to watch the show, taking Shane in, “I would consider the current offer heavily. You mentioned that the product is already selling well,” he emphasized, “so I’m sure that our records from the last - say, four months, will show the same thing - correct?”

Marcus’s jaw clenched, “Of course.” Rozanov chuckled beside him. 

“Then there’s no reason to pressure a higher purchase price right now, is there? I’d perhaps cancel your 3:30, Mr. Deangelo. You won’t get a better offer.” Shane smiled at him, a threatening look in his eye. He wanted Marcus to be afraid of him, not just Rozanov. The men nodded and headed out. 

Rozanov let out a laugh and grabbed Shane’s face with both hands, planting a sloppy kiss on the top of his head and pressing their foreheads together. 

“I knew bringing you was the right plan! You are genius, Shane Hollander!” Shane’s face went bright red. The prolonged eye contact so close to one another went on for a bit too long, he could feel his pulse race. He desperately wanted to kiss Rozanov here in the privacy of their booth, and his adrenaline was pushing for it. Just as he thought the moment might shift into something more romantic, however, Rozanov pulled back. Shane suddenly felt much more cold. 

“The bit about his 3:30 meeting too? Fantastic, he was scared shitless. How did you know?”

“When I booked this one his secretary said he had a call that was far from the restaurant, but they’d push it out to 3:30 for you. Nothing special.” Shane shrugged and looked down at his hands.

“Maybe nothing special back then, but tonight? Very special.” Rozanov was all teeth, beaming at him. “You are getting promotion - I haven’t decided to what yet, but you are.”

“Sir, I just started - “

“Nyet, Hollander. You are indispensable, I need you with me. No more hiding in your office, okay? You belong with me.” Rozanov hadn’t stopped smiling since Shane had caught Marcus in his lie. He’d give anything to keep it there, so of course, he accepted. Rozanov continued, “Now, we get you home. You deserve the rest of the night off. I’ll bring you back.” 

Hollander started to panic. His boss had yet to see where he lived, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone outside of Marleau to know. His horrible apartment in Queens wasn’t exactly the type of place that someone of his position in the Bratva should live, but he hadn’t been able to find anywhere else since starting his job. He wasn’t sure what type of apartment Rozanov had, but he was sure it was spectacular and was suddenly feeling very self conscious about his own place. 

“Sir, you don’t have to do that, I can take the train.”

“You are joking. No, Hollander. I will drive you home, don’t be stupid.” Shane tried his best to push back but was met with constant resistance, and in the end he sat in the passenger seat of Rozanov’s car directing him back out East.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya felt giddy. His meeting was perfect, Hollander had exceeded all expectations - like always - and now he got to spend a bit more time driving with him back to his apartment to drop him off. He’d been trying to figure out how to offer to do these acts of service more often without being too overbearing. He was already spoiling Hollander as much as he felt he could without the man exploding in front of him every time he got something new, so the last thing he wanted to do was scare him off with trying to spend more and more time with him. Thankfully, the meeting had gone over so well that he now had an excuse to bring him everywhere. He’d have to converse with Marleau about a new title and give him a massive salary increase to go along with it. Something in the intelligence department would most likely work. As they approached Queens, he started to notice Hollander getting antsy. He was picking at his cuticles and biting his lip, trying his best to stay calm. Ilya didn’t like when he was like this, all he wanted was for Hollander to feel safe and confident - the way he was in the meeting or when he’d accidentally fall asleep on his office couch halfway through the night. Ilya loved when he did that. Knowing that Karetnyy Saray felt like home to him was exactly what Ilya had hoped for when they gave him that office to begin with. The longer Hollander stayed, the better Ilya felt too. Now, occasionally glancing over at him he could tell that something was wrong. 

“Um, this is me here.” Hollander pointed at an older building. It wasn’t the worst place he’d ever seen, but thinking about him living here when he deserved so much more made Ilya’s heart pang. 

“You will be okay getting in?” Ilya checked.

“Yeah of course. My roommate is probably home too, so…” He trailed off, reaching for the keys in his coat pocket and opening the door. Ilya reached out and grabbed his hand to stop him. His hand was soft. Muscular from years of hockey yet delicate from careful lab work. 

“Good job, solnyshko. Take tomorrow off, sleep.” Hollander still hadn’t let go of his hand.

“Okay - yeah. Thank you, sir.” He slipped away. 

Ilya sat still in his car and watched as Hollander fumbled with his keys to enter the building. He thought of the old smell that he knew would permeate the foyer and no doubt cling to the walls of each unit. He knew the heating and air conditioning would be faulty, that sometimes the locks on the windows wouldn’t work. He’d been in countless apartment buildings exactly like this for low level meetings or drop offs, and couldn’t imagine a man so beautiful sleeping soundly in any place like it. There was no way that someone like Hollander, who lived for order and cleanliness would feel fully comfortable living here with a roommate. He wanted desperately to change that for him, and in a split moment decided he would.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Shane woke up the next morning with several missed messages from Rozanov, each more strange than the previous. 

          Rozanov: Hi Hollander

                         I actually need you to come in today

                         Marleau will pick you up

                         Actually I will pick you up

                         6pm you are free yes?

                         Is nothing important

                         Do not worry

Shane answered.

          Shane: 6pm is great. See you then. 

He spent the next eight hours fretting over Rozanov picking him up at his apartment instead of Marleau. He wondered if this was going to be the new normal, spending most of his time with his boss. It wasn’t a problem at all, since Shane wanted nothing more than to be around him as often as he could, but every time he thought about it he almost felt sick with anticipation. His feelings were growing into something he dared not name. It would be unprofessional to do so, to act on whatever was happening between them. Shane knew that there was something there and that Rozanov felt it too, otherwise he wouldn’t be so dead set on spoiling him every chance he got, but if Rozanov didn’t make the first move then Shane doubted he ever would. He couldn’t risk losing not only his job, but a strange little family that had made him feel more at home than any other group of people had - outside of his parents. 

“You have today off right?” Hayden asked from the kitchen. 

“Nah, I’m going in shortly.”

Hayden peeked his head around the corner to see Shane dressed to the nines like usual. This time wearing a few new accessories and a pair of shoes courtesy of Rozanov. 

“I don’t wanna pry or anything but… is this guy like... you know…” Hayden moved his hands around as if that helped his explanation. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say to me right now.” Shane replied. 

“Is he like your sugar daddy or something?” Hayden blushed as Shane tried his best to find his words. “It’s not a bad thing if he is and I’d like totally support you or whatever, you’re my best friend. I just feel like you have all these nice things now and you’re definitely not getting paid that much to get them yourself.”

“He is not my sugar daddy. Gross, Hayden. Everyone there wears clothing like this, I can’t buy it myself so my boss gets it for me.”

“Right. Cause that’s totally normal.” Shane shot him a look. “Listen man. If you ever want to, you know, talk to me about anything you know you can right?”

Shane furrowed his brow, beginning to get nervous, “I know Hayd. Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah I’m sure it is buddy. Just, be careful. Okay?”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll see you later.” Shane all but ran out the door and down the stairs of his building to escape the hellish conversation that had just unfolded. It wasn’t until he made it to street level and saw Rozanov’s car that he felt his pace let up. He had to relax before getting in the passenger side, he couldn’t be a wreck in front of him two days in a row. He took a few deep breaths before walking out into the cold December air. They were one day out from New Year’s Eve, a day that Shane normally despised. This time however, the Bratva had invited him to their party as well as anyone he wanted to bring along. Originally he had planned to bring Hayden, Rose, and Jackie, but after that conversation he wasn’t sure if that was the best idea. He’d have to think about it later on when his mind was more clear and Rozanov wasn’t waiting for him with the engine running. 

Shane stayed quiet for most of the drive with Rozanov. Every now and then he’d notice him look over with a bit of concern on his face, but he never spoke up. Shane appreciated that about him. Even though Rozanov didn’t know him to the same extent as his other friends did, he always seemed to know exactly what Shane needed - and right now that was silence. They crept through the Manhattan streets, the traffic terrible at rush hour. Eventually Shane noticed they were taking a different route than normal. He wondered if there was a meeting he’d forgotten about, which would’ve been unlike him but not completely out of the realm of possibility since last night’s small touches and today’s long, empty hours of waiting had scrambled his brain to the point where he couldn’t think of anything except his boss. Shane sighed as Rozanov parked the car on a residential street.

“Did I forget a meeting?” Shane finally spoke.

“No, I want your opinion on something.” Rozanov replied. They stepped out of the vehicle and entered a brownstone decorated with small Christmas lights. Once inside, Shane took in the grandeur of the home. It was warm and inviting, staged with dark plush furniture and plenty of candles and lamps. No harsh overhead lighting. The wooden floors were original as was the crown molding and ceiling details that circled the occasional chandelier. Art hung on the walls; nothing too bright or obviously abstract. A couple hockey posters and newspaper clippings were framed on the wall beside the stairs. On the second level each bedroom was completely furnished, and every book and tchotchke was aligned perfectly on their shelves. Some areas were sorted by size, other areas like the closets were sorted by colour and texture. For all intensive purposes, this would have been Shane’s dream home. Rozanov took him to the living room on the main level and turned to face him. 

“What do you think?” He asked, his voice low. Shane could see that he was slightly nervous, for what he wasn’t sure. 

“I mean, it’s beautiful. Everything about it is perfect.” Shane smiled at him.

“I thought so too. It is… cozy. Very warm. It’s also close to work, so.” Rozanov shifted on his feet and looked away from Shane towards the fireplace on the wall. 

“Is it for sale?” Rozanov took a breath.

“It was. I already bought it.” 

“Oh. Well congrats on the new place.” There was still something off about the way Rozanov wouldn’t look at him and fidgeted with his hands. Shane had never seen him like this before. He was always confident and open, sometimes too open depending on the situation. Watching as that confidence waned made Shane feel nervous as well - he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Shane, how long have you been working for me now?” Rozanov changed the subject. 

“About three months, give or take a few days.” Shane swallowed.

“In that time I have given you many gifts and you’ve done your job well, yes?”

“Yeah, I have. I love this job - and the gifts, yeah - it’s been really nice. I’m sorry if I was too outspoken last night, I don’t-” Rozanov held a hand up to stop his rambling. The other fiddled with something in his pants pocket. 

“You were perfect last night, and every other night.” He cleared his throat, “I am not sure I have made my intentions clear. I perhaps should have been more forward with you.” 

Shane’s heart raced. Maybe he wasn’t getting fired after all. Maybe this was something much bigger; much better - or worse - depending on how you looked at it. Shane stared at him, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“After I dropped you off last night I had Marleau purchase this property, in cash. For you, Shane. I spent all day with my designers making sure it was perfect-”

“Mr. Rozanov I-” Shane couldn’t get a word in.

“The fabrics are the ones you like from work, I made sure the textures were good for you. Your office has the same lighting as the one at headquarters. The closet is full of new clothing for you - that wasn’t anything new, I just hadn’t given it all to you yet. I had Mauritzio tailor everything. There’s also a wardrobe upstairs with new hockey equipment. I wanted to make sure this could feel like home for you. Also, you’re closer to your campus, work, and the rink. That place in Queens wasn’t good enough for someone like you, Shane. You deserve much, much more.” Shane blinked, his mouth going dry.

“Mr. Rozanov, this is - well - it’s unbelievable but - why? I mean the gifts of clothing I totally get, you want me to look good and I don’t know, it satisfies you or something - and me too I actually like doing that for you, I hate to admit it but I do it’s just - this is, you know. It’s huge. This isn’t a watch, you bought me a brownstone. I don’t think I understand entirely.” Shane stammered, tripping up on words and rambling on. His head was spinning, trying its best to wrap itself around the situation unfolding before him. The building was one thing, but the care that Rozanov had put into ensuring that it was perfect for him from the textures of fabrics to the warmth of the lighting was something else entirely. Rozanov walked slowly towards him and took one of his hands in his, placing a small set of keys into his palm.

“I think you do understand, Shane.” He looked up at him, his eyes fond. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He dared not move and ruin the moment. 

“Oh,” was all Shane could muster.

Rozanov chuckled, his other hand coming up to force Shane’s fingers to close, wrapping around the keys he’d placed there moments ago. “I will not push you. You can come to me in your own time.” His hands dropped, Shane longed to reach back out for him but was utterly frozen. “For now, enjoy your new place. I will see you and your friends tomorrow at our party.” 

Rozanov shoved his hands into his coat pockets and left Shane stunned in the middle of the living room. It wasn’t until he heard the front door shut that he caught his breath again and snapped back to reality. He spun on his heel and went to the window to watch as Rozanov peeled out and drove in the direction of the headquarters. I should’ve kissed him, Shane thought. He explored the home for the rest of the night in a daze. The kitchen was stocked with everything he could ever need - including the fridge and pantry with cooking supplies that he assumed had been ordered by the chef at headquarters; salmon, rice, spinach, an entire drawer of protein powders and hydrators, frozen meals prepped for practice and long days on campus. Just like the other rooms the lighting was warm and slightly dimmed. He climbed the stairs and took a closer look at the posters. There were a few clippings from records held by Montreal players, the team he grew up watching thanks to his mother. In another frame was an article about himself and his first hat trick on the junior team. The only place Rozanov hadn’t shown him while he was here was the primary bedroom. Shane pushed the door open and felt his breath catch. The space was perfect, a massive kingsize bed with brand new linens and blankets. On the wall behind it were two signed jerseys - a Mark Messier Oilers and a Ron Francis Team Canada. It would’ve been incredibly difficult to obtain either one, seeing as both Canadians were legends. The closet was full of brand new tailored clothes, shoes, and accessories. Even the new skates Rozanov had purchased fit him like a glove. It was incredibly overwhelming. Shane sat on the edge of the bed, bunching the soft comforter up in his fists. As tears began to form in his eyes he thought back to what life had been like before he’d met Rozanov - no - Ilya. 

In the span of only three months his entire life had changed, and it wasn’t just material goods or a solid paycheck. It was everything else. The way he felt lighter in his day to day life, the smiles and laughs that escaped him that he’d normally keep tucked away out of sight. The family he’d come to call his own at the headquarters, the way that Ilya cared about him in a way that no one else in the city did. Nothing and everything made sense all at once. How he had gotten so lucky was a mystery, and the dangers that he encountered every day seemed like a distant threat when he knew that Ilya was nearby, always present and watching. For once in his life, Shane felt seen - known. Ilya had said he wouldn’t push, and he wasn’t. Yet Shane found himself flying towards him nonetheless.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya was making the rounds at the party. The venue was packed full of people from the Bratva and their close friends and relatives. This type of event was always a great way for him to loosen up and have a few too many drinks before heading to bed with someone’s beautiful cousin or best friend. At least, that was what he’d do in the years prior. Tonight, all Ilya cared about was whether or not Hollander was going to show up and with who. He’d laid everything out on the table the night before and was met with eyes full of questioning and shock. He knew that Hollander was aware of his interest in him, but hadn’t considered until then that he didn’t realize the interest went further than a sexual desire. He wanted Hollander to be his all the time, not just behind closed doors or in conversations wrought with tension. Marleau had caught onto this a long while back and constantly checked in whenever he could. He was a good friend, and made sure that Hollander felt as comfortable as possible and was taken care of in Ilya’s stead. The better Hollander felt working with the Bratva the more likely it was that he would stick around and maybe give him a chance. Marleau was aware of this and did what he could to ensure the likelihood of this possibility. Now on New Year’s Eve, Ilya made small talk with guests and pretended to take great interest in the catering while keeping an eye out for his assistant. 

At around 10:00PM, Hollander drifted through the doors with a few friends - Hayden, who he recognized as his roommate and best friend, a girl hanging off his arm, and Rose. Ilya’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure if the photos of Rose on Hollander’s social media were still public because they were still in a relationship or not. That would’ve explained the shock and confusion on his face when Ilya made his move in the new home he’d purchased for him. When he saw Hollander trying to stave off flirtatious advances from the girl at the bar a month or so back, he’d assumed that the entire debacle was because he was most likely gay - and the response he’d gotten in the car ride to Sanya’s party seemed to solidify that. For a moment Ilya suspected he might’ve been wrong altogether, maybe he’d just heard what he wanted to. He watched as Hollander introduced Rose to a bunch of their colleagues. They were obviously very friendly. Shane’s hand stayed on her back and guided her through groups of people. He’d even taken her by the hand at one point to bring her into the kitchen and grab her a drink. He wasn’t particularly interested in meeting her, and instead of moving towards Hollander the way he’d wanted to before he arrived, he found himself keeping a distance between them to avoid the awkward conversation for the better part of an hour. 

“You should talk to him,” Marleau emerged from the crowded foyer to stand next to Ilya. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He took a shot of vodka off a tray that drifted past and tossed it back. 

“You don’t know if she’s just here with him or here with him unless you go find out. It could be totally innocent.” Marleau kept prodding. “You just bought him a brownstone.”

“I know what I bought him. It does not matter. I was not trying to buy his affections, I just wanted to take care of him. I had hoped he would come along by himself.” Ilya’s eyes darted around the room to find where Hollander stood, his back to him. Rose hung off of his arm and laughed at another woman’s joke across from her. “She is pretty.”

“Yes, but I think you still have hope.”

“A fool’s hope maybe.” Ilya reached into his pocket to grab a cigarette. “I’ll be outside. I need a moment.”

He left the party behind, voices becoming muffled murmurs through the glass doors and windows. The night was cold, but no colder than the ones he spent similarly alone back in Moscow. When he’d arrived in New York all those years ago, he’d never felt more lonesome in his life until he met Marleau. His family was but a ghost across the ocean, one to do business with but never to treat as his own. When he’d taken over the branch here in the heart of the city and brought Marleau on, he’d never expected to end up where he was now; incredibly wealthy, powerful, and yet still as lonely as ever. Hollander had changed the last part briefly over the past few months. His smart mouth and brilliance accompanied Ilya even through the hours that he wasn’t explicitly present. His mind was constantly drifting to thoughts of him, his eyes and his lips, the way he was so eager to please. It had been well over a decade since Ilya had felt any sort of strong connection to someone - the last person being his mother. Now, with Hollander standing inside no doubt waiting for the countdown with a beautiful woman on his arm, Ilya somehow felt even more alone than he had when he’d first landed. It was strange, to want something so much that it felt like you already had it, to only then feel its emptiness when it was gone. He took a drag and stared out at the city before him. The lights danced in the night, cars blocked in traffic wound their way through the streets - red and white. It would be the New Year shortly, and he couldn’t bring himself to go back inside to find someone - anyone - to spend the countdown with. It was pointless. Behind him a door opened and closed, soft footsteps approaching the railing where he stood. 

“I thought I might find you out here,” Hollander spoke. His voice sweet and low. 

“Had to clear my head.” Rozanov answered, he couldn’t look at him. 

“I know how you feel. I’m not big on parties myself,” he chuckled.

“I know.” Ilya blew another puff of smoke, “You are going to miss the countdown if you stay out here. You should spend it with your friends, kiss your pretty girl.”

“I’m not so sure I want to kiss my ex-girlfriend tonight, thanks.” He leaned against the cold metal railing and looked over at Ilya. Finally he was able to meet Hollander’s gaze. His cheeks and now were rosy from the cold, his lips softly pulled into a smile. Lit only by the small fairy lights wound around the railings, he looked like something out of a dream.

“Strange, you bring your ex to a party.” Ilya raised his eyebrow at him.

“Yeah well, she was sort of the one who - you know - told me about myself a long while back. We stayed friends after it was clear it wasn’t gonna work out.” Hollander sighed, tapping his fingers against the metal. 

“You still try though, there was that girl at the bar.”

“Yeah, I have tried. I don’t think I will anymore though - no point seeing as I never enjoy it. I guess I thought maybe some woman would come along who would change everything but I don’t see that happening. Ever.” Hollander looked out at the horizon, silent for a moment. “Do you have any sort of traditions? For New Year’s Eve, I mean.”

Ilya stared at him, “Not really. I normally come out here to talk to my mama.” 

“Oh,” Hollander shifted, “is she…”

“Dead. Yes.” Ilya put his cigarette out and turned to face him. 

“I’m sorry,” Hollander stepped closer. From this distance Ilya could see his freckles and the glint of the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes. 

“It is fine, it was a long time ago. What about you? Any traditions?” Ilya could hear the party getting more rowdy inside - a sign that the countdown was soon. He didn’t care, he’d stay out in the cold all night if it meant Hollander would stand with him.

“Yeah, my parents always used to ask me what the best thing of the year was - whether it was a moment or a memory or a physical object. They’d tell me to take that one thing with me into the next year so eventually I’d have a collection of amazing things.” Hollander smiled.

“That’s beautiful,” Ilya admitted. 

“Yeah, years back when I got injured I decided I’d still take hockey with me even after everything I’d been through,  so I accepted the scholarship here to NYU. It’s nice to think about, since so much of my time is spent freaking out over things - it’s probably best to focus on the good stuff, even if it’s small.” 

“So, what are you taking with you this year?” Ilya could hear the countdown beginning inside.

TEN

NINE

“Is it not obvious?” Hollander took a step closer to him, looking up through his dark lashes.

SIX

FIVE

Ilya’s heart was pounding, he thought it might beat right out of his chest. 

THREE

TWO

“You. I’m taking you.” Hollander smiled, bringing his hand up to cup Ilya’s jaw. 

ONE.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Ilya closed the distance between them. Their lips met and everything else faded away. The cold of the night was warm again, the sounds of cheering in the background became nothing but a drone in the distance. The kiss was tender, Hollander’s mouth soft against his. Ilya brought him closer, pressing an arm against his back so their bodies were flush together, his other hand weaving its way through Hollander’s hair. As the kiss went on, Ilya felt his heart race. Hollander opened his mouth slightly, inviting Ilya to deepen it. His tongue found his, and Hollander let out a soft whimper that made Ilya grow weak in the knees. Hollander’s hands pulled on Ilya’s jacket and dragged back up to his face. Every small touch in the car, under tables and in his office had brought them to this moment. He couldn’t admit it to him now, but Ilya had been thinking about kissing him since the moment he saw him standing in the interview room. Everything since had been a distraction from his one true objective: making Hollander his. Ilya pulled back first - desperate to look into his eyes as the first few minutes of the New Year rang true. His lips were red and shining, his eyes dark and full of desire. His breath was clearly shallow and his hair was slightly disheveled. Ilya reached out to fix it, holding his jaw afterwards and running his thumb along Hollander’s bottom lip. He was devastatingly beautiful. Ilya swallowed a lump in his throat. Ilya wasn’t an overly religious man, but he could swear that Hollander had been sent to him from God himself, or perhaps his mother, Irina. 

Hollander leaned in to give him one last chaste kiss. Ilya wished they could stay in this moment forever. 

“Happy New Year, Ilya.” He smiled and let out a short, quiet laugh. Just as dazed as Ilya was. 

“Happy New Year, Shane.” Ilya gave him a toothy grin. He’d never heard Hollander - no, Shane - say his name before. It made his stomach flip. He couldn’t wait to hear it again and again, until it lost all its meaning without Shane's lips attached to it. 

He watched as Shane took a step back from him and turned to head back inside to find his friends in the festivities. Ilya couldn’t stop smiling. He looked out at the skyline, his eyes floating up to the dark sky above him.

“Spasibo tebe, mama, za nego. S Novym Godom.”

Chapter End Notes

Spasibo tebe, mama, za nego. S Novym Godom. - Thank you, mama, for him. Happy New Year.

Chapter 7: Headrush

Chapter Summary

Shane discusses Ilya with Rose after the New Year's party. At work, him and Ilya navigate their new connection and Shane accidentally causes un uproar, leading to a tense argument with a bigger release.

Chapter Notes

*smirks* You know what time it is... smut time. As stated in the previous chapters, it has been a LONG time since I've written smut. Thanks to these two freaks I've managed to compose a few solo smut scenes across different fics, but this one is the first chapter featuring an actual smut moment between the pair of them so please be nice to me LMAO.

As always, do not run my work through any AI models or generate images based on my text. As a working writer & film/games composer professionally I am incredibly anti-AI.

My twt is ilyaskotenok for anyone who wants to come say hi or keep up with my other in-progress works. I have a new one coming soon that is probably my favourite I've done, I'm sure a lot of you AU enjoyers will like it too when it arrives!

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Shane stepped back into the warmth of the building and looked for his friends in the crowd, hugging colleagues and wishing them a Happy New Year as he passed by. To put it lightly, he was on cloud nine. The previous year had started out as one of the worst ones on record - with him being unemployed and struggling with incessant panic attacks. He thought he would end up finishing the year calling his parents asking for help with money - something he knew they didn’t have either - and potentially having to drop a class or two to stop his mind from fighting against him. Thankfully, he didn’t have to do any of that. Meeting Ilya had changed everything. Shane finally felt like he was really growing into himself. He was standing up straighter and a confidence radiated from him that he knew his friends could sense. His teammates had commented on the slight bit of aggressiveness he’d started to bring onto the ice, which they were all happy about. Even Rose had pointed out that he seemed less high strung all the time and was walking into spaces like he belonged for once - rather than meandering through them with a lowered eyeline, as if apologizing for simply existing there. He knew that all of this was thanks to Ilya. His job was one thing, as was the paycheck, but the personal attention that Shane was receiving was what altered everything at his core. 

Shane’s skin vibrated, a giant grin plastered across his face. He’d kissed people before, just women outside of the one drunken night he’d made out with Rose’s friend Miles at her birthday party a few months after they’d broken up. He was good and it was definitely eye opening for Shane, but he was nothing compared to Ilya. It almost killed him to walk away from that balcony, wishing he could’ve stayed outside longer and indulged in his lips for the rest of the night. Shane thought maybe he should’ve invited Ilya back to his house - the one that he’d purchased for him - instead of returning to the party. It would’ve been impossible though. With the party dragging on and his friends inside, he knew going back to them was the right thing to do. The kiss would have to be enough to satiate him for now. 

“Shane!” Rose called out to him from the main room. 

“Happy New Year, Rose.” He gave her a peck on the lips and leaned over to plant a sloppy wet kiss against Hayden’s cheek. 

He laughed and shoved him away, “Dude!”

Shane was having the best night of his life. 

“Where’s Jackie?”

“Oh she’s calling a cab I think. We’re gonna head back to the apartment, you coming?”

Shane shook his head, “I’m uh - crashing somewhere else tonight.”

Hayden and Rose both raised their eyebrows at him. Shane made a mental note to tell Hayden that he was moving out. He was sure it would be fine, maybe Jackie could move in to take over his rent - or even J.J who was struggling with his shitty roommates as far as he could remember. 

“Not like that,” Shane continued. “I’ll fill you in later, Hayd.”

Jackie returned from the cold, “Cab’s out front. We gotta go fast!” She leaned in and gave Shane a quick peck on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Shaney!” 

Rose gave her goodbyes to the pair of them before turning back to him, “So you’re crashing somewhere else, huh?”

Shane smiled, “Yes, and you’re coming with me.”

Rose laughed, “Oh really?”

“I have… some stuff to catch you up on. Including showing you the place I’m crashing at - well. It’s mine, but also not? It’s complicated.”

Rose was looking at him as if he had three heads. He supposed nothing he was saying made any sense to anyone except for him and maybe the Bratva themselves - but definitely not Rose who was unaware that the party she was at had anything to do with the Russian mafia to begin with. He hadn’t really gotten to explaining that part of his life to his friends. 

“Okay, Mr. Mysterious. Do you need to announce your departure or…”

Shane took a minute to look around and spotted Marleau, “Actually yeah, I’ll just be a couple minutes. Wait here?”

“Sure.”

Shane wove his way through the hoards of people still drinking and dancing and approached him.

“Hollander! Happy New Year, kid.” He brought Shane into a big bear hug and squeezed all the air out of him. 

Shane wheezed an airy laugh, “Okay Marleau, Happy New Year to you too, you’re crushing me.”

Marleau relaxed, “Sorry, drinking,” he smiled down at him. “You know, I’m really glad you’re here with us.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, kid. Things were pretty tough before you came around. I couldn’t really handle everything anymore and the boss - well - he’d never tell anyone he was struggling but he was. Not just in the business sense either, you know? Like he was struggling… in general. Not really all there.”

Shane felt a pang in his chest. 

“You came along and changed that though. Really, I don’t know what we would’ve done without you. None of those other candidates were even close to good enough. You just get this stuff better than others, it’s like you were made for it or something.”

Shane took a breath in, his mind still lingering on what Marleau had said about Ilya seconds before, “I really like the job so it’s been easy to fall head first into it. I will say, being out there with Ily - uh - Rozanov is a bit scary.” 

Marleau chuckled, “Well of course it is. You haven’t actually been trained for it.”

“Trained?”

“Hollander. Do you think we just send people out into the field without training normally?”

“I don’t think I really thought anything honestly. I was just accompanying him.”

“Right. The reason why myself or Pyotr would accompany him before you started doing it isn’t just because he needs another set of ears and eyes. It’s because we can protect him - and will if it comes down to it.”

Shane’s jaw went slack, “There’s no way he thought I would be able to do that.”

“Well,” Marleau scratched at the stubble on his chin, “I think the boss assumes that you’ll protect him in some other way. You have already. Both times actually.”

“I don’t really think that counts-”

“Oh it does. The boss wouldn’t bring you with him anywhere if he didn’t think you could handle it and keep him safe. Also, he wants you there. He doesn’t shut up about you.”

Shane felt his face flush, “Oh - uh, that’s - nice.” He swallowed.

Marleau raised his eyebrows, a knowing look passing across his face, “Yes, very nice.” He took a drink. “Text me in a couple days when you’re back in. We should plan some actual training for you. I’m assuming you’ve never fired a gun or anything.”

“No, but I know how to fight.”

Marleau clapped a hand on his shoulder, “I know. Hockey.” 

Shane chuckled and stuck his hand out, “I’m gonna head out, Happy New Year again, and thanks for sort of - I guess - taking me under your wing?”

“Don’t make me feel old, Hollander.” He shook his hand, “You’re welcome though, brother.”

Shane walked away, holding his arm out for Rose. As they made their way towards the doors, Ilya swept in front of them. 

“Leaving?” He smiled. 

Shane tensed for a moment and licked his lips, “Uh, yeah. Felt like the right time.”

Ilya hummed, “At least introduce me to your friend first.” Ilya raised his eyebrows and cocked his head at Rose. 

“Oh, right! Rose, this is my boss, Mr. Rozanov.” 

Rose held her hand out, expecting him to shake it. Instead, Ilya brought it to his lips and gave her knuckles a soft kiss. She shot Shane a surprised look.

“I should have known Mr. Hollander’s friends would also be beautiful.” Ilya smirked. 

Also, Shane thought, blushing a soft pink to his ears.

“Shane, you didn’t tell me your boss was so charming.” Rose nudged him. 

“What?” Ilya feigned anguish with a hand pressed to his heart, “ I am hurt, Mr. Hollander.”

“Should I be telling everyone about you, Rozanov?” Shane pressed with a small laugh at the antics, intentionally leaving out his title. 

“I would not mind, Hollander.” Ilya dragged his name out, staring at him intensely with a slight curl of his lips; lips that Shane had just kissed only fifteen or so minutes ago, that he wished were back on his, on his neck, everywhere all at once. His heart started racing and he knew his face was bright red thanks to the short huff of breath that came out of Rose’s nose when she looked over at him. 

“I’ll remember that, sir.”

Ilya straightened, swallowing. “Well,” he sighed, “I will let you go. See you in a couple of days, da?”

“Da.” Shane smiled at him and guided Rose towards the doors, being sure to allow his shoulder to graze Ilya’s on his way past. The cold air hit them both as they stepped out into the winter night, the sound of laughter fading behind them. It took everything in Shane to continue walking forward, forcing himself not to turn around to steal a glance at Ilya or run back inside into his arms. A part of him wanted to take things slow, to drag out their connection so every moment would be seared into his memory, becoming a part of him - but the other part wanted Ilya to take him in a quick fiery blaze, consuming him whole. The walk wasn’t too long, only about twenty minutes, but it seemed to drag on forever as he drifted further and further away from him. 

Rose let go of Shane’s arm suddenly when he turned to climb up the stairs of his new home, glued to the sidewalk out front.

“This is a building, right?” She asked.

“No, it’s a tent.”

“Shut up. I just mean, like, there are units in here.”

Shane smiled and shook his head, “Nope, come on.”

Rose’s jaw dropped as she walked through the expanse of the property. Shane hovered behind her as she explored every room, touching fabrics and staring at the hockey artwork and jerseys that littered the walls. After finally picking her jaw up from the floor, she leaned against the marble kitchen island and shook her head. 

“You live here now.” She stated.

“Yes.”

“With who?”

“No one,” Shane walked around the other side of the island, “it’s just me.”

“How the fuck are you renting an entire brownstone yourself? How much are they paying you?”

Shane bit his lip, “Well, I’m not renting. I own it - or I - I mean, yeah it’s mine but - sorry, it’s hard to explain.” Rose just stared at him, willing him to continue.

“Okay so, you know how I got the new job?”

“Yes.”

“And I’ve been really liking it?”

“Uh-huh,” Rose raised her eyebrows at him. 

“So basically, I kind of - uhm, I was doing really well and my boss started, I guess - helping me out? But not like - helping in terms of just rent or a raise or something, it was like, gifts and stuff.” Shane shifted uncomfortably.

“And one of those gifts… was a brownstone?”

“Yeah,” Shane watched Rose’s mouth open, stunned, and jumped back in, “I mean - It was just small stuff at first. Like I didn’t own any proper suits - you saw how everyone dressed tonight, I didn’t have that. So he bought me some, so I would actually fit in - like a uniform. But then it sort of grew from there.”

“So the watch you started wearing, I’m assuming that was him too?” Rose’s eyes were as wide as saucers. 

“Yes. Honestly, I thought that was promotional at first.”

Rose laughed, “You thought he was just buying you an entire wardrobe and a beautiful watch for work purposes?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, honey…” Rose brought a hand up to her mouth, covering a smile that tugged on her lips.

“What else was I supposed to think? He’s my boss, Rose.”

“Yeah and he’s totally hot,” Rose walked to the fridge and grabbed two ginger ale, tossing him one before sitting down on a barstool. “Like really, really hot.”

“I am aware. Him being hot didn’t mean he would be into me though.”

“So after the watch…” Rose cracked open her can and took a sip.

“The earrings.”

“Oh my god, when you said they were a gift I thought that like, your mom sent them.”

Shane scoffed, “Where would my mom have gotten the money for earrings like these?”

“I don’t know! Maybe she saved up or something.”

“No, Ilya gave them to me.”

Rose wiggled her eyebrows, “Ilya… hm?”

Shane blushed and looked down at the unopened can on the counter before him, “I kind of realized during the whole earring thing that maybe the gifts were… not just bonuses?”

Rose looked at him flatly and blinked. 

Shane took a deep breath, “When he handed them to me he asked me to wear them with one of the suits he got me - like he said wear them for me and that’s when I realized…”

“Your boss was coming onto you.”

“Yeah.” 

Rose tapped her nails on the side of her can, “And you leaned into it enough to get a brownstone out of the deal?”

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes, “There wasn’t a deal, I just… wore what he wanted. He got me some other things too; more jewelry mainly, some shoes, sunglasses, you know - stuff. I started wearing it more and…”

“And…?”

“Yeah I flirted with him -”

“Shane!”

“I wasn’t doing it for the gifts though I swear!”

“You realize that he’s like - your sugar daddy, right?”

Shane groaned, “Please, please don’t use that term. It’s so gross.”

“That’s literally what it is though. You dress up for him, flirt with him, and he repays you with gifts.”

“That’s not what it is.”

Rose sighed, “Okay, then explain to me from your perspective how I should be looking at this.” She clasped her hands together on the island and leaned forward in her barstool. 

Shane lifted his hand to his eye, tugging lightly on his lashes, “Okay. When I got the job, I was nervous. It’s serious stuff, it’s not like a normal assistant position - as in, it’s difficult, challenging. I wanted to do well, and I wanted to make a good impression on him. He was nice, which was sort of unexpected in that environment.”

Rose took another long sip, letting him ramble on.

“He got me the suits which I’m certain were for work, it was Marleau - my coworker - who came with me to get them. Then I went out of my way to help him with a meeting he had,” Shane was careful not to let too much information on the type of work they did slip, "so he gave me an office and a watch. The whole time, I don’t know -” Shane stopped for a moment and swallowed a lump in his throat. “It just felt nice to be acknowledged in that way - to have someone actually notice that I was doing a good job and reward me for it rather than brush it off as an expectation like everyone else does. Plus, yeah, he is really good looking and I liked the attention.”

Rose looked at him, eyes a bit teary, “Oh, Shaney.”

“Don’t do that,” He smiled, finally cracking open his can of ginger ale and taking a long drink. “Everything was going well and when I realized the gifts were more than just work bonuses I wanted  to lean into it. Not for the gifts, I just… I wanted to play the game. I wanted his attention. It didn’t seem very serious until he saw my apartment. The next day he brought me here and gave me the keys and essentially told me he wanted me.”

“He said that?” Rose gasped.

“Not explicitly. He sort of,” Shane waved his hands “implied it, I guess.”

“So… are you gonna do anything about it?”

“Oh. I already kissed him.” 

“Shane Hollander!” Rose threw her empty can at him. “You kept that from me this whole time? What is wrong with you!” She was positively beaming. 

“It literally just happened. It’s New Years, remember?”

“Was it good?”

Shane blushed and stared down at the counter.

Rose giggled, “Oh my god it was good.”

“Shut up.”

“No, never. Shane, this is crazy, you know it’s crazy right?”

“Yes, I know. But… good crazy?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Definitely good crazy.” Rose smiled at him.

Shane stared at her, heart full. He’d always appreciated that Rose had stuck around after their failure of a relationship. He couldn’t lose someone like her, who always accepted him for who he was, regardless of whether or not his emotions were too big or too small. It was rare to find a person like her - even Hayden couldn’t live up to the standard that Rose had been setting for the last several years. 

“Do you wanna see your room?” He asked.

“My room?”

“Yeah there’s like 5 bedrooms in this place. I think I can let you have your own for when you want to stay over.” Shane led her upstairs and into a beautiful green suite, already stocked with everything she’d need for the night. He had made the trip earlier in the afternoon to get her some soft pyjamas and all her necessary toiletries - remembering every single one from the last time he had stayed over at her place. With a quick peck goodnight, Shane retired to his room and stared up at the ceiling. 

Unable to control it anymore, a huge grin spread across his face. He laughed until he cried, bringing his hands up to wipe the tears from his cheeks and rub his eyes. It had been a frankly absurd few days. From the first in-person meeting with Ilya to the house to the party and the kiss, he couldn’t believe he had gotten so lucky. His thoughts drifted back to Ilya on the roof, his nose slightly pink from the cold air, the sparkle in his eye. Shane even liked the taste of the cigarette smoke on his tongue, which was strange seeing as smoking was repulsive to him otherwise. It was just so Ilya, the mixture of tobacco and vodka, the crisp air that shocked his lips and tongue whenever they pulled apart slightly. Shane desperately hoped that the night hadn’t been some sort of strange dream - that he would wake up tomorrow in his shitty apartment and have to go back to work at his old job again. He pinched himself. 

“Ouch,” he muttered, before rolling over to turn off his bedside light and drift asleep. It was the most restful one he’d had in what felt like years, his mind full of Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.

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A few days had gone by since the New Year’s party, and Ilya was almost vibrating with excitement over seeing Shane again at the office. He’d asked him to come in a bit earlier than usual so they would have some time to get accustomed to their new connection before their first staff meeting of the year. Normally, Ilya would never invite an assistant to such an important round table discussion with his senior Bratva members, but of course, he was making an exception this time. Him and Marleau had sat down briefly to discuss a potential promotion for Shane, they just couldn’t decide on what. It made sense to put him in the intelligence department, seeing as that was what he already did most days he came in. It also made more sense to have him work closer with Marleau himself, since he was going to be out more on jobs with Ilya in the field. Nothing was sticking, and it was starting to drive Ilya a bit crazy. He didn’t want Shane to be an assistant anymore. The predominant issue with the title was that despite the fact that all the members respected him - if they didn’t Ilya would have words with them - they didn’t technically have to listen to him. He was below almost everyone in their ranks, which Ilya didn’t think was very fair anymore. He was looking forward to having a discussion with Shane about it when they had more time. 

Ilya stood at the window behind his desk, looking out at the street. He saw Shane walking into the building, shoulders back, carrying what was most likely a green tea - a boring beverage that suited him and his diet. Ilya’s heart jumped. He smoothed out his jacket and fixed his hair before sitting down to stare at some paperwork. It was foolish, but he felt like he should pretend to be engulfed in something important rather than be caught standing around waiting for Shane - which he had been doing since he’d arrived an hour before.

A knock came from the door and Ilya took a deep breath.

“Come in,” he said. 

Shane slid into the room empty handed and quickly shut the door behind him. He walked further into the space but stopped just shy of the leather armchairs in front of Ilya’s desk, keeping a safe professional distance. He must have quickly jaunted to his office down the hall to drop his things before checking in. Ilya smiled at him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Shane replied softly. 

“You look nice,” Ilya took him in, his gaze resting on his lips briefly before meeting his eyes. 

“So do you.”

“I always look nice.” Ilya stood and walked towards him. 

Shane laughed and bit his lip, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” 

Before Ilya could reach out to him, Shane quickly closed the distance with a tender kiss. It was similar to their moment on the rooftop, hungry but not too desperate. Ilya’s hands wandered over Shane’s frame, a small deep moan slipping from him as the kiss deepened slightly. Shane tasted like spearmint toothpaste and smelled like laundry detergent and some sort of fresh, citrusy body lotion. It was intoxicating. 

Ilya pulled back, forcing distance between them before he indulged too much in Shane’s mouth. He knew what that inevitably led to, and the upcoming discussions were too soon to take that risk. 

Shane took a step back as well, seemingly on the same page as him. His lips were red and shiny from the mixture of their saliva, his eyes slightly dazed.

Ilya cleared his throat, “Big day today.”

“Yeah,” Shane was a bit breathless. “You didn’t need me to prepare anything, right?”

“No. You’ll be the only non-senior there.” Ilya leaned against the edge of his desk, placing him at eye-level with Shane.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Is not a big deal. Just pay attention and look pretty. You’re good at that.” Ilya watched as Shane’s face turned red - it was one of his favourite things about him, how he tried his best to hide his feelings but his face almost always betrayed him. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Ilya winked. “I like when you blush. I like knowing I have that effect on you.”

Shane swallowed and glanced down at his watch, “Right, well - uhm - it's almost time for the meeting, if you wanna head down.”

Ilya chuckled at the sudden change of subject, “Sure, but first. I wanted to tell you that I haven’t forgotten about your promotion.”

“Oh,” Shane looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“Of course I was. Marleau and I have been discussing it, we just don’t know what it should be yet.”

“Right,” Shane shifted.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out in the next few days. I was thinking something intelligence related - but still hands-on, since I want you in the field with me.”

“Hands-on… just in the field?” Shane smirked.

Ilya’s breath hitched. There was something beautiful about the way that Shane flipped between being nervous to being extremely confident in the blink of an eye. He was still blushing, but the teasing, bratty grin that donned his face contrasted it perfectly.

“You’re a brat,” Ilya stepped forward to fix Shane’s tie, tightening it a bit too much around his neck. Shane’s mouth fell slightly open, his hands quickly landing on Ilya’s biceps. “Is funny. When you started, I never would’ve expected that.”

Shane tilted his head back but stayed silent - a challenge. Ilya smiled and loosened the tie again, smoothing it against his torso.

“Is okay. I can train it out of you.” He watched as Shane’s eyes went wide, embarrassment creeping back in. “Come, we have our meeting.”

He strode past Shane and out the office doors, listening as he rushed to close the door behind them and catch back up.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The meeting was being held in their briefing room. Shane had never been inside before - he wasn’t ever needed. Larger discussions like the one to unfold today were always private amongst the senior staff, but he would be lying to himself if he wasn’t a bit curious as to what they talked about. The inner workings of the Bratva were fascinating to him, and as more and more of the world was revealed as the months flew by, Shane found himself longing to be as involved as he could. He had millions of questions, most of which could only be answered by Pyotr in the intelligence department. He was less interested in ground operations - it was the behind the scenes that were most intriguing. 

Shane had only met Pyotr once. He was a tall, lanky gentleman with greasy, thinning hair. He had a wispy mustache and a few blemishes on his forehead. In the brief interaction they had, Pyotr had managed to give him a look that sent shivers down his spine and left him with a horrible taste in his mouth. The man wasn’t pleasant, but he was incredibly perceptive. He understood why he was third behind Marleau and running the intelligence department from the headquarters - though he couldn’t imagine why Ilya would ever want him in the field on the rare occasion he did decide to take him. He wasn’t exactly the type of man whom any client would find charming. 

Pyotr sat next to Marleau near the door. The only two empty seats were at the head of the table near the back window, clearly meant for Ilya, and one next to a man named Davis, head of the weapons department. Shane sat down and nodded to the men and women who stared at him. He received a few confused looks, and a couple smiles. All in all, the Bratva had been very welcoming to him, so he didn’t feel too uncomfortable in his surroundings - despite the peculiar nature of his current situation. 

“New year. Lots to do.” Ilya’s voice filled the space and everyone’s heads snapped to his location. “I expect full reports from last year on my desk by end of week. Not a day later. Things are getting…” Ilya pursed his lips together.

“Sketchy,” Marleau offered.

“Yes,” Ilya nodded, “sketchy.” He sniffed, glancing at Shane. “As many of you are aware, we had a few hiccups in the later months of last year; what we believe might have been an attempted hit, and just a week ago, a territory and sales threat. This is not good.”

“I suggest you reach out to Marcus, check in on his running.” Pyotr chimed in. 

Shane nodded briefly, before furrowing his brow.

“I am not so sure, Pyotr.” Marleau said. “We don’t want to spook them.”

Pyotr scoffed, “Who cares? They have betrayed us. Spook them, make them scared.”

“Marcus is already scared,” Ilya tapped his fingers against the mahogany table. “Mr. Hollander made sure he was.”

Shane nodded at him. Checking in on Marcus at this point would be dangerous, especially if Ilya was to go to the docks himself. They were missing a shipment entirely with no leads as to where it could be. Shane was pissed that the intelligence department hadn’t been able to do any recon in the week since, and wasn’t even sure Ilya was aware that they were lacking in this area. Shane only knew because he happened to check the files on his work phone over breakfast, hoping that there would be some sort of update - but there wasn’t. Having Ilya go to see Marcus in person was a waste of time, and could lead to devastating consequences should things go awry while he was there.

“I agree with you Marleau, but I also think it is a good idea to check in. I can go sometime next week.”

“I will schedule it for you. Friday.” Pyotr stated.

Shane tried to jump in, “I-”

Pyotr turned his head to him, “I will schedule it, Mr. Hollander.”

Shane shifted in his seat and stared down at the table. He wasn’t sure how often he was allowed to jump in, seeing as every person in the room was a much higher rank than he was. He didn’t want to cause a scene - but he didn’t feel good about Ilya doing the check in himself. 

“Sure, Pyotr - but run it through Mr. Hollander after.”

“Of course.” Pyotr smirked at Shane. 

What kind of fucking game is this? He thought. 

Ilya continued on through the agenda for another hour, speaking with each senior member as the seconds ticked on. Shane dared not open his mouth, and instead looked between Ilya, Marleau, and Pyotr throughout the majority of the meeting. Every now and then one of the men would jump in to make a remark - some of which were valid, others were not properly researched. Shane was growing frustrated. The Bratva was supposed to be more organized than this. He had spent hours going through file after file, fixing errors as he found them. He assumed that at this point in his tenure that the intelligence department would have updated their own servers to reflect his corrections, but it was clear that Pyotr’s ego was getting in the way of that. It was incompetence - and Shane hated nothing more than blind incompetence. 

It was this issue that kept Shane focused on the first point of the agenda for most of the meeting. As the discussion began to wrap up, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.

Ilya began to gather his papers, “Thank y-”

“Sir, before we finish,” Shane started. The rest of the room stared at him, eyes wide. He realized he’d just interrupted his boss, which was not something that anyone should ever do - let alone a mere assistant. 

Ilya paused and licked his lips, “Yes, Mr. Hollander.”

“I really don’t think you should meet with Marcus next week.”

Pyotr laughed, “You’ve sat through an hour long discussion and you’re still stuck on this?”

“It’s a bad idea, Pyotr. If we’re going to check in with anyone from the last while we shouldn’t be scheduling anything, they can't know Ilya is coming.”

“Marcus is an idiot with even bigger idiots working for him, it would not make a difference. He is not a concern, according to our data.”

“Maybe your data is wrong.” Shane clenched his jaw, squeezing his hands under the table. He was very aware that his behaviour was verging on unacceptable. Many of the eyes that were latched onto him were pleading, urging him to back down. 

“My data is never wrong,” Pyotr challenged.

“It was your data that almost got Mr. Rozanov killed.”

Ilya cleared his throat, “Mr. Hollander. This discussion might be best held at another time.”

“No.” Shane put his foot down.

Marleau inhaled to his right, shaking his head as little as he could. 

“No?” Ilya grinned - but not the kind one that Shane had come to know. It was dangerous, cold, his eyes wide and piercing.

“There is an entire shipment of product somewhere that no one has managed to locate yet. Scheduling a meeting would be pointless, going unannounced is the only way to find what we're looking for.”

“What we’re looking for?” Pyotr stood, venom dripping from his voice. “Going to the docks without sufficient intelligence is reckless.”

“We cannot gather sufficient intelligence without going there. At the very least we need someone on the inside which would take months. If Rurik is already pushing into our territory then we don’t have time for that.” Shane pushed back.

“What intelligence do we already have?” Ilya directed his question to Pyotr, but still hadn’t stopped glaring at Shane. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Nothing.” Pyotr stated.

You could hear a pin drop in the room. Ilya’s eyes flitted back over to the head of intelligence. 

“What the fuck do you mean? Nothing?” Ilya’s voice was low.

“We have last year’s sales numbers and I know what you told us from the meeting.”

“You have not sent anyone to gather more information?”

Pyotr chewed the inside of his cheek, “We have not had the time to do so.”

“Sir, I-” Shane tried to interject.

“Shut up.” Ilya snapped at him. Shane sunk into his seat. Ilya’s eyebrows twitched. Shane was sure he saw a small flash of guilt on his face before it returned to its steely gaze. “You have had a week. The entire operation does not shut down for the holidays.”

“No, but-”

“You are going to give me excuses?”

“No excuses, sir.” Pyotr looked down. “I did not send anyone out because it didn’t seem high priority to me.”

“Are you the one who is supposed to make that call without asking?”

“No, sir. It should go through Marleau.”

“Precisely. You might be in charge of the intelligence operation here at headquarters, but out there you are not. Do not let the power you hold within these walls go to your greasy fucking head. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Pyotr sat back down.

“You will call Marcus to schedule a meeting with him.” Ilya fixed his cufflinks. 

Shane took a deep breath, “Mr. Rozanov, please -”

Ilya slammed a hand down on the table, “I told you to shut up, Mr. Hollander. Do not make me walk over there and make you.”

The air in the room felt like it was on fire, tension thick. Everyone was staring at either him or Ilya. He knew that a few members were most likely enjoying the show, and the rest were probably scared for his safety, for the inevitable consequences that would rain down upon him once the meeting was over. Shane didn’t care, he couldn’t. Having Ilya schedule a meeting with someone assumed to be tied to Rurik was a terrible idea. The Bratva was basically asking for him to be killed. They would expect something like that from him, a rash decision born from a desire to control everything rather than lean on his staff the way he was supposed to now that he had the time to do so since hiring Shane. He stood up and stared back at Ilya, watching as his boss’s jaw clenched, fingertips turning white against the surface of the varnish.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” Shane stated.

“Kid -”

“Let me speak.” He shot back at Marleau. “I know I’m not a senior member and people in this room don’t respect me but I was invited here for a reason, alright?”

Shane straightened his blazer, heart pounding. 

“Mr. Rozanov. There was a hit out for you from Rurik’s associates not long ago, and Sanya was involved. She hasn't been heard from since that party, outside of dropping her prices to get back in your good graces. I believe that the meeting Marcus was going to attend after ours was with both her and Rurik.”

Ilya hummed, his eyes burning a hole through him. 

“If you schedule a meetup with him, there is a huge chance that they will plan another hit. You cannot schedule this meeting.”

“You are telling me what I can and cannot do now? Are you the fucking king of the Bratva all of a sudden?”

Shane snorted and shook his head, “No, obviously, but I was under the impression my job was to know everything about everyone, is it not?”

“You do what I tell you to do, that is your job.” 

“I’ve kept you safe more times than you know,” Shane spat at him. “I’m good at my job, you know I am.”

“I do, which is why I’m going to let this level of disrespect you are displaying slide, just this once. You’re on thin fucking ice, Shane Hollander.” He looked back at Pyotr. “Schedule it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shane turned on his heel and left the room without being dismissed, tearing through the headquarters towards his office setup and opening up every file they had on Marcus and Rurik. He combed through the paragraphs of information that he’d put together for himself months ago. Nothing stood out to him, since nothing was new. It was a nightmare. He grabbed his coat and headed for the exit.

“Hollander!” Marleau called out to him from the top of the landing. “Where are you going?”

Shane looked up, “Where do you think?”

Marleau stared at him for a moment, placing his hands on his hips, “I’m coming with you.” 

They took Marleau’s car and sped off to Marcus’s docks.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

The area was mostly empty, save for a couple security guards and maintenance workers. It seemed like most of Marcus’s crew hadn’t come back from their holiday season yet, and it being only 7:00PM meant that the turnover in shifts was still in progress. They parked the car around the corner and sat, surveying the area. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Marleau questioned.

“You’re asking me? I don’t fucking know.” Shane gawked at him.

“So what, you were just gonna come out here and walk in? Get shot?”

“Well, no. There’s a side entrance with only one guard. I thought maybe I could sneak in or something.”

“That’s a terrible plan. The sneaking in part I mean - the side entrance is good. I can take him out.”

“Take him out like…”

“No, kid. I’m not gonna kill some random guy, I’ll just knock him out.”

“Okay, yeah, good. Sure.”

“Relax.”

They exited the car and made their way to the entrance. Taking out the solo guard was relatively easy for Marleau. He slid along the fence while Shane stayed in view, drawing his attention. Once they were in was when things got a bit more difficult. The docks were a bit of a maze. There weren’t many guards hanging around but the maintenance workers were no doubt also on Marcus’s payroll. They had to be quick.

“Where now? Warehouses, yeah?”

“No,” Shane whispered, “the office. We know there’s product in the warehouses, we need to know where the rest of it is.”

“The office is upstairs by the loading area, I’ve been there twice before. There’s a fire escape that might be easier for us to go up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

The climb up was easy after a short walk around skids and a couple schooners being worked on - no doubt some sort of front since they all looked to be in perfect condition. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, until they reached the office itself.

Before either one of them could say a word, Joseph’s fist was connecting with Shane’s jaw, sending him falling backwards into the giant desk. Him and Marleau grappled, each one reaching for their weapon. Shane was dizzy and knew his lip had split, but he wasn’t about to let Marleau get hurt because of his poor planning and lack of training. He grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and swung - hard. He thankfully connected with the back of Joseph’s head, who dropped immediately. Marleau checked for any blood and monitored his pulse while Shane doubled over, panic rising in his chest.

“Is he dead?” He choked out.

“No, you’re good.” Marleau looked up at him. “Hey, hey… Shane.” He rubbed his back, “You’re okay. He’s just out cold. Best case scenario honestly, cause now we can tie him up and take him with us for questioning. You’re good, he’s good.”

Shane nodded and wiped the blood from his lip. 

“Fuck,” Marleau whispered. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

“What? Why? I’m the reason we’re here.”

“No, he’s for sure gonna kill you for that. He’s gonna kill me after though, for not protecting you properly.”

“It’s not your job.”

Marleau chuckled, “Actually, it is. He told me as much not long after you started. That’s one reason why I wanted to get you into training ASAP.”

“What, you don’t like babysitting?” Shane joked. His smile stung a bit, but the humour was a good relief from the panic that was slowly dissipating from his chest. 

“I do enough of that when I’m with the boss.”

They laughed. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

“Appreciate it,” Marleau looked around. “So, what do you need from here?”

Shane sifted through piles of paperwork littered on the desk. He knew Marcus was an idiot but didn’t realize just how poorly managed his operation actually was. It was insane that so much confidential information was laying around. He assumed Joseph was supposed to protect it, and maybe the other guards, but perhaps it was just pure arrogance that led him to be so foolish. 

Shane found a folder tucked underneath a pile of books. Inside were contracts with Rurik, dozens of Marcus’s signatures littered the pages. He grabbed the stack and tucked it under his arm.

“Let’s go.”

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Ilya sat in a leather chair with his shirt unbuttoned, a glass of vodka in his right hand. The night had been awful. The meeting ran longer than he initially intended to and his own staff had walked out on him - arguably the two most important men he had: Marleau and Shane. He couldn’t believe the way that Shane had acted out in front of the senior staff at the first round table he’d ever been invited to. It made Ilya’s blood boil and teeth grind together, but underneath it was a tinge of respect, and even deeper: arousal. Ilya wasn’t used to being challenged in any way. He’d run the Bratva with an iron fist. No one had ever dared speak back to him before, let alone someone like Shane - an assistant who’d only been there for a few months. He assumed their relationship was what had made him feel like he was allowed to react in such a way, but it was unprofessional and disrespectful. If anyone else had done what he had, Ilya would’ve fired them on the spot - maybe even had them taken care of. He couldn’t do that to Shane though, despite the fact that not being able to was a very obvious display of weakness on his part. It was something he knew someone would exploit if they knew of it, so he had to be very careful. 

Marleau and Shane had both left the headquarters hours ago, and Ilya was worried sick. He knew that Shane would be safe as long as he stuck with his bodyguard, but that was only a small reassurance. He sat in silence, a single lamp glowing in the corner casting long shadows over the expanse of the warm office. A clock ticked in the corner, his breathing was slow and steady. 

When the door opened, he didn’t move. Footsteps grew closer, ones he recognized as the careful, precise gait of one Shane Hollander. A folder dropped onto his lap, a small drop of blood on the manilla paper. 

“The extra shipment isn’t here. It’s on Staten Island waiting to be moved. Rurik is distributing it. He offered them a good deal, then Marcus tried to get you to give them the same one. He signed it twelve days ago. The previous one was signed in July. He’s been phasing you out for seven months.”

Ilya placed his vodka on the table beside him and opened the folder, careful not to show that his hands were shaking after seeing the blood on the folder. He was scared to look up at Shane, afraid that he might find a gravely injured man that he had failed to protect - one that he cared about much too deeply. He scanned the documents, each one more damning than the last. Of course, Shane had managed to get exactly what they needed, even if he had been reckless in his efforts to do so. Ilya placed the folder next to his glass and took a deep breath.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Shane took a small step back.

“Hollander-” Ilya stopped him, and looked up.

He stared at Shane, his eyes landing on his split lip. His face was wearing a mixed look of concern, exhaustion, even guilt. The warm light that lit his body showed drops of what he could only assume was his own blood dotting the collar of his pressed white shirt. His hair was a mess, as were his hands, parts of which were stained brown from the dried blood he'd wiped off his face. It could have been much worse, a split lip was basically nothing compared to what Ilya had been worried about. He sighed. 

“Come closer.” Ilya beckoned him over.

Shane walked towards him, standing in between his legs. Ilya reached forward, his left arm looping around his waist and the other hand wrapping itself around his tie. He brought Shane into his lap and tugged the knot tighter, hearing Shane let out a small gasp as he settled, straddled on his thighs.

“Never. Ever. Speak to me like that in front of my staff again.” He stared into his eyes. “Do you understand?”

Shane nodded, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Ilya pulled on his tie again, bringing his face closer. A small noise escaped Shane. 

“Yes, sir.” He watched as Shane’s eyes darkened and dropped to stare at his lips. His mouth parted as he shifted forward on Ilya’s lap, already growing hard on top of him. 

Ilya crashed their mouths together, hungry and desperate. He could taste the copper on Shane’s lip, splitting back open from the sheer force of the kiss. Shane opened his mouth, allowing Ilya the space to slip his tongue inside and connect with his. Ilya felt like he was going crazy, his heart raced, his mind was blanking. Kissing Shane was like nothing else he had ever experienced. The rooftop was one thing, the tender moment they shared earlier before the heat of the meeting was another, but this - this was a revelation. He’d had sex in his office before, he’d kissed dozens of men and women from all walks of life, but none of them compared to this. Ilya was sure he could get off just from sitting here with his tongue down Shane's throat, listening to the desperate little whines that slipped from his lips. Ilya knew if Shane wasn’t so needy in this moment that he’d most likely be embarrassed by the sounds that were spilling out of him, but to Ilya they were everything. He heard Shane let out a small whimper as he sought friction on his lap, his cock hard against his thigh, a small wet spot growing on his pants.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned, “You’re so wet already.”

Ilya tugged on the tie again, his other hand coming up to grab Shane’s chin. 

“You’re gonna do what I say, yes?”

Shane smirked, “Maybe.” He rolled his hips forward, Ilya felt his cock against his and let out a stuttering breath. 

Ilya pushed him back, “Down. On your knees.” 

Shane slid off Ilya’s lap and nuzzled at his cock, going much easier than he’d  expected. Shane slid his hands up Ilya’s thighs, fumbling with his belt buckle and zipper before pulling his pants and briefs down to release Ilya’s cock. He watched as Shane’s mouth parted, eyes focused on its hard length. Ilya allowed himself a moment to indulge in the view before him. Shane on his knees, hungry, lips red and swollen, a bit of blood dappling the bottom one, his hair a mess, his eyes glazed over. He was perfect.

“You want?” Ilya sat back in the chair and smiled.

“Yes,” Shane met his eyes, “sir.”

“I think you can do better than that.” Ilya grabbed his cock and gave it a lazy stroke. “You were bad today, why should I let you suck me off?”

“Let me?” Shane grinned up at him. Ilya’s heart fluttered - an unfortunate reaction in a situation where he wanted to be fully in control. His own body was working against him. 

“Yes. I think you should have to beg for it, no?”

Shane looked back down and shimmied forward, “Please.”

“More.”

“Please, sir. Let me suck your cock.”

“More, Shane.”

“Fuck,” Shane took a deep breath, steadying himself, “Please, I want to suck your cock. I don’t deserve it, but I can make you feel good, I promise, please.”

Ilya sat up and grabbed Shane’s face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks, “You do deserve it, malysh. Even when you mouth off to me like a brat. Even when you are bad, you are still so good, you drive me crazy.” He sat back again, shaking his head, “Take it, take what you want.” He stared into Shane’s eyes as they grew wet with unshed tears. Ilya meant every word. Regardless of what Shane said to him, did to him, he still deserved everything that he could give him and more. He knew having feelings as strong as his was bad for business, but they were growing increasingly impossible to deny. Witnessing him in such a vulnerable position wasn’t going to help stave them off either.

Shane kissed the sides of Ilya’s cock, now glistening with a bit of precum. He took his time, licking a wet stripe up the length and swirling his tongue around the tip before finally taking him in his mouth. Shane gagged as he tried his best to flatten his tongue, bringing Ilya’s cock as far into his throat as he could. 

“Holy fuck, Shane,” Ilya moved a hand to the back of Shane’s head, guiding him as he bobbed up and down over and over again. The sounds were pornographic, Shane moaning as Ilya tugged on his hair, the vibrations shooting through him. Shane’s mouth was incredible, which Ilya had already suspected from kissing him. Shane reached up and grabbed the base of Ilya’s cock with his hand, stroking what he couldn’t fit down his throat. Ilya felt him grinding against his leg, trying to get some sort of friction on his own cock trapped inside his pants.

“Mmm, Shane,” Ilya was getting too close to the edge, “Stop, stop.”

Shane pulled off with a pop and looked up at him, “Was that bad?”

“Bad? No, too good. I was going to come down your throat any second.”

Shane laughed, “I mean - you could’ve.”

“Was that your first time?” Ilya asked.

Shane nodded, “Yeah.”

“Fuck, come here.” Ilya brought him back into his lap, noting that the crotch of Shane’s pants were almost completely soaked through. “I thought you were wet before but…”

“Shut up,” Shane sighed.

“No, it’s hot. You get so worked up for me. You’ve wanted this for a while, yes?”

“Yes.”

Ilya hummed.

“Yes, sir.” Shane corrected, giving him a kiss and jerking his hips forward.

“Good boy.”

Shane whined and rolled his hips again at the praise. He was so easy to please. Ilya reached down and pulled Shane’s cock from his pants. My god, Ilya thought, Even his cock is beautiful. Shane was only slightly smaller than he was. Long and thick, leaking everywhere. His need was evident from how red and neglected he was. He brought a hand up to Shane’s mouth.

“Spit,” Ilya instructed.

Shane scrunched his nose, but obeyed.

Ilya took them both in his hand, stroking slowly at first. As much as he wanted to feel Shane in his mouth, Ilya knew he wanted them both to get off together. It was important to him, after such a tense and difficult evening that left both of them angry and upset. 

“Holy - oh my - god, Ilya,” Shane’s eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, his eyes closing.

Ilya stopped for a moment and heard Shane whine in protest, “Ah, ah, look at me.”

Shane opened his eyes and allowed them to dart all over Ilya’s face, as if he was mapping out every detail in front of him. 

Ilya resumed the motion, their cocks hard against one another. They didn’t even need Shane’s spit, with the amount of precum shared between them. Ilya’s mouth found Shane’s again, the kiss messy and frantic. A fleeting moment before they broke apart, foreheads pressed together, their mouths open, lips occasionally brushing. Ilya stared into Shane’s eyes. Deep brown and wet, not entirely glazed over, but verging on it - getting lost. Ilya was positive if they’d been at his or Shane’s home, if he had the opportunity to please him the way he desired, that he’d have slipped away, floating into subspace the way Ilya hoped he would one day when he was completely at ease. 

Shane started to tense up, “Fuck, I - I’m close.”

“Me too,” Ilya said breathlessly. 

“Can I - can I come?”

Ilya almost lost control hearing Shane ask him for permission, but held on with the last thread he had. 

“Yes, malysh, come for me,” he picked up the pace, Shane rolled his hips forward, his hands flying to either side of Ilya’s head, pressed against the leather. 

“Fuuuck,” Shane released, ropes of cum shooting onto Ilya’s chest and over his hand. His thighs shook from overstimulation as Ilya continued to stroke him through it. 

“God Shane, you are so beautiful,” Ilya breathed.

“Ilya - I, I can’t - please, please come,” Shane begged, kissing the sensitive spot beneath his jaw.

"Shhh, not yet." Ilya was drunk on the noises coming out of Shane's mouth, the way his breath shuddered as Ilya kept stroking them, using his spent cock and cum to get off himself. 

"Pleasepleaseplease, Ilya - you," Shane was babbling. Incoherent nonsense tumbling from him as his brain short-circuited, his face buried in Ilya's neck. 

"Ask me again," Ilya instructed, still stroking. "Look at me and ask me again."

Shane pressed his forehead against Ilya's and looked into his eyes, "Come for me? Please, I need you to-."

Before he could finish the sentence, Ilya tensed, giving his and Shane’s spent cock one more stroke before spilling over the edge himself, staring at his flushed, freckled face. His vision whited out for a moment, a headrush making him somewhat dizzy before he snapped back to reality. The waves of pleasure subsiding.

The pair of them sat for a moment, out of breath. 

“Holy shit,” Shane said, breaking into a toothy grin.

“Yes, holy shit is right.” Ilya sighed, bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick up their mixed release, salty and bitter. Shane watched, eyes still hungry. Ilya leaned in to kiss him, ensuring that he also tasted them on his lips. When he pulled back Shane looked simultaneously appalled and aroused - as if he was horrified with himself for how much he enjoyed it.

“That was really your first time with a man?” Ilya asked. 

“Yeah, why?”

Ilya shook his head in disbelief, “You’re going to kill me, Shane Hollander.”

Shane laughed, “That good, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Ilya wasn’t sure how he was ever supposed to be with anyone else ever again. He’d do anything to ensure that he and Shane were able to make this work - whatever the arrangement was. He knew his feelings would get in the way of anything transactional, and he wasn’t the type of man to do that anyway. He hoped that despite his incessant spoiling of Shane, that he wasn’t only sleeping with him because of everything he’d been gifted up to this point. Their shared moment on New Year’s Eve was beautiful, and Ilya felt that there was a strong connection growing, but he couldn’t be sure. He was a dangerous man, and Shane deserved someone good. He could supplement his behaviour with material possessions, but felt that he would never be able to be the man Shane should end up with. It scared him, how badly he needed Shane to be his and his alone, selfishly, completely.

Shane looked down at the mess between them and scrunched his face up. “Fuck, we’re disgusting.”

Ilya laughed, “Of course, you’re already thinking of getting cleaned up.” He kissed Shane’s cheek, “Stand.”

Ilya moved past him with shaky legs to the powder room off the right side of his office and got a damp towel to wipe himself down. He tried his best to get any cum that had dripped onto Shane’s clothes scrubbed away. 

“So…” Shane stood awkwardly in front of him. 

“Yes, Shane.” Ilya sat on the edge of his desk and pulled him between his legs.

“I - uhm - I’m sorry, I guess. I shouldn’t have acted like that today. You’re - you know,” Shane looked everywhere except at Ilya.

“Your boss,” Ilya smiled up at him. 

“Yeah. So I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Hollander. I am serious, you can’t do it again.” Ilya’s thumb drew lazy circles on Shane’s hips, “Even if it was kind of hot.”

The promotion that he and Marleau had been going over was one of the many topics that bounced around his mind after Shane left for the evening. While his behaviour wasn’t something to be rewarded, he knew that Shane’s place as an assistant was actually a detriment to the company - not because he wasn’t good at it, it was the opposite. He was too good at his job and wasted as someone managing schedules. After seeing Shane go head to head with Pyotr he realized there needed to be a big change structurally for things to start working the way he had always wanted them too - smoothly. The fact that Shane was willing to go against him as well was something to take stock of, even if it was a very poor choice at the time. He needed to be given more responsibility, people needed to respect him. Ilya needed him to be able to help lead the Bratva into a stronger, more stable era alongside him rather than from below him. It would take time, and a lot of convincing, but he was sure that the senior members would see his potential if he was able to succeed in a slightly larger position. 

Shane laughed, “I’ll leave that behaviour for the bedroom then.”

Ilya hummed, “I accept these terms.” He watched Shane’s tired eyes start to droop. “We should get you home. You have practice tomorrow.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” 

Ilya kissed him again, a gentle press of his lips soft against him. The slight metallic taste of blood was still there, but Ilya didn’t mind, as long as it was upon Shane’s lips that he tasted it. That would always be enough. They left the headquarters, Ilya's hand on the small of his back, the drive silent and quick. Ilya watched as Shane trudged up the stairs and disappeared into the home he’d bought for him only a week ago before turning around to head back to work. He still had paperwork to go over, and a new plan to hatch to give Shane a bit more power.

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Chapter End Notes

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