Bratva Vows Complete Box Set: A Dark Mafia Romance

by SR Jones

  “I want to stay with you,” I say, my voice small.

  “I can’t take you with me. My life isn’t safe. I’m moving to the UK to do some work with a man you really don’t want to be mixed up with.”

  “If he’s so bad, why are you working for him?”

  He smiles at me, and it’s cold and deadly. “Let’s say our goals align, and it suits me to work with him for now. You and me aren’t so different, you know? I lost everyone who matters to me too, and not in dissimilar circumstances. I’m getting my revenge.”

  “Let me help you.” The words are out before I can stop them.

  He laughs. “Oh, Justina, if you could, I would. But how? You can’t shoot or kill someone with your bare hands. The work I do is soul destroying and dirty.”

  “I know all about soul destroying and dirty.” I look down at the floor.

  He tips my chin up. “You’re not dirty. The people who took you, the men who used you, they’re the dirty ones. You’re beautiful, and young, and you have your whole life ahead of you. Take it. Don’t tie yourself to me. For what? You’ll never meet a good man if you’re hanging around with me, won’t have a family, kids.”

  I stand and start to pace, the panic in me at the very idea of what he’s suggesting too much to contain.

  “I don’t want kids, ever. And as for a man, I can’t bear the thought of any man touching me.”

  He smiles at me again, and it’s sad. “You can’t right now, but maybe in the future.”

  “No.” I turn to him, and I’m angry now. He doesn’t get to tell me what I feel or what I want, or should want. “I don’t want that. It’s not for me and never will be; I know it in my soul. I would like to work, get a job, and do something to use my brain. I’m not stupid. Before I got taken, I was doing a secretarial course, and I was head of my class. The thoughts in my head are horrible, and if I had something to do, I could keep them quiet. Let me help you. There must be things you need help with? Organizing things. Accounts. Taxes.” I stop then because I’m pretty sure he’s not paying taxes on the money he gets as an enforcer for the mob.

  “Please,” I beg him. And I am begging, for my life.

  “Please. Let me come with you to England. I will help you. Do anything to make your life easier. I’ll cook, clean, sort your administration out. You’ll need someone, right? You’ll hire a housekeeper or a cleaner? Send out your clothes to be ironed? They’re nice, your shirts, expensive. I can take care of them. I’ll guard your secrets with my fucking life, because you saved mine.”

  He’s still, silent, and I know he’s thinking about it.

  “Please,” I say again. I move to him and wrap my arms around his neck, taking a big risk because he’s not a touchy-feely kind of a man. “Please, you won’t regret it, I swear.”

  Chapter 5

  Justina

  TWO YEARS LATER

  I file away the papers and close the cabinet drawer. We rent this house and it’s nice, but it’s not homely. Flashy and expensive, it shouts wealth, but it isn’t comfy. I like old houses. Always have. Still, I’ll never complain. This place is heaven compared to where I came from.

  Andrius is looking at a house tomorrow in the country, and that one I’m excited about. It’s old and beautiful, and I imagine I can float about in it like the women in the period dramas I sometimes watch. He’s trying to find a base here in this damp and cold country to call his own. Somewhere we can escape to for long weekends away from the city, and this house where all the bratva know where we are.

  He says he wants an outdoor pool, and that makes me laugh. The last few summers have been nothing but rain. When would we get to use it? I swear, I thought Russia had bad weather until I came to the U.K. Not that they get dramatically bad weather here most of the time, but lots of endless gray days and drizzle. It’s enough to turn a person to depression.

  Except I won’t allow myself to become depressed. I keep my emotions locked down and only allow myself to feel happy these days.

  Life is good in so many ways for me now, and I have a choice—either I let the past eat me alive, or I close myself off to it. Unfortunately, to close myself off to it, I have to close myself off completely. The only person I care about, other than myself, is Andrius. And I love him. Fiercely.

  He’s never once asked for anything from me. He grudgingly brought me with him when he came to the U.K. and introduced me to everyone here as his housekeeper. Most of them seem to think I’m really his fuck toy or something, but I don’t care what they think. He doesn’t touch me, never has, and I now believe deep down, he never will, which means I can let my guard down around him and be myself.

  When I first got free of the brothel, I was a walking open wound.

  Terrified, needy, and constantly in a state of panic or tears. Then one day, it was as if I wore myself out. I just thought … enough. We’d been in the U.K. for about eight months at that point, and I already knew shopping soothed me, and I got paid well by Andrius for basically running his life. I didn’t pay rent, as he insisted, he wouldn’t take any, and so I used my wages to shop. I had been feeling the usual panic, and I thought, no way, not today. Instead today, I will shop. So I went to find Andrius,and told him I was going out.

  He’d given me this scarily perceptive look and said he knew I shopped to drown the pain and the memories, and that maybe therapy would be a better bet. I told him flat out, no way. And then I explained how shopping helped me … a lot, so I didn’t need therapy. He had shrugged, reached into his pocket, and given me a platinum credit card and told me to go have fun.

  Go have fun! Seriously. With a lovely platinum credit card!

  Boy, did I? I bought a handbag that cost a thousand pounds. I couldn’t believe it when I held it in my arms, like my very own baby, but not sickly or crying, just beautiful.

  I like things. Things don’t hurt you, or turn on you, or let you down.

  I also know they won’t break my heart if they get taken from me … unlike people. Unlike my family.

  It’s become something of a habit of mine. Every few weeks, on top of my regular shopping, which is mostly in high street stores, Andrius will give me his card, and I go a bit crazy. I told him one day I needed to stop, I’d bankrupt him, and he laughed. Said he could easily afford me spending a couple grand a month, and to call it a bonus for taking care of his life so well.

  And I do take care of him. I organize everything for him. I do the laundry, I clean, I do his paperwork, or at least the stuff I’m allowed to see. I found the house we rent at the moment and then furnished a lot of it. Although, he had a fair bit to say about that too, and he’s got impeccable taste. He wanted a good tailor when we first moved here, told me he would be dressing like a successful businessman, but he didn’t really know where to start with British designers. So I looked into it, and now he has a guy in Saville Row who makes him bespoke suits to fit his big frame, along with some Boss and Armani pieces. I also order his ties, socks, even his damn underpants.

  If he has guests, I play the perfect hostess, and more often than not, if there’s a social thing he needs a woman on his arm for, I’m the plus one. It’s kind of weird because it’s like a marriage without the sex. Or the declarations of love, but I do love him. Like a brother, like a father, like my protector, and I know he loves me right back. I can see it in his face, and why else would he let me blow through his credit card when I get particularly angsty?

  The doorbell rings out, making me start, and I smooth down my top and head to answer it. Walking out of the study, I glance at the Gucci watch on my wrist and check the time.

  Tonight some of the mob guys Andrius is doing work for are coming here to party. I fucking hate it when they do because it’s the only time I feel as if my old life might reclaim me. Sometimes they bring hookers, and it makes me sick. Andrius never uses them, but I hate he even lets that shit in his house, although I understand why he does.

  I don’t know everything, but Andrius has told me enough that I have
figured out he’s got his own agenda and is on a path of vengeance that will burn through the Russian mob organizations. The men who are here tonight, though, they aren’t on his shit list, and they seem to becoming much more regular visitors. They scare me. One in particular, Allyov, the big boss.

  Andrius is scary as hell; he’s cold, he’s closed off, and he kills people when he needs to in a horrifying, get the job done way. Allyov, though, he strikes me as cruel, as someone who enjoys watching others twist and turn. He’s also a filthy pervert who likes young girls and frankly, I’d like to kill him myself, but I can’t. I won’t do anything to jeopardize my safety and this new life I’ve managed to carve out for myself.

  When you see those videos of a lioness protecting her cubs? That’s how ferociously I feel about protecting this safe little slice of existence that’s been given to me by some miracle.

  I worry about losing it all when I let myself go there in my mind.

  What if Andrius meets some woman who hates me? He’s told me that he’ll always look after me, and I’ll come before anyone else. The one time I admitted my fear to him, he chuckled and told me I was practically his sister, and what sort of fucker would put pussy before family? He actually used those words, and I had to tell him off for speaking about would-be girlfriends in such a way.

  He says I might meet someone one day, but I won’t, or if I do, it won’t be a man. I don’t want any man touching me in that way again. The thought makes me want to throw up. I do miss human contact, though. Every now and again I manage to pry a hug out of Andrius, but he’s hardly the touchy feely type. I pay extortionate amounts of money for massages, facials, reflexology, you name it; if it involves being touched in a totally safe, non-sexual way, I’ll pay for it.

  I reach the door and try to take a calming breath before I open it. It swings back, and I see Allyov and plaster a smile on my face, but then I see his wife, Donna, and my smile becomes real. Fantastic. Tonight isn’t going to be about hookers and drugs. If the wives are with the men, the night is always about good food, drink, and bonhomie. Misha and Alexei muscle their way in after Allyov, and I turn my gaze from them. They scare me with their size and tattoos.

  I once asked Andrius why he didn’t have mob ink, and he told me they didn’t own him. He also said it made him different, and the more different he was from the normal person sent to put the fear of God into someone, the more fear he generated.

  Biting back a grin at my employer’s Machiavellian ways, I open the door wider.

  I lead the small group into the house and take their coats. They’re closely followed by Gregory and his wife, and then three more couples.

  Soon the sounds of glasses clanking in toasts, male laughter, and female chatter drift out of the lounge. I busy myself in the kitchen. All the food has been ordered in from a fantastic deli around the corner. I don’t know why but whenever we have a big party, Andrius insists on doing this. Says it’s too much to expect me to cook for everyone.

  The man in question comes into the room, smiling at me as he grabs a bottle of red wine off the side.

  “When this party is done, I’m heading over to Renee’s for the night,” he says.

  “Okay,” I tell him.

  Renee is his current fuck buddy, and she’s lasted longer than the others. I worried that he’d maybe fall in love and my place here would be in jeopardy, but he doesn’t care for her. Not beyond liking her as a friend and someone to screw. I’ve heard him talking to her, and you’d think the cold bastard was making an appointment with his dentist the way he speaks to her. I could school him on being romantic, give him some pointers, but why would I? I don’t want her to be anything more than she is.

  He never brings her here, and I don’t know if that’s because he’s private about that sort of shit, or if he doesn’t want me to hear. Does he think it will somehow cause me flashbacks?

  I think he plays rough, though. One day, going through his sock drawer, I found a picture of Renee. She was tied up, clearly enjoying it if her cat that got the cream smirk was anything to go by, but the picture shocked me. I dropped it as if burned, and left the room, my heart pounding.

  I don’t like to think of Andrius as having those kinds of tastes; it’s stupid but it makes me think less of him, and I won’t do that. So like everything in my life, I push it away.

  It’s wrong of me because so long as it is consensual, I shouldn’t give a shit what he does, but I suppose I see him as God-like. My guardian angel, and to think he might like some of the shit my punters did brings him right back down to earth with a bang.

  And I need him to stay on that pedestal for me because it keeps me safe.

  Christ, I’m a mess. Maybe one of these days, I ought to try that therapy he talks about.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod. “Tired is all. Been a long couple of days.”

  “You need to meet someone,” he says, shocking me so much I drop the knife I’m holding. The clatter it makes in the kitchen is jarring.

  “Sorry?”

  “You need to meet someone. Everyone needs … you know … affection.” He goes red. He actually blushes, and I’ve never seen him do such a thing.

  Oh my God! My guardian angel, my pseudo brother, is trying to talk to me about sex. Shit, we’ve never done this. We just don’t go there.

  I could shrug it off and ignore what he’s saying, but clearly this was hard for him to bring up, and he cared enough to push through that discomfort and do it anyway. I repay him by giving him the truth. The dirty, sordid truth of me.

  “I don’t think I can bear to have a man touch me ever again.”

  My voice is low.

  At my words, he moves closer to me and drops his own voice. “So … maybe try to meet a woman? Hell, Justina, even a friend would be good.”

  Oh, crap, is he wanting rid of me? The panic that I’ve been avoiding for so long starts to rise.

  Gentle fingers are at my chin, tipping my face up to meet gray eyes. “I’m not trying to push you out. I don’t want you to leave … ever. If you met someone and it got serious, they could move in; there’s enough room. So long as you don’t go falling for a cop.” He laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

  “You’re really not trying to get rid of me?” I ask.

  “Never.” He drops his head and kisses me chastely on the forehead.

  I close my eyes at the affection and think, maybe he’s right, and I do need someone to touch me other than my reflexologist.

  That night, I go to bed, and I look at pictures of naked women on my iPad. Sensual ones, not pornographic ones. Could I find a woman attractive the way I used to men? I think maybe I could. Certainly, their bodies don’t turn me off in any way. They’re nice, softer, and more welcoming than the hardness of men. Soft skin, not a ton of hair and stubble, and ridges, but instead curves and dips, and yeah … maybe one day I might be able to think about trying something with a woman if I met someone I was attracted to. But not yet.

  I’m still too raw to go there.

  One day, though … maybe.

  Chapter 6

  Justina

  Six Months Later

  The doorbell goes, and my heart speeds up. I’ve been on edge all night, and I don’t know why. The men are here, having one of those horrible parties they like to sometimes put together, but so far it’s been tame. No hookers, no drugs. Andrius is here so I’m not alone with having to deal with the mobsters, and yet I can’t shake the skittish feeling I’ve got going on.

  I go to answer the door, and my stomach sinks. Allyov is standing there with his ever-present thugs. But there’s someone else. A girl.

  This is wrong. I immediately know it.

  I recognize the terror in her eyes as clear as day. My mind runs through what to do as I stare at Allyov and the petite blonde he’s got his arm wrapped around.

  She’s shaking, I can see as much, and her eyes are … dazed. Shit, have they drugged her? Like similar horrible men did to me once upon
a time?

  Should I run and get Andrius? But, no, that might be a death warrant for me, maybe even for Andrius.

  Instead, I plaster what I hope is a welcoming look on my face. “Sergei? You’re late. We thought you weren’t coming.”

  “Yes, sorry about that. I brought entertainment for the evening.”

  He points to the small, clearly terrified young woman. “Girl from the club. Can we come in and give her somewhere to get ready? She says she’ll give us all a quick show.”

  I stare at him and the girl, not buying a fucking word he’s saying. I feel like I’m going to throw up, until once more, I remember myself and force a smile on my face.

  “Of course.”

  I smile and stand back. “Do come in. You can use the guest room upstairs, third on the left. The guests are all in the lounge.”

  I hustle into the kitchen as I mutter something inane in response to Allyov’s invitation to join them sometime, and pour a huge glass of wine, my hand shaking.

  In all the time I’ve been here, I don’t think I’ve seen another girl who was taken like me … but now … I think I have now.

  The hookers who come here, most of them seem to want to do it, or rather, choose to do it either for economic necessity or because it fits around their lives. They aren’t trafficked like I was, but I’d bet money this girl isn’t here of her own accord.

  Christ. What do I do? Should I go get Andrius? But then, what if he gets into a fight with Allyov and gets himself killed? Allyov always has those thugs with him, Misha and Alexei, and it would be three against one.