The Dance: Bratva Vows

by SR Jones

  “See?” He chuckles as he watches me. “You’re terrified of the idea.”

  “Not terrified, but I need some time, definitely.”

  “I don’t. But I know you do, so this way, you get your time, and you’re safer than you would be if you were my beloved mistress to the outside world. Does that make sense?”

  I nod. I don’t like it, but it does make sense.

  He takes my hand in his. “And one day, when you get over your commitment phobic ways, you will be my wife, and then you’ll be almost untouchable.”

  I squeeze his hand and watch the scenery pass by. How can we go from the passionate intensity of moments ago, to this comfortable companionship? We are so changeable as a couple, volatile even, and before I even think of anything like marriage, I need to know who we will become when we settle into this.

  I turn to him puzzled as a thought hits me. “How did you find me?”

  He smiles and fingers the necklace he bought me. I stare down at it, then back to him. “It can be tracked. I did it for your safety; don’t be angry.”

  I sigh and turn to look out o the window. He’s overbearing, controlling, he has me tracked, and he fucking spanked me. I should be livid. I should walk away. I can’t. I even liked the spanking, which is fucked up.

  We arrive back at the house, and Ilya follows me up the stairs and into my room.

  “Don’t you think you at least ought to move into my room with me?” he asks.

  I turn to him and see the naked vulnerability in his gaze for a moment, before he blinks and shuts it down.

  My heart softens toward him. Ilya is a big, scary man, but deep down he has a softer side, one I suspect very few people get to see.

  “That sounds like a plan,” I say.

  He smiles and pulls me into him, kissing the top of my head. “I know this is all crazy, the way we ended up together, but trust me. We’re going to work. I can feel it.”

  I close my eyes and pray he’s right because I know I am losing my heart to this man.

  Epilogue

  Ilya is laughing as the small child in front of us runs around after his beloved German Shepherd. My friend Katya is here with her eight-year-old son, Jason. Jason’s father is British, and he and Katya live in the next village.

  I met Katya shopping at the local market one day, and we struck up a conversation, and ended up going for a coffee together. We hit it off and fast became good friends. Ilya likes them too, so we sometimes have them over for a meal.

  Two big sleek cars roar up the driveway, and I turn to Ilya, worry tightening my chest, but he’s rising with a grin, so I calm down.

  I love Ilya, and over the months we’ve only grown closer, but I still can’t get used to this violent world of his.

  The cars crunch over the gravel and pull to a stop. Doors open and then close with heavy, expensive thuds. Three huge men walk across the lawn toward us, and I swallow down new nerves. These are not men I have seen before.

  The one in front, an intimidating, dark-haired man with a big build and a short dark beard walks up to Ilya and pulls him into a bear hug. He’s wearing a tight-fitting white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up his forearms. No tie and the top couple of buttons are undone. Ink peeks out, playing hide and seek with the movement of the starched white cotton.

  “Konstantin, welcome. This is a surprise.” Ilya speaks in English. “This is my fiancée, Amanda.”

  At the word fiancée, my stomach flips. I’m still getting used to it, and I finger the rock on my hand.

  The man turns his dark gray-blue gaze my way and smiles. He’s scary. Not because of how he looks, his face is handsome enough, but because of his presence. Ilya has charisma; this man has even more. He reminds me of Andrius.

  “Sit,” Ilya says and gestures to a chair.

  I’m deeply uncomfortable with these men being here when my friend and her child are visiting.

  I glance at the other two. One is wearing a dark t-shirt, and he has short blond hair, a rugged face, and huge body. The other is taller, leaner, but still bloody big, and he wears a gray shirt and jeans. He also has the top button undone, and there are what look to be angel wings on his chest, but I can only see a bit of the tattoo.

  “I cannot stay,” the leader, Konstantin, says. “I have come to say I am heading back to Moscow, and then on to London, and wanted to say goodbye. I am sorry I didn’t get to spend time with you whilst here; it has been busy. Vasily, Denis, and I will hopefully be back in the beautiful city soon.”

  “Vasily,” Ilya says, nodding at the tall guy with the gray shirt and blue ink on his chest.

  “Ilya.” Vasily nods in return, takes a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one.

  Ilya has recently introduced me to a couple of his friends, and they seem nice enough, for gangsters. Their wives are hilarious, though, and so I quite enjoy it when they come over.

  These men, though, they are a different league; I can tell.

  “It is nice to meet you, Amanda,” Konstantin says. “I hope when I am returned to St Petersburg we can meet properly. For now, business calls me back to Moscow.”

  He glances at my friend and her son and smiles, and it is warm, genuine. “You are good with the dog,” he says. “Maybe you should become a vet?”

  Jason smiles shyly.

  “Come, Jason, we must be going.” Katya stands and walks to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek. “I have errands to run, but I’ll call later. Gentlemen.” She smiles graciously at the huge men as if they’re not terrifying, and calmly walks to her car.

  “Do you have the cash?” Vasily says as soon as Katya is gone.

  “Da, one moment.” Ilya goes into the house, leaving me alone with these men. I nibble on a nail and rack my brains for something to say, but Ilya is only a moment. He returns carrying a huge hold-all, and it’s stuffed with something. Money, I bet. Blood money of some sort.

  The reality of this life hits me fully, and I wonder if I’m immoral because although it worries me, it doesn’t worry me enough to make me consider leaving Ilya.

  “Thanks,” Vasily says, flicking his cigarette and grinding it under his foot. He heads to the car, opens it, and throws the bag on the back seat.

  “You’ll have the weapons in three or four weeks,” Konstantin says.

  Weapons. Ilya is buying weapons? Why?

  “Is there a problem?” I ask Ilya, despite knowing I shouldn’t; not in front of these men.

  “No, the weapons are for an associate of mine. I am simply the middleman,” Ilya says with a relaxed smile.

  I still don’t like the sound of it.

  “Would you like something to drink?” I ask the men, like some fifty’s-era housewife, so doped up on pills she doesn’t recognize the danger all around her.

  “No, thank you, Amanda.” Konstantin does that little dip of his head thing that so many Russian’s do. “Perhaps when I come next time, I will stay longer and have that drink. We have a long drive ahead, though.”

  Ilya hugs Konstantin again, pulls away from him, and grips him by the upper arms. “You are my friend, and you’re always welcome here, but don’t ever turn up without giving me a warning again. My woman had her friend here, and this scared her.”

  His woman, for God’s sake. I roll my eyes.

  “Watch it, Ilya. I don’t take orders from you.” Konstantin grins, but it holds a dark, dark edge.

  “On my fucking property you do. I love you, but you don’t disrespect us this way by turning up unannounced to talk business.”

  “You knew we were coming, Ilya. We’re just a bit early.” Denis speaks for the first time.

  Konstantin smacks him up the back of his head, shocking the shit out of me. “Shut up, and go sit in the car,” he growls.

  Denis throws Konstantin a disgusted look but does as he’s told.

  “Can’t get the fucking help these days,” Konstantin grumbles.

  The back door of the first car, the one Konstantin stepped out of, o
pens and a pair of killer legs encased in three or four-inch heels hit the gravel. A bona fide supermodel steps out of the car. I don’t mean a woman who looks like she could be a model; I mean a woman I was looking at this morning in Vogue.

  Holy hell.

  I stare at her as she sashays over to us, all tiny waist, long legs, and thick, golden hair. Her skin shines as if dew covered, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman.

  “Konstantin, baby,” she purrs as she grabs his arm. “I need to go. I have that shoot; remember, baby?”

  Konstantin indicates her by pointing at her and shrugs. “Reason we are early, Ilya. Sorry. Need to get this one to her photo shoot.”

  She giggles, and I think she’s either drunk or high.

  She’s leaning all over Konstantin, draped on him, using him to hold herself up, probably.

  Her glossy lips are smudged, and it should make her look a mess, but it only makes her somehow hotter.

  “Sorry for the intrusion, Amanda,” Konstantin says cordially. “I won’t turn up uninvited again, Ilya. I didn’t know you were playing house and having the neighbors around.” He smirks, and Ilya growls under his breath.

  They head to the car, and Ilya says, “Hey, Vasily, pick up your fucking cigarette butt.”

  Vasily does and climbs into the car, shooting Ilya the finger.

  They peel slowly out of the drive, and I sit down, my mind blown.

  “What the hell, Ilya?” is all I can manage to say.

  “They were early, sorry. They won’t do it again.”

  “Never mind that; did you see her? She’s world famous.”

  “Konstantin always has some dolly bird or other on his arm. I don’t really take much notice; they only last weeks at the most.”

  “Who is he?”

  Damn, if I didn’t love Ilya so much, I’d be panting after Konstantin. He’s one alpha male, and not in that loud aggressive way of men who are actually weak, but in the quiet way of those who are truly strong.

  “He is a boss here in Russia, runs most of Moscow, but in recent years he’s also built a legitimate empire. Now, he mostly operates out of the UK, taking care of the legitimate business and has his underbosses run the other side. Vasily is in charge of the Moscow territory. If there’s one person who gives Andrius a run for his money as a scary motherfucker, it’s Konstantin. Which fits, because they fought together.”

  “You told him off,” I say, scared suddenly.

  “Yes, I did because I am a scary motherfucker too, Amanda. And no one walks onto my property and frightens my wife to-be, and makes her friend so uncomfortable she feels she has to leave.”

  I hug him and smile at him, but I am scared.

  “We won’t see him a lot, will we?” I ask.

  “No. As I say, he spends most of his time these days in the UK. There’s a lot of money to be made in that de-regulated economy of your home nation. He doesn’t see much of Andrius from what I hear despite them being so close in some ways, but I suppose that’s because he’s trying to keep his nose clean over there. They’ll always be close though.”

  “Because they fought together?” I ask.

  “Because Konstantin saved Andrius’ life.” Ilya kisses me on the mouth, soft and gentle. “Now enough talk of him; you’re making me think you like him.”

  I shudder. He’s handsome, powerful, and charismatic, but he also seemed dead inside. I like them bad, but I think even I don’t like them quite as bad as Konstantin. Ilya is one scary motherfucker, as he said, but he’s also got a warm heart beating inside his massive chest. Or, at least, when it comes to me, he has.

  Slowly, with the help of a glass of wine, I calm down after our impromptu visit. I hope there aren’t anymore of Ilya’s friends planning on dropping in; not even the ones we know well and have over for meals.

  Only three days ago, we had a small dinner party for some of his friends, and it’s good, but there is always a tiny edge of fear for me.

  Mostly, it’s just me and Ilya, and I like it that way. We binge watch shows on Netflix. Walk the dogs. Both of us love cooking. And we have sex. Lots and lots of delicious sex. I never seem to able to get enough of him, and we’ve been together months now. I would have thought that side of things might wane a little, but no; we still want one another with a passion bordering on obsession.

  The sun hits my hand, and the ring on my left finger sparkles beautifully. Ilya asked me to marry him again, and this time I said yes. He gave me the ring and told me he loved me, and today he called me his fiancée one of the scariest men I’ve ever met. I bite back a small smile at the rush of adrenalin at all that has happened.

  I love Ilya. He takes care of me. He also takes care of my family, even though they don’t know it. He set up a dummy account to funnel money to my brother, so at least I know my blood is looked after. I feel awful that my brother thinks I am missing, presumed dead, but he has help now financially, most of which he gambles away, but that’s his choice. I can’t control that. I can only make sure he has the help I wish for him in place.

  I wonder if Ilya and I will have children one day. I’d like to, and I know he would too, but I also worry about this world he lives in and if it is safe for us to bring a child into it. Today’s visit didn’t help those fears.

  His two friends and their wives who visit us don’t have kids. I’ve never asked, but I’ve often wondered if it is because of the murky world we all belong to.

  Deciding I need another drink, I kiss Ilya once more and then head inside the cool interior of the house. I’ve had some of the place redecorated so it fits more with my personality, but the pool room and main drawing room I have left the way Ilya’s wife did them. I feel it is only right, and one day, I plan to hold a ball in her honor.

  She’s not someone I am jealous of, as I thought I might be. At first, Ilya cleared some of the photos of her and him away, but I told him to put them back. She was a huge part of his life, and it is tragic she is gone; she shouldn’t be forgotten too. He loved her deeply, and I want him to feel free to honor that love.

  I look over at him from the door as he raises his face to the sun, and my heart tugs at his dark hair shining in the light. He’s so damn handsome to me it hurts.

  I don’t think I will ever get bored of his face. Or his body. My mind turns to dirty thoughts as I remember him fucking me hard last night, his big body working above mine, taking us both where we wanted to be.

  My ring catches the light, and my stomach does a little somersault like it does every time I think about marrying my man. I admire the ring for a moment. It is stunning, not overly blingy, he knows my thoughts on that, and kind of retro, which I love. I still wear the necklace he bought me with the tracker in it too. I don’t mind at all that he can find me wherever I am. In fact, it makes me feel secure. And it goes both ways because he let me put one in his watch.

  So here we are. Living in a house where my normal middle-class friend and her son come to visit, and on the same day so do arms dealers. We have trackers in one another’s jewelry, and fuck as if we only met the day before, and I’ve never been happier.

  I walk into the house, my house, and I vow to be the strong wife Ilya will need.

  If as he says there is trouble brewing and things changing, he needs an ally he can trust no matter what, and that ally is me.

  I’ll always be his rock.

  I love him.

  It’s as simple as that.

  Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this free peek into my Bratva world. If you haven’t read the explosive story of Violet and Andrius yet, you can start it with a FREE prequel.

  Want a taste? I have attached the first chapter for you on the next page, but before I share that, I want to tell you about a NEW series I have coming late this spring. Bratva Blood will follow the story of Konstantin and the woman he makes his. It will follow on from the Bratva Vows series but can be read as a standalone duet. At the very end of this novella—after the preview chapter of Th
e Trap—I have included the opening scene of Konstantin’s story, The Monster: Bratva Blood Prequel. I will share the release date as soon as I have it via my newsletter, so keep your eyes peeled.

  Read on for Chapter One of Andrius’ story.

  THE TRAP

  A Bratva Vows Prequel—Available for free now!

  I saw a possible threat; he saw a victim in waiting.

  Violet:

  I had a plan. A naïve and dangerous plan. Get the mob boss to notice me, seduce the mob boss, kill the mob boss. Except the elderly mob boss wasn’t the only one to notice me.

  He did.

  Andrius.

  Beautiful. Cold. Deadly.

  He’s a monster amongst men.

  I crave him. I fear him.

  Then one day…I’m taken and given to him.

  The trap is set.

  VIOLET

  I’m a lamb amongst wolves in this place.

  Fear gives off a scent, one most people don’t notice but predators do. They can smell it on you, see it in the size of your pupils, hear it in the rate of your breathing.

  I’m a lamb amongst wolves, and I must show no fear. I made a vow, and I will do all I can to keep it.

  All around me the restaurant buzzes with activity, and yet the small group of men in the corner call to me, demanding my attention even as I know I must ignore them, act natural.

  I hope and pray I’m not offering myself up to the slaughter, but if I am then please let me take the disgusting old man in the corner with me.

  Glasses clink as couples enjoy a romantic night out. Low lights give the restaurant a warm ambience, and thick tablecloths and wallpaper absorb the noise, unlike many modern places.

  The clientele are mostly middle-aged couples, those with enough money to eat in one of the top restaurants in north England.

  At the far table, though, set in a dim recess, sit the wolves. They surround and protect the object of my hate.

  Allyov.