Bratva Dark Allegiance: The Complete Collection

by Raven Scott

  None of that was unique. None of that wasn’t something I’d go my entire life without experiencing. Aleksander was master of all and appeaser of none. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted. And what he wanted was—

  “Santino.” Darren sauntered out of the house, a cigarette hanging from his lips, he sparked up to glance at me under the flames. “He’s right. You’re impressive, how fast you figure shit out. It took me years to realize that Vyachaslav can walk circles around me, and I’d never be able to follow it.”

  “Are you going to America, too?”

  Shaking his head as he took a deep drag of his cigarette, Darren frowned as he held his breath for a long moment. “Not immediately, unfortunately. I’m not supposed to come in until after you’ve done your job. It’ll be nice not to have that asshole brother of Carlyle’s take cut from me, though. You know, I once watched Oran Santino beat a man to death with his bare hands simply because he was frustrated at having to hold a gun? I mean, the guy has probably never shot a gun in his life, but he could kill you without you even knowing it. All the arms I move into the States and Mexico, I have to sell to them, first.” He exhaled through his nose as he spoke. Darren frowned under furrowed brows when he dropped to lounge on the steps. “I didn’t know Aleksander was gonna say that, no offence. I mean you’re hot, Ophelia, but you’re not that hot that I’d go through with that. It’d kill my business if I was married and unfaithful. These people have the strangest scruples.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend or something?” I asked.

  Darren reached to scratch the back of his head and ruffle his sleek, dirty blonde hair, lightened by years of harsh sunlight. “More like I’ve been chasing this solid goddess-level beauty for a few years, but all she wants is to fuck me. She’s a model in America, the only reason why I support this shit Aleksander’s doing. The agency she’s with is under one of Carlyle Santino’s shell corporations.”

  My brows rose at his downtrodden tone. I knew next to nothing about him, but his actions alone told me a good deal.

  Darren shook his head before sucking on the butt of his cigarette. “Anyway, I hope things get better for you, because if you do pull this off with Santino, you’ll be untouchable, and you can have the life you want, Ophelia.”

  31

  Sascha

  Taking Ophelia’s hand in my own, I lifted her fingers to lips before she looked at me for the first time. When Malda came to me, told me Ophelia was in a bad way, I didn’t think it could be this bad. I knew she was troubled by Aleksander and how incredibly ironclad the man was but witnessing her smacking Envre across the face was… disparaging.

  “I don’t know what to do, Sascha— tell me what to do.”

  Ophelia had never asked me what she should do, and worry dug deep into my chest. She wanted advice, she wanted a perspective, but never did she say those five words.

  Her red-rimmed eyes trained on mine, searching for an answer I couldn’t give. Rasping a sigh, she ducked her head to her knees.

  I wrapped my arms around her. “I don’t know how to navigate this situation, Oppie, but I’ll be by your side as you learn.” I wasn’t sure how much she thought I saw, but a sickness roiled my stomach and tightened my throat. Those so recent memories bombarded my mind’s eye, circling over and over again. Ophelia hit Envre— said those awful words she’d been too uncertain to speak before now. That moment when she realized this all had went just exactly how Aleksander Makovich planned. The hopelessness of someone always on top suddenly being plummeted to the middle.

  No, it wasn’t rock bottom, but this might even be worse. Being caught in the middle meant that ‘up’ wasn’t the only option, here.

  “Don’t worry about Aleksander.”

  Ophelia stiffened briefly at Darren’s drawl.

  I glanced over at him as he sprawled on the wide stairs. I couldn’t imagine it was all that comfortable, but I kept my mouth shut as his opened.

  “He’s an asshole at first, yeah…but he’ll relax once he gets what he wants from you. At least you have the benefit of knowing what it is. The way he’s been treating you isn’t okay, Ophelia. You lost your parents and your brother and took on everything they left behind, even though it conflicted with your own life. Aleksander shouldn’t have fucked with your relationship.”

  An ugly sensation smeared my ribs like black tar as Darren went quiet; Aleksander had called me just hours ago asking for advice for his own girlfriend while actively trying to push mine over the edge. I’m never saying another word to him again. Such a juvenile thought, but it was true.

  Nothing Aleksander did was genuine—there was always some deeper, darker reason to everything he did and said.

  “I’m going to fix this situation with Santino so good that Makovich will never ask me for anything again.” Mumbling into her knees, Ophelia heaved a massive sigh.

  My heart ached for her. Here we were, sitting on Aleksander’s front steps with no way to move forward. We had to wait on him, and there was no way to force him to move.

  Through the open door, Envre’s yelling was faint enough that I couldn’t make out the words— but she was angry.

  And why wouldn’t she be? Envre had warned Aleksander and as a result of his actions, she’d been slapped. She’d been confronted with the human cost of this business, maybe for the first time. Seeing Aleksander do those terrible, terrible things to people was different than watching him drive someone else to kill herself. Not to mention, Envre could very well see herself in Ophelia. They’re just three or four years apart, I think. Whatever Envre had been through might’ve been close to Ophelia’s situation. Aleksander didn’t see Ophelia as a person, only a piece for him to move as he commanded.

  “It’s going to be a long two weeks until we go to America.” Ophelia lifted her head to take a loud breath in through her nose. “He hasn’t given me any information on the situation.”

  “Because there isn’t any.” Darren lifted his head.

  Ophelia’s breath hitched softly in surprise.

  “Santino took over like 20 years ago and— boom. Just fucked everyone else in the ass, especially the Italians because they resisted. Vyachaslav withdrew on contract as peacefully as could be expected. Ever since, all we’ve managed is trade agreements, basically. They pay us for girls, guns and stuff at a discounted price. It’s the only way we could have a foothold in America. Old Man Santino is a psychopath… a real, confirmed psychopath. Vyachaslav couldn’t contend with that, so he’s been waiting until he could deal with the son- Carlyle. Bad, but not as bad.”

  “Have you met him?” The question slipped out from between Ophelia’s ground teeth, colored in curiosity.

  Darren shook his head, sitting up with a grunt to flick his cigarette into the driveway only to pull another from his pocket. “No, but I’ve dealt with the middle child… Oran Santino. There’s a third, but I heard rumors recently that he’s dead. I’m pretty sure something happened. About two years ago, Carlyle started taking more and more control from his father and whatever happened, changed Oran. He was an angsty douchebag with a big brother complex, but he disappeared for a while, kept sending his little English bitch to deal with me. After he popped back up, he was— just different. Like he came into his own somehow, and wasn’t trying to be his brother. Carlyle Santino and Aleksander Makovich are one in the same, if you ask me. You’re in for one hell of a fight, trying to get either of them too close. Honestly, you’ll be lucky if they don’t try to assassinate each other because you can’t replace people like them.”

  At least ours isn’t the only drama with life-ending potential.

  “What about your girlfriend? Does she let anything slip?” Ophelia asked.

  This conversation was getting difficult for me to follow; Ophelia’s brain just worked so much farther than mine. I wouldn’t have thought to ask about Darren’s girlfriend. I wasn’t even paying attention at that part.

  Shrugging lightly as he sparked up, Darren sucked in a toxic b
reath as he sat back, holding himself on a lanky arm. “She’s seen him once. He came to their headquarters on the California border to meet with this head bitch…some biker chick with a big dog and a lot of street smarts. When I saw Lydia last, she talked about it. Even across the room, she felt like she was in eminent danger. He was watching her, but never so much as glanced at her. She was really troubled recounting it, even though it happened a few months before. For what it’s worth, Lydia’s a mousy, little thing.” He smiled fondly, exhaling through curved lips as his care for this Lydia woman blazed from his eyes.

  Truthfully, it reminded me a lot of how I felt for Ophelia before her parents were killed—before everything went to shit.

  “You know what they say though, the timid mouse is less likely to be eaten than the bold rat.” Darren shrugged.

  “Yeah…”

  Before they could continue the conversation, a shadow fell upon us, and a scowl instantly twisted my face.

  Aleksander actually seemed apologetic and awkward almost, as he cleared his throat.

  Ophelia turned her head the opposite way, waving her injured, stiff hand in disinterest before I reached for it. Her wrist might not have been badly broken, but it was still obviously painful.

  “The next time you want to waste my time, Aleksander…” Hoisting himself to his feet, Darren shot Aleksander a nasty glare as he threw his barely burned cigarette to the ground to grind under his shoe. “Don’t. From now on, you come to me. If you don’t like it, kill me and see how much easier it is to use my corpse.”

  “Are you heading past the train station?” Ophelia spoke up before Darren could stalk off towards his car. “Do you mind giving us a ride?”

  He nodded curtly. “Of course. The least I can do after a terrible date is make sure you get home safely.” Darren held out his hand with a slight wink.

  I unfurled my arm from around Ophelia as she took it to stand.

  “We’ll stop and grab you some clothes, first. I get wanting to come here pre-prepared, but just your underwear is taking that a little too far.”

  “I have an extra shirt in my briefcase she can wear.” I nodded.

  Once we were on the train back to Moscow, we were going to have a talk, Ophelia and I.

  Her glance told me she knew this, as she grabbed my hand to squeeze tightly.

  Standing up myself, I cast Aleksander a glare flooded with all the disappointment and venom I could muster.

  32

  Ophelia

  “Every time I hear his name, I just…” A disgusting taste swarmed my mouth, and I rested my cheek on Sascha’s shoulder to close my eyes. “I’m sorry, Sascha.”

  “You said it yourself, Oppie. You have no experience with him or even anyone like him. It’s okay to be frazzled by new experiences.”

  I cuddled closer to him, savoring his warmth as he worked his arm around my shoulders.

  “At least things went better this time. You learned some important information, and I think it’d be a good idea to foster with Linead. He seems like a level-headed guy, even if you’re not friends, having someone like him on your team can help you.”

  “I’m very aware of my self-esteem issues where Aleksander Makovich is concerned.” I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my tone.

  Sascha squeezed me comfortingly.

  Frowning at the back of the seats in front of us, my throat tightened as every moment I wavered in the past few weeks circled against my eye sockets. “I want to stop feeling so out of control—so worthless. I want to stop feeling like nothing I do is going to matter because I’ll end up like my parents sooner rather than later.”

  “You don’t need me to tell you that letting someone else determine your worth will always make you feel worthless, but you are my everything, Ophelia. If you ever were going to kill yourself, I’d like you to tell me first, so I can be there for you.”

  I felt all the blood drain from my face at Sascha’s earnest statement.

  He pressed his lips to my temple tenderly. “If you feel like you have no choice but to cut your losses, I’ll be there to support you.”

  “Y-you heard that…” Shame thickened my tone, but Sascha didn’t judge me. How could he, when he didn’t understand what kind of pressure I was under? At least, that was how he thought and the conclusion he would come to. His beard tickled my forehead and rustled my eyelashes, and my heart thundered hard but slow in my chest.

  “I will never, ever discredit your feelings. I won’t judge your hardships. I won’t belittle you, or decide what’s best for you. When we got together, I made those promises because you’re young, and my doing any of that wasn’t going to help you grow. Your friends might’ve thought I was a creep, but you’re the one that’s got me wrapped around your finger, not the other way around, Ophelia.”

  My cold face warmed at the conviction of Sascha’s voice.

  He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger to make his point. “When we get back from America, and you’ve achieved what’s needed of you, we’re going to have a new house together. I’m going to quit the university. You’re going to be so sick of me.”

  “… What are you going to do if you don’t teach?”

  Grumbling thoughtfully, Sascha played with my hair as my question hung lightly between us.

  His words settled heavily into the deepest crevices of my brain. We’d have a house together. He loved me for more than my money despite the fact I was swimming in the stuff.

  Speaking of swimming… My present to myself for ‒ well, for nothing specific but being alive ‒ was to build a pond. A nice, expertly plotted pond that I paid almost half of the cost of the actual house for. And my pond would have lots of goldfish in it. Because—

  “I don’t know yet, but I have time,” Sasha answered.” I’m not going to miss teaching all that much, I don’t think.”

  Humming softly in acknowledgment, I rolled my lips between my teeth and cracked my eyes open.

  He went on, “I do want to go to the Summer Festival in Vladivostok next year. Maybe, we should go to all the cool festivals this year? And the Romanian Flower Festival in the Spring. Oktoberfest… Paris’ Pastry Festival in January would be a great way to start…”

  “I’d love that.” I nodded. “I’d love to go to the West and eat all the food. And be with you in all those beautiful places.” But my smile and warm feelings didn’t last; this all hinged on my succeeding in the first place. “I don’t want to leave Russia, but… voluntary vacations? Those would be nice. Being forced to America, of all places, for something I don’t know anything about—I’m uncertain.”

  “But you’re not afraid, Ophelia. You said it yourself. You’re going to fix Aleksander’s pants off. You’re going to do what others failed at and you’re going to do it spectacularly.”

  I wished I had as much confidence in myself as Sascha’s voice in that moment, but our conversation cut short by his cell phone ringing insistently. Unfurling his arm from around me, his face twisted in irritation as he fished out the device from his pocket. “Hey, Malda. We’re on the train right now.”

  Turning my attention to my wrist, I flexed my fingers around the throbbing, fiery ache that stretched up my arm and through my palm. I’d broken bones before, but this hurt more intensely, for some reason. Did I really look like I was just going to toss myself down the stairs? That was stupid. It didn’t work for Rudolf Hess and he had a lot better reason to do it.

  “Oh- yeah? That’s great! Why, though?” Softly nudging me, Sascha stole my attention.

  I glanced up.

  He continued, “It’s nice that you’re coming to America with us, but what happened to going back to babysitting Lyov?”

  My brows rose before drawing sharply, and I pursed my lips thinly. Malda…I liked her. I thought that if we weren’t so skeptical of each other, we could be good friends. More, I was very touched by her actions today. I have to remember to thank her.

  “He disappeared? How can he just disappear?”

>   Instantly, my brain churned out a few reasons why Lyov Makovich had run away and hid. I hadn’t been very kind to him; maybe that had been his breaking point. Having a complete stranger call him out must’ve been much more impactful than people he knew doing so. At some point, he must’ve convinced himself that everyone was out to make him miserable because he killed his mother. Which… really didn’t count. There was no perpetrator in a situation like that— only victims. I felt bad for Lyov and how he must’ve felt all his life, bearing that burden. To be fair, though, there’s times for self-degradation and times for sucking it up and doing his job.

  “Oh… I get it. Okay well, we’ll be in Moscow in about an hour.” They said their goodbyes and hung up, Sascha took my injured hand to slouch in his seat a bit. “When we get there, you need to get patched up.”

  “I can do it at home…” All I had to do was wrap it; going to a hospital would be a waste of time.

  Frowning at me as he prodded my wrist gingerly, Sascha didn’t protest.

  “I like Malda, I think we’d be good friends.”

  “I think she likes you, too, Oppie. But back to the conversation at hand… You may not have particular experience with Aleksander or Santino, but you’ve been a diplomat for Makovich to Ukraine, Romania and Belarus… You can draw on that. You’re not flying blind into this. It just seems overwhelming, but you’re more prepared than you’d think for this.”

  Wincing with a hiss when Sascha hit the tender part of my wrist, I gingerly pulled from his grasp.

  His eyes met mine, narrowed but brimming with confidence.

  “… At least it wasn’t my right hand that I landed on.” Leaning over to kiss him, I palmed Sascha’s crotch heavily, and a smile tilted my lips when he tensed. “I love you, Sascha. You make me a better person.”

  “I love you, too, Ophelia.”