Prince of the Brotherhood: A Mafia Romance

by K. Alex Walker

  She started toward the kitchen, but a voice called out to her from the other side of the door.

  “E? It’s me.”

  “Colin?” She hurried over and tugged the door open. “What are you doing here?”

  Colin looked fresh-faced and stubble-free, which hadn’t been the case for the majority of the time they’d worked on the Bratva operation. He’d gelled his fiery hair back away from his forehead, his eyes always a bright, expressive blue…even in the middle of gunfire. And he was wearing the traditional “tourist in the Caribbean” wear—a colorful button-up, khakis, and thong slippers.

  Behind him, a gray head peeked.

  “Hi, Lourdes,” Eija greeted and stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  “Good morning, Miss Brown,” the resort’s oldest housekeeper said, her voice raspy and melodic. “I have breakfast for you and,” she glanced at Colin, “a friend.”

  Lourdes came every morning to bring her breakfast. The resort knew she was leaving today, but they’d had food sent up anyhow.

  “What about me?” Colin asked, grinning wide.

  She waved him inside. “Get in here. Randy sent you back, didn’t he?”

  Colin stepped inside, the door shutting behind him. “He wanted to know why you stayed two weeks over.”

  She motioned around. “I’m in paradise.”

  “Miss Brown,” Lourdes called. “Do you need this?”

  Eija squinted to see what Lourdes held up—a card with the resort’s logo and contact information on the front. After today, she wouldn’t need anything with the resort’s logo.

  “You can toss it.”

  Lourdes glanced at the back, nodded, and dropped it into the trash before removing the bag and tying the end.

  Colin looked from the bed to Eija’s hair. “Hmm.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Whenever am I not?”

  “When you’re working.”

  “Well, there were times I wasn’t.”

  He made himself comfortable on the sofa. Lourdes let them know she’d be back later to finish cleaning up, pinched Eija’s cheek, and quietly shut the door behind her as she left.

  “So, who was he?” Colin crossed his right ankle over his left knee. “Or has your sexual prowess evolved since you left Lyon, and it’s now either a she or a full-on furry orgy?”

  Eija padded to the bathroom. “Nobody.”

  “They can’t be a nobody.” Colin hopped up and followed her. “They slept here.”

  “And?”

  “They really slept here? E, not even I get to sleep over at your place anymore.”

  “That’s because you snore, eat all my food, and your hair gets everywhere.” She shooed him. “Get out so I can pee, shower, and get ready to go to the airport. I don’t know why Randy sent you. I don’t need a handler.”

  “He thought it might have been difficult for you to leave. This is your parents’ birthplace, after all, and you did spend your ‘formative’ years here.”

  She stood with her hands on her hips, facing the mirror, and ran through options of what to do with her hair that would leave it the least tangled until she got home. To get it into a ponytail in its current state, she would need a lot of water and copious amounts of gel. Not even a beanie would work. It was frozen in this curly ‘fro until wash day.

  “I barely have any family left here.” She ruffled the right side of a squashed combination of highlighted curls, kinks, and coils. “I’ll be fine to leave. Why are you really here?”

  “I swear to God that’s the reason,” he said.

  She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Truthfully?”

  “Of course. I’m your partner. You gave me your blood when I had six bullets in me. I was worried about you, and I wanted to make sure I saw you because if I called, you’d lie to me about how you really are. And…Randy wants to meet tomorrow.”

  Her brows narrowed. “He wants to debrief tomorrow? I won’t even be finished going through protocol by then.”

  “He said it’s urgent.”

  It always was with their head of organized crime, Randy Almas. Everything was urgent. He was a walking, talking CNN breaking news headline.

  “Is Sokolov talking?” she asked.

  “The kid still won’t cop to the name.” Colin stood next to her. “But, we’re working him.”

  “What about head tatts guy?”

  “He’s not talking at all.”

  The elephant had left her chest, but a blue whale had replaced the vacancy. She’d come on to Andrei the entire time, and the entire time, he’d turned her down. When he finally got what he wanted, he dipped? Why? It was good sex! Granted, she’d been too caught up to remember to go down on him. Was that why he’d left? Did he believe she “didn’t do that” when she would have sucked—

  “E?”

  Her gaze flicked to Colin’s. “Um…Lourdes always brings food for two. Help yourself.”

  “Why does she always bring food for two?”

  “A girl gets lonely.”

  “Damn, E.” He eyed her. “Save some scraps for the rest of us. Do you know when’s the last time I got some pussy?”

  “Christmas.” She faced him and laid her hands on his shoulders. “And I think it’s because you want the same pussy.”

  “I’m not having this conversation.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Colin backed out of the bathroom. “Pee, take your shower, and come eat breakfast. Then, let’s go home.”

  Chapter 6

  Eija tossed a manila folder on the table in front of her. Dominik Sokolov no longer looked as young as he had at the resort. His wheat-colored hair hung in dirtied strings tinged with blood. Bruises, both fresh and healing, covered his face. Caked dirt blackened his cuticles and nail beds, his nails jagged with some completely missing. Both he and his tattooed partner had been put through hell. While Dominik did speak, the information he gave them was either useless or a flat-out lie. They’d given up on Head Tatts. All they’d gotten from him was his name—Sergei.

  She pulled out a chair, sat, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You look different.” Dominik smiled and switched to Russian. “You’re the pretty woman from the beach.”

  Colin entered the room and took the seat next to her.

  Dominik didn’t so much as glance at him.

  “That’s me,” Eija replied. “You can call me Officer Barrett.”

  “You speak Russian?”

  She motioned to herself and Colin. “We both do, but you already know about him.”

  “With you, it’s unexpected because of your color,” Dominik went on. “And because of that, it’s incredibly sexy.”

  “Thanks. Let’s talk.”

  “Just the two of us.”

  “That’s not the agreement.”

  Dominik leaned back in his chair, raised his bound hands, and made a motion that his lips were sealed. Eija looked over at Colin, who shook his head.

  “Go.” She nodded. “I’m fine.”

  Colin pushed his chair back, stood, and stormed out of the room. Dominik stared at the door until it shut, then turned back to Eija.

  “You want to talk to me,” she said. “So talk.”

  “Will you show me your breasts again?”

  “You’ve lost that privilege.”

  He frowned. “It doesn’t matter. I have a picture of them in my head. I should have sucked them before you poisoned me.”

  “If I’d poisoned you, you’d be dead.”

  Dominik ticked his head in agreement and leaned forward, his elbows on the tabletop. He dragged his gaze over her, and although she was sitting, he looked at her like he could see through her gray pants, black shirt, and black blazer. If he felt special then good on him, but she used whatever assets she needed to use to get her target. Some of those happened to be attached to her body.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “First, confirm your identity. Your name is Dominik Sokolov.” />
  “It is not.”

  She opened the folder. “Do you know this man?”

  “I don’t know. You should have gotten your cameraman to focus a little better.”

  “His name is Yuri Sokolov, and he’s the head of the Bratva.” She showed him a second photo. “This is Ekaterina Sokolov, his wife. She has red hair and green eyes. Yuri is blond with brown eyes,” she pointed at him, “like you. You have the same bone structure, the same face shape, and a striking resemblance.”

  Dominik squinted at the picture of Yuri. “You’re right. I’ve never noticed that before.”

  “This process would go so much easier if you’d just come clean, Dominik.” She pushed both photos toward him. “You might have noticed that we operate a little differently here. You lost your rights the minute they brought you into this building. Here, there’s no due process, no courts or trials. Here, you’re tipped backward in a chair. Your head is covered with cloth, and a bucket of water is drenched over your face until you come so close to drowning, one of your lungs shuts down.”

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s not so bad. It’s like kindergarten in Russia.”

  Eija sighed and shook her head. They knew they would have met pushback, but she wasn’t expecting this much. From what they knew, Yuri loved his son. Treasured his son. They believed that was part of the reason no one knew what Dominik looked like, and INTERPOL hadn’t even known he’d existed until she’d discovered him a little over four years ago. What better way to protect your child from enemies than to camouflage them in plain sight?

  “You work for who?” he asked, staring at her chest.

  “I.C.P.O.”

  “INTERPOL doesn’t have officers.”

  “Oh, did you read that on Wikipedia?”

  He stared a bit longer and then let his head fall, stringy hair all but peeling from the strands matted to his scalp. Rocking side to side, he sang, “King Henry VIII, to six wives he was wedded. One died, one survived, two divorced, two beheaded. Do you know your history, lapushka? Do you know about King Henry the Eighth?”

  “He’s the prick with all the wives who he killed because his Y-chromosome carrying sperm were all slow as shit.”

  Dominik raised his head. “He tried and tried for a son, but his wives kept giving him daughters.”

  “In the end, he had two. What’s your point?”

  His gaze fell to her mouth. In this room and building, she didn’t use wiles or whatever it was that made men wilt as soon as she showed a little flesh. This was work. The most he would get from her in this windowless box was an eye-roll and a boatload of fake smiles.

  “If I’m here with you, then the Prince of the Bratva exists,” he said, nostrils flaring slightly. “And you don’t know what he looks like.”

  She grunted. “I’m looking right at him.”

  “Lapushka, my name is Vasily, not Dominik. Yes, I would have the same grandfather as Dominik. My grandfather had one son and three daughters. One of the daughters was my mother.”

  “So you do know Yuri is what you’re saying.”

  Watching him, for the first time in a long time, Eija got a sinking feeling in her gut. He was too relaxed. His eyes were clear as he spoke, and they rolled around in his skull like he was pulling up memories from long ago. But he was Bratva. The organization had taught him to lie if captured. What the Bratva would do to him if he snitched was much worse than what they ever could.

  “Lapushka,” his tone softened, “you’re looking for a face you have never seen. You’re looking for a face I have never seen. But, even though I have not, I’m positive you don’t know what Dominik looks like.”

  “And how’s that?”

  “Because you are here with me.”

  This man had been in the same place where they’d learned Dominik was hiding out. He looked too much like Yuri, but that could be explained through the fact that he’d admitted to being Yuri’s nephew. She’d met her niece exactly three times, and even though it was her sister and ex’s child, Analeigh looked like she could be hers.

  “Yuri has six daughters.” Vasily held up six fingers. “But rumor is, he has a son.” He lowered all his fingers except for the middle. “And that son is not me.”

  The door to the room opened, and Colin poked his head in.

  “Randy wants to see us.”

  Eija left the chair, the heat of Vasily’s gaze on her ass, and followed Colin out the door into a long, narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway, they climbed a flight of stairs and pushed through a door. Bright lights blinded them as they were thrust into an open area filled with junior analysts either seated at computers or flitting about. The low buzz of clicking keyboard keys and chatter followed her and Colin around desks, the analysts scurrying from one side of the room to the other.

  They took the elevator to the top floor of the building. Their building was several blocks from the actual INTERPOL headquarters, and it was more on the modern side, stood four stories high, and had been designed by the same architect who’d conceptualized the Musee des Confluences. It didn’t look like a government agency building which, she figured, was the point.

  If she’d had to describe, in a few words, what her job was like, she would say it was a combination between the intelligence and clandestine work of the CIA and the law enforcement aspects of the FBI. Because she’d excelled as an officer in the CIA, her old supervisor had nominated her for this position, and she’d fit in almost immediately.

  “E, you don’t look so good.”

  Eija looked up to find Colin staring at her. “It’s my stomach.”

  “Something you ate?”

  “No. Something I did.”

  “Like…what?”

  “Jump the gun.” She lowered her voice. “Fuck, Colin. I don’t think he’s lying.”

  “Who?”

  “Vasily.”

  The elevator doors opened, and the walk to Randy’s office felt like the green mile. She knew the reason he’d pulled her out of the interrogation. They had something. They’d found something that would prove Vasily really was who he said he was, and Randy would use this as the moment to prove that her jumping the gun wasn’t always going to work out in her favor. In the four years she’d worked for the agency, it would be the first time she’d messed up after disobeying orders, and he’d been waiting all this time to throw something like this back in her face.

  Colin opened the door.

  She stepped through, and he followed her like the child who wanted to get their licks second because their parent would use up all their strength punishing the first.

  “Close it.” Randy didn’t look up. “Sit.”

  She and Colin sat in the chairs on the other side of Randy’s desk. Colin reached across and squeezed her hand. She sent him a shaky smile.

  “I think you’ve guessed by now why you’re up here.” Randy raised his head, his salt and pepper hair gelled to perfection and his olive jawline clean shaven. “We just got word that Dominik Sokolov is in Moscow.”

  How?

  How was he in Moscow?

  Everything had pointed to him being in Grenada. The odds of him being anywhere else were—

  “He wasn’t in Grenada,” Randy said. “Our information was wrong. He was in Aruba.”

  “How do we know he was in Aruba?” she asked.

  Randy slid a tablet their way. “Recognize anyone?”

  It was an image of Yuri Sokolov at a resort standing near a long, black limousine. Ekaterina was on his arm, both of them laughing together like a couple who didn’t head one of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world. There wasn’t anything remotely hilarious about arms, drugs, and human trafficking, thousands of deaths, political interference, and money laundering.

  “This was taken the night before you took down Vasily and Sergei,” Randy said. “We’re pretty certain they were there to retrieve Dominik.”

  The blue Aruban flag, red star and yellow stripes in high definition, flew in the di
stance. Again, Sokolov knew they were watching him. He’d all but posed for the picture, the flag in the background a tease. A way to show them how far off they’d been.

  “We needed an ID, Barrett.”

  “And I brought you a human.” She held up two fingers. “Two humans.”

  “The wrong ones.”

  “We didn’t know that until we got them here. What if Vasily had been Dominik? We’d have just a picture of him. Then what?”

  “Then we’d gather more intel!” Randy slammed his fists on the tabletop. “We orchestrate these operations this way for a reason, Barrett. For efficient execution and the safety of our agents. This was your op. We sent you in blind and with minimal backup, and you came back with the wrong target.”

  She stopped a half-second before she rolled her eyes. It was one mistake. Granted, it was one huge mistake considering they’d been working the Sokolov crime family, in some capacity, even before she’d arrived at INTERPOL. But the reason she’d been given the privileges she had was because she was good at what she did. This slip-up didn’t change that. Come hell or high water, she was going back in.

  She pushed the tablet away. “So what now?”

  “Now?” Randy raised a thick eyebrow. “Now, we put you on a desk.”

  “I’m not sitting behind a desk.”

  “Oh, so you run the agency?”

  “Randy,” she leaned forward, fingers clasped, “I still brought you Sokolov lineage. Vasily is family.”

  He released a hard sigh, reclined in his leather chair, and picked at the skin on his bottom lip. At least she hadn’t driven him back to smoking. His lips might end up sore and cracked because of the stress she brought him daily, but lung cancer was no longer a guarantee.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” she goaded.

  Randy looked at Colin.

  “I have nothing to say,” Colin said. “This was all E’s op. I just support her the way I always do.”