Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2)

by Nicole Fox

Annoyance zips across his eyes. There’s so much pride there that it’s a wonder I never noticed it before.

  “It must have burned you,” I guess softly. “Taking orders from my father, doing his bidding, and deferring to him at every turn. Must’ve fucking chewed away at your soul every goddamn time. Is that why you did this?”

  “I’ve been planning this little takeover for the last few years, yes,” Budimir agrees. “Which is right around the time I started poisoning your father.”

  I freeze, my blood going cold as I repeat Budimir’s words in my head.

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “That got your attention… Hmm, yes,” Budimir nods. “I’ve been poisoning him for years now. Old bastard wouldn’t go down easy, though.”

  My heartbeat thunders in my chest, loud and insistent and pumping with anger so strong that I bite down on my tongue and taste blood almost immediately.

  It takes a moment to focus my attention back on Budimir.

  When I do, I see red.

  “You fucking bastard,” I spit. “Traitor. Coward. Murderer.”

  “You really didn’t know?”

  The red haze of my fury intensifies, but I can’t bring myself to respond.

  There is no excuse for my inattention. I should’ve seen. I should’ve stopped it.

  I should’ve saved my father.

  “Of course you didn’t know,” Budimir tuts smugly. He’s obviously trying to goad me. “You were so wrapped up in your own anger, your pain, your grief, that you never saw what was right under your nose.”

  I feel sick with shame, but I can’t dwell on that right now.

  “Your father was a sharp man,” my uncle continues. “And he was dedicated to the Bratva. He knew I had ambitions, he knew I wasn’t always content with being his second, but he also assumed my loyalty would trump the rest.”

  I say nothing. I just kneel in the dirt and think about how I could’ve been so blind.

  “His assumption was not the only thing that worked against him however,” Budimir continues. “I was careful and smart and above all, I was patient. I started poisoning him in doses so small it was nearly impossible to detect. As his condition deteriorated and doctors got involved, I made sure to find the right doctors, the ones that would tell him what I wanted them to, rather than the truth of what was happening to him.”

  Each new revelation feels like a hot brand being pushed into my flesh. My restraints are tight and I can barely move in them, but I push them against the ropes anyway, leaving gnashes against my wrists as I apply more and more pressure.

  “The two of you have run the Bratva together for four decades,” I point out. “Four fucking decades. He was your brother!”

  “True enough,” Budimir admits. “And I regret the lengths I was forced to go to. But he was not fit to lead the Bratva.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” I demand, taking that statement personally. “His name struck fear into everyone who heard it.”

  “He built his reputation well. But he was not as ambitious or as ruthless as he should have been. Age and illness was making him weak. And the sicker he got, the more he spoke about you.”

  I raise my eyebrows and hold my breath, unsure if I want to hear what was coming next.

  “He was nervous of you,” Budimir says. “He was uncertain of how you might lead, but he was still convinced that you would rise to the challenge.”

  His words slap me right across the face. I feel a strange sense of loss pass through me.

  It makes me realize how little time I spent with Stanislav. How little I really knew about the man.

  All our conversations inevitably turned into arguments. After a point, I had tried to avoid them altogether.

  Perhaps if I’d put my pride aside, I might have been better able to know the man I was forced to bury.

  “I knew I couldn’t hand the Bratva over to you,” Budimir goes on, darkness edging back into his tone. “You’re not fit to lead us. You’re not fit to lead me.”

  I raise my eyes to his, wiping them of emotion first. “So that’s it, then?” I ask. “You didn’t want to take orders from your nephew.”

  “I was insulted that Stanislav didn’t even consider the possibility that I might have more to offer than you,” he continues. “I have no sons, which means you would have inherited the Bratva in time.”

  “After you.”

  Budimir nods. “After me. I floated the suggestion one morning some years ago when you were still in the throes of grief over your woman. You had been a boundless disappointment and I felt sure that Stanislav would see the wisdom in my suggestion.”

  “He denied you,” I guess.

  “Denying me would have been one thing,” Budimir grits. “He treated it as a joke. Practically laughed in my face.”

  I grind my teeth. Mistake after mistake after mistake that I made. It cost my father his life.

  It’s about to cost me mine.

  “You still hear his laughter, don’t you?” I ask. Goading him is the only real weapon I have at my disposal at this point. I might as well go down swinging.

  “Every single fucking day,” Budimir seethes.

  My muscles clamp tight with fury, but I remain on my knees as adrenaline courses through my body.

  My uncle blinks and looks around like he’s waking up out of a trance. “Enough. Where’s the girl?”

  I don’t flinch. Don’t so much as blink as I glance up at him, my eyebrows knitting together.

  “What?”

  “The girl,” Budimir fills in impatiently. “Moreno’s daughter.”

  “Oh,” I say like I’m just now understanding. “So you don’t have her?”

  Budimir frowns. “You’re saying you don’t either?”

  “The last time I saw her was in the clinic right before your men stormed the place,” I tell him. “I came back but you had already taken the clinic and she had disappeared.”

  “Ah, yes,” Budimir recalls. “I do believe you left me a message.”

  I remember the blood message carved into the traitor’s skin.

  Tvoi dni sochteny.

  Your days are numbered.

  “You never did come for me, though,” Budimir muses, almost as an afterthought. He sounds almost disappointed. “I really expected more from you. I expected you to want revenge.”

  “I do.”

  “Really?” Budimir asks. “As far as I can see, you’ve been hiding up here in the mountains all by yourself.”

  “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

  Budimir smiles. “As I said to Stanislav enough times, you are nothing more than a disappointment. The girl should have been married to me. I would have used her to full advantage.”

  “Another request that my father obviously denied?” I ask.

  I try to hide how my blood boils at the thought of Esme in Budimir’s bed. His nasty fingers over her skin, threading through her hair…

  Over my dead fucking body.

  “Stanislav was blind when it came to you,” Budimir goes on. He’s feeling very fucking long-winded tonight, it seems. “You always thought he was hard on you. And he was, to an extent, but mostly to your face. Behind closed doors, he fought for you. Why, I don’t know. I think he was trying to preserve his legacy. And I suppose he wanted to see you happy.”

  It feels like a knife, shiny and cold, is being plunged into my ribcage. I can feel the chafing around my wrists where the skin has started to tear down against the rope.

  But I welcome the pain.

  I need the distraction.

  “Don’t you worry. You won’t have to bear the weight of the Bratva any longer,” Budimir reassures me. “Once I’ve dealt with you, I will find your pretty little wife and make her mine. And in doing so, I will solidify whatever connections her father maintained. The Bratva will live on under a true leader.”

  “You will never be don,” I snarl at him. “Not truly.”

  The wrinkles on Budimir’s fa
ce deepen as he turns on me, black hatred etched across his face. His eyes are dark and beady, but bright with assumed victory.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, nephew,” Budimir drawls, “I am already don. The powerful take what they want. And I took the Bratva.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” I fire back. “You’re right about me. I was unfit to lead the Bratva, but that was then. I am a different man now. I have grown up, I have matured, and most of all, I have learnt. And the most important lesson I have learnt is that some things can never be taken by force. Loyalty, for instance. And trust. Your men follow you not because they are loyal, but because they’ve been made promises. And when a better offer comes along, they will stab you in the back the same way you stabbed my father in the back.”

  Budimir considers my words carefully.

  I can see that I’ve got under his skin just a little. That makes me bear down, unwilling to let go of the miniscule edge I’ve gained.

  “You want to prove you’re the rightful don?” I go on. “You want your men to die for you if need be? Well, then prove to them that you’re willing to die for them.”

  Budimir’s eyes glimmer. “And how would I do that?”

  “Fight me,” I say instantly. “Just you and me. Hand-to-hand combat. No weapons.”

  Budimir’s eyes narrow. I anticipate his refusal. I don’t truly believe he will entertain the thought for a moment, but I do want to humiliate him in front of his men.

  If nothing else, it will eat at him like my father’s laughter still does.

  “A fight for the Bratva?” Budimir asks mildly. “An archaic tradition.”

  “But simple,” I retort, “and straightforward. Unless, of course, you’re scared, uncle.”

  His eyes flare with anger. I know I’ve already bruised his wounded ego. It doesn’t take much, apparently.

  There is so much I should have been before now. I have been blind.

  “Very well.”

  The words are flat and dark. I can only stare back at Budimir.

  “What?”

  “You want a fight?” he asks. “You’ve got one. You and me, hand to hand combat, no weapons.”

  He’s got something up his sleeve.

  I know enough about Budimir to know that he never enters into a fight he can’t win. Which means he’s confident he’s going to kill me.

  But he’s never come up against me before. If this is the only chance I’ll get, then I swear to see him on his knees before me before the night is done.

  “Cut his restraints,” Budimir orders.

  There’s slight hesitation amongst the ranks that forces Budimir to issue the order again.

  “Cut his restraints,” he barks. “Now!”

  I don’t know what the old man is playing at, but I’m certainly not going to waste this opportunity.

  He thinks he can fuck with me?

  I’ll just have to fuck him over first.

  The moment I’m cut loose, I get to my feet, stretching slowly so that my muscles loosen up again. Blood flows to my hands and my ankles as I try and shake off the unsteadiness.

  Budimir looks at me through eyes that have narrowed into slits, but he looks remarkably calm for a seventy-year-old man who’s about to take on someone less than half his age.

  “You don’t mind a quick pat-down first, do you nephew?” Budimir asks politely.

  I grunt in response. Immediately, two of his men come forward and pat me down quickly. They remove the knife in my boot and the one in the waistband of my pants.

  I am left bare, completely unprotected. The only weapons at my disposal now are my fists and my mind.

  My uncle steps forward and shrugs off his dark jacket. His white shirt is impeccably crisp and taut against his torso.

  I have to admit—for an older man, Budimir is in good shape.

  “I may be old, nephew,” Budimir says, as his hands roll into fists. “But that doesn’t mean you’re going to win.”

  “Give me a good fight, old man,” I snarl at him. “I’m aching for blood tonight.”

  5

  Artem

  We circle each other. Budimir’s men form a tight ring around us.

  I’m no fool. I know there’s no I can walk out of this ring, whether or not I win.

  But hopefully, if I can get Budimir at my mercy, I can use him as leverage to get myself out from under their fire. That’s the murky plan forming in my head as we size each other up.

  I try and read the intention in Budimir’s face, I try and predict his next move, but his eyes are black pits of determination.

  “I thought of you as a second father,” I hear myself say in a low voice.

  “I know you did,” Budimir says. “You were meant to. I worked carefully to maintain my relationship with you. I didn’t want you getting suspicious. Of course, I didn’t have anything to worry about once your head was turned by that woman.”

  Marisha.

  “You should have known, Artem. Women exploit your weaknesses, and if they don’t, they make you weak.”

  “The time for talking is done, old man,” I snap. I’ve had enough of his preaching. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Budimir laughs. “The impatience of youth. That’s where we differ. See, I like to take my time.”

  Then he lunges.

  I bolt to the side, grab his outstretched arm, and twist it back.

  He manages to slip out of my grasp, taking advantage of the fact that my wrists are stiff and vulnerable from the restraints.

  The moment he’s free, he swings at me, decking me square in the jaw before I can get out of the way.

  The punch was badly placed. It only succeeds in pissing me off.

  I move forward with a vengeance and hit him once in the stomach. When he keels over, I strike him in the face.

  Blood blossoms around his nose, but I know I haven’t yet broken it.

  I grab his neck viciously and force him to double over. One well-placed blow to the back of the head will send him to his knees. I cock back, ready to end this right fucking now.

  But it’s all too easy. Too quick.

  Budimir’s men are quiet as they watch us. Even in the face of their supposed don’s approaching defeat, they remain damn near impassive.

  My instincts warn me a second before I see the glint of a steel blade.

  Budimir’s arm lashes out and buries the blade in the side of my stomach.

  Pain bursts in me like fireworks. I grunt and stumble backward as it radiates through my torso. My hands scrabble at my side and find the blade still buried to the hilt in me. Blood gushes endlessly.

  Gritting my teeth and refusing to drop to my knees again, I grip the hilt of the dagger and draw it out. It’s pure agony.

  Budimir stands where I left him, still hunched over, a trickle of blood running from his nose into his beard.

  I raise my hand, ready to fling the dagger right into Budimir’s heart.

  He nods at someone behind me.

  And a gunshot pierces straight through the hand that’s holding the dagger.

  The knife clatters to the forest floor. A sensation like a red-hot poker drills through my bicep. The hand on that arm goes limp and useless.

  I don’t bother turning to the man who shot me.

  Instead, I keep my eyes on Budimir. I have to channel all my remaining strength into staying on my feet. Even then, I barely manage it. I’m swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor.

  “I shouldn’t be surprised,” I spit. The pain is clouding all my senses, pressing in around me from all sides. “How could a man like you know anything about an honorable fight?”

  “This is exactly why you would never make a good Don, nephew,” Budimir sighs. He wipes the blood off his face. His men move closer, flanking him on either side. “It’s not about honor or loyalty. It’s about power and the men ruthless enough to wield it. I will do what I have to, to get what I want. And those who cross me will die. Just like you are about to do.”

&
nbsp; Budimir reaches out his hand. A gun is placed against his palm. His fingers curl around the grip and he raises it to my forehead.

  “Say hello to your father for me, will you?” He grins triumphantly.

  I close my eyes and picture my wife. My child. My best friend.

  I’m leaving them all behind. I wasn’t good enough.

  Forgive me.

  6

  Artem

  “What the fuck is that?”

  I open my eyes.

  Budimir is still holding the gun to my forehead. He hasn’t pulled the trigger. The pain of the stab wound and the gunshot are overwhelming. I strain against my thundering heartbeat.

  That’s when I hear the noise that stopped him.

  Running footsteps and the crunch of leaves underneath heavy boots.

  A gunshot blasts through the air. Instantly, one of the masked soldiers crumples to the forest floor, blood spurting from his neck.

  Budimir ducks, falling behind his men who converge around him. I duck away too, but his men surround me, their guns jabbing into my blood-soaked ribs.

  In the darkness surrounding the clearing, a flash of yellow-gold.

  Then another bullet slices through the air.

  One of the men standing in front of Budimir drops to the ground, his eyes wide even in death.

  The soldiers jump into action. Guns clack as they are racked and aimed. The nearest troops pour into the shadows.

  I hear the sound of a fist meeting flesh. A grunt—so achingly familiar.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  “Bring him to me!” Budimir commands. His tone is black with anger.

  From the trees, a pair of soldiers re-emerge into the moonlit clearing.

  They’re holding Cillian’s limp, bloodied frame between them.

  My shoulders sag at the sight of him.

  He’s going to die with me here. All because he cared enough to try and save me.

  Against all odds. Against all reason…

  He tried.

  “Ah, the Irishman,” my uncle groans in exasperation. “I should have known he was up here with you.”

  Cillian looks like shit. There’s a nasty gash in his arm and an appalling lack of color in his face. If he loses much more blood, no amount of medical attention will save him.