Betrothed to the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 8)

by Hayley Faiman

  “His endgame is to swindle as much money from the Bratva, the men, their families, and the other Pakhan’s until he can crawl away and hide out, spending his days on the sand like all of the other worthless pieces of shit hiding out in tropical locations,” Sergei states from behind me.

  “Sergei,” my father breathes.

  “Tell him, Pasha. It didn’t take me too long to figure it out, but it took long enough. Kudos to you for that. Tell your son and your men why the largest operation in the country yields the least amount of profit? Oh, but they don’t know, do they? They make the most and yet, they’re all taking home a fraction of what they took home when Sonia was in charge of your books. You got greedy when you saw all of that money, when there was nobody around to hold you accountable anymore. You got greedy, and you got stupid.” My father’s eyes widen and he shakes his head as his men start to close in on him, anger filling the room.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t even live in America,” my father cries out.

  “Hmm, no, I don’t; but I’ve had my own tech guys look into you for a while. We’ve been tracking what comes in, what goes out, and where to. Especially that offshore account that has quadrupled since Sonia’s death. It’s over, old friend,” Sergei states solemnly.

  I watch as my father reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun. It all happens so fast that he’s fired two shots before I can get my own out. I fire three shots to his chest and watch as he falls to the ground. It feels like it’s happening in slow motion. I turn to Sergei and see that he’s on the ground as well, but he’s not moving. His eyes are open and there’s blood pooling beneath his body.

  Russians and Irishmen rush in and force all of my father’s men against the walls, including Camilla. Dominik, Yakov, and Patrick O’Neil stroll in, as though they’re the kings of the world. I’m on the ground, my hands over Sergei’s lifeless body, trying to put pressure on the wounds, when they stop right in front of me.

  “I’ll call Dr. Pavlov,” Dominik announces as he turns and pulls his phone out.

  “Pasha’s gone,” Yakov murmurs close to me.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” I growl as I look down at a man that I’ve considered my family my entire life.

  A man who has done nothing but support and help Oksana and me. A man who has lived a harder life than I could ever have imagined. A man who has lived for the Bratva, who took down Ivan Chekov and his reign. A man who has conquered men of power, and brought them to their knees.

  A man I love more than my own father.

  THE SILENCE IS CHOKING me. A man I’ve never met before stares at me from his position in the kitchen, leaning against the island bar. I didn’t even hear his name. He only grunted it to me as he walked into the apartment. Since then, he hasn’t said a word.

  If I’m going to need a babysitter, I’d much rather have Konstantin. At least he’s friendly and doesn’t stare at me like at any moment he’ll kill me with his bare hands.

  I know why he’s here, though, and most likely why he’s on edge. Tonight, is the night. The feeling of dread is heavy in the air. I know that whatever is going down with Timofei and the Bratva, it’s happening right now.

  I close my eyes and turn my head, opening them to the view of the dark ocean. The only way I’m able to see the waves is from the light of the bright moon shining down.

  As the hours tick by, I wonder when I’ll hear from Fei, if I’ll ever hear from him again. I’m not naïve enough to think that he’s untouchable, that whatever is happening tonight isn’t dangerous.

  I give up staring at the emotionless man in the kitchen and announce that I’m going to bed. It’s after midnight, and I have a feeling I won’t be hearing from Timofei any time soon.

  I shower and dress in one of his shirts and exercise shorts before making it to the bed. I lay with my back against the wall and just stare at the bedroom door. Knowing I won’t be able to sleep at all until I hear from him, I wait.

  It feels like I stare at the door for hours, watching it, waiting, and hoping. I jump when I hear a knock on it. Calling out for the person on the other side, I’m surprised to see my emotionless guard looking at me with sadness, maybe.

  “Get dressed. We’re going to the hospital,” he announces.

  I gasp and scramble to my feet, running to him and wrapping my hands around his jacket lapels before I ask if Timofei is okay. His warm hands wrap around mine and give them a squeeze. “Your husband is okay. Get dressed. Hurry,” he murmurs, his deep voice washing over me, comforting me with his words.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, I run into the closet and grab the first thing I see, which is a short peach colored, spaghetti strapped sundress with crochet detailing along the bust and hem. I slip my feet into a pair of gold sandals and grab a hairband on my way out, fixing my hair into a messy high ponytail.

  “Let’s go,” I cry as I hurry past him to the front door. He reaches out and wraps his hand around my wrist to stop me.

  “Slow down. He’s fine,” he rumbles.

  If feels like it takes an eternity to get to the hospital. When we do, I’m bouncing on my toes at the greeting station, waiting for the nurse to tell us where to find my husband. The still unnamed man at my side wraps his fingers around my shoulder and squeezes to stop me from fidgeting.

  Luckily, the nurse rattles off some numbers, and we rush toward the elevators. I can’t hear anything, the blood rushing through my ears, the adrenaline and fear roaring throughout my entire body.

  Once the elevator door opens, I step out and turn to the right. There he is. I can tell it’s him even though I only see his back. His blond hair is in messy disarray, and his shirt is untucked from his slacks—something I’ve never seen happen, unless he was removing his shirt for bed.

  I involuntarily let out a sob, and he turns around. His dark eyes meet mine, and I run toward him, intent on throwing myself in his arms. Then I catch a glimpse of his chest, and I freeze mid-run. He’s completely covered in blood, soaked, and my eyes widen as they meet his.

  “It’s not mine, devochka,” he murmurs as he takes a step toward me and wraps his hand around my waist to pull me against his chest. Suddenly, the blood and the fear wash away, and there’s only a feeling of absolute relief that washes over me.

  “I was so s-s-scared,” I cry as I bury my face in his neck. He squeezes me a little tighter, and I feel his lips at my ear.

  “I’m fine, devochka,” he whispers.

  I hear a woman’s voice, and I take a step back, wiping my eyes before turning in the direction of the voice. I see Oksana holding her baby in her arms, a worried look on her face. Standing next to her is her husband, Mika, sporting a murderous look.

  “Is Uncle Sergei okay?” Oksana asks, her eyes focused on Timofei’s.

  I furrow my eyebrows at the name, and then remember Timofei mentioning having dinner with him while we were in Paris. I’m so confused as to why he’s here in New York.

  “He’s in surgery. Sana, I have bad news. I think you should sit down,” Timofei murmurs as he slips his hand around my waist to hold me close to his side. Oksana’s eyes narrow, and she lifts her chin slightly.

  “Our father is dead,” she says. I can’t help but gasp. She sounds cold and uncaring, her eyes alert and emotionless.

  “He is,” Timofei mutters.

  “Good. He tried to kill my husband and could have killed my child. I hope it was painful,” she shrugs.

  “Sana,” Timofei rasps.

  “You’re in charge now?” she asks.

  Timofei lets out an exhaled breath and looks down at his shoes before he lifts his head to meet her eyes. “I am,” he states.

  I can’t help but sink my teeth into my bottom lip, thinking about his words, how he was going to be king. Apparently, he now is.

  “Good.”

  Mika whispers in her ear, and she jerks her head before her eyes land on me. “Come on. Let’s sit down,” she says.

  Timofei presses h
is lips to my temple before he pushes me slightly toward her. Without protest, I follow her to a few empty seats. There are other people around, mostly men dressed in suits that look like Fei’s, but I’m too confused and too lost in my head to pay much attention to anyone but Oksana and me.

  “I once was very close to my papa,” she practically whispers. I turn my head to face her. She’s holding her baby, but looking off into the distance, as though she’s lost in a memory. “I was born a printsessa and stayed as such for a long time. Then my mother was murdered, and everything shifted. My father is not the man he once was. I’m sorry if I sound cruel for being accepting and even, quite frankly, relieved to hear of his death. But it was time.”

  I don’t have anything to reply, I’ve never been a princess. Maybe from the outside looking in people thought that I was some spoiled little Irish royalty, but that isn’t the case. My father never doted on me, never showed me any love—all he showed me were consequences, when I didn’t behave the way he thought I should. Instead of verbalizing any of that, I reach over and take her hand, giving it a squeeze.

  I think right now, if something happened to my own father, I might feel relieved as well. I have less than three months to get pregnant or I go back to him, and that is a fate that will only end with my own suffering—either by his hand or whichever man he hands me off to. Timofei isn’t perfect; but if I could choose, I would stay with him and his imperfections rather than choose the unknown of going back to my father.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Oksana. Though it seems you lost him a long time ago, it doesn’t take away the pain. For that, I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  “I mourned him a while ago. You’re right. Thank you.”

  We stay silent and wait. We wait to hear about their Uncle Sergei’s condition, hoping and praying that the outcome is positive. Life is about to completely change, yet again, and that is one thing that will always be certain. Nothing about life stands still for long.

  “Pasha’s men?” Mika asks as soon as the women walk away from us.

  “They’re all being held at The Oleandr by Yakov and O’Neil’s men. Including Camilla,” I grunt. Mika arches his brow toward me in question. “Apparently, Camilla wanted to climb a ladder. She was sitting on my father’s lap when I walked in there this evening.

  “As soon as I find out about Sergei, I have to go back and deal with the men,” I murmur. “You’ll come with me. Konstantin is bringing the boy in as well,” I state.

  Mika looks from Oksana back to me before he speaks. “You know she’s going to want to be there, don’t you?”

  “We’ll give her a duty. She has to keep an eye on Devyn,” I grin.

  “She won’t buy it.”

  “But she’ll do it,” I announce. He nods.

  A few minutes later, Dr. Pavlov, one of our men dressed in scrubs, walks into the room and calls out for the family of Sergei to come forward. I, along with Sergei’s men, Mika, and Oksana make our way to the doctor. He explains that there was severe blood loss and they had to do an infusion, but it looks like he’s going to be okay. He’s in recovery.

  Then he goes on to tell us that we can visit one at a time in about an hour, that he’ll send a nurse out here when it’s time. I thank him and he dips his chin before he leaves us.

  “Oksana, I need you to stay here with Devyn. Mika and I have to go and take care of some things. Abram will stay as your Byki,” I announce as I turn to face the women.

  “Timofei,” she hisses.

  “Nyet. Stay with Devyn. We’ll return in a few hours,” I say, holding up my hand.

  She grinds out her answer, and I’m sure adds a few fuck yous in her head before I lift my chin to Mika.

  “Fei?” Devyn sweetly calls out as I take a step away from her to leave. Turning my head slightly, I take her in. She’s pale, frightened, and her hands are a bit shaky at her side. “Please be careful,” she whispers. I nod and turn back around, not stopping or turning back again.

  Mika is close behind me at my heels as we take the stairs down to the exit. I need this shit over with today. Either my father’s men are with me, or they’re dead. My patience is gone.

  It doesn’t take us long to get to The Oleandr. The building looks closed from the outside, but I know better. I know for a fact that none of the men in the back room have left. I don’t bother going through the front door. I knock on the kitchen entrance and am allowed entry by one of Yakov’s men.

  Mika continues to stick close to my back as we make our way to the room where everything went down. There are several guards standing outside the only entrance, and they part like the fucking Red Sea when I arrive. Once I’m inside of the room, I see that everyone is still in the same position they were in when I left them a few hours ago.

  “Sergei will survive, if anyone was curious,” I announce. I walk over to the head of the table, the place my father was sitting, alive and breathing, not too long ago. “Now, who opposes my new position as Pakhan of Brighton Beach?”

  The whole room is silent, and I wait. There is no way the entire group of men before me will easily relinquish my father as Pakhan and accept me as the new Pakhan, not when assuredly one of the Brigadier’s thought he would be the one to slip right into this position once my father died. I let my eyes shift from man to man, waiting and watching.

  “Konstantin, bring in the boy,” I call out. He turns from his position and wraps his hand around a scrawny boy’s arm, tugging him forward and forcing him to kneel in front of me. “You don’t have stars yet, do you, boy?” I ask.

  “No,” he grinds out.

  “If you did, I’d kill you for kneeling in front of me alone,” I state. He dips his chin. “Are you the one who tried to kill my brother-in-law, Mika Rybin?” I ask, loud enough for the whole room to hear.

  “I am,” the boy answers.

  “Who gave you such an order? To try and murder a Brigadier in the Bratva?”

  “Pakhan Pasha Vetrov,” he calls out, almost proudly. I nod when a low murmur rumbles throughout the room.

  “Should I kill the boy for simply following orders? Orders that should have never been issued? Orders against our code?” I ask, unmoving from my seat.

  “Nyet. Pasha was fucking crazy,” one of my father’s Brigadier’s calls out.

  “He was crazy and he was stealing from us,” another man states.

  “We’re with you, Timofei.”

  I nod. “Hopefully, with Sergei’s tech guy, I can get your money back to you, and then you can deliver it to your men. It’s time to make Brighton Beach strong again, to make it wealthy, and to make it goddamn unstoppable.” I cry out. The men cheer. “As a good show of faith, you will not have to pay the next tribute. The next collection is cancelled. Keep your money for your men. By the time we meet again, I’ll have even more for your families.”

  One by one, my new crew shakes my hand, slaps me on the back, and welcomes me as their new boss. It feel’s good, too. It’s something that I never once in my entire life imagined would happen. When I was younger, I’d always assumed Maxim would take over for my father. When he moved away, I wasn’t sure who would take his place, but I knew for certain it would never be me.

  “Timofei,” Camilla’s soft voice says as she floats in front of me. “You know your father promised me a hell of a lot. That’s the only reason I was with him. Since you wouldn’t play anymore,” she breathes in an attempt to be sexy.

  “You wanted him because he has power and money. The same reason you came for me. You know if you’re just going to fuck men for money, there a few whore houses I could use you in,” I shrug.

  “How dare you,” she hisses.

  “Camilla, you spread for anyone who looks expensive. You make money at your wedding business, but if it’s fucking for money you want, you can make great money there, too. You know what you’re doing, and you offer anal, so it’s a win-win. If you want the job, you got it.” The teenage boy who is still on his knees makes a noise that sounds like a
strained laugh. “Think about it. Don’t act insulted or that it’s above you, because it certainly isn’t.”

  She doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before Konstantin escorts her out of the room and hands her off to another man. “As for you,” I say, tipping my head to the boy on his knees. “It’s up to Mika what is to be done with you.”

  “Who is your father, boy?” Mika asks.

  He shakes his head as he lifts his eyes. “He died. My mother works, but she doesn’t make any money. I thought if I became Bratva as soon as possible I could get money.”

  “Your father shamed the Bratva, then?” Mika murmurs.

  “He did. Stole from them. I’m nothing like him. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I have a little sister and I just wanted to help,” he practically cries.

  “You come with me to Denver. I’ll train you myself,” Mika states.

  “Really?” the boy exhales.

  “Yes, really. Stand up. We leave tomorrow,” Mika says to the kid. Then he turns to face me, “Come by and see your sister before we go,” he grunts.

  I watch as he walks out of the room, the boy at his side. I grin. Mika will take care of him. He’ll make sure that he’s well versed in the Bratva and that he knows how to work hard, gaining both power and rank.

  I’m left alone in the empty room, two circles of blood on the floor, and a new title. Pakhan of Brighton Beach.

  Now, to go home and celebrate with my wife.

  My queen.

  MY GUARD, OTHERWISE KNOWN as Abram, apparently, informs me that it’s time for us to leave the hospital a few hours after Timofei and Mika have left. Oksana has gone back to see Sergei, as have several of his men, to visit with him. “I’ll be following Oksana and the baby back to her hotel and taking you back to the apartment,” he states. I don’t argue with him. There’s no use. He probably got orders from Timofei on where to go and what to do with me.

  Oksana and I follow in silence, then I watch as she buckles the baby into the car seat in the back before she slides into the passenger’s seat of their car. I don’t ask why she needs her driver, plus Abram to escort her, but I’m certain there is a reason.