A cleanup crew has been dispatched, but I ordered Dominik not to allow anybody to touch the place. I want to see for myself exactly what has happened.
Pasha greets us at the front door, and I brush my lips against Ashley’s before she leaves me and walks inside to a waiting Sonia.
“Any clue?” Pasha asks as he takes a puff from his cigar.
“Irish, probably. They’re who attacked me,” I shrug.
“Why murder a Byki and his family? Doesn’t add up,” he mutters.
“No fucking clue. Why beat my whores and then come after me, but leave me breathing?”
“None of this makes sense. If it were me and I was trying to take a territory, I’d either hurt their business or hurt their leaders,” he mutters.
“The Cartel tried to hurt our business, but we came up with new business ventures. Maybe they saw that hurting us financially doesn’t last long?”
“It’s not adding up,” Pasha mutters, rolling his cigar with his fingers.
“I aim to find out what the fuck happened,” I grunt.
“Keep me updated. Ashley will be fine. I’ll put her up in the guest room when she’s ready to go back to sleep. I’ll stay up until I hear from you,” he says.
I open my mouth to say something else, to tell him he doesn’t need to stay up, but he’s already in the house with the door closed before I can utter a single word.
Turning from the house, I slowly walk back to the car. I need to find out what the fuck is happening before anybody else is hurt, or killed—before someone comes after my Ashley.
“Yakov will get to the bottom of it all,” Sonia murmurs as she takes my hand and leads me toward the living area.
Pasha and Sonia’s home is warm and inviting. Bigger and fancier than the house that Yakov and I just put an offer on, but it still has an element of home to it. I like that. Sonia obviously knows what she’s doing in the decorating department, and I can see why she’s been recommended by both Haleigh and Yakov to help decorate.
“Your home is beautiful,” I offer as I sit down on the plush, sage green sofa.
“Thank you. I hear you’ll hopefully be moving soon,” she smiles.
I tell Sonia all about the offer we’ve put in on the house, and I am even able to find the listing so that I can show her pictures. She keeps my mind from wandering to Yakov and what has happened by telling me how she would decorate, what she would place in certain rooms, and what colors she thinks would complement the home. By the end of our conversation, I’m ready for her to get started, and I tell her as much.
“I would love to help you. Decorating is a passion of mine. Pasha indulges me, but he prefers if I spend other people’s money and help them decorate their own spaces.”
“I’m sure he does,” I laugh.
“She’s redecorated this room alone at least ten times since we’ve lived here. Don’t let her fool you,” Pasha rumbles.
I stifle a yawn and Sonia tells me to take myself up to my room and get some sleep. I thank them for their generous hospitality and take them up of the offer. I’m exhausted.
I start up the stairs and make my way toward the third room on the right, where I’ll be sleeping, when a door opens and a man exits. He’s tall and thin, with blonde hair and blue eyes, along with a beard. He eyes me up and down and then grins.
“Now, who are you?” he asks with a smirk.
“She is Yakov Chekov’s fiancée, so I wouldn’t gaze too hard at the girl,” Pasha’s deep voice booms from the mouth of the hall.
The man pales and shakes his head once as if to fully comprehend what Pasha’s just said.
“My son, Timofei,” Pasha introduces.
“I’m Ashley,” I murmur, holding out my hand to shake his.
“Nice to meet you,” he mumbles as he takes my hand in a quick, firm shake.
“Shouldn’t you be headed out to work?” Pasha asks, arching a brow.
“On my way,” Timofei mutters as he steps completely out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Should have been on your way two hours ago,” Pasha grumbles.
“Well, I’m on my way now,” Timofei snaps.
I watch as he descends the stairs, passing briskly by his father. Then a few seconds later, the front door slams.
“Spoiled fucking brat. Don’t give your children their heart’s desires, Ashley. Learn from my mistakes. Give them discipline,” Pasha grunts before he turns and leaves me alone in the hall.
I turn back toward the destination of the room where I can rest. Once I find it, I hurry in and slide into bed. I think about Pasha’s words.
Discipline.
I would like to think that Yakov and I can be fully rounded parents, but I’m not entirely sure that we wouldn’t be overly indulgent. I can imagine we’d want to give them everything we never had, which means anything they desire.
I close my eyes and send out some hope and a prayer that we’re going to be good parents and raise healthy, smart children. Since I’m not on birth control anymore, this could be something that happens in the near future.
Parenthood.
I slowly make my way inside of the apartment and the stench that hits me all at once almost sends me to my knees. My stomach lurches and it takes everything inside of me not to throw up. Dominik chuckles and I turn to see him standing in my kitchen as I close the door behind me.
“How are you staying in here with this?” I ask.
“I’m used to it now,” he shrugs.
“This is how you found them?” I ask as I eye all the men milling around the apartment.
“Yeah, execution style,” he mutters.
Leonid, his wife, and their oldest child are face down in the middle of the living area, holes in the backs of their heads where the bullets exited their skills. They were most likely on their knees and shot in the foreheads. The baby is on her back, a bullet to her forehead, and looks as though she was picked up, shot, and discarded like an old rag.
I’ve done a lot of depraved and evil things in my lifetime, but I can say with absolute certainty that I have never killed an innocent baby. Innocent life? Yes, I’ve ended those a time or twenty, but not an infant.
“Any calling card?” I ask, curious to see if whoever did this is announcing themselves.
“Note’s in your room,” he says, lifting his chin toward the master bedroom.
I stiffly walk toward my master bedroom, looking around the apartment as I go. It seems like it’s been so long since I’ve been here.
Looking around now, I understand why Ashley didn’t wish to return. Every single thing my eye touches, from the walls to the floors, from the furniture to the knickknacks, it all reminds me of the life we shared before and during our split.
I thought I was happy before the split. I knew I was miserable during, but before, I thought what we had was our version of happiness. I was wrong. So very wrong. What we have now doesn’t compare to anything we had before.
What we share now is real. It isn’t her needing me because I saved her and she has nowhere else to go. It isn’t about my need to care for her, because if it wasn’t for my father, she wouldn’t be in the state she was in.
It’s about the love we have for one another.
It’s about the submission she freely gives to me now.
It’s about what she gives me and what I take.
What I give her and what she willingly accepts.
I’m lost in my thoughts when I enter the master bedroom, and I look up, shocked at what is on the wall. There are words spray painted on my once crisp, white wall above the low headboard that is pushed against it.
Get out of Staten Island, or we’ll pick you off one by one.
My blood starts to rush through my body, pumping furiously and roaring in my ears.
Those Irish fucks.
I have news for them.
Staten Island is mine, and now they’ve unleashed the beast. I’m about to take over the entire fucking territory.
No more playing nice, staying inside of our borders. Now it is on, and I’m taking down the entire Staten Island Irish Mob, making that territory bow down and speak Russian. The time has fucking come.
I pull out my phone and call Kirill.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
I glance at the clock and notice that with the time difference, it’s around midnight in California. Kirill sounds as though he was asleep, and I should feel badly, but my adrenaline is pumping too furiously in my body to give a shit.
“Nyet,” I quip.
“Ashley?” he asks.
“No. The Irish are causing problems. I need an army,” I rumble.
“They’re big, and they’ve been there for a long time. Are you sure you want to take them on?”
“One shot me to intimidate me out of Staten Island. Then, they kidnapped Ashley’s Byki and his family and executed them in my apartment living room, including their infant.”
“You sure this is the Irish doing it all?” he asks.
“They left me a spray painted note on my wall.”
“Arrange a sit-down with their leader in Staten Island. Don’t go on a rampage yet. While you do this, we’ll amass an army, including troops from here and Russia. If we’re going to take them down, we’re going to make them cower like fucking dogs,” Kirill growls.
I thank Kirill and hang up before I call Pasha and let him in on what’s to happen in the near future. I then ask about Ashley, and he assures me that she’s safe and sleeping in their guest room. I thank him before ending the call.
“What’s the conclusion?” Dominik asks once I walk out of the bedroom.
“Clean them up. Bury them respectfully,” I say to the men who are standing around talking.
They all nod and then get to work. I motion for Dominik to follow me, then call my Sovietnik. He assures me that he will arrive at the apartment in no less than fifteen minutes, as he doesn’t live far from me.
Though Petya, my Sovietnik, is usually silent on my dealings, he knows everything that has been happening. I like that he sticks to the business side of my life and doesn’t usually mix with the Bratva side. There is a reason he’s my most trusted advisor.
I’ve known him since I pledged my loyalty to the organization. He’s always been at my back, not guiding me, but advising me when I need it. Usually, he spends his days running a few of the import/export companies my father had.
I sold them to the organization, but I am still on the board for them as the acting CEO. Those businesses don’t interest me; my soul focus is the Bratva, so Petya handles their daily tasks and then reports to me once a quarter on how they’re doing.
Luckily, he stays abreast of all happenings in the Bratva as well—both within the US, and around the entire world. He’s a wealth of knowledge, which is why he’s my Sovietnik.
“I’ll tell you what happens when Petya arrives,” I mutter to Dominik.
“It must be big if Petya is going to be in on this meeting,” Dominik mutters.
“It’s gigantic,” I confirm as I wait.
PETYA WALKS IN AND I grin at the sight of my old friend. I haven’t seen him since before I left for Los Angeles, and he is a welcome sight. He stands at under six-feet tall, and he’s slight compared to my frame. His thick rimmed glasses and cropped, silvering hair make my lips twitch in a half smile. As does the fact that he’s in a three-piece suit at three-thirty in the morning.
“Yakov,” he mutters.
“Petya, it has been too long, my friend,” I say, shaking his hand.
“It has,” he agrees, nodding stiffly.
“I need to schedule a sit-down with the boss of the Irish Mob in the Staten Island territory,” I announce.
Both Petya and Dominik look up at me with a slack jawed and awed expression.
“Pardon?” Petya questions.
“Someone who wants me out of Staten Island, someone with an Irish accent, shot me. Now my fiancée’s Byki and his family have been executed in my residence with a spray painted note in my bedroom. All facts are leading me to believe that it is the Irish mob behind it all.”
“I heard murmurings. I didn’t believe them to be true because Staten Island is such a small part of their own territory,” Petya mutters. “Never did I believe they would escalate as they have, or I would have brought them to you.”
“I know,” I agree.
I heard murmurings, too. They’re constant in this world. Someone is always at your back; you don’t believe the murmurings until you have concrete evidence.
“A sit-down? Then what? You’ll share some whiskey and all will be just fine?” Dominik growls.
“Nyet, all will not be just fine,” I sneer. “I’m gathering an army. I need time.”
“An army?” Petya says, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
“They don’t give me what I want—which is my area of Staten Island, plus two city blocks in all directions around my area for the inconvenience of being shot and Ashley’s Byki being murdered—I’ll start a war.” I shrug as if it makes no difference to me.
It doesn’t make a difference, either. Better for me to have all of Staten Island. I could give a fuck about those Irish bastards. They can take their whiskey and fucking leave. I’ll rain havoc and hell down on them.
“If you wage war, what are your terms?” Petya asks.
“I want the entirety of Staten Island,” I admit.
Petya and Dominik’s brows shoot straight to the sky in surprise.
“That’s going to be a big fucking war,” Petya rumbles.
“What are your thoughts? Is it doable?”
“With the right numbers, you could do it. Their reach doesn’t go far; and if you surprised them, they couldn’t get reinforcements out here from the old country fast enough to do any damage. Not that I’m sure many would come anyway. They have their own problems over there. So, yes, I think it’s attainable,” Petya says.
“Attainable is exactly what I want,” I smile.
“What’ll you do once you have it all?” Dominik asks, furrowing his brow.
“Nothing new. Expand our operation with the drug market. Buy a few more houses for more whores. Open a couple clubs—dance and strip. Own the fucking island,” I announce.
“This is going to be huge,” Dominik mutters.
“It’s going to be a tough fight, too. I don’t imagine they’ll go down without a fight, even if they’re numbers aren’t as large as ours,” I say.
“I will call their boss immediately and set something up for this week,” Petya says.
“Thank you,” I nod. “Later in the week though, yeah? Give me some time to gather my troops.”
“Yes, boss,” he grunts. Then he’s gone, leaving just me and Dominik alone.
I look at Dominik, who appears to be waging a war of his own inside his head. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I don’t ask him. I wait for him to come out with whatever it is. A few minutes later, I’m not disappointed when he opens his mouth to speak.
“What will happen to the men’s women and children during war?”
His question is valid, considering the dead family I had in my living room just moments ago. I have no doubt they’re gone by now, the cleanup crew being extremely efficient.
“We protect them,” I say.
“And what happens when we can’t, like Leonid couldn’t?”
“There are always casualties in war. You can’t be a pussy and let people like them take you and fuck you in the ass. You have to fight back. I didn’t start this, they did—but I sure as fuck am going to finish it,” I say.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
There’s a knock on my door.
A member of the cleanup crew informs me that the place is finished. I thank him and inspect it all myself, including the master bedroom. Then I take my guns from my safe and leave with Dominik behind me. He’s acting strangely, but I don’t have time to worry about him being a little cunt. I need to get to Ashley and I need to gathe
r my troops.
I feel my body being rolled to the side, I feel as if I’m going to fall, and it startles me awake. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand covers me before I hear Yakov’s calming voice, assuring me that everything is all right. I sigh and curl against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head against his shoulder.
“Up now, pchelka,” he orders.
I stand and lean heavily against his side after I take his arm. Wordlessly, we walk downstairs and then out the front door before he gently guides me down in the front seat of his car. He grunts as he sits down and I realize that he took on much of my weight, with his legs and shoulder still being injured.
“Yakov!” I yell. He turns his head to look at me, confusion marring his features.
“You’re hurt and you practically carried me all the way down the stairs,” I scold. He chuckles as he turns the car around and begins driving back to The Mark.
“I’m okay, pchelka. I’ll be sore as hell, but I didn’t pop any stitches,” he assures me.
“You were in a wheelchair just the other day. I don’t believe you,” I murmur.
“When we get back to the hotel, you can inspect me for injury before you fuck me,” he rumbles.
“I can’t do that. I’ll hurt you.”
“I think I’ve suffered enough. I need some of your sweet cunt wrapped around my cock. Don’t penalize me another day,” he sighs as we pull into the valet parking of the hotel.
Silently, we walk to the elevator. Once the doors close, he wraps his good arm around my waist and pulls me to his side. His lips touch the side of my neck before they trail down to my collar. I don’t realize his hurt hand has dipped beneath my pants and into panties until I feel his finger stroke my clit.
“Yakov,” I whimper.
“I won’t allow this pussy to be kept from me a moment longer. It’s mine, just as you are,” he announces.
“You’re injured,” I breathe.
“My cock wasn’t injured. I’ll allow you to ride me until I’m fully healed,” he grins.
Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4) Page 22
