Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5)

by Suzanne Steele

  “Father, I don’t want you to get mad,” I blurt out, my words rolling over each other as they tumble out of my mouth. “I’ve done something that will help pave the way for the diamond business.”

  Novak pauses in his perpetual twirling of the large Russian coin, shaking his head. “Damn, never a dull moment with these guys.”

  Oleg jumps to my defense. He gives Novak a dirty look before addressing my father. “It was my idea, sir. We wanted to give you a gift, a new beginning in your business.”

  Novak isn’t finished being a smart ass. “Aww, a dowry. How sweet. But isn’t that usually the woman’s part of the deal?”

  “Maybe if you did something besides fondle that fucking coin…”

  “Oh, I do plenty. I’m the motherfucker that will put a knife in anybody’s heart that gets too close to my boss. Lighten up, Oleg, you’re always so serious.”

  “I’m losing my patience, children,” Father says as he looks between Novak and Oleg. He gestures with two fingers for Oleg to give him the black felt bags. Oleg approaches the desk and places the two velvet bags next to the laptop. Father hefts first one bag, then the other, in his hand. As he tests the weight of the larger of the two jewelry bags, he frowns, very much like Oleg did when he had looked inside.

  Father up-ends the larger bag and I gasp as the bag’s contents tumble onto the table in a gorgeous, sparkling heap. My father stills, placing his hands flat on the desk on either side of the gems, his attention riveted by his glittering prize.

  Almost reverently, he holds up the largest of the gems, an enormous, pear-shaped blue diamond. As the light glints off its many facets, he looks to Novak and draws a deep, satisfied breath.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Novak jumps up from his seat, his coin momentarily forgotten.

  “The Tereschenko diamond. This…is a good omen,” he declares with a nod.

  “What’s that?” I have no idea what these two are talking about.

  Father turns toward me so I can get a closer look. There, perched between his thumb and forefinger, is the most spectacular diamond I’ve ever seen. A blue diamond. I didn’t even know such a thing existed. I’m no expert, but the thing has got to be nearly 50 carats.

  “The Tereschenko diamond,” he repeats absently as the blue stone catches the light, creating a stunning canvas of blue prisms along the wall. “Smuggled out of Russia just before the Russian revolution in 1916.” A rare smile touches his lips as he murmurs, “It has found its way back into Russian hands, where it belongs.”

  “We have the papers on it too.” Oleg reaches into his jacket for the documents we took from the safe.

  “Yes, this is a good omen,” Father says as he rises to his feet, “not only for our new business but for your marriage.” He pauses as if something just occurred to him, and asks with a sigh, “Did you kill anyone?”

  “No,” I replied. “We put the two security guards down with Special K so they shouldn’t remember ever seeing us. Oleg said to leave them alive, and that with them unable to offer an explanation of why the diamonds are missing, their boss will suspect them of being involved in the heist.”

  “Oleg is right, that is indeed exactly what will happen. We don’t have to kill them off; they will do it for us. Once the seed of distrust has been planted, their group is sure to implode.

  “Now, looking ahead. We will sell to carefully screened large buyers but I also want to maintain a small, exclusive presence here at home. Meaningless to our bottom line, but it will be seen as a positive move in the community. Our clients will be only by appointment. Background checks on everyone. I want you to work with Jake and see how the plans for the jewelry store are progressing.”

  My curiosity prompts me to ask my next question. “That blue diamond is going to draw a lot of attention, probably some unwanted attention. What are you going to do with it?”

  “I am not sure,” he muses as he holds the stone up and turns it this way and that in the light. “This diamond has quite a history. It has been the source of great drama over the years. Perhaps it, too, is on the verge of a new chapter in its history. The Tereschenko diamond has come home; it will bring blessings and protection to our family and to our cell.”

  If my father says there’s a blessing to be had in the Tereschenko diamond, you can be sure there is. I’ll take all the protection I can get because Oleg and I have no intention of slowing down any time soon.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Anastasia

  Although Jackson Mathews, better known as Jake, seems like a typical citizen, he is anything but. I’ve heard all about his story from Roksana, and quite a story it is. Glazov brought him into the Bratva organization after he saved Ivan’s nephew from being killed during an attack in an alley. Jake saved a Bratva life that night by being in the right place at the right time and making the right decision.

  But not everyone viewed Jake as a good Samaritan, so he needed some help dealing with a new slate of enemies. Lucky for him, in Bratva the saying ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ holds true. Glazov was impressed with Jake’s fearlessness, and he’s been Bratva ever since. Of course, the Pakhan’s invitations are rarely declined, but Jake didn’t need to be persuaded.

  Maybe Glazov is right, maybe destiny and fate do play a part in the universe, putting us where we need to be. My Bratva journey may be unorthodox, but that doesn’t matter. I plan on staying close to Roksana so some of that good mojo will rub off on me.

  Jake’s voice cuts through my thoughts as we enter his office. “Oleg, sit, please. Have some coffee with me.”

  “Sounds good,” Oleg replies. “We can go over the blueprints for the security updates. My woman has a real talent for reading blueprints. Don’t you, devotchka?”

  I do my best to smother a laugh when Roksana strolls by him and sing-songs, “Fuck you, Oleg.”

  “I’m counting on it,” he says smoothly, “just as soon as I can get you alone. Unless, of course, you’d like me to take you here and now.”

  Jake seems completely unaware of their banter, his attention laser beam focused on the matter at hand. “The Pakhan’s specifications for security are cutting-edge; there’s still much to be done but we’re off to a good start.” He turns to me, extending his hand in greeting. “And this must be the infamous Anastasia. I’m Jake. Welcome.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, pleasantly surprised by his gracious greeting. “It’s good to be here.”

  He nods and smiles. “I completely understand. The Pakhan has been good to me and my family. He even set my daughter up with her own beauty salon. Maybe sometime you can visit her, have your hair done,” he says, then frowns. “Of course, not that you need it; you’re quite beautiful.”

  “And you’re very kind.”

  My response seems to have relieved the poor man of any embarrassment. Jake shares the one thing that all of Glazov’s Bratva ‘converts’ do: a sense of indebtedness and gratitude.

  Glazov may be a monster in some people’s eyes, but to those of us he has chosen to bring into the Bratva fold? He’s a savior.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Roksana

  “Not so mouthy now, are you?” Oleg’s voice is laced with threats and malice. His hand around my throat and the look in his eye are enough to send me over the edge, but he’s just getting started. “I never tire of trying to tame you, devotchka. You are fire and I am ice.”

  “Cold doesn’t even begin to describe you, Oleg. You’re closed off to everything and everyone but me. You know it and I know it, and so does everyone else around here.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Nobody else knows me; only you.” His lips trail down my neck, nipping in all the right places as his hands wander my bare curves. “And I know you too. I know every nerve ending in your body. I know how to give you pain and pleasure. I know how to blend the two until they bleed together and you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.”

  His teeth clamp down on a nipple just h
ard enough to make my eyes water. He laves the peak with his tongue, sending spirals of pleasure down my spine just to prove his point.

  His naked body presses into my upper thigh. I spread my legs in an effort to guide his cock where I want it to go.

  “Ask for what you want,” he whispers against my lips, his voice smooth as silk. He’s a man who needs to be in control and that need is nowhere more obvious than in the bedroom. I practically purr as I give him what I know he wants.

  “What I want is your big…thick…cock…buried in my sweet, tight pussy.”

  “Such a nasty girl,” he growls, dragging his fingertips over my inner thigh.

  “Yeah, well, I learned all about dirty talking from you.”

  “And I taught you well.”

  He hooks my knee over his elbow and presses his cock slowly, inexorably inside me, never taking his eyes off mine. Those dead eyes of his are lit from within as he moves inside me, the connection between us going so much deeper than mere fucking.

  “Thanks for doing the diamond job with me, baby,” I gasp as the head of his cock rubs a particularly sensitive spot inside me.

  “You’re welcome,” he pants against my neck as he slides his hand over my breast. “While we’re being all polite here, thank you for the ink on the back of your neck. I like it. You’re a marked woman—the marked woman of a made man.”

  “I like having your name on my skin for all to see.”

  “You bear my name on your neck, yes, but what is it going to take for you to bear my name as my wife?” he groans against my neck on a particularly violent downward thrust that steals my breath.

  “Oleg…”

  “Tell me!” he demands.

  “I…I don’t know, alright? Isn’t it enough to know that the die has been cast, that it has been decreed that I’m yours? You claimed me and that’s enough for me. Why can’t it be enough for you?”

  “’Never be enough…” he grunts, his breathing labored and uneven as he swivels his hips in a deep curve that hits me just right, the sensations almost more than I can bear. Recognizing that his cock has found my sweet spot, he holds the position and braces his weight on his forearm. Wrapping his other hand around my neck, he practically jackhammers into my pussy at a punishing pace, his skin glistening with sweat as his facial muscles clench in pleasure.

  My face heats and my core ripples as the length of his erection rubs against my slick inner walls, hinting at an orgasm that promises to be mind-bending. As I pant and thrust my hips up to meet his, the sensations build until my climax starts swirling deep in my core.

  I can’t think straight as the orgasm takes hold, disjointed words and phrases tumbling from my lips like a fountain. “Being marked by you, feels so good…No one else...Take me, mark me now…make me yours…”

  “You are mine. All that you are belongs to me,” he says harshly. He grips my neck and jaw, forcing me to look him in the eye as he comes, his hips jerking on every pulse of his cock against my womb. “I am…not…a patient man.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Anastasia

  Those two need time alone and, if I’m honest with myself, so do I. I need to get away and sort out my thoughts. Everything has changed; I’ve reinvented every detail of my life. I look in the mirror and see a stranger, yet on the inside I’m still…me.

  There are times when someone calls me by my new name and I don’t answer because I’m still Emily Finley. I don’t know if the day will ever come when I can truly become Anastasia Alkaev. I really hope I can because I like her more. I like her confidence. I like her looks. For the first time in my life, I feel attractive, even sexy.

  I’m so deep in thought as I approach my bedroom that I don’t notice the man leaning against the wall just outside my door, arms folded over his chest. Once I do see him, I can’t help but do a double-take. The man is fucking gorgeous.

  He has long, dark hair, chocolate brown eyes and a closely trimmed mustache and goatee. I can’t recall ever seeing a man this good looking before. He should be gracing the cover of a magazine, not roaming the halls of a killer’s home.

  “Can I help you with something?” I ask with a scowl.

  He smirks, looking me up and down with blatant male appreciation. “Well, now, there’s a loaded question,” he drawls as he straightens from the wall. “Yeah, I’m sure you can help me; the only question is, are you willing to?”

  I roll my eyes before unlocking my door, fully prepared to slam it shut in his face. To my surprise, he follows me inside. What an asshole…

  “Excuse me. I don’t recall inviting you in.”

  “You don’t?” he asks, his brows lifting in feigned confusion. “That’s because I invited myself.” He ambles around my room, moving items on my dresser, opening drawers, and in general touching my stuff. He suddenly stops, locking eyes with me. “I’ve followed your work, you know. I guess you could say I’m a fan.”

  “Excuse me, I’m lost. What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, Emily, I think we both know what I’m talking about.”

  My heart races as I consider the implications of his arrogant statement. Who is this man and, more to the point, how does he know me?

  “You must have me confused with someone else. Now, please leave.”

  He doesn’t leave but, instead, walks toward me.

  “It’s okay, Anastasia,” he murmurs softly. “It can be our little secret. I’ve always been fascinated with serial killers. That’s what you are, isn’t it? A serial killer.” The whole time he’s speaking he’s slowly running his finger over my cheek. When I attempt to jerk away he squeezes my chin, stopping any movement. I look up and find him almost unrecognizable. All the sexy charm and humor are gone; the malevolence on his face, the sheer ruthlessness pouring off him, sends a shudder coursing through me. He leans in to whisper in my ear, “You cold? Doesn’t seem cold in here to me.”

  “Yes, it is, and something stinks, too. Oh, look, it’s you!” I say, jerking my chin out of his hold as I parody the same mock surprise he had shown moments ago.

  “Good instincts,” he muses aloud. “You could use some lessons in the manners department, but we can always work on that.”

  “We won’t be working on anything.”

  He breathes in like he’s losing patience with me. “Yes, we will, actually. I’ve been hired to train you in the art of being a lady.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “That right there. The way you talk, the way you act.”

  “Roksana’s training me,” I say cautiously, not liking the direction this conversation is taking.

  “Ah, but you see, Glazov hired me and he far outranks Roksana.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Well,” he drawls, “other than the fact that your manners are atrocious, he did say something about the two of you getting into trouble every time you’re together.”

  “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

  “Oh, I’ll be doing so much more than babysitting you. I’ll be watching every fucking move you make. Now, on another note, my name is Dmitriy Kerzhakov,” he says with a small bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Yeah, well, sorry to say the feeling isn’t mutual. Now get out of my room. I’ll be talking to Glazov about this.”

  “Be careful. That man you’re calling Glazov is the Pakhan and the sooner you get it through your head that he holds your life in his hands, the better off you’ll be. Actually, I hold your life in my hands, too, because I’ll be reporting back to him on how your training is going. So far…sadly, I’m not impressed.”

  He turns to leave and I’m practically sputtering as I struggle to find the words to convey my frustration with this latest turn of events. “Fuck you, Dmitriy!”

  He turns back to shoot me another arrogant smirk. “Well, now, fucking you wasn’t part of the deal,” his says silkily as he looks his fill, lingering on my breasts with blatantly carnal interest, “but I do find you to be
very, very fuckable. I’d be glad to work that into our training sessions too.”

  Overwhelmed by the desire to see his arrogant ass caught off guard, I scan the dresser for something to throw at him. I pick up a small horse figurine from the dresser, pleased at its unexpected weight. I heave it at him before I have a chance to reconsider, and he catches it effortlessly. I hate that I’m begrudgingly impressed with his quick reflexes. He takes slow, deliberate steps toward me, stopping only inches in front of me with the figurine held aloft in the palm of his hand.

  “Everything in this house,” he says slowly, as if talking to a small child, “is here because the Pakhan wants it to be so. Every piece of furniture, every knick-knack, selected because of its history, and carefully placed.” His face goes from impassive to forbidding as he glances from me to the dresser. Holding the figurine out to me, he says tersely, “Now, you will put it back.”

  At the mention of Glazov, I know I’m beaten. I take the figurine and walk five or so steps to the dresser, carefully returning the object d’art to its original position. I turn to demand once again that he leave, only to find that he’s already gone.

  What the absolute fuck just happened?

  Roksana

  “Hi, Dmitriy. I see you met Anastasia,” I say in greeting as one of Glazov’s bodyguards comes out of Anastasia’s room.

  “Oh, I met her, all right. Your father hired me to work with her.”

  “So you’ll be fight-training her? Martial arts, I assume? ”

  “That…and some manners.”

  I can’t help but laugh as I comment, “I take it she’s not happy about it?”

  “She threw a horse at my head.”

  “A horse?! What did you do?”

  “I caught it, of course.” His shit eating grin as he turns the corner makes it plain that he’s intrigued with our newest trainee.