Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5)

by Suzanne Steele

  The stranger turns his attention to Glazov, and the air becomes charged with primal male energy as these two alpha males face off. He speaks deliberately, as if choosing his words carefully, although I have no doubt he has no trouble speaking his mind and on his own terms.

  “It is a matter of professional courtesy, Glazov. You should have given me a heads up that you intended to wage war against the Venezuelans. Colombian cocaine is flown out of those airstrips in Venezuela.”

  “Since when do you care? You don’t deal in drugs; you deal in guns and women.”

  “As I said, it is a matter of courtesy. When you strike a blow that close…my brother and I should have known.”

  I can tell Novak is chomping at the bit, wanting to say something. I don’t think he likes this guy. And I bet the feeling is mutual.

  “I’ve got no beef with you, Antonio Wayne,” Glazov says smoothly. “When you relocated your operation to Louisville from New York, we supported that move. It makes sense to capitalize on the advantages to be had in a location that is off the beaten path and off the feds’ radar screen--”

  “And we agreed we would not step on each other’s toes,” Antonio Wayne interrupts heatedly, leaning forward in his seat.

  Glazov raises his hand for silence as Novak straightens in his seat.

  “I am officially in the diamond business now. You deal in women and the movie industry. As such, you can’t expect me to tell you every business move I make. Ultimately, it comes down to this: those diamonds were Russian diamonds, which should have given me right of first refusal. The way I see it, they were already mine.”

  Glazov’s features are expressionless, like stone, and yet a gleam of antagonism heats the depths of his steely blue eyes. He appears to be toying with the man. No doubt he has balls of steel because Antonio Wayne is clearly a man who doesn’t like being toyed with.

  “So. Am I to understand this is the last issue you’ll have with the Venezuelans in this matter?” the visitor asks, his eyes not leaving Glazov’s face. I’ve never seen anyone speak this bluntly to the Pakhan. It’s becoming clear that while this man respects Glazov, he’s not intimidated by anyone.

  “What the fuck do you care?” Novak hisses from his corner seat, earning a warning glance from Glazov.

  A sinister shadow passes over Antonio Wayne’s face as he cuts his eyes over to Novak. It’s obvious this is a powerful man—from what I’ve gleaned so far I’m guessing he’s a Colombian boss. I hope Novak knows what he’s doing by baiting the man this way.

  “I fucking care because it’s hitting real close to home.” He returns his attention to Glazov and leans back in his chair. “Too close.”

  “If you’re that concerned about a war between me and your neighbors, you should be talking to them and not me.”

  The look on Glazov’s face is impassive but, nonetheless, the animosity and tension in the air are palpable.

  “Perhaps I shall do that.” The man’s voice sounds more like a growl from some feral animal than it does a response.

  Antonio Wayne unfolds his large frame from the chair and stands, adjusting his cufflinks. Damn…the guy is fucking gorgeous. No wonder he deals in women; one look from him and they probably follow him home. His gaze locks on Dmitriy with a frown, his eyes narrowing as if he’s studying him. Slowly, he smiles as if he knows a secret but he won’t share it with the rest of the class. He nods his head almost imperceptibly before addressing Glazov again.

  “It is my sincere hope that we will not have occasion to discuss this again. Such a discussion would be short.”

  “Indeed it would,” Glazov says in a steely, uncompromising tone as he rises from his chair and extends his hand. Antonio Wayne accepts the gesture of civility and after a brief, firm handshake, turns toward the door.

  “I’ll see myself out.” With that he saunters out of the room, supremely confident despite being seriously outnumbered. I saw no sign of him being intimidated by being alone on Bratva territory.

  Glazov waits until one of his guards closes the door after Antonio Wayne’s departing figure before he addresses us, making it clear that he has us to thank for this morning’s visitor.

  “I’ve tolerated your thirst for violence since you were a child, Roksana. If it interferes with the peace treaties we have in place, I will not continue to be so understanding. What the fuck happened last night?” He emphasizes the F-bomb by slamming his fist down on the desk and Novak chuckles when we all jump.

  “Father…we were doing surveillance on the Venezuelans and came across these two lowlifes in an alley. We thought they were small-time street thugs, but as they talked it became obvious they had connections to the Venezuelans. I overheard the leader disrespecting you. He wanted to get rid of you. I did what had to be done—I killed him so he wouldn’t kill you. Killed the other one so there would be no witness.”

  “Is that true, Oleg?”

  “Yes, sir, it is. The man said you and Novak’s old asses shouldn’t still be in the game.”

  Novak’s chuckle rings through the air. “Then there you have it; he got what he deserved, Glazov.”

  “Yes. It does appear the young men needed a lesson in respect.” He directs his next question to Oleg. “Do you anticipate any more problems with the gang?”

  “Sir, I can’t make any promises. You know how gangs are—they’re inherently volatile and they multiply like pestilence. These guys import a large percentage of the cocaine in this area. What Antonio Wayne said is true—the airstrips are in Venezuela.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what they fly out of there as long as it isn’t Russian diamonds. I think that was a onetime thing, a fluke of sorts. One that worked in our favor, I might add. The thing we need to be concerned about now is a gang seeking revenge for the death of their leader. If they try it, blow the whole lot of them up.”

  “Do you anticipate the Ramirez brothers being a problem?” Oleg asks quietly.

  Glazov’s answer is swift and to the point. “No. He was just posturing. He’s made his point. The Ramirez brothers are in the same position we are—gangsters who want to embrace some legit business prospects. If anything… we may have to band together to achieve that purpose. They know it. I know it. And before it’s over, the gangs will know it. The young bloods don’t have the connections we do. Fire power and bravado do not a gangster make…”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Roksana

  “Well, that was Antonio Wayne, one of the infamous Ramirez brothers.”

  “That was in-fucking-tense.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Any time you get that much alpha testosterone in a room, it’s going to be fierce. I was worried about how my father would react to us killing those boys last night. I know him, though, and now he’s going to be more determined than ever to do things his way concerning the Venezuelans.”

  “Did you see the way Antonio Wayne looked at Dmitriy? What was that about?”

  “Dmitriy’s half Russian, half Colombian; Antonio recognized it.” I look at Dmitriy, silently assuring him that I know his story is his own to tell.

  “What are we going to do?” Even though Anastasia is asking me the question, Oleg takes it upon himself to answer her.

  “We’re going to maintain surveillance on them.”

  “We need to up our game in that department. It’s Dmitriy’s area of expertise. Even though he often serves as a bodyguard, the guy is a complete geek when it comes to surveillance and gathering Intel.” I jab him with my elbow, smiling.

  “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he drawls. “The thing is, most of these guys slinging dope do surveillance too. The way they do it may not be as professional, but it’s surveillance nonetheless. When it’s done right, it’s a team effort and seems almost choreographed.

  “They go to the police precinct and take pictures of the cars in the parking lot. They know some of the cars may be employees but they also know some of them are undercover. When they’re dealing, they post a man on th
e roof of the housing development to look for those cars and then they notify the guys on the streets when they spot them in their neighborhood. When the dealers know a cop’s in the area, they disappear until the cops are gone and then they come back.”

  “What kind of equipment do they use?” Anastasia asks.

  “The usual; sometimes they text or use earpieces with push-to-talk microphones. Hell, they could be using walkie-talkies as far as that goes.”

  “There has to be a way we can listen in,” I suggest, glancing at Oleg. “You know how baby monitors or radios sometimes pick up a different frequency and you can hear truckers and stuff?”

  Oleg cuts his eyes at me. “You do realize my area of expertise is torture, right? If there is a way we can intercept their communication, Dmitriy will know it.”

  “I’ll get to work on it,” Dmitriy responds.

  I saunter over to Oleg, standing in front of him so he’s forced to look me in the eye. I trail my fingers up his chest, wedging my fingers between two buttons until I can feel the heat of his skin. “There’s always the old-fashioned way of going to the club where they party. You boys can work the outside while Anastasia and I keep them occupied inside. Just think, Oleg, if we bug their cars we’re going to hear more than just one or two conversations. If we find out where the clubhouse is and bug it, too, we’re going to hear their daily conversations. People let their guard down when they’re at home. It’s perfect.”

  “You know I don’t like you going into bars without me,” he says, nostrils flaring.

  “I don’t like the thought of a hit being put out on my father and me not stopping it. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.”

  “I know. The safety of the Pakhan is always of utmost importance.”

  “Exactly. We have them right where we want them, baby; we’ve killed their leader. Just imagine what it would be like if we lost our leader—it would be chaos. We’d be angry, confused, grieving, and lacking direction. I highly doubt those young-blood gang-bangers are organized—they aren’t like us. Now that they have no leader, they’re going to scatter.

  “I say, we hit them hard while they’re weak. It’ll send a message to anyone else that Bratva controls the diamonds coming out of Russia. The cartel will come in and take over their drug trade but they’ll leave the diamonds alone and everyone will be happy. One thing I’ll say for the cartel is they do respect the powers-that-be.”

  Even though his expression betrays nothing that is going on inside his head, I know I’m getting through to him. He knows everything I’m saying is true. It’s like that old saying ‘if you want to kill a snake, cut the head off’…

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Oleg

  I head to my office to think. If this shit doesn’t go right, it will be my ass on the line. Roksana will be in trouble too, but let’s face it, I’m not daddy’s little girl. If--and that’s a big fucking if--things go the way Roksana is laying it out, that’d be great. If not, I could be on the receiving end of the Pakhan’s wrath with no way of knowing whether I’d survive it.

  In my line of work, timing and chance go hand-in-hand in determining outcomes. The best laid plans can go wrong. Alexander Glazov would have no problem putting a bullet in my brain if I fuck up. It’s imperative things work out in his best interests. This is his door into the diamond business and going legit, or as legit as a Bratva boss can get anyway. That doesn’t begin to factor in the delicate relations we have with the Ramirez brothers. Man, this shit could go south so quick. I rub my temples in an effort to stop the emotional vice grip around my head from tightening.

  I shake off the stress and start making plans. I call Dmitriy’s number and wait for him to pick up.

  “What’s up, my man?”

  “Meet me in my office, we need to talk. Maybe I should reword that, we need to strategize. And go ahead and change clothes. We’re going out on the town.”

  “Really? Well, you know what they say, two heads are better than one.”

  “I heard that. Hey, one more thing. Come alone.”

  “Ha, ha. Not feeling the girls right now, huh?”

  “Oh, I’m always feeling Roksana. I just need to get a game plan with you on the surveillance end of things.” I’m not going to tell him I don’t want to take Roksana where we’ll be going tonight.

  “Now, in-depth surveillance is something I’m looking forward to.”

  “What are you, a fucking voyeur?”

  “There’s nothing better than eavesdropping on someone and hearing all their secrets. You have no idea the shit people reveal about themselves after a few cervesas.”

  “Yeah, I can see where there would be some truth to that. Alright, I’ll see you in a minute.”

  I want to get Dmitriy’s take on the situation. We’ve known each other a long time, but last night was the first time we’ve worked together. There’s no better way to get to know a man than planning the death of another man with him.

  Anastasia

  Watching Roksana pace back and forth is making me nervous. Listening to her is another thing, because she so rarely opens up like this. That’s a good thing for two reasons: she trusts me enough to let me know what’s going on in that head of hers, and I’m learning from her. I made up my mind when I was first thrust into this lifestyle that I was going to learn all I could.

  “I’m telling you, taking these guys down is the best thing we can do. As soon as they’re down, the Colombians will come in and take over. Even though the Ramirez brothers don’t deal in drugs they have ties all over Central and South America.”

  “And they’ve moved here?” I ask.

  “Yes. They’re doing the same thing my father is—trying to get some legitimate businesses going. They’re getting into the movie business. Churchill Downs draws a ton of celebrities.”

  “Hmm, that’s smart, staying in good with other bosses.”

  “Yeah, well, if they don’t let their egos get in the way we should all be okay—alive anyway.”

  “Yeah. I have to agree the tension was thick. What is it with these guys?”

  Roksana stops pacing and cuts her eyes at me with such intensity that for a second I wonder if I’ve made her mad. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re all gorgeous.”

  She smirks and her demeanor changes, and I can breathe easier. “Even Dmitriy?” She fans herself dramatically and takes on a southern accent as if she’s been transported back to the Gone with the Wind era. “Do ya find Dmitriy to be gorgeous?”

  “Oh, there’s no doubt he’s good looking. It was interesting to find out he’s half Colombian.”

  “And…”

  “That’s it.” I point to my temple as I continue. “This girl is in it to learn. I don’t need any distractions.”

  She sits on the edge of the bed and looks at me. The sincerity in her eyes is laced with determination. Whatever she’s about to say is important to her. That means it’s important to me, too.

  “It doesn’t matter how much you learn, Anastasia, you can never use that knowledge anywhere but here. You do understand my father owns you now, right?”

  “I understand that more than you could ever know.”

  Oleg

  “Are you serious, man? You look like a fucking drug head surfer dude.”

  “Hey, fuck you, Dmitriy. The only reason I brought you with me is because you don’t look Russian. With all that dark olive skin and dark eyes, you’ll fit in right in. And don’t get me started about the thousand-dollar belt and those snakeskin boots.”

  “I knew it; you’re just using me for my body,” Dmitriy deadpans from the passenger seat of the SUV.

  “Well, the last thing we want to do is to go in here in five thousand dollar suits and ponytails. If drug dealers know how to do anything, it’s sniff out rival gangs.”

  “Oh, please,” Dmitriy scoffs, “you guys are easy to sniff out. You purebred Russians, you’re all huge with enormous hands. What the hell do they feed y
ou guys? On a serious note, I know I look Latino. I figure, that will work in our favor; I’m familiar with the customs and I dressed the part. We’ll be fine.”

  “What’s your story with that, anyway?” The look on my face is serious. Something’s different about this guy and I want to know what it is. I know he’s cool or Glazov never would have taken him in.

  “My mother’s Colombian and my father’s Russian.” He looks at me as if he’s being funny but the pain in his eyes can’t be hidden. “The story goes that my dad went to some bar and took the Latina barmaid home and I’m the result. Unfortunately, Mom didn’t want to be a mom so she dropped me off at the Russian Orthodox Church right after I was born. Glazov got wind of it and found a Russian family who couldn’t have children. They took me in and raised me as their own. For some reason, he took an interest in me. He paid for my education. I grew up playing with his kids, eating at his table and being groomed for Bratva.”

  His look is pensive as he shakes his head and though he barely speaks above a whisper his words ring loud and clear. “I owe the man my life.”

  Boy, if I’ve heard that once I’ve heard it a million times. Say what you want about the life he’s chosen for himself, but the Pakhan has changed many lives for the better. “Sounds to me like you’re just like the rest of us -- born Bratva, one way or another.”

  “That I am.”

  I pull up to the front of a bar that looks like nothing more than a hole in the wall. I’ll be damned if I’m parking my customized SUV in the alley or behind this place. I also have no intention of going into a strip club unarmed. I’ve got a knife on my upper arm under my denim jacket, and a gun in a sheath that was customized for my shit kickers. My Glock’s tucked into the back of my jeans. The denim jacket is the perfect length to hide it.

  Dmitriy eyes me like he knows what I’m thinking. “I got your back, man. No worries. If those motherfuckers search you and take every bit of artillery you’re carrying, you’ve got me.”