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©Diamond Days
©Born Bratva Series
©Born Bratva Legacy Series
Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele
Published by Suzanne Steele
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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To the Reader
The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from, and yet are drawn to like a moth to a flame.
If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. My heroes often carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. Each character I create has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, with which the reader may not always agree. They are dark, they are gritty, and often their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.
Stalk Me…
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Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I want to thank God; without him none of this would be possible.
I want to thank my family, who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.
I want to thank Eda Spivey Price, my editor, who came at a time when I needed her most. Eda, you are a Godsend and I will forever be grateful to you for believing in me at a time when I wanted to give up. You were just what I needed to keep writing and pursuing my dream.
I want to thank my readers. You keep me writing when the literary world gets crazy. You guys are amazing and I love you.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Prologue
Glazov had spent his life in anticipation of this day: the weddings of his three children. Any father who faced the prospect of walking his daughter down the aisle did so with a mixture of pride and trepidation; however, most fathers didn’t make that trip three times in the same ceremony. But he did.
He could have delegated two of those trips to others since Natasha and Logan weren’t his offspring. Someone even suggested he walk all three brides down the aisle at once. His wife, Kathleen, quickly nixed that idea, insisting that every bride deserved her moment.
The irony wasn’t lost on him; his Ptichka had an unconventional entrée into her Bratva life all those years ago, and a walk down the aisle had not been part of it. He had never given it much thought, but today his mind lingered on the sacrifices his Ptichka made for Bratva -- and for him – all those years ago.
Logan had no close family ties beyond her Bratva family, and Natasha became one of his own the night her father was murdered. His daughter, Roksana, was protective of the women in the Glazov family, much like her mother, and had no objection to sharing her father with her new ‘sisters’. So, three brides, three trips down the aisle. It had been a busy day.
The wedding reception was being held in the grand ballroom he reserved for special celebrations. Kathleen had it decorated in a white winter theme with touches of what he called ‘Tereschenko Blue’. Family, friends, and a select few business associates were gathered to celebrate this next stage of their lives.
Today signified the passing of the torch to the next generation. It was up to them now to uphold the Bratva traditions and create new ones of their own. It was as it should be, and he was ready.
The diamond import business would be the key to the next chapter in their lives. Glazov wasn’t naïve; he still had enemies. Rivals he’d crossed or simply outmaneuvered over the years, would come looking for retribution. Or perhaps they would make the mistake of thinking he was weak, that he had gone soft. They would not make such a mistake twice. Despite the blood on his hands, his conscience remained clear. He’d lived the life that had been chosen for him generations before his birth. He had honored the legacy of his ancestors.
But times were changing. The streets were riddled with gangs that had no sense of loyalty or respect, who murdered and maimed for the sport of it. He wanted no part of it and would, instead, take pleasure in watching them destroy each other.
But the diamond trade had its own dangers, so he had invested considerable time and effort in laying the groundwork that would ensure his family’s safety: no blood diamonds, no theft, no forgery. Most importantly, they would deal exclusively in diamonds from Russian mines. The workers would have the best equipment and safest conditions in which to work.
Only time would tell what the future would bring. It was a new day, a new horizon, a new vision. If all went according to plan, soon his wife would no longer have a reason to lose sleep worrying about his safety. He intended to be around to enjoy his children’s children; all the more reason for them to start their families and give him grandchildren, sooner rather than later. In this, as in all things, Glazov was not a patient man.
He pulled his wife closer to him so she was tucked into his side—the woman he forced into marriage. He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected their marriage to be, but the union had proven to be more fulfilling than he could have ever imagined.
“Yes, Ptichka, it is a good day. You have created a spectacular celebration for our family. I have come to expect nothing less.”
“Thank you, love,” she said as she looked up at him, her hand smoothing the lapel of his tuxedo before slipping underneath to rest over his heart, “but that’s not what I mean. Our children, they do us proud, today and every day.”
“Yes. And now we prepare for a new chapter. We need new blood to carry on the Glazov name.”
“I can’t believe you’re already thinking about grandchildren,” came a haughty, feminine voice from Glazov’s left. “It’s only their wedding night, darling. You must give them some time.”
Glazov’s sister, Vladimira, plucked a shot glass from a passing tray as she glided across the floor toward them, the train of her black satin evening gown flowing behind her like rippling water. Her dark eyes twinkled at her brother’s long-suffering eye roll. Kathleen couldn’t help but laugh at her sister-in-law’s quip as they traded air kisses.
Vladimira remained a stunning beauty. Her beauty was the stuff of legend among the Bratva, and rightfully so: her porcelain skin provided the perfect palate for her artfully arched brows, high cheekbones, and blood red lips. Glossy, blue-black hair shimmered beneath a sea of crystal chandeliers. The only evidence of the passage of time that Kathleen could discern was the prominent streak of silvery gray hair above her temple. And even that was beautiful. Vladimira wore her hair swept over one shoulder to emphasize the streak, and her jaw-dropping curves were as sleek as they had ever been.
Vladimira took one of Kathleen’s hands and stepped back, admiring Kathleen’s gown as she held their hands aloft. Her ornate, Gothic-style poison ring glinted on her left hand. She wore the lethal piece of jewelry as other women wore their wedding rings. It signified her all-consuming, lifelong commitment to Bratva – but it wasn’t just for show. The ring was always fully loaded with her poison of choice, and today was no exception.
She eyed her sister-in-law with approval. “So very beautiful, as always, Kathleen. You do my brother proud.” Turning her attention back to Glazov, she arched a brow imperiously. “Now, brother of mine, what is this you were saying about grandchildren?”
Glazov didn’t join in the women’s revelry, instead meeting Vladimira’s mischievous gaze with somber stoicism. “Time is a luxury I do not have.”
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Kathleen murmured as she tucked herself back into his side, kissing his cheek. “You know how I worry. Always so serious. Not today of all days. Just enjoy the moment, Glazov.”
“You still call him Glazov after all these years, not Alexander. Why is this?” Vladimir asked.
“That is a good question,” he concurred as he glanced around the room, instinctively taking stock of every detail: his guests’ demeanor, the connections being made and hatchets being buried, so to speak.
“Because,” Kathleen purred, “Glazov is who you are: the Pakhan who inspires great love and great fear in equal measure.”
“So, you’ll always see me as a gangster. I suppose I can’t expect any different,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral.
“Ah, but you’re my gangster,” she said as she rested her hand on his cheek, her thumb slowly stroking along his beautifully chiseled cheekbone.
“I say, let them enjoy being newlyweds. I understand it is a feeling like no other,” Vladimira concluded wistfully.
Then, smiling perhaps a bit too brightly, Vladimira turned away to scan the sea of wedding guests, her gaze settling on a couple standing near the edge of the dance floor. Kathleen’s eyes widened when a small smile tugged at Vladimira’s lips and a low, sensual purr hummed from her throat. Kathleen followed her sister-in-law’s predatory gaze straight to Yafon, Glazov’s longtime guard and Oleg’s father. He was talking to his nephew’s bride, Roksana, and seemed oblivious to Vladimira’s hungry gaze.
“This is where I take my leave, my darlings,” Vladimira drawled, smiling indulgently at Kathleen and Glazov’s obvious pleasure in each other’s company. “I have enjoyed my visit but I’m afraid I must fly away home tonight. I thank you for such wonderful hospitality, as always.” She turned away abruptly when her eyes alighted on her beloved Nikita and his new bride, Natasha. “Oh, there he is, my little prince!”
“He loves it when you call him that,” Glazov called after her blandly. He shrugged, feigning innocence in response to his wife’s skeptical glare as he watched Vladimira cross the room, no doubt to fuss over her nephew. She slowed her pace when she passed Yafon and Roksana, pausing just long enough to air-kiss the bride and run a hand admiringly along the sleeve of Yafon’s tuxedo jacket, squeezing the thick bicep that strained against the fabric.
Yafon always stood out in a crowd, an older man, pushing 60, handsome in an unconventional way with his bald head and his beefy, muscular build. Glazov frowned at the warmth that touched the big man’s cheeks as his sister walked away, her hips swaying perhaps just a bit more than usual. Well, well, well.
Glazov watched his sister’s retreating back as he contemplated his wife’s previous comment, his brows drawing together almost imperceptibly. “Do you fear me?” he asked quietly.
“Would you have it any other way?” she teased, snuggling in closer to him and resting her hand over his heart. “I love you, Glazov, and every sinister moment of my life with you.”
“And I love you, Ptichka,” he replied, covering her hand with his own.
They savored the moment as their children took to the dance floor for their first dance as married couples. They surprised their parents by joining hands in a circle and performing a traditional Russian folk dance, prompting heartfelt applause from onlookers, especially the old-timers in the crowd. It was a beautiful sight, how their children honored their Bratva heritage.
Everything about the day was exceptional, a perfect celebration of new beginnings. Until the gunshots rang out…
Chapter One
Eight Hours Earlier
“Mom, this dress is too fucking tight!”
Kathleen melted a little whenever Natasha called her ‘Mom’. When Natasha’s father was murdered, the Glazovs had brought her into their family and raised her as if she were their own.
From the moment their eldest son, Nikita, had seen her, he had loved her. And in turn, Natasha beat up any little girl who dared to get near him. It didn’t take long for outsiders to get the message to stay away from Nikita. From an early age, they had made it clear to the world that the other wasn’t available, either for friendship or for love. Their connection was absolute, and closed off to outsiders who didn’t understand their Bratva way of life.
Her father’s murder had been a bloody mess, the culmination of years of betrayal by her drug-addicted mother. The killers had meant to send a message to Kathleen’s husband. Glazov privately grieved the loss of his friend but did not allow himself the unnecessary sentiment of guilt. Everyone in the organization understood and accepted the risks as well as the rewards of being Bratva. He was, however, a man of action and had loved his friend; taking Natasha in was his way of honoring his fallen friend and colleague.
After enduring such a loss, Natasha was forced to grow up faster than most. Suffering will do that to you. Kathleen supposed all Nikita and Natasha had left that was good and pure was each other. They had held on to the dream of this day, and it appeared, at least for today, that sometimes dreams did come true.
Nothing in their world was done in a mediocre fashion; it was all or nothing. Kathleen had seen her share of bloodshed since her introduction to the Bratva life all those years ago, but she’d also seen love, loyalty, and unbreakable bonds. They were a family forged in fire, bound by blood, and born Bratva.
“Natasha, that mouth of yours…I swear. I think we both know why the dress is too tight. Speaking of that, you do know the baby can hear everything you’re saying, right?”
“Then
he should fit right in with this family.”
“He? And how can you be so sure?”
“It’s only fitting that the Bratva gods give us a son—he’s the firstborn grandchild to carry the Glazov name.”
“You sound like Glazov with all that ‘Bratva gods’ talk,” Kathleen muttered.
“Mom,” she turned and eyed Kathleen solemnly, “you haven’t said anything to him, have you?”
“No, love, it isn’t my place to tell Glazov he’s going to be a grandfather. You are putting me in a situation though. You know how he is and he isn’t going to be happy about us keeping it from him.” Her heart raced at the thought of the delicious consequences she could expect at her husband’s hands.
“I just want to get through today. I swear, I’ve been more stressed about this wedding than I’ve ever been about my job. And that’s saying something.”
“Speaking of your job, you’re going to have to tell him soon because he’s going to have to call in a cleaner from Russia.”
“Really? I was hoping there wouldn’t be any bodies or crime scenes to clean up, with us going into the diamond business.”
“Don’t be naïve, dear,” Kathleen said as she fussed with Natasha’s veil. “There will be a season of bloodshed. God pity the soul who assumes Glazov has gone soft. My husband will make an example of them to the world to show that he is anything but.”
“Well, we both know no one can strike fear in the hearts of men like the Pakhan can.”
“And the Pakhan does enjoy his work.” Satisfied with the flawless position of the gossamer fabric, Kathleen rested her hands on Natasha’s arms, giving her a happy squeeze as she smiled at their reflection in the gilded cheval mirror. “You’re right, darling, let’s just get through today. I want to enjoy the celebration of my children getting married. If I’ve learned anything on this journey it’s to enjoy the moment.”
Kathleen had accepted long ago that yesterday was gone and tomorrow wasn’t promised. They had this moment in time and she was going to create beautiful memories that would sustain her through the uncertainty that lay ahead.
Diamond Days (Born Bratva Book 6) Page 1
