Diamond Days (Born Bratva Book 6)

by Suzanne Steele

  The stranger lowered the high-powered night vision binoculars from his face, his chest heaving as he tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. Disgust rolled through him, burning in his gut like acid as he replayed the scene in his mind.

  The night vision equipment had been an expensive but necessary purchase. He could only get so close to her, for the time being, anyway. The animal she was married to thought he was the fucking president or something, with all the security he had going on. Glazov’s property was like a fucking fortress, complete with heavily armed guards patrolling the perimeter.

  It was sheer luck that he had found a secluded spot beyond the property line where he could keep an eye on her and not be observed. In another stroke of luck, Glazov’s mansion was constructed with the front entrance a considerable distance from the ground, which meant the basement level was partially underground with discreetly positioned windows to let in a small amount of natural light. Bulletproof glass, no doubt, but nothing his binoculars couldn’t handle. He just hadn’t anticipated how well the night vision equipment would work, providing the stranger with the equivalent of an up-close-and-personal bit of hardcore porn as that Bratva bastard fucked his wife.

  A wife he didn’t deserve.

  She was so pretty. The way he had her arms stretched high above her head, her wrists cuffed to the heavy chain as she dangled just off the floor, was stunning. Glazov had unwittingly given him an unobstructed view of Kathleen’s nude body; every line and curve, from her plump breasts right down to the dimples on either side of her spine, just above that luscious ass. No wonder Glazov didn’t fuck around.

  The stranger couldn’t help but imagine how it was going to feel when he fucked her. Her flesh would be firm and warm under his hands, flawless like alabaster and smooth as silk. And her pussy would be a velvety heaven for his dick.

  Of course, it would take some convincing. He would prefer that she be a willing participant in their joining, but he was up for the challenge. He was a determined man.

  You see, the thing I have going for me is that I’m not intimidated by Alexander Glazov. Despite the Bratva folklore to the contrary, the Pakhan is a mere mortal. Just a man, flesh and blood.

  And I have a secret.

  I know something about him that no one else knows—not even his beloved Ptichka. Some people fear secrets, but not me. Secrets are power.

  He raised the binoculars to his face once more and groaned at the vile image that assaulted his eyes. With her toes barely touching the floor, she undulated and writhed at the end of the chain as if she were seducing her husband with a forbidden, erotic dance. Glazov pulled her hair and, no doubt, whispered filthy things in her ear. The stranger could tell by the sensual expression on her face that she liked it.

  Then, just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, it got worse. So much worse. Glazov draped her toned thighs over his shoulders and cradled her ass in his hands. He devoured Kathleen’s pussy like a starving man. The stranger gritted his teeth and ran his palm over the erection that tented his pants.

  The sight of her slowly losing her mind in response to her lover’s touch was infuriating, but he couldn’t look away and he couldn’t resist pulling his dick out of his pants. He stroked it, being careful to match the frantic rhythm of her hips as she desperately pressed her pussy to Glazov’s mouth over and over.

  The stranger finally understood how dirty she really was. The knowledge only made him stroke his cock harder as rage pulsed through his veins.

  You’re a dirty slut. You’re a killer’s whore. What does he call you…Ptichka? I have a new name for you and it’s ‘dirty bird’. You’re a bad girl, a dirty bird, a whore, and a slut. You need to be punished, to be disciplined. Be patient, little bird; I am coming for you. I will punish you. I will purge his filthy touch from your body and from your memory, and all will be well. Aahh, aahh, fuuuck…

  Never before had he climaxed with such mind-blowing force and intensity, and it was all because of her. As his seed spilled uselessly onto the ground, he knew he would be doing the right thing by taking her from him.

  He could only imagine how good it was going to feel when his cock was sheathed in her slick, feminine heat as he put his seed to good use and poured it deep inside her…so she could bear the true, rightful Bratva heir—their son.

  Chapter Seven

  Glazov listened to her steady breathing as she slept beside him, their bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs. Her warm curves wrapped around him soothed him as nothing else could.

  He was certain stress was the reason people got hooked on drugs and alcohol. Discipline was a must in his line of work, truly a matter of life and death. So many people wasted their lives looking for a way to silence the inner demons they fought, only to succumb to temptation the minute their guard was down. But not him; a man in his position couldn’t afford to be given over to addictions. Lucky for him, Kathleen was his drug of choice.

  He’d faced wars before, but this was different and he had finally had to accept that he knew why: his past was coming back to destroy all he had worked for. This demon, this darkness, would stop at nothing to destroy everything good in his life.

  When did things become so fucking complicated?

  Someone else in his position might be worried about losing power and money, but those weren’t the things he feared losing. His only weakness was his family and, of course, the darkness knew that. The darkness knew everything.

  But that was the thing about secrets. Almost like a living, breathing thing, they seemed to know when to make their presence known, the exact moment the revelation would do the most damage.

  A faint smile formed on his lips as he thought about the joke he and his daughter-in-law, Natasha, shared—the Bratva gods. If there had ever been a time in his life when he could use a Bratva deity or two, it was now. Too bad they were nothing more than an inside joke. He eyed his Glock on the bedside table. No inside joke there, only the cold, hard truth: no one fucked with his family and lived.

  He’d be going it alone this time, in every way that mattered. He liked those odds better anyway.

  He ran an inquisitive hand over the smooth curve of her hip, squeezing the supple flesh hard enough to elicit a sleepy moan. He rolled on top of her and met her heavy-lidded gaze as he kneaded an ample breast.

  As he positioned his cock at her entrance, he thought about how much he loved the feel of cold steel in his hands. But even more than that, he was going to enjoy the look of shock on his adversary’s face when he realized that Glazov knew exactly who he was. With a low, predatory growl, he powered into his woman with a single, forceful thrust.

  For the first time in years, Kathleen was glad he wasn’t there when she woke up. Glazov dominated whatever space he inhabited, without even trying. So, yeah…she was glad he had gotten on with his day and let her sleep, because he was hiding something and she was going to find out what it was.

  The biggest challenge wouldn’t be finding out what was going on, although she was certain it wouldn’t be easy. The biggest challenge would be throwing her husband’s goons off her trail. Her husband had the uncanny ability to understand the motives and intentions of others, all while keeping his own cards close to his vest.

  She didn’t fear death, but secrets? Well… that was another thing. She had an innate need to know what was going on when it pertained to her family. There wasn’t a force big enough or dark enough to quell her curiosity when it came to the ‘bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh’.

  If some sick fuck was coming after her family, he would have to go through her. She was a Glazov; she didn’t play fair, she played to win. Kathleen Glazov had long ago learned to take fighting dirty to a whole new level. She had brains, beauty, and guts. She was a worthy opponent for any enemy.

  She rushed through her morning routine, taking a quick shower and slipping into her favorite peacock blue satin robe before sitting down at her make-up table to get ready for the day.

 
She could feel him before she saw him. But there he was, reflected in the mirror, just behind her. She resisted the urge to show any anxiety as he stood close behind her and laid his hands at the base of her throat. As he ran the pad of his thumb along her cheek, she focused on keeping her breathing nice and even.

  “You know I don’t like it when you watch me put on my makeup,” she said smoothly, forcing herself to meet his narrowed gaze. “I wouldn’t want you to find out all my secrets.”

  He was like a shark smelling blood in the water. One sign of weakness and it would be all over. He would pounce and fuck her for hours, and while she had no doubt she’d enjoy the attention, her plan for the day would be over. Instead, he stepped in closer, his expression stoic, revealing nothing. He laid a hand along the top of her head and firmly clasped her chin with the other.

  A human vice. Lovely.

  “You are a great beauty, wife of mine,” he murmured. “Never more beautiful than in the early morning. Your face bare, your hair fanned out over my pillow, your body soft and warm. Remember Ptichka…I’m always watching.”

  We’ll see about that.

  “Always so intense, my love. Good morning to you, too.”

  His eyes were locked on hers, looking for any sign that would give away whether she was up to something. Then again, he never had to wonder if, because she always was. Another long, silent look, then he leaned down and kissed her lips. Seconds later, she was alone once again to wonder how much he knew about what she was up to.

  She had seen her man in action before, had seen him coolly enjoy dinner, laughing over old times with an enemy who had no idea they were eating their last meal. He didn’t reveal what or how much he knew until he was good and ready. He gave new meaning to the term ‘poker face’.

  Most likely, he or one of his men would follow her today, but that wouldn’t stop her. She wouldn’t quit digging until she unearthed all his secrets.

  Chapter Eight

  Glazov bit his bottom lip and scowled as he did his best to ignore his antagonistic cousin. As usual, Novak was seated off to one side of the Pakhan’s grand antique desk, one ankle crossed over the other knee, a Russian coin twirling back and forth through his fingers. Even Glazov had to admit that the way Novak rolled that fucking thing up, over, and through his fingers was strangely fascinating. But he didn’t have time for such indulgences today.

  “What, motherfucker? Spit it out,” Glazov finally hissed.

  Novak tossed the coin into the air and caught it in his fist before straightening in his chair, his eyes narrowing speculatively. “You know who it is.”

  “We don’t know it’s him. We don’t know anything.”

  “Point taken—he’s a fucking ghost. It’s him. You know as well as I do.”

  “He’s mentally ill, is what he is.”

  “Enough with all that proper English shit you have going on with your uptight self. What I’m sayin’ is that ‘crazy’ is a relative term, cuz – quite literally, as it turns out, in this case.”

  Glazov rolled his eyes, preparing for yet another Novak monologue on life and the frailties of the human condition. He didn’t disappoint.

  “We’re all fuckin’ crazy. You make it sound like he’s been diagnosed by a doctor. You can’t tell me that any medical professional wouldn’t diagnose all of us as batshit crazy. You and me…we’re still just as crazy as any other motherfucker.

  “But that’s not what this is about. This is about somebody wanting what you have. Say what you want about Kodiak being young,” he chuckled, “with that closet full of high-dollar tennis shoes – What the fuck do they call them now? Kicks? -- and designer jeans instead of a decent suit. But he has a point: this fucker is motivated by jealousy and greed. He wants what you have. But I do think ego plays a big part in all of this; he thinks you aren’t the rightful Bratva heir. He dares to doubt your claim. How close are you going to let him get to you, to your family, before you take him out?”

  It was where she always went when she needed private time to research: the library. Here she didn’t have to worry about her search history being traced or her keystrokes being monitored. She decided it was high time that she do some research on her family…her Bratva family. Glazov’s father, grandfather, and so on. Glazov never talked about either of them. Considering how family-oriented he was, she had always believed there was an unpleasant reason why he never talked about it.

  Her husband wasn’t the kind of man you pressed to talk if he didn’t want to. And she wasn’t the kind of wife to not investigate. If she couldn’t find what she needed to know through the front door, she’d simply go through the back. Hell, if that didn’t work, she’d find a window.

  Whatever it took, and she was just getting started. She would find out what she needed to know but would never confront Glazov with it. Knowledge was power, yes, but wisdom was knowing not to yank Alexander Glazov’s chain with it. She was curious—not crazy.

  If she was going to find out whatever it was her husband was hiding, she was going to have to look back further in time. Most women would assume her husband’s secret was another woman but she knew better than that. She knew her husband, knew something was troubling him deeply. She would find out what it was and fix it if she could. Isn’t that what wives and mothers did…fix things? And then there was that whole curiosity thing.

  She weeded through the articles about her Bratva family. She had quit reading that shit a long time ago, unless it was something Novak’s journalist wife, Katrina, wrote and then she was all eyes.

  A reporter’s question jumped out at her right away. “Mr. Glazov, most Russian men are named after their father. And, yet, you are not. Why?”

  His response was the smoothly dismissive answer of a man who was accustomed to dealing with reporters. “You would have to ask my father that question and since he’s no longer with us, that’s highly unlikely.”

  Kathleen exhaled harshly and rubbed her temples in frustration. Just what she needed, something else to pique her curiosity. She hoped this wasn’t going to be one of those ventures that raised more questions than answers. What fun was that?

  After an hour of pouring over articles and one or two rare interviews, she could find no further mention of her husband’s descendants. It only solidified her belief that there were some strange family dynamics among the Glazovs. She didn’t know of any family that didn’t have problems, of course, so there was no reason why it should be any different with the Glazovs.

  She had deliberately avoided this conversation in the past because the few times she had brought it up he had given her a vague answer. She’d become adept at pushing the envelope with Glazov right to the fucking edge, but she knew better than to push too hard.

  But why had Glazov gone to such obvious lengths to keep his father’s name out of the press? Her natural curiosity, which had gotten her in trouble with her husband more than once, got the better of her and so she pushed on, typing his name in the search bar before she could change her mind—

  Mikhael Kirill Glazov.

  The point of no return…

  When the image appeared on the screen, she studied the man responsible for setting her husband’s Bratva destiny. He looked more like Novak than Glazov, his hair a darker blonde than either of them. It wasn’t spiked like Novak’s, more of a traditional businessman’s layered look. His eyes were deep-set and a darker blue, but she would know that chiseled jaw, regal nose and those full lips anywhere.

  There was nothing elegant or extravagant about his clothes or his demeanor – so unlike her Glazov. The man in the photograph was smoking a cigarette as he handed a gun to someone. His face was the kind of cold and brutal that you can’t muster up or fake.

  Unlike Glazov, this man had tattoos on his hand. On his forefinger, there was a tattoo of a ring. The caption below the photo read: The ring tattoo means ‘Rely on no one.’

  On his hand was a skull and crossbones tattoo, as well as a gun, a knife, and the letter K off to the side. T
he caption for that one said it denoted ‘murderer’. Well, duh. I haven’t met a fucking Glazov yet who hasn’t done their share of killing.

  Kathleen was getting the impression that this whole Born Bratva thing had started in the streets. It wasn’t glamourous with men walking around in five-thousand dollar suits and diamond rings, with stylish gun holsters and Glocks. This was a grassroots organization that started in the brutal streets and back alleyways of Russia—men who endured austere lives.

  She yawned as she clicked from one article to the next, until she came across something that made her sit up straight in her chair.

  Son of a bitch!

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She quickly erased the search history and grabbed her purse, hurrying from the library.

  I never tire of watching my wife. Even in a fucking library. She is like a beautiful, voluptuous siren, calling to me. She’s smarter than me, it’s one of the reasons I love her so much. Hell, who am I kidding? I love everything about her, except how she lets him dirty bird her. That…I don’t like!

  Dirty bird, dirty bird, dirty bird. You’re a bad, dirty bird, but I will teach you how to be a good girl.

  The stranger forced the voices from his mind. He had to keep a clear head and keep his priorities straight.

  It’s not her fault. The bad man is the reason she does it. He has her mind messed up and she just needs me to fix it—so I’m gonna fix it for her. Her head—I’m gonna fix the way he fucked up her thinking. He’s brainwashed her. It isn’t her fault he put a hex on her. He does it to everybody.

  The Pakhan, the Pakhan, the mighty fucking Pakhan. He has somehow convinced his men that they’ll be cursed if they even think bad thoughts about him. But not me. I’m the only one who can withstand his powers of persuasion. I guess that makes me a superhero. I’ll be able to fix her. Of course, I’ll have to use my own powers of persuasion, but I plan on being very thorough and enjoying every second of it.