Chapter Nine
“Seriously, you know I love you, man, and I never push you--” He paused at Glazov’s skeptical expression. “Fine. Not on things you feel strongly about. But this…this is different. The adage ‘drastic times call for drastic measures’ works in this situation.” There was almost a pleading tone in Novak’s voice as he tried to reason with Glazov.
Glazov breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled, rolling his neck to relieve the stress that was knotting his shoulder muscles. “Why don’t you just say what you mean? You want me to call Bazarnik in.”
Yes, a massage would do him good, he thought, as he made a mental note for later. A nude, full-body massage, provided by his Ptichka…
“Maybe all that shit they say about the Pakhan being psychic is true. Pleeeeze don’t put a hex on me, pleeeze fucking don’t.” Novak – the smartass -- waggled his fingers in the air and followed his words with an exaggerated, ghostly wail. In the next instant, he was roaring with laughter at his own joke. Typical.
“I won’t. How about I just put a fucking bullet in your brain instead?”
“Naah, you love me too much. Where the hell is Bazarnik, anyway?”
“Stop. Twirling. That. Fucking. Coin.”
“Never gonna happen. So, where is he?”
“Where do you think he is? He’s in Russia, blowing shit up in the diamond mines. It’s the only place I can trust the fucking pyromaniac.”
Glazov turned in Novak’s direction, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankles. Lacing his fingers together behind his head, he gave his cousin his full attention. “You’ve piqued my curiosity, Novak. Why would you want me to call in an explosives expert to deal with this?”
“Technically, he’s not an explosives expert. It’s more of a hobby, really, and since you upgraded that incinerator into a full-blown crematorium… It’s perfect. He likes burning shit up. Maybe it’d be fun for him to burn dead bodies up.”
“Or, better yet, maybe even some live ones,” Glazov drawled. “Far be it from me to not make certain my employees are having fun.”
“I like the way you think. But, yeah, he’s a Krysha—a roof—a ‘cover’, if you will. He’s one of your most violent enforcers and the son of a bitch is cunning. When you get the diamond business established, you could use him to protect your retail presence from outside enemies. Your daughter-in-law can’t be dealing with chemicals right now and you’re already bringing in Viggo, the cleaner from Russia. Why not bring them in together? Then you get a two-fer.”
“What in the hell is a ‘two-fer’?”
“Two for the price of one, my man. Just because you have money, that’s no reason to not be frugal.”
“So now you’re looking out for my finances? How admirable of you,” Glazov muttered as he rolled his eyes. “But, seriously -- Bazarnik!? The man has spikes in his head and a tattoo on his face. Actual. Spikes. In his head.”
Novak cocked his head to the side and looked at Glazov like he was sorry for him because he just wasn’t getting it. “Seriously? You’re really saying that to me?! I’m tatted, awled, and pierced every-damn-where -- including my fucking cock and balls.”
“Oh, the balls are pierced now too? When did that happen?”
Novak shot Glazov a sly smirk and began rubbing the ever-present Russian coin between his thumb and forefinger as he waggled his eyebrows smugly. “You know how it is. Anniversary present for the little missus.”
Glazov closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Clearing his throat, he scoffed, “No, I wouldn’t know anything about that. When it comes to anniversary gifts, Kathleen is content with baubles and crazy fucking in the playroom. And ‘awled’ is not a word in the English language—it’s something you made up. I believe the correct term is ‘body modification’.”
This time it was Novak rolling his eyes as he shot his cousin a sardonic look. Glazov scowled in return before muttering, “The man likes hanging by huge hooks from the ceiling and sticking pins in women like they’re fucking voodoo dolls. And as far as your cock and balls are concerned, I don’t care if you fucking ‘Bedazzle’ ‘em and tie them up with a pretty bow! Frankly, I make it a point of not thinking about your cock and balls. You’ve ruined that for me now, so thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. By the way…tsk, tsk, tsk, the first rule of kink is to never judge someone else’s.”
Glazov’s voice rumbled from deep in his chest as he replied through gritted teeth, “I don’t need a lesson on kink etiquette, Emily Fucking-Post, and I’m not judging Bazarnik or his fetishes. I am, however, trying not to draw attention to myself or Bratva. My point is simply that he’s a poster boy for trouble. He’s the kind of guy a cop immediately pulls over because of his appearance.”
“And I’m not?”
“The cops know better than that. And you know perfectly well you’re indispensable around here—it’s why you’re so cocky. I’ve created a fucking monster.”
“That’s what she said.” Novak grinned as he blew on his fingertips and rubbed them across his silk shirt.
“Novak…don’t let it go to your head.”
“It already has. Can’t you tell? Or would you like to see – I have no problem showing you the new stuff. I mean, who knows, it might inspire you to--”
Glazov held up a hand, cutting him off. “Not going to happen. I swear, your ego enters the room before you’ve even gotten to the front door.” A long silence, then, quietly, “I’ll think about it--” Glazov jabbed his pointer finger at Novak. “– the Bazarnik thing. Not the other thing.”
“What? You’ll think about how big my…ego…is, or bringing the fireman in?”
Glazov leaned in and pinned Novak with a withering glare. “The fireman. But that doesn’t change the rules on this job. My enemy’s blood will be on my hands.”
Chapter Ten
Kathleen white-knuckled the steering wheel. She glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes, and followed the black SUV onto the main drive that led to her home. Following close behind her was a second black SUV, the tail-end of the Bratva security detail that had joined her on her return trip home from the library.
As she waited for the security gates to swing open, she flexed her fingers and took a slow, deep breath. Having a close family was a wonderful thing…unless you had something to hide. Especially if you were trying to hide it from a Russian mobster who was known for knowing, well…everything. His children took after him with respect to the Glazov powers of intuition and perception, but her husband took that gift to a whole new level.
She knew she wasn’t ready to face him, but there was no putting it off. A couple of glasses of wine and she’d be prepared for anything he brought to bear. After years of being married, he still struck a chord of fear in her. When Alexander Glazov walked into a room, he was the room. Maybe a shot of vodka with the wine would do the trick.
She took one more deep breath and exited the car.
Time to put on your game face. It’s show time, girl.
She made her way through the foyer and headed back to the commercial kitchen where the kitchen staff prepared for the evening meal.
“Alonya, I’ll be having dinner in my room tonight. I have a bit of a headache. If you could have a chilled bottle of vodka and some wine brought up, I would appreciate it.”
“Yes, Mrs. Glazov. Will the Pakhan be joining you?”
I sure as hell hope not.
“I’m not quite sure yet, dear.”
Kathleen hurried up the steps to the master bedroom and immediately made her way into the shower. If only the water could wash away her anxiety about the information she had uncovered at the library. After her shower, she’d let the vodka do its job and then she’d be able to relax.
She rushed through the shower and threw on her robe, towel-drying her hair as she left the bathroom. Once the towel was in the laundry hamper, she turned and was relieved to see the chilled vodka she had requested. She tossed back the shot
that was resting next to the bottle. The slight burn felt good going down and immediately took the edge off her nerves. So, she had another.
She poured a glass of Pinot Noir and took a sip as she pondered what to do with the newfound intelligence she’d gained on the Glazov empire. Yes, knowledge is power – unless that knowledge came in the form of a brutal truth she never asked for or wanted. She sure didn’t feel powerful; she felt scared and confused. Maybe the truth was overrated.
She padded over to her sitting area with the wine glass tilted to her lips. The plush carpet felt decadent beneath her feet. Tucking a silk scarf into the pocket of her robe, she took a particularly long draw from her wine glass. Her mind made up, she strode on slightly wobbly feet into her husband’s home office in the adjoining room before she could change her mind.
Her eyes darted around the room to ensure she was alone. No one else was in the room, of course, but, nonetheless, Glazov’s commanding presence permeated the space, his energy palpable as she admired the dark wood furnishings and masculine décor. She could even pick up a trace of his unique scent wafting through the air – a combination of his cologne and that delicious aroma that was all him, all man.
Her awareness of him was so strong that, even though it was beyond irrational, Kathleen wondered if he might materialize at any moment—like a vapor walking through walls, ready to catch her in the act. She giggled as she thought to herself that maybe there was some truth to what the people believed about him being a supernatural entity. I mean, there was no doubt the man had a sixth sense.
In an effort to squelch the anxiety that was prickling the back of her neck, she pulled the silk scarf from her pocket and sauntered over to the security camera that was mounted in the corner of the ceiling. Glazov usually kept the security cameras in this office and the master bedroom turned off because he couldn’t abide the possibility of anyone seeing his wife undressed or worse yet, watching him fuck her. Talk about a man coming unhinged…when it came to Kathleen’s body, he was certifiable.
“Shhhh…” she giggled as she raised a finger to her lips. She remembered the first time Glazov had seen her on the security footage from his previous gambling house in New York. Even though she knew perfectly well this camera was never turned on, she couldn’t resist tilting her head up and blowing a kiss for old times’ sake as she entertained herself with the fantasy that Glazov was somehow watching her.
“Juuuust in case,” she whispered as she raised up on her tiptoes, held the scarf in two hands, and aimed for the camera lens. With the stage set and feeling more than a little smug, she got down to business.
Glazov had two offices: one downstairs where he conducted Bratva business, and this one where he kept his personal papers and handled matters pertaining to his immediate family. If there was evidence of what she was looking for, it would be here in his personal records or in the safe.
Hmm. The safe…
She bent down and punched in the code. The beep of the safe opening reminded her that she’d crossed a line. There would be no going back now. She’d crossed so many lines since the day she met her husband that she had convinced herself it didn’t faze her anymore. With the outside world, she had learned not to concern herself with the perpetually blurred lines she encountered due to love for her family, love for Bratva. However, the monster she faced now was a beast of a different kind.
With an armful of items from the safe, she lowered herself to the floor and curled her legs underneath her as she adjusted the robe, getting comfortable since she’d likely be there for a while. She reached across a stack of folders and opened a box. She was soon sorting through familiar birth certificates with tiny, inked footprints, and a tender smile graced her face as she ran a fingertip across Kodiak’s adoption papers.
She sipped on her wine as she read over the documents. Memories swirled around her, making her a little misty: her Russian mobster, sleeping on the floor of Kodiak’s small bedroom down the hall because the beautiful boy was having nightmares about the fire that took his father’s life; her ruthless Pakhan, lying on his back, covered in giggly, sweet-smelling toddlers who had united to shake down their father for the candy he often just happened to have in his pockets; her giant of a husband cradling their colicky newborn daughter, soothing her with sweet Russian words in that low, raspy voice that all of the Glazov babies had recognized from the moment they were born.
Their babies were all grown up now. Everything she’d ever done, hell, everything she hadn’t done, had been for them. No matter how old they got; they would always, always be her babies.
She picked up her marriage certificate and thought back to the day she was forced to marry her husband. The marriage that had started out as his way of ensuring she could never testify against him in a court of law, had surprised them both by evolving into the passionate, obsessive love of a lifetime.
She stood and reached into the back of the safe, pulling out a small box crafted from a rare tree in Russian. There was nothing fancy about its design, but the wood was considered rare in Russia and was sought after by builders of log cabins designed to withstand the cold Siberian winters.
She opened the box and felt a fresh wave of tender emotions. A tear trickle down her cheek at the sight of two pairs of baby shoes. Nikita and Roksana. Glazov also had their baby shoes bronzed and displayed in his downstairs office, but these were tiny and delicate, just like the precious feet they had protected.
She stroked a fingertip across one of the shoes and thought about her unborn grandchild. She would have to remember to let Natasha know Nikita’s baby shoes were here when the babe was born.
Clearing her throat, she brushed another tear away and replaced the lid, determined to not allow herself to get distracted from her purpose. She wasn’t there to take a trip down memory lane—she was there to ensure her family didn’t make a visit to rock bottom.
She flipped through various papers concerning business matters, things like insurance policies and investment records, before cursing in frustration. She leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the floor once more.
What did you think, Kathleen, that your husband would just leave his deep dark secrets in the safe where you could find them?
She closed her eyes, basking in the sublime relaxation she felt. The shower had helped. So had the vodka and the wine. She supposed most people were running from secrets and had skeletons in their closets—she just wished it hadn’t hit so close to home this time. Kathleen wasn’t particularly concerned about the usual threats of violence that often came their way; she worried that her family would implode if a painful family secret was lurking in her husband’s heart.
She still believed that if they stood together as a family, they could overcome any obstacle. But this time, the threat might be coming from within.
Glazov leaned against the doorframe, crossing a foot over his opposite ankle as he drank her in. Long red hair, still wet from the shower. Her robe, gaping open all the way down to the loosely tied sash. Her head was tilted back against the wall where she sat on the floor…right in front of his safe.
His very open safe.
“Looking for something, Ptichka?”
She jumped, the abrupt movement sending wine sloshing over the rim of her glass and down the front of her robe. He stalked toward her, keeping his strides slow and measured. He knelt down on one knee and toyed with the sash on her robe, pulling it free.
“My, my, but you’ve been a busy girl—even went so far as to cover the lens on the security camera. If I didn’t know any better, I might be inclined to believe you’re hiding something from me.”
Her eyes widened and she frantically shook her head back and forth like a little girl who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
He slowly leaned in and clasped her neck, his thumb stroking her jugular as he savored the fear that thrummed through her bloodstream.
“Liar.” He slid the sash from the loops on her robe and gently wrapped
it around her neck.
“I don’t like it when you lie to me, Ptichka. Perhaps it’s time for a little interrogation session. Shut the safe, dear.”
His eyebrows lifted in amusement as she snort-laughed, her head lolling to the side. His wife had a nice buzz going.
“See…I think that’s funny, because you”—she jabbed her finger in his direction for emphasis, emboldened by his frown when her fingertip made blunt contact with his chest. “—you’re hiding something from me.”
She giggled like a little girl, only confirming what he already knew—she’d been into the vodka. He lifted her chin with a fingertip and regarded her with clinical detachment. “I see someone is a little…shall we say, tipsy?”
“Mmmm…I passed tipsy long, long time ago.” Her words were slurred just the tiniest bit. This elicited another frown from Glazov because his wife could hold her liquor quite well. For her to be even the slightest bit impaired led him to believe that there was more going on here than a cocktail at the end of a long day. His Ptichka was upset about something. That and the look of defiance in her eyes made him want to rake everything off his desk so he could lay her out on it and fuck her sober.
Instead, he loosened his tie while still holding the sash around her neck like a leash. How would he deal with his little hell cat? One thing was certain: He’d never get bored with her.
Kathleen had an innate curiosity that kept her in trouble. She was born with the need to know—everything. Although he had her followed everywhere because of his obsession with her, he also did it for her safety. He, of all people, knew how far an enemy would go to hurt him.
Every gangster knew that if you wanted to really hurt an adversary, you went after their family. The code of not hurting women or children wasn’t followed anymore. It was new day of blood-and-guts war and anything was fair. The old days of honor and family had given way to hedonistic greed and killing for sport. He was grateful he had raised his children right so they would carry on in the old ways and pass them down to their children. And he looked forward to moving his family in a new, safer direction.
Diamond Days (Born Bratva Book 6) Page 6
