They lay together in the darkness as he trailed kisses over her shoulder, her breathing becoming deep and even with sleep.
Her night was over but his was just beginning. Vengeance awaited Glazov in a warehouse across town.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Bazarnik stood flicking the blowtorch on and off, seemingly mesmerized by the blue and yellow flame. He’d always been intrigued by fire – obsessed with it, really. What started out as a mere spark could wage a path of destruction and death, leaving nothing but ashes as proof that it ever existed.
He respected the flame’s voracious appetite for destruction. He felt the same way sometimes, like he wanted to annihilate the thoughts that tore at him and troubled him from the inside out. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him or why he was so fucked up in the head, so rather than spin his wheels trying to figure it out, he had decided long ago to accept his true nature.
It was rare that he could indulge his baser proclivities. An occasion such as tonight was to be savored.
“The Pakhan said I could play with you.” He waved the flame in front of the man’s face, watching it flicker and dance until the blue and yellow united in an orgy of heat. “He said that, as long as I don’t kill you, I can play. Now, I don’t have a problem with that, but by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging to die.”
“Fuck you!” the man slurred. His incomprehensible speech wasn’t due to the alcohol he’d been drinking when all his plans came crashing down around him. That buzz had worn off two beatings ago. It was simple exhaustion; his head was in a fog, every muscle screaming in agony. And these goons were just getting started.
The flame was getting dangerously close to his eyebrows. The unmistakable scent of burning hair hit his nostrils and he knew his hell was just beginning.
“Mmm, I do love that smell. Most people love the smell of flowers, but not me. But you know,” Bazarnik said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I like something even better than that.”
He waved the flame over the man’s bare upper thigh – he had been stripped down to his underwear when he had arrived at the warehouse. “The smell of burning flesh. Now, that’s the ultimate in sensory decadence.”
He doubted the man heard the last part of what he’d said because his screams were so loud.
“I don’t think you’re worthy of these Russian tattoos, but that is a problem easily remedied. I don’t want the sight of all this ink to offend my Pakhan’s eyes, so I’m going to burn them off. Any man who doesn’t honor and respect the Pakhan for what he is: the ultimate example of what it is to be a man--” He leaned in close to the one-eyebrowed man’s face and bared his teeth, “—of what it is to be a god, has lost the true meaning of what being Born Bratva is all about.”
“Save some skin for me.” Glazov’s amused voice pulled Bazarnik out of his fire-fueled homage to his leader. The Pakhan was flanked by Novak, Roksana and Oleg. Front row seats, just as they had asked.
Glazov approached and circled him slowly before bending down beside the man, who barely had strength to raise his head. The Pakhan held up a cheese grater, tilting it from side to side.
“Do you know what this is?” He didn’t give him time to answer as he pulled the man’s arm out straight. The man was either too weak or too clueless to anticipate what happened next.
Glazov pressed the slicer side into the arm and scraped it across the surface, slicing the skin away like a thin piece of cheddar cheese. Glazov had seen to it that Novak had sharpened it to a razor’s edge. He complimented his cousin on his work.
“Damn, Novak, nice work, very nice. And with a cheese grater, no less. Is there nothing you can’t do?”
Glazov held up the sheet of skin between two fingers and presented it to the man as if it were evidence. “This is going to prove you are not my brother. You are nothing to me. You’re a copycat, a fraud, a fool who isn’t satisfied with his own life so he tries to take another man’s. You know,” he smirked, “my lovely wife assured me most enthusiastically earlier this evening that, no matter how desperately you want to be me, that isn’t possible.”
The man’s head jerked up and he hissed, “You take that back!”
“Ah, so you’ve joined us. I was concerned that you might miss something. You will serve your purpose, though. You will be a lesson for all those who dare to cross me, so they will be reminded that this is how Bratva exacts its justice…its revenge.”
He took the other arm, repeating the process agonizingly slowly. Shrieks filled the warehouse until the pain overtook him and he passed out.
“Pussy,” Novak muttered.
Glazov had done what he said he would do. He had skinned the man alive. Now it was time to eliminate any evidence the man had ever existed.
“What do you want us to do with him, sir?”
Glazov turned his attention to Bazarnik, his voice lethal as he replied, “Fulfill your destiny, live up to your name, Fireman. Burn him down.”
“Father…” Roksana’s voice cut through his thoughts. “These are his personal effects. We took everything out of that house that gave testimony to the fact that he ever existed. This…is evidence of his obsession with Mother; it should die too. It should be burnt with him.”
A long silence ensued, with Glazov staring stoically at the envelope in his daughter’s hands, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He raised his narrowed eyes to hers and gave a slight nod. “Very well.”
With that, Glazov turned and left. His work here was done.
Chapter Thirty
Glazov stood at the head of the table and looked out at his family. He raised his shot glass of chilled vodka and each person around the table followed suit.
“We have just endured one of the hardest ordeals this family has ever encountered. We will be stronger because of it. There are new members in our cell”—he nodded in Bazarnik and Viggo’s direction—“and we welcome you.”
With an indulgent smile, he raised his glass toward Natasha, who grinned as she raised her glass of water in return. “And we have a new baby on the way and, yes, the Bratva gods will bless us with a boy.”
Natasha laughed. “I told you, Mom, that there’s something to that whole ‘Bratva gods’ thing.”
Everyone around the table joined in her laughter, recognizing the inside joke she shared with the Pakhan.
He raised his free hand for quiet, then continued with his toast. “This…is a time of new beginnings. A time of peace. A time of prosperity and safety. We will continue on as a family to fulfill our destiny. Together, we will prevail over whatever life brings our way.
“It is my desire to leave a legacy of peace to my children and grandchildren. I do not know what the future will bring but we will face it together. We still have enemies; we’ve shed too much blood not to. Keep your eyes and ears open and watch each other’s backs. Stay loyal, stay true, and stay faithful. Always remember, you were Born Bratva and we will prevail.”
“Here, here,” Novak shouted as everyone tossed back their shot.
“Now that was water in your shot glass, right, Natasha?” Novak chided.
“Of course, it was, you fucking troublemaker. Are you trying to get me in trouble with Nikita?”
“Am I that transparent? You know me too well.”
“Well, start passing the food. I’m eating for two and this baby’s hungry.”
“That’s because he’s going to be big like his grandfather,” Glazov laughed.
“More like an Amazon, motherfucker,” Novak guffawed.
“All the better to beat your ass,” Glazov answered, never missing a beat.
The rest of the evening would be spent in celebration of yet another victory against an enemy. This time the enemy had been a ghost from the past. More ghosts would arise from the countless graves of Bratva bloodshed, but the Glazovs would overcome them the same way they always did -- together.
The End—For now
Epilogue
Glazov stood with his wife as he
held the oversized, ceremonial scissors in a firm grip. She beamed up at him as he cut through the ribbon in front of his first jewelry store. Anyone who was anyone had attended the celebration. It would be a fabulously successful store that would cater to the local elite as well as the celebrities and tourists who journeyed to Louisville, Kentucky for the Derby each year.
As the crowd applauded enthusiastically, he smiled at the sight of his daughter-in-law, Natasha, who was ready to give birth any day now.
The ghost of Maverick Vetrov would no longer be a threat to the Glazov legacy. He had proven to be of no blood relation. His death had been a necessity, but Glazov had had a DNA test run on the skin he’d removed from the man’s arm, just to put his mind at ease.
There would be enemies and there would be those who wanted his power and position, but they would never prove to be any more than imposters. His bloodline with Kathleen was the true bloodline of his Bratva legacy. And it was everything.
He leaned down, pulling his Kathleen close to his side and kissing the top of her head. Leaning down, he nipped the shell of her ear, smiling when she shivered.
In a whisper meant only for her, he declared his devotion, “You make me proud, Ptichka. You have been strong and true to our legacy, to our family. I am a fortunate man and will be forever grateful. You are mine, now and forever more. I love you.”
Kathleen’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she beheld this beautiful mountain of a man who swept into her life and transformed it into more than she could have ever imagined. “And I love you, my husband. I’m excited to see what new adventures our future will bring.”
“Be careful what you wish for, darling. The future has a way of surprising us.”
“And we will be ready. Because we are Born Bratva.”
Look for Jaded Jewels (Born Bratva Book 7) coming soon.
Diamond Days (Born Bratva Book 6) Page 15
