The War: Bratva Blood Two : (A dark mafia romance)

by SR Jones

  His lips are full, and his eyes are huge aquatic pools framed by dark lashes.

  He can’t be a gangster, surely?

  Then I take in his stance. Combative, aggressive even. And his build. As big as Andrius. He’s around six-foot-tall I think; not as tall as Konstantin, but not far off, and he’s broad. I glance at his hands. Andrius has scars all over his knuckles and up his forearms. Konstantin has bloodied, scraped knuckles where he punched Andrius. This man … yep, there are marks where I can see he’s fought before.

  He might have the face of a movie star, but he’s got the hands of a street brawler. He doesn’t look hard, though, the way Konstantin and Andrius do. His face looks … beatific almost. As if he’s peaceful and content.

  “Cassie, Bohdan,” Konstantin snaps, and I glance at him to see his face is like thunder.

  Oh God, he probably thinks I’m eye fucking his Bratva soldier. I’m not. Although, objectively, I can see he’s gorgeous, I’m not into him. I can’t be. My mind and body are obsessed with Konstantin right now. To the extent that Captain America himself could stand before me in nothing but tiny Captain America trunks, and I’d probably not get hot and bothered.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say, and then because I’m an idiot, I offer my hand.

  “Oh, charmed.” Bohdan takes my hand, raises it to his lips, and kisses the back of it.

  Konstantin stares at him for one long moment, then pushes him back so roughly he hits the cupboards behind him.

  Bohdan says something in Russian, laughing.

  “Finally, you meet a woman who puts your cock in a cage,” Andrius helpfully translates Bohdan’s words for me.

  Konstantin snarls a reply, also in Russian, ignoring Andrius.

  “Konstantin just asked Bohdan if he would like his cock putting in a blender and if not to shut his fucking mouth.” Andrius translates again.

  “Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee? You must be thirsty.”

  Oh God. I’ve turned into someone from a parody of Downton Abbey.

  My voice sounds so English, and tea? In the midst of these two thugging it out?

  “No tea, but coffee yes, please,” Bohdan says.

  “Sorry, you guys probably don’t drink a lot of tea,” I say, flushing.

  “We do,” Andrius replies. “It’s the national drink of Russia, some say. But we don’t drink it like you Brits do, all milky, weak, and disgusting.”

  “I don’t drink it weak,” I say, almost offended. “Builders only for me.”

  “What is this builders you speak of?” Bohdan demands.

  “It’s erm, strong, brewed for a long time. How a lot of builders take it, allegedly, hence the name.”

  This is surreal! I’m discussing ways of taking one’s tea with a load of mobsters.

  “I bet you do not have a teapot,” Bohdan says. “If you are using a bag and pouring in milk, it is not tea.”

  I don’t have a teapot at home; he’s right. “Do you have a teapot?” I ask Konstantin.

  “Of course,” he says. “I have a set. From an antique dealer in St Petersburg.”

  His accent thickens when he’s around his friends, I notice. Sometimes, when he speaks, for a moment or two it can sound British, but then certain words will have that heavy Russian emphasis on consonants. Other times, he’ll slightly mangle a phrase. Since Andrius, Vasily, and Bohdan have been here, though, his accent shows more. I don’t think he’s aware of it.

  “Can I see it one day?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course.” He smiles at me, and I catch it and hold it to me.

  He smiled at me with affection, in front of his friends, and he didn’t think before he did so. It means something to me, this smile, and so I cherish it close.

  “So, you are Cassie? The one who has caused all this bother.” Bohdan eyes me, and I can see it. The moment he figures out Konstantin must have lost his mind doing all this for me. Yeah, I bet I’m nothing like he imagined. I bet the women he screws around with are the model types Konstantin also gravitated toward before me.

  I decide there and then I don’t like him much. Andrius, I like, despite his wolf eyes and his horrifically deadly accuracy with a gun. Vasily, I hate. This one? I dislike him so far.

  He says something to Konstantin in Russian, and I wonder if he’s saying I’m far too plain, too non-descript to be causing all this hassle, and he should simply get rid of me.

  Konstantin glances my way, and he must see something in my eyes because he turns to Bohdan and snaps at him. “Speak in English while Cassie is here. It’s fucking rude to talk in Russian, since she can’t understand it.”

  Bohdan glances at me, and there’s something akin to anger simmering in his beautiful eyes as he watches me for a long moment. He holds his hands up to Konstantin. “Okay. She is the one who let Popov find out you were hacking him, and so she is the reason all this happened.”

  “Hardly,” Andrius says.

  I walk to the coffee machine and calmly start to make coffees, even though inside I’m shaking. None of Konstantin’s men seem to like me at all, and I can’t see how that will change. If I did manage to make a relationship with him, it would be fraught because his closest men would always be against me.

  “All of this would have happened anyway,” Andrius continues. “Cassie isn’t to blame. Liza, though…”

  He says her name like it’s dirt he’s spitting out of his mouth.

  “Is she still alive?” Bohdan asks. “I always said she was trouble.” He shakes his head.

  “She’s still alive. I think it’s today they’re… I don’t know how to say,” Andrius says. “Taking the baby out, and then her mother will turn off the machine.”

  “You should be there,” I say to Konstantin.

  “Excuse me?” His eyes narrow as I turn to him. “Why the fuck would I be there after what she did to me and Vasily, betraying us this way?”

  “For her mother. She has no one. When I asked her in the hospital, she said that she has no family. I know now she’ll have the baby, but she’ll have to say goodbye to her daughter all alone, and no one should have to do that.”

  “You go then, if you’re so bothered,” he says.

  “Fine, I will.”

  “It’s not safe,” he says.

  “Then you go.” I stare at him as he stares back.

  I’m not backing down on this. Her mother shouldn’t have to face this all alone; it’s cruel. It’s not her mother’s fault the daughter turned into a total bitch; her mum seemed lovely. I lost my mother, and it’s made me appreciate family so much more.

  “Fine, I will go be with her mother, but only as it seems to matter to you so much. I have to see Vasily anyway,” he adds. “It’s not as if I’ll be going especially for that.”

  I nod and turn back to the coffee, not arguing on that score. Sometimes he infuriates me with the way he must have the last word, but I let it go. A row in front of his friends isn’t what I’m aiming for this morning.

  “Did you have a good flight?” Andrius asks Bohdan.

  “Great. I fucked the hostess in the toilet and ate her pussy. She’s invited me to a threesome with her and her girlfriend next time I’m in France.”

  Konstantin cuffs Bohdan up the back of the head, shocking me.

  “What?” Bohdan asks, but his cheeky grin says he knows.

  “Don’t talk like that in front of Cassie.”

  “You said to speak in English. I’m only doing as you requested.”

  “Do you want to get right back on a fucking plane to Moscow?”

  Bohdan sighs as if all the troubles of the world are on his shoulders.

  “What sort of coffee do you want?” I ask.

  “Oh, hazelnut macchiato,” he says with a smirk.

  I smirk back at him. “Coming right up.”

  If he thinks I can’t make a killer macchiato with Konstantin’s fancy machine, he’s got another thing coming.

  I get to work, and two minutes later I present Boh
dan with his drink. It’s served in a tall glass coffee cup that Konstantin has in his cupboards.

  He stares at it, brows raised, then sips it. He smiles and nods at me. “Touché, Cassie, touché.”

  “Anyone else fancy a coffee while I’m making?”

  “No, I must go call Violet. See how she is holding up,” Andrius says, and his face softens when he mentions her.

  How I’d love for Konstantin to feel that way about me. For his face to soften when he discusses me.

  Andrius leaves, and I feel uncomfortable with Bohdan’s scrutiny now that it’s only me, him, and Konstantin.

  “He’s working with us on this?” Bohdan asks Konstantin, nodding in the direction of the door Andrius just walked through.

  “Yes, they’ve threatened his family. Things are moving quickly. Tonight, I’m taking Cassie to her apartment to pick up her passport, and then tomorrow we’re all going to Paris.”

  Any excitement I had dies at the idea of Bohdan coming with us.

  “All who? All the men, or you, me, and her?”

  The way Bohdan says her pisses me off. Fed up of his sneering and implied insults, I turn to him and put my hands on my hips, gathering all my courage. “Why do you have an issue with me when you’ve only just met me?”

  “Because.” He sips at his drink and swallows, and then he skewers me with a hard stare. “You told K you could hack Popov, but you got caught. You’re what? Twenty-two, twenty-three? You’re cookies, and macchiatos, and puppies, and happy-ever-afters. You’re a child. You don’t belong. Liza, she’s a horrible bitch, but she could deal with this world, if she weren’t a backstabbing whore, but you’re not able.”

  Konstantin hasn’t said anything, which I find odd. He usually springs to my defense. I glance at him, and he’s watching us, interest etched on his face.

  Fine, so he’s not coming to my rescue this time.

  “Fuck you,” I snarl. “I lost my mother when I was only young, although, truthfully, I lost her long before then. I went in and out of foster homes for a year or two before finally being placed with my grandparents, and let me tell you, those places are hell. Even if you’re only in them for a week or two, it’s enough to screw anyone up. Now, I’m sure you’re a big, bad, hardened man, but until you’ve survived having a fifty-year old man try to make you suck his disgusting stubby cock when you’re only twelve, while your mother dries out in a rehab facility, you don’t get to lecture me. So either treat me with some respect, or leave me the fuck alone.”

  I take his coffee, swiping the cup out from under him and pour it down the sink.

  “Make your own damn coffee,” I say as I storm out of the room.

  “Okay, I was wrong, maybe you have found someone able to stand by your side,” I hear him say as I leave the room.

  I don’t feel any sense of triumph, though. No, my heart is pounding too fast and hard. I didn’t mean to say that. I lost my temper completely and let something out I’ve never told anyone, except the useless therapist I had for a few months.

  Fucking shit. Why, why, why.

  Now Konstantin will either view me with pity, or he’ll see me as dirty, the way I view myself whenever I let that memory in.

  It’s still so vivid. The smell of him, cigarettes and beer. The way he laughed when he exposed himself to me. I’d only ever seen a penis in school textbooks before, and not hard. I now know he wasn’t very big, but at the time, I had been terrified by the size of him. He told me I had to suck him, but I told him I’d bite it off if he put it in my mouth.

  He threatened me, and when that didn’t work he offered me ten pounds to do it. I screamed so loudly, his partially deaf wife heard. When she saw what was happening, she threw me out. No care for me, only jealousy that her fat, stinky husband wanted something from me. I hated her. I hated her so much that for years I had fantasies of punching her in her stupid moon face. I hated her more than I hated him because he was a piece of shit, but she’d seemed nice to me until that moment. In fact, until he did that, she seemed almost maternal, and I’d relaxed a little while staying there.

  I hated her because she betrayed me. Konstantin isn’t the only one to be let down by people who should do better.

  Shutting the door behind me, I flop onto the bed and cover my eyes. Why did I bring that particular moment up?

  The door bursts open, and Konstantin fills the space.

  “What the hell?” he says.

  “Oh, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of your man by bringing up my sordid past.”

  “What?” He frowns. Then he sighs and comes to sit on the bed. “Cassie, I don’t care about that. I care about what the hell you said down there. Who did this to you?”

  “Some guy I was fostered with. I didn’t do it, don’t worry. I’m not…dirty,” I say, my voice small.

  He stares at me, and I see his jaw working. “You wouldn’t be dirty even if you had done it.” He looks away from me at the wall, thinking. “Cassie, you weren’t remotely to blame, you know that, right?”

  “I know, but for some reason, and I know it makes no sense, it’s always left me with this sticky sense of shame I can’t wash off.”

  “Come here.” He pulls me to him.

  I climb onto his knee as he wraps me up in his arms. He kisses the top of my head, and I close my eyes. This is the best thing about him. The way he makes me feel so safe. It’s as if while I’m here in his arms, nothing and no one can touch me, not even the past.

  “I feel the same way,” he says. “My father left me and my mother. He was a total piece of shit for doing that. I still feel embarrassed by it, though.”

  “You do?” I pull away and look at him, surprised.

  “Yeah, I do. I think the things we have happen to us when we’re young, they can leave a mark, you know? Like a stain on our souls we can’t get rid of. It’s why I think people who hurt kids are the lowest scum on earth.”

  “Why, though, does it make us feel this way?” I ask, almost to myself, not expecting him to answer.

  “Maybe because at that age we can’t process it properly, and we can’t act; we’re helpless.”

  He kisses my forehead, and it’s the most affectionate thing he’s ever done, the way he does it. Soft, respectful, loving.

  “Did he try to touch you again?” he asks.

  “No, I screamed so loud his wife, Mrs. Renton, she heard and came to see what the fuss was. She was hard of hearing, and once she took her hearing aid out, she could only hear a little. I screamed at the top of my lungs, so she came.”

  “And?”

  “She threw me out. I had nowhere to go, so I spent the night in the shed at the bottom of their garden. The next day, I went to a call box and called my grandpa. He took me back to his house and he went crazy at social services. Said if anything happened again to Mum, I had to stay with them.”

  “Why didn’t they let you stay with them in the first place?” he asks, clearly confused.

  This is the bit I hate talking about, but I don’t think Konstantin will judge Grandpa badly.

  I swallow and bury my head in his shoulder as I talk. “Grandpa had a criminal conviction on file. I could visit them, but not stay. He had served three months for GBH.”

  “Grievous bodily harm?” he asks.

  “Yes. He beat up a man who hurt my mum. This was a long time ago, and I can’t remember the man at all. I know Grandpa beat him up because he hit my mum and threatened her; he wouldn’t leave her alone. Grandpa went to his house and attacked him when they got into an argument. Afterward, he had a conviction for a violent offense, and they wouldn’t let me stay with him.”

  Konstantin shifts and holds me tighter. “But there were, damn what’s the word, erm … extenuating, yes? There were extenuating circumstances.”

  “I know, and I don’t blame Grandpa at all, but it’s why for a long time whenever Mum got too sick to care for me, I would be shoved into foster care for a period of time.”

  “How did it change
? How did you finally get placed with your grandparents?”

  I look at him and smile. “My grandpa hired a lawyer, but it cost him all the money he had. He fought in court to become my guardian, so if anything did happen to Mum, I'd have a safe home. Thank God he did because only months later, Mum died.”

  “Christ, Cassie. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I’ve dealt with it,” I lie.

  I haven’t, though, have I? My whole life I’ve craved someone to care for me. A haven, if you will, from the storms of life. Oh, I have that wild streak Konstantin says he saw in me, but I can only explore that if I have a firm anchor, and so far, I haven't managed to find one.

  If only Konstantin would be my anchor, and I could be his, and then we could fly together.

  Chapter Ten

  Konstantin

  Cassie said the name of the woman who was her foster parent when the attempted assault happened. I don’t think she realizes that she did. Later that morning, while Cassie is showering and getting ready for the day, I look up the name of the woman she mentioned, limiting my search to the area of London where Cassie grew up, and then I do a search in relation to fostering.

  It takes some time but, eventually, I find her and her piece of shit husband. A piece of shit husband who still has vulnerable young girls placed with him. Once I’m finished in Paris, I’m going to be paying him a visit. He won’t hurt any other girls if I can help it.

  I need to sort things out at the office today. I’ve completely dropped the ball on my legitimate business interests, but luckily, Margaret is effective at keeping things going in my absence. I also need to check in on Michael. Make sure the Bianchis are treating him well.

  Then whenever the hospital calls to tell me it’s time with Liza, I must go and be with her mother. I don’t want to. Not for the reasons I let Cassie think. It’s more complicated. I might hate Liza in many ways, but I don’t want to be there when they coldly and dispassionately take her baby out of her and then turn her life off like a switch. I’ve seen a lot of death, but usually the death I see is during violent skirmishes or war. You don’t process at the time. You can’t. For some that leads to PTSD or other issues, but for me? I’ve always been able to push it away after the fact. This time, I’m going to have to be fully present while someone loses their life. Someone who had half her head blown off.