Bratva Redemption

by Coco Miller

  “I don’t—” I don’t let him finish. I press the trigger and he jumps again, crying like a newborn baby. More piss fills the air and Vlad takes two more fingers, adding them to the collection. He takes the hot iron rod again and sears the wounds shut. Ivan’s screams make my spine shiver with satisfaction.

  I know it may sound like I’m a sociopath, but the fear of knowing who I’m dealing with motivates my decision making. I know that most likely my enemies have hurt Alegra or at the very least scared her half to death and she’s done nothing to deserve this.

  “If you haven’t learned by now, not knowing really doesn’t work for me, Ivan. Tell the truth, and maybe you’ll leave with one hand to jack yourself off with.”

  Well, I can give him false hope. It’s better than nothing.

  “Vlad, I want you to send those to Santini. Use the address for his main office. I’m sure he is wondering why he hasn’t heard from his spy.”

  I dig through Ivan’s pocket’s and pull out his phone. I see a message from a man named Marco. It’s a picture message. I click on it because I’m nosey, and what I see has my body paralyzed.

  It’s Alegra.

  On her belly, face busted in, blood dripping from her mouth, and tears running down her beautiful face.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Vlad,” I say, handing him the phone. “Find where they are keeping her and hand me the knife.”

  “The knife?” Ivan looks between us with terror in his eyes. “Please, sir. She’s in the old diner on Southwest and Main. I swear to god, I fucking swear.”

  “Too late,” I say, and when Vlad sees the picture his face turns red, and he grabs the cigar cutters again. With a deep primal growl, he cuts the rest of the fingers off of Ivan’s hands, leaving nothing but stumps.

  “My sister!” he shouts, that red haze taking over that he typically gets lost in. “My sister! You hurt her!” Vlad reaches from the man’s cock, ready to clip that off too, wanting to emasculate him but I stop him.

  That’s more blood than I want to deal with.

  “Get the bag,” I tell him and Vlad sneers, punching Ivan in the face again.

  Vlad slams the wooden door open, breaking it off its hinges. I don’t blame him; I want to do the same thing, which is why the man in front of me is about to die.

  I point the gun at him and cock the gun, the bullet sliding into place. Suddenly Ivan grows a pair and gives me his final words.

  “You’re getting what your shit family deserves.”

  There we have it. This was personal for him. And it is for me too.

  So this time when I fire, it isn’t an empty click filling the room, but a loud bang that causes my ears to ring.

  No fucking mercy. Not when it comes to Alegra.

  Moya Dusha.

  Chapter Seven

  Alegra

  When I get out of here, because I will get out of here, the first thing I am doing is having hot, crazy passionate sex with Kazimir. Being held captive has given me a lot of time to think about my life and what I want. It may sound crazy, especially because I’m sitting in a cage, but I want what Kazimir is offering me.

  My life before was so simple, so plain, so redundant and evidently built on a lot of lies. Don’t get me wrong; I’d prefer to never get kidnapped again, or hit, or put in a cage. I feel like those are simple basics that everyone should want out of life. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for. But I want truth...and that’s what I know for sure he will give me.

  I keep imagining what the reunion between Kazimir and I will look like. Will he be happy? Will he be mad at me for leaving the way I did without talking to him first? I just want him to hold me again. If I think about it long enough, I can almost feel his arms around me. It’s a ghost of a touch, barely there, but I can sense him. I can smell him, the rich, hearty aroma of sandalwood and sea. It’s comforting and I need more of it. I wish I would have fought him less and enjoyed him more, but I can’t go back and change things.

  I just know that if I make it out of this, I’ll fuck Kazimir a hundred times a day and suck his cock whenever he wants, so he knows how much I appreciate him. If he will even want to touch me after this.

  The basement door opens again and I groan, banging my head against the bars in annoyance. I’m so tired of this. Igor is such a brut and while his fists are effective, I’ll never talk. Let him think that I didn’t screw Ivan. I don’t care. Kazimir will find me in the end, and god willing this will be over.

  Lighter steps come down the stairs, like a woman’s with almost how soft they are. I grip the bars and help myself up, wheezing from what I think are broken ribs. I clutch them with one arm and lean against the cage with the side of my body that isn’t as bruised and fucked up as the other. The overheard light flips on and I flinch. Small circles appear in front of my eyes from my pupil's adjusting. I’ve been down here in the dark for too long.

  A man in a pristine black suit appears. His hair is dark and pulled back in a tight bun. It looks greasy but shiny at the same time. His olive skin tone goes well with the black on black attire he has going on. He looks ominous.

  “Going to a funeral?” I say with a faux smile before coughing.

  “Hmm,” he hums, rubbing his fingers over the red rose in the upper left breast pocket. “You could say that.”

  He’s the head honcho—Mr. Santini. I recognize him from when I was laying in the grass, watching him give out orders. He looks like he doesn’t lift a finger to do anything, just orders people around like the asshole he is. Kazimir doesn’t do that. At least from what I can tell. He doesn’t put on airs as if he’s better than the men that work for him. He gets his hands dirty.

  The man who calls himself Mr. Santini takes a step in front of me and his small, beady, black eyes paralyze me in place.

  They are hollow of all life, of all emotion. They are two bottomless pits staring back at me, ready to eat my soul, just so he can live to see the next day.

  “Marco!” he shouts and not a second after something is thrown down the stairs and breaks. The crack of a bone splitting through the air has me looking away. It’s in a long white plastic bag and even in the dull light and cloudy plastic, I can see red.

  It’s blood.

  I swallow my fear and glance at Mr. Santini.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced,” he says, ignoring the fact that a body just fell down the stairs and now lays at his feet.

  “I know who you are.”

  He sighs, snaking his hand between the bars and gripping my face. I can’t stop the whimper of agony that leaves me. My entire body hurts.

  “You are a pretty girl. It’s a shame you are so defiant.” He jerks my head to look back at the body. “Did Ivan think you were pretty too? Do you miss him?” he asks.

  “He was just a fuck,” I say matter of factly. “I could care less that he is dead.”

  “Is that right?” He walks over to the body and opens the plastic to reveal a man without any fingers, a swollen face, and a bullet between the eyes.

  “You know, Kazimir has a classic signature when it comes to disposing of bodies. He always takes the fingers first and then boom.” He pretends to shoot me with a gun made with his fingers. “Bullet right between the eyes. He must have been very angry with poor Ivan to do this.”

  Then he silently stares at me, waiting for some sort of response.

  “Maybe Kazimir wants me for himself, or maybe he wants to kill me because I am my mother’s daughter.”

  I didn’t watch the video that Marco or rather Igor as I like to call him, put on. I couldn’t drown out the sounds though.

  I’ll never be able to unhear it.

  The way she was passed around from man to man, the way she enjoyed it, the sounds of pleasure. She truly loved that life, and I never knew I could hate her, but after learning all of this information about her, I hate her more than anyone now. Even though my father is guilty of a lot, I truly believe that it is the result of her actions in the past that have lande
d me in this cage today.

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “Not really, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  “You have a mouth on you for someone whose life is in my hands.”

  “It isn’t in your hands,” I hiss, thinking of Kazimir. I can see by Ivan’s mutilated body that my life is in his hands and no one else’s. He is coming for me. “You’re nothing but a pawn in the Volkov game. You think you’re winning but you aren’t. You think you’re a king, but you’re nothing but a peasant.”

  “You’re the one in the cage,” he says, trying to taunt me.

  “And you’re the one with a dead man at your feet. A man killed at the hands of Kazimir. You’re underestimating him.”

  “I think you’re underestimating me. My man here died taking where you are to the grave. How will your sweet Kazimir find you now?”

  He is probably right. If Ivan gave up my location, I imagine Kazimir would be here by now, but I’m not going to show this mafia don asshole that I’m nervous. I know Kazimir will find me. He has to.

  “Not so tough now, are you? Knowing the only leverage you had is gone.”

  I slide down the bars and wince when my ribs scream and burn. I feel like my body is burning from the inside out.

  “What do you want? I’m tired of these games. If you really want his attention, why not just kill me and deliver my body to his house like he did with Ivan?”

  The smell of the basement makes me gag, but I hold down the bile. They only gave me a bucket to pee and poop in and the vomit from earlier is dry. This cage is so disgusting. I’d give anything for a shower.

  “I want him to come to me. I want him to see that I have something important of his, just like he had of mine so many years ago.”

  I want to roll my eyes from all the damn revenge. It’s a constant contest between these groups of men; whose dick is bigger and all of that shit, and I want nothing to do with it. I just want it to be over.

  “And what did he take from you?”

  “My son,” he growls. “Shot him in cold blood.”

  I snort. “I doubt anything about it was cold.”

  Before I can get free, his arm reaches through the bars and wraps around my neck. “I can’t wait to deliver his dead body to you and then have you in my home, servicing me, just like your whore of a mother did. I bet you’re tighter though.”

  He rubs his nose against my ear and I shiver in pain and disgust. I try to pull away but he keeps me bound against the harsh metal of the bars.

  “Aren’t you? You know what? I think I’ll have Kazimir watch as I fuck you before I kill him, so it’s the last thing he sees.”

  “You sick fuck!” I scream and try to get away, scraping my hands on the slimy floor. “I’ll never want you like my mother did. I might be her daughter but I’m nothing like her.”

  “Good,” he snickers evilly. His cigar laced breath flows to my mouth, and I turn my head away from him to try and breathe clean air. “I like my women to fight me. She never did.”

  I have a feeling my time is limited, and if Kazimir doesn’t get here soon, I’m not too sure what will happen to me.

  For the first time since I’ve been captured, I’m truly frightened.

  Chapter Eight

  Kazimir

  “I want everyone dead. No survivors. Does everyone understand me?”

  I keep my revolver in my pocket, but I have my gun holster attached, loading it with two semi−automatic weapons that will sear a hole in someone’s body where their heart used to be.

  “Yes, Mr. Volkov,” they all answer in unison. Now that Ivan is gone, I have full trust in my men. A few of them are saddened that their friend was a traitor and had to be dealt with accordingly. I do not blame them for feeling betrayed. This home I’ve built with the men I trust to help run my business, we are family, and it is always disappointing when family turns their back on you.

  “Vlad, have you spoken with the doctor since I have?” I ask him, sliding a knife into the sleeve on my shirt.

  “Da,” he tells me. “It is the same. There have been no improvements. The doctor is staying with him today, along with Elena, the housemaid.”

  I nod, liking that I know my father won’t be alone, just in case when I return he is no longer breathing, I like that someone is here. I know he wants to live long enough to speak to Alegra and apologize. How was he supposed to know I’d fall in love with the daughter of the first woman he killed?

  He didn’t, and I don’t fault him for it, but I understand if Alegra does. I’ll just have to work hard at making it right for her.

  “Okay, we are leaving. Santini is mine, understood? I want him,” I growl with the thirst of his future murder. I can’t wait to give him what he deserves. Maybe I won’t kill him. Maybe I’ll do to him what he did to my Alegra and then I’ll kill him. Yes, yes, that sounds good. I’ll have Vlad bring him to the room.

  And then I’ll have my fun.

  My heart pounds with the eternal impatience I’m feeling waiting to get her back. It took Vlad some time to track down where that picture was sent from since the body didn’t go to the only address I know of, their main strip club. It made things a little bit difficult.

  I am not a pleasant man when things get difficult.

  “Let’s go. There’s no more time to waste.”

  I open the front door and head out. The weather matches my mood and the situation perfectly. The sidewalk is wet, and the grass shines from the light mist of rain falling. The water lightly taps against the vehicles, and the skies roll with thunder, promising more than a simple patter of drops.

  It’s going to pour.

  And the Italian mafia’s blood is going to flow down the streets as the rain washes it away.

  I don’t wait for anyone to open my door. Now isn’t the time to cater to or make me feel like I’m in charge because I fucking am in charge, and I’m the one that’s going to be driving. It isn’t often that I get behind the wheel, but when I do it’s only for the most important things like taking my sweet Alegra out or saving her from the hands of an enemy I should have killed long ago.

  The Tahoe fits six of my men comfortably, so the other six get into the other SUV, parked behind me.

  “You sure you are okay for this? I don’t want you to get hurt because of your emotions,” Vlad buckles in the passenger seat and takes a swig of Russian made vodka, the good shit, not the American made crap.

  “Hand it over.” I motion to the bottle. He hands it to me, and I take a giant guzzle, letting the smooth, yet strong alcohol burn my throat. I hiss, taking another large swig and hand it to my men behind me. Not all of them are Russian; some are Russian−American, others are friends of the family, which makes them family. Not everyone gets to be a part of the Volkov empire, but the ones who are, they are taken care of for life.

  “Drink up boys; it’s going to be a long day. And yes, Vlad,” I put the car in reverse at the same time as the other vehicle and back out when they do, “if anything, my emotions are making me see very clearly. I won’t stop until I get her back.”

  “Emotions like this get you killed. It’s what you have always told me, Da?”

  “Da,” I agree. Love impairs judgment but in the best way. If anything, I’m hungrier than ever for blood, more determined because they have something I actually want that is worth more than money, more than anything that this world can offer.

  And I’m willing to sacrifice everything to get her back.

  Anything.

  “I trust you,” he says. “I was just asking because I’m furious. I have no judgement. She is my sister and we don’t even know each other yet. My emotions are on high alert. Nothing else matters.”

  I nod as we speed down the driveway, passing the trees that I planted over dead bodies, which reminds me… “I want their bodies. You understand?”

  “Going to plant more trees?” one of the men in the backseat asks through a small smile on his face. He likes
the idea.

  “Da,” I reply, gripping the steering wheel in one hand. “Forever prisoner once their life is in my hands.”

  Once we get to the end of the driveway, I turn left at the same time as I press the gas. The tires spin along the wet road, sending sprays of water in the air, and the smell of burnt rubber comes in through the vents. I turn on the windshield wipers as the rain begins to pour harder. The closer we get to the city, the angrier I become.

  The ride is quiet for about half an hour. We drive to the other side of the city passing the large buildings and busy streets. Everyone is going about their day, going to work, getting coffee, do any of them know I’m on my way to commit a mass murder? No, they go on living their lives blissfully unaware of who runs this city and who keeps the peace.

  And it isn’t the cops.

  The rain has stopped for the most part, being so far out. I pull over onto the side of the road where rows of cornfields are. People think that New York City is just Wall Street and skyscrapers, but the state of New York has large amounts of beautiful land.

  To not give us away, I turn onto a dirt road, then take a left into the field itself, wanting to hide the car from the road. “We will walk from here,” I tell everyone. We are less than a half-mile from the destination.

  I can already feel the pull of Alegra, the magnetism I felt the moment I first saw her doing surveillance. My soul tugs. She is close. I don’t even need the GPS to find her. My body is taking me where I need to go. The closer I get the more my heart settles and my body pumps with hope and rage all at once.

  Hope that I’ll have her again.

  Rage that I don’t have her right now.

  I hunker down in the field when a piece of shit house comes to view. It looks more like a shack. The porch is old and sagging, the paint to the house is chipped and pealed, revealing rotten wood. The windows are busted, and there are a few men staying outside patrolling the area. I lift my gun, screw on the silencer and aim.