by Mason, V. F.
Kaznachei’s Pain
V. F. Mason
Copyright © 2018 by V. F. Mason
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design: Sommer Stein
Photographer: Lindee Robinson
Cover Models: Garrett Pentecost & KT Maviglia-Morgan
Contents
Prologue
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by V. F. Mason
Connect
To the power of love.
Prologue
Moscow, Russia
February 2018
Yuri
The machines beeped loudly as I entered the room, the dimmed blue light the only source of illumination. My hospital shoe covers scratched against the floor as I focused my attention on the incubator in front of me that held the newborn.
He had multiple wires attached to him, including oxygen tubes, as his lungs hadn’t fully developed yet.
I breathed through the mask covering my face as my gloved hand reached for his through the small oval opening, his tiny soft fingers barely moving as his chest rose and fell.
The hospital clothes almost suffocated me, but I knew I couldn't take them off and risk the health of my baby.
My barely alive son.
I heard a sound behind me as the door closed and then a soft voice spoke. “Your boy is a fighter.” I glanced over my shoulder at the middle-aged woman who wore white scrubs and had several notepads in her hand, clearly a nurse, since most doctors wore green scrubs.
“He is so small,” I couldn't help but say as I traced my finger over the box above his head. I longed to touch him and hold him close so none of the evil of this world would ever try to harm him again.
Which almost caused hollow laughter to burst from within me, considering I had failed his mother and him not so long ago. It would be a miracle if she ever forgave me.
She can’t forgive you, remember? She’s dead.
“He was born prematurely at six months; it’s normal for him to be small. But he keeps on breathing despite less than ideal circumstances. Did you give him a name?” She patted my shoulder in a motherly way, as if trying to reassure me.
Her attempt failed though, because nothing and no one could give me peace in this situation.
I shook my head. “She isn’t here, so it doesn't feel right.” She exhaled heavily at my words, squeezed my arm, and then strolled toward the door to probably give me some alone time with my son.
But he couldn't lie there nameless as if no one wanted him.
As if no one waited for him.
As if no one loved him.
No one loved my son more than his mother, who sacrificed everything to bring him into this world, and I’d be damned if I let him live like that another minute.
“Artur.” The nurse halted in her tracks, spinning quickly and frowning. “His name is Artur Radionov.” It was a strong name that would help him in his battle for life.
She chose it. I could still remember the sparkle in her eyes as she excitedly announced to me it was a boy.
Just a day before everything went to hell.
The nurse blinked and wrote it down on her pad while I gently caressed his tiny fingers one more time. Unable to handle it any more, I dashed to the door and escaped the peaceful yet depressing space.
Outside, the Bratva and Cosa Nostra men waited for me, each one of them giving me a worried look as I swiftly removed the hospital garb covering my three-piece suit and secured a man-bun at the back of my head.
I could practically feel the coldness sinking into every bone in my body as I pushed back all my emotions and focused on only one feeling.
Deep and uncontrolled fury that would know no mercy.
“Yuri—” Pakhan started to speak, but I raised my hand and he shut up, probably shocked by my disrespect, but I didn't give a fuck.
His woman was not killed in cold blood while the baby was left to die, only luck and a miracle saving him from death.
They cut my baby from my woman and then sent me the video just to torment me. Melissa lying in pools of blood, screaming in agony from the pain of the knife as they took out the baby, and her passing out because she couldn't take it anymore.
Then they sent me a photo of her covered in a white sheet, their way of letting me know that you didn’t mess with them and leave.
This would be imprinted in my fucking brain for the rest of my life, but I wouldn't rest until all the people involved paid.
Including him.
In that moment, I didn't allow myself to feel the despair rushing through me or focus on the information that Melissa was dead because of me. I couldn't do that.
I had to avenge her death first and make sure our boy lived in a world where the evils of my past didn't exist anymore.
So no one could take him from me, from the safety we fought so hard to create for him.
Then both of us would find solace in each other because the only woman who loved us more than life itself was taken away from us.
I removed the cross from my neck and handed it to Pakhan, and my friends cursed. “I’m going rogue.” And with that, I formed a plan to end it once and for all.
Chapter One
Once in a lifetime
Moscow, Russia
January 2000
Yuri, 15 years old
“You son of a bitch! Come back here, ublyudok!” The man’s scream didn’t faze me as I rushed outside the bakery and with all my might—as much as the holey shoes allowed, anyway—jumped over fences, hugging the loaf of bread tightly to my chest.
My head got slightly dizzy from all the excitement, as I hadn't had food for a few days, so the hunger was good motivation to get me going.
A few dogs barked behind me, and I sharply inhaled the frigid air as the snow scattered beneath my feet. I focused on the target: to reach the tunnel and get inside where they wouldn't be able to get to me.
My lungs hurt from the cold, every bone in my body and the skin on my hands freezing without gloves, but finally the escape seemed close.
The round hole in the concrete would take me to the dumpsters where I could warm up against the tile while the disgusting smells filled my nostrils. However, for a homeless kid, the place was like heaven on earth during winter.
Despite all this, I would never regret running away from home, from the monster who sired me.
Right before I was about to take a final step, strong hands grabbed me and lifted me up. They spun me around to face an angry man who wore a murderous expression, which was quite comical with his white apron.
A guy had to find some
humor in this fucked-up life, right?
“You think you can steal from me, huh? You think you can do that?” He shook me furiously, to the point of my teeth snapping against each other, and then placed me back on my feet, still holding my shoulder tight. He raised his hand and slapped me, making my head snap to the side as the touch burned my frozen skin, sending prickles of pain down my spine. “Pathetic little beggar. You don’t take what’s not yours,” he shouted right in my ear before delivering another blow, only this time I was prepared and ducked under it, but not before he kicked me in the stomach.
I ended up on my back, the wet snow melting under me and soaking into my autumn coat, the only one I had, and reaching my bare skin.
Fuck, there was no fire in the tunnel and I wouldn't be able to warm for days, but I curled up in that position, keeping the bread from him and hoping that once he was done with his punishment, he would leave.
They always did whenever I got caught for stealing, so this shouldn't be anything different.
He raised his arm again, but he was swiftly startled by someone. The sun shone brightly on me, and I moved my head to the side, hoping to escape it, when an angel blocked it.
Nothing else described the beautiful golden-haired girl who loomed above me, her gloved fingers tracing my face. Her sky blue eyes searched for injuries while she smiled at me sadly, and whispered, “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was so soft, like the exquisite classical music my mom listened to before Dad killed her.
“Savannah, get away from the kid,” someone said behind her, and she frowned.
“No, Daddy. He’s hurt!” she exclaimed, and then I felt the strength leave my body as my eyes closed of their own accord, lullabied to sleep with her light touch on my forehead.
Savannah.
What a beautiful name.
New York, New York
August 2017
Melissa
Contrary to what everyone believed, I did not have sex with Connor.
Why this exact thought crossed my mind as I sipped my third glass of wine in the busy New York bar on Friday night was beyond me. Maybe it was due to the euphoria of catching S, the infamous human trafficker, or depression from not finding the lead on the Rosa case.
Or maybe because I had no life or friends, and the last time I frequented a bar, I ended up kissing Connor and going back to my place, where he passed out on my couch.
Yeah, maybe it had to do with that.
Connor was not the bad guy, and I should’ve known better than to have a crush on him; the guy fucked everything that moved and had no remorse about it. Why would he? He was young and free—well, he was until he met Honey.
The girl had him in her tiny palm and had no clue about it, but considering his dry spell and his constant calls to her despite the fact she kept ignoring him, I’d say she at least suspected. The rumors about him and me circulated a lot, especially because he kept apologizing to me for that night, even though nothing had happened. He didn't know that, and part of me, the vindictive part I was not proud of, decided to keep it like that, but I made it clear to Honey that we didn't have sex.
I wouldn't want to face the ex of my man daily, so in case the girl had a crush on him, I preferred all things to be straight.
The bartender placed a glass of Bordeaux wine in front of me, and my brows furrowed.
I didn't order it, but before I could comment on the mix-up, he announced, “The guy over there bought you a drink. Enjoy.” Brian winked at me, since he knew my face around this high-end New York establishment, and went to serve other customers.
I was slightly taken aback by this information, because as embarrassing as it sounded, no one ever paid me enough attention to buy me anything to get me talking. In most cases, it was me who had to make the first move to even get any.
Which was probably pathetic in itself.
I curiously glanced to my right, to the far end of the bar, and my breath hitched as I met ocean blue eyes that practically drilled into my soul as he sipped his whiskey, the ice clicking in his glass.
Well, hello there.
He must have been the hottest man alive. Everything faded away for me, and all I could do was stare at him, drinking in his magnificent beauty.
A man shouldn’t be described with the word beautiful, but he was. Nothing else fit him.
His lean yet undoubtedly muscled body was hidden in a three-piece suit that emphasized the power of dominance and danger that stuck to him like glue, while his assertive blue eyes held such an indifferent stare it sent chills down my spine. A five-o’clock shadow brought attention to his handsomeness. I saw several tattoos with some Celtic signs marking his neck and knuckles, barely leaving any clear skin to admire.
He leaned back in the chair and raised his brow, noticing my gaze lingering on him. He half smiled, displaying a dimple on his right cheek that I surprisingly wanted to see more of.
What the hell was going on with me? I never reacted this way to a man, let alone a man I only saw a few seconds before.
My dry spell apparently had done wonders for my libido—which was nonexistent lately—because only that could explain my next impulsive action.
Holding his gaze, I picked the glass from the counter and took a long sip, the wine burning my throat as his eyes shifted lower, probably to my neck, while his gaze heated and surprise shone from him.
If he was hoping for a shy virgin, he’d have to wait longer. Although there was never a great love in my life and men rarely paid me any attention, I loved sex as much as the next person. Although I preferred convenient arrangements. One-night stands had happened only twice in my life and both times sucked badly, so I usually dismissed the idea.
But I definitely didn't mind having one with this guy.
Especially when everyone else around me seemed to be falling in love and getting their shit together. Even serial killers and mafia members.
But me, the good guy? Nothing, nada, zilch. No freaking justice in this world.
Finishing his glass of whiskey, he rose, and I almost swallowed my tongue at his six-pack—clearly visible through his shirt—when he walked closer, nodding to Brian.
The bartender had another glass ready for him as he sat on the stool next to mine, facing me while I shook my head in question. “That’s a yes, I assume?” His voice was like a soft whisper, brushing over my skin and sending goose bumps down my spine.
“You move fast.” I wasn't very familiar with one-night stand codes lately, but even back in my day, the guys first asked for your name. Things couldn't have changed this much, right? “Melissa.” I hinted that I found him rude, but he just grinned, as if it wasn’t a big fucking deal.
“A bit too early to share names.”
Sexy jerk thought he was too sexy to even require a name? What an arrogant ass.
“Sorry, don’t do guys I don’t know.” I groaned inwardly at the stupidity of my words, and he chuckled, sipping a little from his whiskey.
“Very well,” he replied and caught my stare before introducing himself. “Yuri.”
Taken slightly aback by his name, as he didn’t have an accent, I quickly found myself. “Nice to meet you.” In normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been a big deal to meet someone foreign, but in my line of work?
Suspicious as hell.
I quickly scanned his appearance, searching for tattoos or crosses and not finding any, and exhaled lightly, because the last thing I wanted to deal with on my day off was a Russian mafia member.
Clearing my throat, I asked, “Where do you work?” His glass paused midair, but then he took a longer sip.
“Why this chat? You are either interested or not.” Yuri drummed on the counter, and the sound grated on my nerves, along with disbelief. “Are you?”
I didn’t even deserve a proper pickup line?
With closer inspection, I noticed how harshness marred his face and he relied heavily on the drink. I so didn’t need another drunk guy who wanted to drown his sorrows in alcohol a
nd use me as an available substitute for whoever he truly wanted.
Annoyance pricked my skin along with hurt, because it was painfully clear any woman would have done for the guy. And while I wasn’t looking for forever, I’d like to have genuine interest from a man just for fucking once.
Especially on my birthday!
“Well then, thanks for the wine. Find someone else.” I rose from the seat, saluted Brian, who frowned at Yuri, and without a backward glance, moved in the direction of the bathroom.
Loneliness was a bitch when one had a special occasion and no one to celebrate it with.
But then again, it was the story of my life.
Our choices defined our paths, after all.
Yuri
“You are an ass, you know,” Brian proclaimed, still giving me the death glare, and I nodded.
“Aware of it.” I tapped the rim of my glass. “Another one.” He huffed in displeasure, but since I placed a hundred dollar bill on the counter, I didn’t want a complaint with my request.
Approaching a difficult woman wasn’t something I had on my agenda before coming here, but there was something about her… something that nagged at my mind and demanded I go to her.
She wasn’t pretty in the classic sense of the word; she had mousy brown hair, glasses too big for her face, and dead brown eyes that seemed almost robotic. They looked almost unreal. Her pale skin and few freckles didn’t add to the look, but instead gave her a rather sick appearance. The slightly too-big grey suit did nothing to showcase her body, although I suspected it was fit and lacked any curves a man could hold on to.
