Kaznachei’s Pain

by Mason, V. F.

  It was like for a moment in time he allowed himself emotional freedom, but then it was over.

  Leaning closer, I traced my finger over the tattoos displayed on his skin, one more colorful than the other, and they were all quotes in different languages.

  My attention was caught by words written in Russian above a small bright star, but I didn’t understand them. I was fluent in speech but couldn’t read Russian. Among the black and gray display, this bright drawing stood out the most, so it must have been special.

  He stirred under my touch and I quickly snatched my hand back, afraid to wake him up and face the awkwardness that followed sex.

  Or rather, how we’d both stayed silent as he disposed of the condom and dropped back onto the bed deep in his thoughts. Then he fell asleep; for all he cared, apparently, it didn’t make a difference if I lay next to him.

  And although it was a one-night stand and I shouldn’t have expected anything else, this cold shoulder hurt me on an inexplicable level, and I touched my chest, acknowledging the heavy weight.

  The alarm clock on his bedside table displayed midnight and I wiped away the tear sliding down my cheek—my birthday was finally over.

  At this reprieve, I could go back to being the badass agent who cared about nothing but her work, while nothing and no one else existed in her world.

  Throwing the blanket back, I curled my toes into the soft carpet, grabbed my clothes that were scattered all over the place, and quickly put them on before locating my phone on the table.

  Weird. Why would it be there?

  Shrugging, I checked all my belongings, and with one last glance over my shoulder to the man lying on the bed, I left the apartment while willing all the images from the past to come back.

  Because when loneliness was an unbearable bitch, I had nothing but memories to soothe my pain.

  Yuri

  When my eyes snapped open, I immediately covered them with my arm, blocking the sun streaming through the huge-ass window that for some fucking reason had no curtains on it. Dominic refused to invest in any kind of decor for this apartment.

  I expected the piercing, throbbing pain of too much alcohol to assault me, as it usually followed on the morning after Savannah’s death anniversary, but it didn’t come.

  Instead, I smelled the vanilla on the sheet along with sex, and memories came back to me, playing in front of my eyes, reminding me of the dark-haired beauty. She so freely gave herself to me while enveloping me in her seductive web where time and the outside world didn’t exist.

  Where thoughts of Savannah didn’t even enter my mind.

  I got up swiftly, running my hand over my hair as I scanned the penthouse, but I didn’t find her anywhere, her clothes gone too. She’d slipped away in the middle of the night without me noticing… and that was another thing.

  I couldn’t sleep without waking up several times during the night, but next to her? Even the dead wouldn’t have woken me, and that was dangerous.

  Dangerous on so many fucking levels.

  My hand moved to the phone lying on the floor so I could call Anton and order him to find where she went or trail her, as I had nothing but her name.

  As my action dawned on me, I fisted the phone and spun around, changing my mind.

  Instead, I took a shower, wore my perfectly tailored navy blue suit, and went to meet Lorenzo to discuss the deal about the new club, bringing back my mafia persona who lived and breathed for the brotherhood, because nothing else had meaning in this life.

  I couldn’t seek her out even if everything inside me screamed to do so. She wasn’t mine and never would be.

  I had no heart or body to give to a woman.

  It was forever buried six feet under in the cemetery in Russia where Savannah lay.

  Chapter Three

  It’s not Over

  Moscow, Russia

  Yuri, 15 years old

  Entering the gym with a few other guys, I studied the environment around me while counting big numbers in my head, hoping it would calm me down before our first session in fighting.

  While everything with numbers and studies was my jam, I wasn't physically as capable as the rest of them, or so it seemed at least.

  Disadvantages in this brotherhood could be lethal for me.

  “Do you know who is going to train us?” asked a silver-haired guy next to me. I just shrugged and said nothing, glancing down at my shoes and repeated the Mendeleev periodic table under my breath. The guy huffed in annoyance, probably finding me weird, but who fucking cared? I didn't come here to make friends, so he could go fuck himself.

  The gym was wide with several boxing rings in it. Members were busy pumping their muscles on heavy machines. Water coolers were scattered around the place, and the AC worked hard as everyone’s skin shone with sweat. The smell could have been better, but instead the air was permanently coated in a disgusting odor.

  Flesh slapped against flesh as two fighters fought in a ring with guys cheering them on, and they were too mesmerizing not to watch. The way they moved, dipped, avoided contact, but then came back reminded me of dancing.

  It required skill to be the best in it, a skill I needed to master so the brotherhood wouldn't swallow me and make me their bitch. Compared to other guys, I knew exactly what the hell I’d gotten myself into. I had no illusions of a perfect world or a brotherhood that would give me everything.

  There was always a price to pay, and in my case, it was my brain.

  After I was discharged from the hospital, Vasya gave me a new passport, which had a new name and date of birth. He told me to keep my mouth shut to everyone about my past, and to say I was found on the streets and didn’t remember shit about my life.

  He told me recruits had to learn first, and only through different challenges would we get our rightful place. So he settled me into the recruit unit, which had around twenty rooms. Each trainee had a bed and bathroom, and for the first time in a long while, I had a closet full of clothes and food in my stomach five times a day. He enrolled me in high school and ordered me to sign up for a sport. Due to my IQ, I skipped right to senior year, and he hired a tutor for me to get into one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Although he insisted on hockey because he fucking loved it, I declined and chose wrestling. The sport generally was not one of my interests, but if I had to learn something, I preferred it to help me defend myself.

  We were taught the Russian language, which was a piece of cake for me compared to other guys who came from all over the world. I chose Italian, French, and German as my other languages. The more you knew the better, as it made you more valuable, and since it was no problem for me to master them with my photographic memory, I used this opportunity.

  In other words, I’d tried my best to adjust to this life as well as possible and acquire as many skills as necessarily so they wouldn’t want to get rid of me. Life with my father taught me that miracles and dreams didn't exist and I had to be very careful who to trust.

  Which in my language meant no one.

  If I had to judge by the faces of most of the recruits here, no one had had an easy life and everyone tried their best to fit in. Too bad they weren't aware they’d changed one prison for another.

  “Group number five?” a deep voice barked, and I turned around to see a guy a few years older than me scanning the place, searching for his recruits.

  Vasya divided us into different groups and assigned a trainer to us, one of the best Bratva enforcers who’d teach us all we needed to know.

  Apparently, my group got the baddest of them all. I’d seen this guy many times with Vasya; he always had a deep scowl on his face and rarely smiled. But that wasn't what caught my attention; rather, it was the sad look he always had in his eyes whenever they landed on the younger members. As if he was sorry in advance for what they would have to go through. In a way, I was grateful we got him; at least I didn’t think with him we’d have to listen to constant praises to the Bratva, which most of the t
ime made me gag inwardly.

  I raised my hand along with a few other guys, and he pointed at the ring at the far end of the gym. Without further ado, we strolled there and got in the ring, standing next to each other. Some of the guys I saw for the first time and wondered what our assignment to these groups was based on. None of them was my roommate or classmate; I hadn't had the chance to make friends, so generally I had no clue who the fuck they were.

  Hopping in the ring, the man put boxing gloves on as his eyes watched us tentatively. The familiar-to-me sadness flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by indifference.

  “Names,” he said, and we all shared a look, but none of us spoke. I noticed we were all skinny and bruised, which just showed how brutal life had been to us, considering we had been here for a few months.

  Finally, one of us took a step in his direction, his brown eyes gazing at the man warily, but he lifted his chin high, cementing his false bravado. “Dominic.” The guy acted all confident and shit, and his name clicked something in my mind.

  Right, one of Vasya’s favorite recruits. He usually stayed silent and spoke only when a question was directed to him. He was the only one who didn't make fun of me and my glasses.

  I decided to follow his lead and not prolong this shit any longer. I cleared my throat and replied quietly, “Yuri.”

  “Vitya,” the other one said, standing firmly. He had the most muscles out of all of us, and a scar graced his face on his left cheek. He seemed rather scary, and I wouldn't want to cross this guy.

  Since there was no one else left but the silver-haired guy next to me, we all gazed at him curiously. Finally, I cleared my throat. Was he waiting for an invitation or what?

  Shifting from side to side, while pulling back strands of his long silver hair that didn't fit anywhere, he informed us, “Gleb.” His mouth spread in a cheerful grin, as if he found something amusing. Among us all, he seemed the happiest one, as if this was a fucking resort.

  Good thing this training didn't ask us to hang out together.

  The enforcer snapped his fingers, bringing our attention back to him. “Radmir. From now on, I’ll be your shadow. We will train in the morning, afternoon, and night. I’ll teach you how to use guns and other pieces of equipment. Also, no fucking, smoking, or drinking in the first three weeks as we get you in the habit of working out. No pussies around here, and if you ever come here with a hangover, I’ll kick your ass.” We blinked several times at his fierce voice but nodded quickly. “Good. Let’s start.”

  While Gleb jumped at the command and darted toward the boxing gloves, all my other “team” members were less than enthusiastic.

  Fuck, I’d have to spend so much time with those guys? I hoped I’d find a way to escape their company. I didn't need fucking friends here.

  After all, everything valuable was taken away from you in this world sooner or later, the tragic rules of the brotherhood.

  Part of me felt really sad for my team members, as it was inevitable for them to learn this lesson.

  New York, New York

  August 2017

  Yuri

  The phone vibrated next to me, and I picked it up without even glancing at the caller ID. “Yeah.” Silence greeted me and I frowned, not liking this prolonged anticipation.

  Why the fuck do people hesitate to talk on the phone these days?

  “Yuri?” Connor’s voice finally echoed in my ear and my brows rose at his surprised tone.

  “Who else would it be if you are calling my phone?” And quite frankly, what the fuck was the pakhan’s deal with keeping friendships with the FBI? Connor almost seemed like part of the brotherhood. He always knew what we did and helped us on different cases. While I had personally nothing against the guy, people would start to talk that the Bratva mingled with agents, and it could be catastrophic.

  But with Dom off the radar because of Rosa lately, I kept all this to myself while doing my best to keep the peace and running the Bratva dealings smoothly.

  Everyone else was too fucking busy with their own stuff, so all the responsibility fell on Gleb’s shoulders and mine.

  After a prolonged silence, he finally spoke. “Oddly enough, I called Melissa.” Displeasure laced his voice, and I blinked then glanced at the phone. Sure enough, although it was the same model, it had a slight crack on the right upper corner.

  No cracks on my phones. If it broke, it went directly to the dumpster. I didn’t sacrifice my soul and then some to not enjoy the finer things in life.

  Then it dawned on me.

  Melissa.

  As in fucking FBI agent Melissa who helped to close the Sociopath case and currently worked with Dominic on Rosa’s situation in Italy?

  A woman who took no shit from anyone and was in love with Connor like a puppy when he was interested in another woman who he met after they supposedly hooked up?

  Fuck me.

  I didn’t like the guy before, but after this information, I fucking hated him.

  “Yeah, I can see it’s her phone now.” My words were met with an instant eruption.

  “And that’s it? What the fuck are you doing with her?” Instant rage flashed through me at his protective voice, and my hand squeezed the glass tighter… to the point of it cracking.

  The idea of this man having his hands on Melissa unsettled me in more ways than one, and I couldn’t explain this emotion. Nor wanted to examine it for that matter, so instead, I replied coldly, “None of your business. Besides, she can share it all on her own.” Before he could add anything else, I told him, “If it’s regarding the Boston chain, we took it out last night.” Maybe she already called her crush to inform him about her “encounter.”

  “What? They dared to come to New York? Isn’t it like stepping into Don and Jaxon’s territory?” Yeah, the guy definitely spent too much time with the brotherhoods.

  “Yeah, it is. And I have no clue where they got the courage. Something is fishy about this whole situation.” I didn’t elaborate, because it wasn’t for his ears. But I couldn’t help but wonder if they had some specific plan. Even a chain as dumb as theirs didn’t send anyone to kill off an agent who closed the case on them. They would be the primary suspects.

  Which left me thinking that they must have been rogues and operated on someone else’s orders.

  “They didn’t say anything despite the punishment I dished on them,” Lorenzo who sat opposite me, murmured. “But it’s not loyalty. Something else.”

  “Fear,” I supplied, and he nodded, pointing a finger at me.

  “Melissa”— Connor started again, snapping me out of my thoughts— “is asleep.” Satisfaction filled me as silence greeted me; now he would know she had another man in her bed. Which was idiotic thinking on my part, since it was a fucking one-night stand.

  Lorenzo sat back in the booth, his brow rising as he clicked his fingers for the waiter to bring the bill. He sipped his whiskey, apparently not giving a fuck that it was barely two in the afternoon.

  But then the consigliere had a lot of problems to deal with, and one of them just walked into the club.

  On the arm of another man.

  He must have felt her with some mystic connection, because he turned around and the glass in his hand crushed, contents splashing on the table.

  Fucking great, just what we needed during our meeting. Frankie couldn’t wait just a few more hours before flashing a red cloth at the bull?

  I kissed my business plan discussion goodbye and leaned back, dreading the drama that was about to erupt around me.

  It was inevitable with Lorenzo and Frankie. “Yuri—” Connor still seethed in my ear, but I hung up on him, completely disinterested in what he else he had to say.

  Lorenzo stood up and muttered, “We’ll talk later. Don agrees to the amount,” and dashed toward his woman, even if she hadn’t been officially claimed yet.

  Picking up the signed papers, I tapped the phone on the table and rose too.

  It seemed I had a visit to
pay.

  Melissa

  I swirled on my chair as I heard the knock on my door and saw Connor entering, nothing but a scowl on his face.

  He shut the door loudly behind him and my brows rose. “Manners much?” I held a higher position in the bureau than him, because he preferred to be hands on with all the cases and hated all the paperwork that came with being the boss. Although he worked in a different department, he was still under my supervision, and lately he had been acting weird.

  Insanely so.

  Instead of answering, he dropped onto a chair and then rested his elbows on his knees, as if gathering his thoughts on how to start a conversation, but failing as his mouth opened and closed.

  “Connor, are you all right?” Maybe some case worried him, or it was something new about Rosa?

  After the whole fiasco with our supposed one-night stand, he rarely stopped by my office unless it was important or he wanted to apologize. I always helped with the former, but despised the latter.

  “Have you lost your fucking mind?” he barked, and I sat up straight, anger instantly sweeping through me.

  “Tone, Connor,” I warned, not giving a shit about his sour mood.

  He had no right to disrespect me like that, but he just laughed bitterly, shaking his head in disbelief as he continued. “Kaznachei of the Bratva? Really?”

  I blinked a few times, digesting the information, and then rubbed my forehead as a slight throbbing appeared there. How did he know about that? “That’s none of your business,” I replied, surprised with his outburst in the first place.

  I would have understood his judgement, had he not interacted with mafia members on a daily fucking basis, but no such thing! He had no room to judge me.

  “None of my business?” he repeated my words, disbelief lacing his tone. “How could you have done it?”

  He stood up, pacing the room back and forth, muttering, “Yuri Radionov is nothing but trouble, and you should stay away from him. He is not a relationship kind of guy.” He told me this while throwing a folder on my desk that I’d just noticed he had with him. “This is the story of his life.”