Yafon shifted on his feet. He remained focused on Glazov even as his own neck became flushed. “I have…admired your sister for many years--” he began.
“Really,” Glazov drawled, arching an eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Any fool could see that, Yafon. Go on.”
“Yes. Well. It is new, this, um…” he stammered as he searched for the right words to explain his predicament.
“The fucking?” Novak offered helpfully. Yafon closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath as Glazov directed a baleful stare at his cousin.
“Novak, let him finish,” Glazov said quietly, turning his attention back to the man who had so thoroughly captured his sister’s attention.
“As I was saying, sir. I have held your sister in the highest regard for many years. We have only just recently acknowledged the depth of our…affection for each other. However, she will not have me. She says Bratva comes first, always, and that a relationship would be a distraction she could ill afford.”
“Yes, that sounds like something Vladimira would say,” Glazov sighed, shaking his head. “You have both devoted your lives to Bratva and that will not change. You are a fortunate man; I see no reason for you not to have it all.”
“Thank you. She is quite a woman, your sister, sir.”
“Indeed. Well, I will leave you to figure out the details. I will say this, though: a woman like Vladimira will only respond to a show of strength. If you approach her tentatively, you will fail.”
“Awkward…” The sing-song murmur came from Novak, of course.
“Cousin, shut the fuck up!” Glazov barked. Novak held up his hands in surrender, but a smirk teased his lips as he resumed working the coin back and forth between his fingers.
“Of course, don’t be an asshole about it,” Glazov continued, his jaw clenching when Novak cleared his throat loudly. “You must pick your moment to show her…tenderness, that sort of thing. But be clear in explaining how things will be between you.
“Yafon, I want my sister to be happy. I have long thought the two of you were a match that made sense, and I am pleased to see some progress at long last. Vladimira will be assuming a public role as it pertains to the oversight of our flagship jewelry store, and will be a key player on a larger scale behind the scenes as well. I’d like you to work with her—in fact, I insist. And I expect you to protect her with your life.”
Novak laughed, “Shit, she’ll be protecting him. She’s fucking lethal.”
Glazov rolled his eyes, as if looking heavenward for help. He spared a glance at his cousin, impatience flaring in his flat, cold eyes. “Interrupt me again, Novak and, I swear on the souls of my grandchildren, I will end you.”
He directed his next words to Yafon. “The two of you can decide where and when you fuck and if you want to get married. But I speak from experience, Yafon: you seem to know what you want. So. Take. What. Is. Yours. Now,” he said as he turned his attention to his laptop screen, “go get her. The jet is fueled up and ready to leave as soon as you can get to the airstrip.” When Yafon got to the door, Glazov issued a quiet warning: “Oh, and Yafon. Never fucking hide anything from me. I will find out. I always do.”
Yafon turned and locked eyes with his boss, his only answer a grim, “Yes, my Pakhan. Understood.”
Novak waited until he was gone to speak. “What the hell? How long have you known?”
“I’ve watched them circle each other for years. It was obvious during the wedding celebration that things had progressed.”
Novak wiggled his fingers in the air and made a ghostly sound. “The almighty Pakhan knows all, sees all, and understands all.”
“Fuck you, Novak.”
“I wouldn’t fuck you with a ten-foot pole, cousin. So, why didn’t you tell me?”
Glazov could sense the underlying hurt beneath Novak’s sarcasm. “I wanted to confirm his intentions. And now I have. The rest is up to him.” He grinned as he observed, “Lucky for him, you and I have led by example. She will put up a fight, no doubt, but Yafon is relentless. I have given my blessing so his path is clear before him. As far as I am concerned, she is already his, whether she knows it or not.”
“What are you going to do with the fire bug?”
“He’s working with Roksana and Oleg on something.”
“What?”
“Oh, she’s worked up over a dogfighting ring some Sinaloan gangbangers are running. They’re cooking up meth and selling it over in the Okolona area. I have taken an interest in the situation because they’re fighting Escondido’s efforts to take over and fill the power vacuum Santiago left behind. The way I see it, if we are successful, we will operate from a position of strength with the cartel. Escondido will be…appreciative of our efforts. There is much at stake. If anybody can take over and overhaul the clusterfuck Santiago left in his wake, it’s him. It’s going to take brains and business savvy to turn the cartel around. You know my view on this sort of thing: fire power and bravado”—
Novak finished for him”—does not a gangster make.”
“Precisely. We would benefit from a peace treaty with him. He’s got the finesse to make the Sinaloan cartel what it should have been all along if Santiago hadn’t been such a fuck-up: a well-oiled machine that actually works, rather than a bunch of bumbling renegades killing each other off.”
“Ah, the elusive Escondido. He’s finally going to come out of hiding?”
“Oh, I’ve known who he is for a long time.” Glazov chuckled, eyes twinkling as he mimicked Novak’s earlier actions, wiggling his fingers. “Because…motherfucker, I am The Great Pakhan.”
Chapter Six
Roksana moaned her pleasure every time Oleg slammed his cock home. With his hand braced against the headboard, he could give it to her hard, the way he knew she liked it. He took advantage of the opportunity to express his frustration about events.
“Quit. Fucking. Hiding. Shit. From. Me.” Each word was followed by a hard thrust that took him as deep as his cock could go.
“Fuck me, just like that,” she gasped. “So deep. God, I love it.”
“Did you fucking hear me? The idea isn’t to make you feel good, woman. The idea is for you to. Quit. Hiding. Shit. From. Me.”
“Fuck! Harder! Whatever, baby, anything you want,” she gasped mindlessly as her back arched, her mind blown.
“Such a fucking liar,” he groaned with his own shuddering release.
It was a lifelong game with the Bratva men, trying to tame women who could never be tamed. If nothing else, it kept the men on their toes and they never got bored.
Oleg flipped over onto his back, breathing heavily. Eventually, Roksana leaned up on an elbow and ran her hand over his chest.
“You knew perfectly well I was going to tell you, Oleg. You just wanted an excuse to fuck me hard.”
He lifted a strand of her hair between two fingers and studied it. “Maybe. What’s going on? And don’t leave anything out,” he muttered as he yanked hard on the strand of hair.
“Well, those fuckin’ gangbangers over in Okolona -- you know, near Preston Highway and the Outer Loop?”
“Roksana, how many times have I been there with you to do jobs?”
“I know, I know,” she continued. “Anyway…the intel we’ve pulled together indicates that those assholes are running a dogfighting ring! I mean, isn’t it bad enough they’re cooking that poison and selling it on the street? They have to brutalize animals too? Selling drugs to school kids and animal cruelty!? They’re on my shit list.”
“Don’t you mean hit list?”
“Yeah, that too.”
“Since when does Bratva break up dogfighting rings?”
“Since the Pakhan decided it’s a good idea.”
“Why?” he asked with a frown. Since when did Glazov take an interest in such things?
“Since the Colombians killed Santiago – and oh, man, by the way, wasn’t that brutal the way they did it? Now that’s some finesse we could use; that damn Rami
rez kid is crazy good at sniffing out someone’s weakness and using it against them. He found out Santiago was terrified of spiders and – get this – he fastened a box of spiders over Santiago’s head and let them basically gnaw on his face until he was poisoned to death. Pure poetry.”
“Get to the point.”
She punched his chest playfully before continuing. “Anyway, Father thinks it’s a good idea to take these guys out because they’re the core of opposition to Escondido’s bid for power. The Sinaloans are fighting amongst themselves and that could go on for years unless someone does something about it. Something decisive. Escondido has positioned himself to take over Santiago’s old crew—he’s trying to, anyway. Father says it’ll help pave the way for a peace treaty if we take these assholes out. Saving the dogs is just icing on the cake. Poor babies.”
“Poor babies? They’re killers, Roksana.”
“Maybe that’s why I understand them. They’re killers in the fight pit, but that’s just how they were raised. They can’t all make the adjustment to domesticity, no, but most of them can with patience and a little love. They’re loyal as hell. My gut tells me this is right, baby. They need me.”
“How can you be so brutal with humans and such a softy when it comes to animals?”
“Father says the same thing. He wants to put Bazarnik on this job with us.”
“You know what his name means, right?”
“The Fireman. I’m curious to see his brand of crazy in action.”
“Me, too.”
“Think he’s as good as they say?”
“I think he’s as crazy and fucked up as his reputation. Whether he can be effective in the field remains to be seen. But I trust the Pakhan’s judgment in all things. Bazarnik might be good to have around; whatever he doesn’t blow up or burn down, he can clean up.”
“That’s why the Pakhan brought him here, because Natasha can’t work with chemicals while she’s pregnant.”
“When are you going to let me get you pregnant?” he asked curtly, cutting narrowed eyes at her as he waited for her to reply.
“We’ve talked about this, Oleg. My father can’t have too many people out of commission at one time. It makes him vulnerable.”
“Nothing could make that man vulnerable—he’s supernatural.” A deep breath, then, “I love you more than life. I want to put a baby in you.”
Her expression softened. “And I love you. But you know I’m not one to tempt the Bratva gods when it comes to my family.”
He pursed his lips, considering her for a long moment before nodding once. “Understood, for now. But this conversation is not over. In the meantime, tonight we’ll talk to Bazarnik.”
Chapter Seven
“Hang the steak on the bar like this, stupid motherfucker,” Hector said. “See? That’ll keep the dog running on the treadmill.”
“What the fuck, Hector? It’s my dog.”
Before Benito had the time to realize what was happening, Hector had the barrel of a gun pressed to his forehead. Benito wasn’t sure which was scarier: the cool barrel of the gun jammed up against his skin or the wild-eyed look on Hector’s face. As it was, the two things together were just about enough to make Benito piss himself.
“I run this operation, motherfucker,” Hector bellowed. “Me! I’m the boss! That means I own you and that dog. Maybe I’ll kill the little fucker.” He turned, pointing the gun at Benito’s pit bull as it happily chased after the steak it was never going to catch.
Pedro sat off to the side, taking in the scene, his brain working fast for a solution to avert this disaster from happening. Benito was one of the few sane people in the cartel anymore; he’d hate to lose him. But Hector was becoming more volatile by the day and everyone knew it, but they were all too scared to confront him.
Pedro decided to appeal to Hector’s ego and sense of ambition. “Everybody knows your Russian blue is the best dog we got, Hector.” He sent a meaningful, glaring glance Benito’s way before continuing, “Hey, Benito, free up the treadmill, man. Let Hector get Mauler ready.”
Benito scowled but complied with the request, glad to not have a bullet in his brain from that crazy fucker. Fast as he could, he grabbed his dog and got the hell out of there.
They all knew Hector didn’t have what it took to run things, but the meth was making him crazy and none of them wanted to be in the line of fire when he did fuck up and lose it.
What the cartel needed was somebody who could run it like a business. Hector had bravado, yeah, but he didn’t have the brains or the instincts to be successful.
Pedro put the blame at Santiago’s feet, even if he was six feet under somewhere, or worse. Santiago had fucked up every-fuckin’-thing and now they were left to clean up his mess. Pedro hoped it was really fucking hot wherever Santiago had ended up in the hereafter.
Hector strutted over to a cage in the corner of the training room and returned with an oversized, heavily muscled, Russian blue pit bull. As soon as the dog was hooked up to the treadmill and chasing the elusive steak at full speed, Pedro continued to work on Hector.
“You need to win the last fight of the night this week, man—the big one. It’s more exclusive, only the top brass will be there so it’s good exposure for you. Let those motherfuckers know you’re the man, that you’re taking over. You want to run things, then you need juice, man. You need some wins under your belt. It’ll earn you the respect you’ve fought so hard for, the respect you deserve.”
That seemed to appease Hector—that, and the sight of Mauler running his little gray ass off, the weighted chain around his neck clanging with every stride. The dog had been little more than a puppy when he got him, and this loveless, brutal life was all he knew. But he was loyal as hell and saved his aggression for the fight pit.
Little did Mauler know that help was on the way. He would find out soon enough that not all humans were dirt bags and that his loyalty for the woman who would rescue him would run deeper than anything he’d ever known. But for now, this treadmill was Mauler’s whole world. That, and that fucking steak.
Chapter Eight
“That will be all, Anfisa, thank you. Go get some sleep now. All that remains now is for us to board Glazov’s jet in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am, goodnight,” the young woman said with a bright smile, closing the door silently behind her.
“So lovely. I need to find her a nice boy,” Vladimira murmured under her breath as she disrobed. “A nice Bratva boy…”
She took a deep, cleansing breath and, naked as the day she was born, stretched as high as she could reach. As her aching muscles slowly relaxed, she reflected on the long day she and Anfisa had spent sorting through belongings and packing for the journey ahead. But all of that was done now. It was time to relax.
She pinned her long hair into a high bun, then moved through her bedtime routine of a few simple stretches and yoga – nude, of course. She didn’t care for the sensation of fabric against her skin when she was focusing on her breathing during her Sun Salutation. Yoga was her secret weapon against Father Time, and so far, so good; she was as slim and supple as she had ever been.
After a quick shower, she put on a nightgown that was little more than a simple, silk shift secured with delicate strands of ribbon tied in a bow at each shoulder. She didn’t bother with a robe since she was planning to curl up in front of the fireplace one last time before starting her American adventure in the morning. The diaphanous fabric was nearly translucent as it clung to her damp skin. As she padded across the room, she released her hair from its topknot, shaking it loose.
It had been a long day, full of instructions for the house staff and a final review of her packing list to ensure she didn’t leave anything important behind. With the hectic day behind her at last, she lowered herself onto the cream-colored, tufted bench at her vanity table to begin her nightly beauty routine.
After brushing her hair and sweeping it over one shoulder, she used a cleansing cloth to remove her mak
eup. She was quite regimented about her skincare routine, preferring to save this step until after her shower so she could take her time. With each sweep of the tiny cotton square across her skin, more of her flawless porcelain complexion was revealed until she was barefaced. Anfisa was the only person Vladimira allowed to see her in such a natural state – not because she didn’t like how she looked but because it made her feel exposed…vulnerable. She knew she had won the genetic lottery; with only minimal effort, she looked far younger than her years. But makeup was her armor, her fortress in a world of powerful, alpha men.
A little moisturizer and she was done. She leaned forward on a sigh, tilting her chin up as she turned her head from side to side in the age-old choreography of a woman searching her reflection for telltale signs of the passage of time.
“The lady is unmasked.”
She gasped and white-knuckled the edge of the vanity. Her glossy black hair tumbled down her back as she turned toward the rich, sexy baritone that could only belong to one man.
“Yafon,” she breathed, flustered by the sight of him leaning against the bedroom wall by the door. How long had he been standing there? Her hand fluttered to her chest as she searched for words of greeting and found none, instead settling for a painfully inane, “You’re here.”
“I am,” he replied solemnly, his gray eyes hungrily taking in every detail of the woman who had consumed his thoughts for so long: the glossy hair trailing down her back, her almost unearthly beauty without a trace of makeup, and her perfect breasts barely visible through her sheer nightgown. Even during their one night together all those months ago, he hadn’t seen her without makeup like this. With her flawless skin, luminous eyes and rosebud lips, she looked like a perfectly crafted china doll. “Makeup only conceals your true beauty.”
She smiled softly at the compliment, then frowned. “But why are you here? Did Glazov send you?”
“You know why I’m here.” He pushed off from the wall and took slow, deliberate steps toward her. Then he was standing behind her as they both faced the mirror, his hands heavy and warm on her slender shoulders. He slid his thumbs back and forth, unable to resist the allure of the velvety skin that had driven him to distraction that night in Louisville.
Jaded Jewels (Born Bratva Book 7) Page 3
