British Bratva

by Flora Ferrari

  Valentin nodded slowly. "I understand this. It's why we have the art dealership, and the cultural charities."

  Dvornikov nodded. "To legitimize everything."

  "Exactly."

  Elizabeth gave me a pointed look. "So, I'm right. You need these guys in the chain?"

  Valentin's face remained poised in an open question, and I could see Roman tense up, his tanned, muscular arms bunching.

  "Need is a strong word. They are a necessary part of the way we currently launder our assets, and I've underestimated how much of a weak point they are to be exploited."

  "She's right. Why were we not paying them off to begin with? I pay you to manage this, yes?"

  "Valentin. These people have scruples. I mean, I assumed they did. It's different to Russia in these places, they don't expect to be bribed. It can come across badly, and then we would have opened ourselves to even more scrutiny if they decided they were duty bound to report it. He works for the Union Bancaire Privee for Christ sake."

  My eyebrows rose. "Swiss banker?"

  "Da. He is a Swiss Banker." The irritation in Valentin's voice was crystal clear to me, and I had no doubt Elizabeth could hear it too.

  Roman's teeth were gritted and he didn't look as relaxed as he should have been, given the blue, blue sky in the background. "They're supposed to be like priests. Anything you tell them is sacrosanct and they take it to the grave. Switzerland doesn't take kindly to bankers who decide to sell information."

  I nodded. "So we give them his name and they get rid of the problem for us."

  Elizabeth lifted her hand. "I'm sure you took a calculated risk. But we know they - or at least Alaman's open to bribery now. We know he needs money. So, we can buy him, can't we? He doesn't care about the Swiss banking code if he's selling secrets that could get him fired to journalists."

  Valentin leaned back, face a dangerous neutral. "If we took him out, the next guy would have access to the same information?"

  "Yes."

  Elizabeth cut her eyes to me and looked back to the screen. "This is the age of selling information, you guys know that, right? I could have gone to the right website and got all of my exam papers ahead of time if I'd wanted to. Whoever else you get in next is going to be open to the highest bidder just the same."

  Roman's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "I don't think it's going to be a problem."

  But Valentin raised a hand to halt him. "Forgive me, Roman, you didn't think it would be a problem in the first place, but now here we are."

  "This wasn't something I could have predicted."

  "No. But now we can safeguard ourselves against it from happening again." Valentin nodded slowly, seeming to formulate his plan as he spoke. "One way or another, we need to untangle ourselves from this situation." His eyes hardened and I got the impression he was speaking directly to Roman Rather than to me or Elizabeth.

  Roman let out a low breath. "There is no way I can pull us out of the Swiss banks. We've got too much wound up in them, and despite this, their privacy policies do us well. They've got their ideas back in order again following all that tax evasion paranoia. The government isn't about to let any whistleblowers shut down the main reason half the world banks in Switzerland. Besides, we don't do tax evasion. We're clean on that front and that's usually what all this is about."

  "Not this time though," I put in. I might not have known all that much about financial loopholes or how to keep our money circulating freely and our assets protected, but I knew the value of admitting when the situation had deviated from the plan. Roman seemed less inclined to let give ground where it came to his line of expertise.

  Valentin never cared all that much about the hows of getting something done, but he always seemed to know what was needed. "We need to make sure our men are in place wherever these situations arises. We cannot make this kind of gamble again."

  Roman tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Agreed."

  "Maxim, you and Yelizaveta, make an approach. If he doesn't like it, continue as before."

  "Understood."

  "Roman. Stay on the call. We need to talk some more about this."

  Elizabeth

  In the afternoon, Maxim called me from central London, and I left the enclave of the apartment to find him.

  Maxim stood square in front of me, skimming through the rack of clothing in Harvey Nics with much more interest than I would have thought he'd show. I'd stepped back from the rack like I'd been burned when I made the mistake of turning over some of the tickets and understood the kind of prices the stuff he was looking through went for. The damage Cassie and I had done in that first week was jumbo sale pricing in comparison.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me, frown drawing in when he saw my reaction. "What? You need clothes like these."

  I gritted my teeth, feeling my resistance flare to life. "I really don't. I've bought a lot of things already."

  "For getting to our target, you do."

  My brows rose up in surprise. "We are going to make an approach?"

  "It's looking very likely. And you'll need to look the part."

  Anticipation made my heart drum in my chest. I loved that Valentin seemed to think I had good ideas and that Maxim was prepared to see where they went, even if they didn't follow his usual mode of problem solving.

  With a sigh I stepped back towards the rack. I understood exactly what we were doing here now. This was part of the job, just the same as all the rest of it was.

  "What does a trust fund baby wear?"

  Maxim grinned at me. "Mm… Something sexy, definitely."

  He leaned down, grazing a kiss against my shoulder, and I felt myself shiver as he let the tip of his nose drag along the back of my neck as he crossed to my other side. "Tight little pencil skirts and dresses, so you can pretend to be all buttoned up. Pearls."

  "You like the idea of that, do you?"

  "I like the idea of taking it all off you afterwards."

  "Mm. I like the sound of that too."

  I pulled a pastel pink boucle Chanel jacket out in my size, and gritted my teeth before I held it up in front of me in the mirror.

  "Like this?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Wonderful."

  Maxim snorted. "You're going to look amazing."

  Elizabeth

  Max had a suitcase with him when we left his apartment. I don't know what he had in it, but he carefully packed the spoils of our shopping trip into it too. He must have left it there the day before. Or maybe that was one of the things he was putting in place when he disappeared from the cafe while I was inside Sandra's offices. Who knew. I didn't think it mattered all that much.

  I assumed he thought it was an easier way of getting all our things back to Knightsbridge. For some reason I'd grown to like his little apartment far more than the chic expansive abode owned by the company. It was truly his, where as the place we were headed back to may as well have been a hotel.

  "Come on," he said, gesturing for me to follow him back out onto the street.

  It was nice not to get into the back of a cab for a change and Maxim seemed to be intending on walking too, which I was glad about.

  I slotted in easily against his side and his arm fit around my shoulder like it was built to go there. His entire body matched mine seamlessly. He could have been created entirely for me, built to meet my every desire, every fantasy of what a man was supposed to be. I loved that I didn't have to hold myself back. Any time I wanted to touch him, I could.

  He was mine. And after the last few days, I was even more sure of that.

  "Where are we going?"

  "It's a surprise."

  The pavements were radiating heat from the day, even though the sun was starting to dip, but the streetlights weren't warming up yet. Just too early. Proper twilight was a little way off, but it was going to be a beautiful one.

  Between the tower blocks, the sky was streaked with mottled, fish-scale clouds. Who knew what that meant about the weather.
I only knew it was going to make one hell of a sunset.

  Maxim turned us towards the North Greenwich peninsula, and I assumed he must be taking us to the O2 to get something to eat from one of the outlets around the multiplex cinema. I wouldn't have minded half a chicken and chips from Nando's.

  But we didn't go inside.

  "This way, love."

  Maxim led me towards the entrance for the Emirates Airline - the gondola cable car crossing the river, and I gave him an odd look. I couldn't understand why we were doing tourist attractions instead of going home.

  He grinned at me. "Come on, they're waiting just for us."

  I rolled my eyes, thinking he was joking, but then he pulled one of the guards to one side and talked to him quietly for a moment. When he stepped back, the man nodded and said something into the two-way radio clamped to his jacket, which burbled back in return.

  "Right this way, Sir. Madam."

  He unclipped a crowd control belt and swept us towards another entrance to the platform where glass doors lined up for each gondola cabin, taking us around the small queue of people waiting to get tickets, through to a different side. He gestured for his colleague, dressed like a cabin crew, to hand us each a glass of champagne.

  I grinned as I took the glass and looked back rolling my eyes at Maxim. "What is this?"

  He leaned in closer and I felt a shiver go through me as I felt his breath hot against the back of my neck. The low tenor of his voice rumbled through me, pure vibration. We'd spent the afternoon fucking each other like rabbits, but I didn't think I was ever going to get enough of him. "We're celebrating. I like to celebrate when we've had such a run of good luck. And because you've been truly spectacular, every step of the way."

  "I have been, haven't I?" I was still on a high from it, but nothing quite topped knowing that Maxim loved seeing me break all the rules as well as he could.

  We were shown into a gondola of our very own. I realised there was no one else joining us as the doors hissed closed. With a jerk, the platform flew away from us, we were off on our way, ascending sharply to the full height of the cable car run above the river.

  Beside us, the white dome of the O2 was bathed in sunset tones, and I could just see the close packed towers of Canary Wharf on the Isle of Dogs coming into view down the river, standing out like some kind of Gotham from the lower rise of the docks that surrounded it.

  I leaned on the bar around the edge of the capsule.

  "How did you time this so perfectly?" The sun was just going down over the city, staining the sky pink and orange, the clouds looking almost purple as they streaked across it. It was the most beautiful view of London I'd ever had.

  "What's the use of having contacts when you never use them?"

  I smiled at him.

  "Fair point."

  Maxim pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to me.

  "What's this?"

  "Take a look."

  Feeling remarkably suspicious, I handed him my glass of champagne after taking one last sip so I had both hands free to open it. The small, bubble wrapped envelope had been delivered to Maxim by courier and he'd opened it already.

  I peeled it open again, and rifled inside the envelope, pulling out a brand new passport with Cyrillic lettering on the front. My heart nearly stopped as I turned to the photo page and saw my own picture staring back at me, underneath the name Yelizaveta Toropova.

  "Oh my God."

  My heart clenched in my chest. This was my ticket out of England, quite literally.

  "Max what is this?" So many things were hitting me all at once. This meant everything, or it might. Was this acceptance into the Bratva? Did he really want me to have his surname? I could barely breathe for all the questions that wanted to tumble out of my mouth.

  "Roman made a visit to St Kitts."

  "I don't understand." I was practically shaking when he handed me back my champagne and took the envelope off me. I couldn't stop staring at the passport in my hand.

  "You can buy Russian passports there. For enough money."

  I frowned at him, still trying to keep up.

  "Legally," he clarified. "This is legitimate, it's real. Nothing fake."

  "But, my name?"

  "We have people in the deed poll office. It's helpful when one of us needs to disappear."

  "But… Yelizaveta Toropova?"

  "Elizabeth, in Russian. And when we go back to St Petersburg, I hope you will be my wife."

  My ears buzzed with the kind of ringing silence after an explosion and I didn't dare trust what they thought they'd heard. I felt my eyes widen as I processed what he was telling me.

  "Wife?"

  "Yes. I want to marry you."

  It felt like I was dreaming when he got down on one knee, looking up into my eyes.

  "Elizabeth Harrington, will you give up your life and come away with me? I'm asking for your hand in marriage, because I want you to always be by my side. I love you and I don't want to spend a day without you."

  I hadn't dared dream it. Not really. I hadn't let myself think about him asking me, because I didn't think he really saw me like that. I was so much younger than him, and maybe he was only having fun.

  Stupid to think like that when nothing he'd ever done had suggested it, and I hated that it meant I must have swallowed some of Sutherland's bullshit about my worth. I frowned at him, still trying to piece it together, not quite letting myself believe it was real.

  I felt myself swallow hard, eyes brimming full of tears and my fingers dug into the edge of the cover of the shiny new passport.

  "This is.. so I have a visa?"

  Maxim all but growled.

  "Sweetheart, you have this passport already. You don't need me for that."

  "But..?"

  "Elizabeth. Yelizaveta. Listen to me you daft cow. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have you by my side always. I want us to do everything we've done this week over and over again. I want you to travel the world with me, go wherever I go, see whatever I see. I want to take you back to St Petersburg and make a home with you there. I love you and I want to marry you. It's as simple as that."

  I flung myself at him, arms wrapping tight around his shoulders as I pressed myself against his chest, burying my head so he couldn't see the tears I couldn't hold back. He cupped my jaw, tilting my chin up so that I was looking at him again. He kissed me again and again, through my sniffing and laughing, until my smile was too wide to let him. Then he kissed the tracks of my tears over my cheeks, until I turned my head to meet his mouth and kiss him back again.

  His hand at the small of my back was the most perfect thing, drawing me into him, solid and strong and warm.

  "Oh God, Max. I love you. And I want all of that too."

  "Then just say yes."

  "Yes," I blurted, far too quickly. "Yes, yes, yes. I can't wait for you to show me St Petersburg."

  "Good. When we're back in London, we'll go and choose a ring."

  "What? Where are we going?"

  "Geneva. We have a certain Swiss banker to track down."

  CHAPTER 30

  Maxim

  The City Airport mainly ran business flights on small planes that could zip in and out of the industrial side of London.

  The place was practically a bus station compared to other British airports, one shop, somewhere to get coffee and a fast food place as well as a tiny nod to Duty Free shopping. Given we were both keen to get in and out as under the radar as we could manage, it made the most sense to fly from there.

  I traveled on another name. Elizabeth used her new Russian passport. I got a kick out of seeing my surname next to the Russian version of her first name. The way it was meant to be. The way it was going to be, more than just officially, as soon as we got married. When she was my wife, I wouldn't want to travel on another name. I'd want everyone around us to know that she was mine.

  No one stepped in to intervene at the electronic pas
sport gate, or when we swiped the QR codes on our tickets. We were air born without a single human interaction. Which I knew from experience meant we hadn't tripped any no-fly lists, or we'd have had a member of security staff swoop down on us.

  I got Elizabeth a magazine when I went to Smiths to get a bottle of water, and she looked at me with some disdain when I handed over a copy of Vogue.

  "Are you kidding me? I've never read that in my life."

  I laughed, full of admiration for the amazing woman who was going to be my wife.

  "You're a rich society heiress now. Remember. You need to take out your own Swiss bank account. You're going to need to go shopping at some of the designer stores before you waltz in. You need to know what handbag you want. It'll be in there somewhere."

  Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly, and took it off me, flipping petulantly through it. "Is this what you do? Go shopping?"

  I leaned back in the seat next to her, scanning our fellow passengers, mostly on their laptops, or tapping away composing emails on work phones or iPads. Not the look-alikes, the real thing. A few of the younger looking ones were watching films with their headphones in. All of them were power dressers, the highly strung people in finance and law tended to be. Groomed to within an inch of their highly polished lives. I was used to dressing to blend in. The suit I'd chosen matched with any one of theirs. I had on the kind of watch that vibrated when I was supposed to do more steps and monitored my heart rate, just like all of them.

  "Only if I don't have the right props. You need the right props. It's a shortcut to blending in. People watching is the other way." I nodded to the assembling group. "These are the kind of people our target is. They are who you're going to have to convince you're worthy of one of those photoshoots in that magazine yourself."