Bratva Vows Complete Box Set: A Dark Mafia Romance

by SR Jones

  The men get to work. They are discreet and fast. I’ve used them before, got their details from Reece. I wonder if he’ll find anything else about my mysterious guest.

  My phone goes, and I sigh when I see Allyov’s number.

  “Yes, boss.”

  He chuckles. “Soon, you will be saying yes, partner, if I have my way.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I need you in the city tomorrow for an hour. Little job, bit of intimidation is all. We have a member who seems to think flapping their lips is a good idea.”

  Marvelous. I wanted to take the day to talk with Violet. Still, if it’s a short job, it won’t take long. I’ll talk with her when I get back.

  That night, she and Justina watch an awful reality TV show, while I work on my laptop. It gets to near eleven o’clock, and I can’t keep my hands off Violet any longer. I go and give her my hand.

  “We should go to bed,” I say, pulling her off the sofa. “I have to go to the city for a few hours tomorrow, so will be up early.”

  “Are we coming?” Justina asks.

  “No, I won’t be long. You two can stay here. I’ve asked Alesso to come stand guard.”

  She nods. She knows Alesso, and he will keep them safe if there is any threat. Normally, I would take them with me, rather than leave them here alone, but Reece’s words about Violet maybe being in serious trouble have spooked me. I don’t want them around Allyov’s crew when I have to leave them to go work.

  We enter the bedroom, and Violet starts to head to the bathroom, but I can’t wait to have her. I pull her to me and kiss her hard. She responds immediately, parting her lips for me and moaning into my mouth. I pull her clothes off with no tenderness in the movements. T-shirt quickly disposed of, jeans unbuttoned and torn down. They pool around her ankles, and I push her onto the bed, trousers half hanging off.

  It’s as if she’s consumed by the same fire as me. She reaches for me, pushing my trousers down. As she takes care of them, I rip my top off. And then I’m on top of her, kissing her and letting my hands roam all over her velvety skin.

  “I want you,” I tell her. Trying to convey to her how much I need to be in her.

  “Take me,” she says.

  I do. I part her legs farther and line myself up with her, not before checking she’s wet, which she is. No foreplay, and she’s soaked. I don’t fool myself it’s because I’m the world’s best lover; it’s something primal between the two of us. I’m the same, almost about to blow from a kiss and getting her naked.

  When I push in, I don’t take it as slow as before. I glide in, and she’s gasping for me already, those little puffs of breath she makes when excited already happening.

  I set up a punishing pace, and she wraps her arms around me, her legs dropped open, still bound at the ankles by the jeans that aren’t fully off.

  I lift her ass and angle her better for me so I can hit her deep, and she moans low and soft with each thrust. Using my thumb, I circle her clit lightly, a counterpoint to the brutality of my thrusts. It doesn’t take long at all before her legs are shaking and her breathing is rapid. They are her tells, the signs she’s approaching her climax. When she falls over the edge, she does so with a soft cry and her eyes roll back in her head.

  I curse and find my own release, slamming deep into her and holding still as I fill her.

  When it’s over and we’ve come back to Earth, I help her undress properly and pull her into me for a cuddle. I never have been one to cuddle, but I could hold Violet all the time and never want to let her go.

  As I hold her and she drifts in and out of sleep in my arms, I think about what toys I can buy to use on her. I don’t have a stash of them here. None of my fuck buddies ever came to this house, so why would I? When I’m in town I might pay a visit to Erotique, an upmarket sex shop that sells vibrators that cost a hundred pounds and ostrich feathers that cost sixty. I might buy feathers, a slim vibrator, and a riding crop. A nice black crop to turn her pretty skin pink. As I’m thinking about this, I find my eyes drooping and let sleep claim me.

  The next morning, I kiss a still sleeping Violet goodbye, and jog downstairs where I grab a protein bar and a banana for breakfast. Alesso is already here, sat in the kitchen with a coffee.

  “Any issues, anything at all, and you call me, yes?”

  He gives me a nod. “Of course. I’m waiting on Damen to get back to me with information on your guest, by the way. Should have it when you get back.”

  I nod, my stomach twisting, and leave the room before I can say something stupid like I don’t want to know.

  Heading to my car, I climb in and peel out of the drive, ready to get this over and done with so I can talk to Violet and find out what Alesso’s friend knows.

  The job turns out to be easy. I don’t even get split knuckles; the guy is so scared a few well-phrased threats have him literally pissing his pants. Allyov and I agree we can safely say he won’t be blabbing about the exciting mob work he does ever again. Fucking small fry, always the ones to cause issues.

  I’m heading to my car when a thought stops me. I don’t know what makes me turn and look down the road in the direction of Violet’s flat, but I do. I think I ought to go and take another look. She had nothing there, no papers of identification. Nothing of the sort an adult has with them and takes with them when they move. Unless she has another place to stay somewhere else, I’ve missed something.

  I arrive there as someone is leaving and grab the door before it can close, slipping inside.

  When I reach her door, I take out my trusty bobby pin and jimmy the lock. Once inside her space again, I look around. There isn’t anywhere I haven’t looked except for under the mattress, which I now lift. I see something far into the center of the bed, and my heart speeds up, but when I pull it out, it’s a jazz mag. I presume from the occupant before Violet.

  Shit. I wander the room then head to the bookshelf again, looking at her books, and then I stop cold.

  The bookshelf is along the back wall, where the roof drops down to the eaves.

  I’m a fucking idiot. With a grunt, I push the bookshelf away from the door and see the small door into the eaves’ space.

  Taking out my phone, I turn on the flashlight and open the door. It’s not boarded out, which means if I’m not careful I could go crashing into one of the flats below. I shine the flashlight on my phone into the space and don’t see anything.

  Getting onto my hands and knees, I bend my head and crawl carefully into the darkness, taking care to keep my body on the thin wooden plinth that runs to the back of the crawl space.

  I crawl along and reach the very back but see nothing. I shine the light and am about to crawl back the way I came, when something catches the light. Something has been pushed down behind where the wooden board ends. I pull it out, and it’s a bag filled with papers.

  Holy shit.

  Keeping myself calm, I crawl backwards to the door and exit the small space. Closing the door, I push the bookshelf back into place.

  I empty the contents of the bag onto the table. First thing I see is a birth certificate for Violet; it says she was born in the UK, and her mother is listed as deceased, which was all I’d found from my online search and Reece’s spying.

  There is a large notebook, and I open it and begin to read. It’s written in diary form by a man talking about how hard their life in the UK is. He talks about the bakery he works all hours in, and how they’d have a better life, but he has to keep his daughter safe. I’m skim reading it, a strange sense of impending doom prickling along my nerve endings, and I have no idea why.

  Four pages in, he mentions Violet by name, saying the elocution lessons are going well.

  She sounds more British every day, and hopefully, this will keep her safe. If those bastards who burned our home to the ground back home in Ukraine find us, we are dead.

  My heart does a crazy thump and a stutter in my chest. Ukraine! No fucking way is this a coincidence. This woman i
s irrefutably not in my home by accident.

  The more I read, the more I begin to fear for Violet’s safety. Her father clearly ran to the UK after his family was murdered in a fire and tried to begin a new life only to find the mobsters responsible had also moved their operation to the UK.

  He hasn’t mentioned them by name yet. I skim more and more pages, reading faster, and then I see it. A name that stands out and makes me want to vomit.

  Allyov.

  Allyov killed Violet’s family? Holy shit. I need to get back; she isn’t safe. Things start to click into place. She never wanted me to notice her; she wanted Allyov to. And he did, but not in the way she’d hoped. Holy fucking hell, had she been trying to get into Allyov’s bed? To somehow get her revenge?

  Maybe not. She’s Violet, for fuck’s sake. Sweet, naïve. I’m thinking how I would react, not her. But then there is no other explanation of her working for Allyov. Either she wanted to get close to him to harm him or inform on him.

  I stuff the papers into the bag, shove the bag inside my suit jacket, and carefully put everything back as it was. Being extra cautious, I wipe down every surface I’ve touched. Not that it will do much good if there’s ever a forensic search of this place. The thought stops me in my tracks because the only way such a thing would happen is if Violet is harmed.

  Shit, I need to make a choice. I’m facing a huge brick wall and there’s no way around it, only through. I must choose.

  Allyov or Violet.

  My revenge or protecting a woman who is probably enacting her own vengeance.

  Maybe, if I talk to her, I can persuade her to stop whatever it is she has planned, for now at least. I close the door behind me and head out to my car, looking around as I do so. I don’t see anyone, but if they are good, I won’t.

  Arriving home, I squeal to a stop outside the house. Alesso is outside, smoking a cigarette. He doesn’t smoke often so it surprises me to see him doing so. In fact, he normally only smokes when he’s stressed.

  Frowning, I climb out of the car and approach him. “What’s happened? Are they okay?”

  “What? Nothing’s happened. You think I’d be outside here smoking a cigarette if they were in any danger?” His face grows serious. “What the fuck is wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lie. “Thanks for your help. I owe you.”

  He clears his throat.

  “Yes?”

  “You know you asked me to look into your little friend inside?”

  I nod. I doubt Alesso has found out anything Reece hasn’t. I’m about to tell him to save it, impatient to get in and read the papers because I have all I need to know stuffed inside my jacket. When his next words pull me up short.

  “I found out something you’re going to fucking hate.”

  I narrow my eyes. He knows about her and Allyov? About her past? How? Reece couldn’t find that information.

  “I know who she is.” His words confirm my worst fears, but I play along. And anyway, I don’t know who she is, because all the papers don’t mention her real name.

  “Who?”

  “She’s not Violet Johnson.”

  “No shit.”

  “She’s Violet Babiek.”

  If I thought my heart had gone into a funny rhythm in her attic bedsit, it’s nothing to the furor that explodes in my chest at his words.

  For a moment, I honestly think I’m going to have to call an ambulance. And I’m not sure whether for me or for Alesso.

  “Yeah, thought you’d take this badly.” He flicks his cigarette to one side as he steps back, widening his stance.

  “She can’t be,” I grind out.

  “She is. Her daddy was Petro Babiek. His family, her mother and her sister, were killed by Allyov. Totally unrelated to you. Allyov doesn’t know who she is, by the way. He genuinely picked her off the streets and gave her to you.”

  “How the fuck do you know all this?” I explode.

  He moves away from the house, and I follow him. “Her, I found out about because Damen did a search on her, and the guy is way better at hacking than most. He can get into records and databases and God knows what. Petro Babiek moved to the UK after his family was slaughtered. In exchange for giving the British authorities a shit load of information on Kyrylo Voloshin, he got a new life. Turned his back on his mob days, betrayed Kyrylo, who he worked for as you know. From everything I’ve seen, he became a model citizen. Guess seeing his wife and child burned to a crisp did that to him. He moved here, brought Violet with him, and changed their names.”

  I’m breathing so hard I feel lightheaded.

  I fucked her.

  Touched her.

  Held her.

  I touched the piece of shit spawn of the man who raped my sister.

  The urge to vomit cloaks my chest, and I ruthlessly squash it. I’ve handled seeing my comrade with his face blown off dying in my arms, and I can—will— handle this.

  I ignore the voice telling me this is different, this is a level of hurt I’ve not experienced since I lost my family. I fucking well let her in. Not only into my home, but into my heart. I might not have admitted it to myself, but I had.

  Betrayal burns, a white-hot sun expanding in my gut.

  “How do you know Allyov doesn’t have an idea who she is?”

  “Come on, you must know it too. He’d kill her. He’d have killed her the first moment he found out. There can be no coincidence she was working for him, none at all. Sergei Allyov wanted Babiek and his whole family dead because Babiek double-crossed him in the worst way. Wormed his way in when he was all along working for Kyrylo. My friend, a war is coming. She’s the spark that will light the whole damned bonfire. Kyrylo and Sergei, they’ve had a fragile ceasefire for a few years now; if it comes to light Babiek’s child is alive and well, living in Britain and has been working for Allyov… Whoa.” He holds his hands up.

  “But I also know Sergei didn’t know who she was because he met with our underboss a few days ago and had too much vodka. Told the man all about how he’d finally found something to hold over you. A girl you seemed to like; more than like, cared about. He wanted her because he thought you’d like her. He thinks he’s correct in his assessment, and it pleases him because it gives him leverage over you if he ever needs it.”

  “He doesn’t know shit.” I don’t know if Violet will still be alive this time tomorrow, never mind in time to give him leverage.

  “What are you going to do to her?” Alesso frowns.

  He takes his cigarette packet out and taps out another one.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You should tell her you know who she is and get rid of her.”

  “Oh, right, yeah. Let her go. To do whatever it is she had planned for me and Allyov in the first place?”

  “Doubt she can do you much harm. I don’t think she intended to hurt you; it’s Allyov she would have wanted. What are you going to do? You have a code, Andrius.”

  “Fuck the code, it doesn’t apply to that motherfucker or any of his brethren.”

  I head for the house, my heart hardening with every step.

  “Andrius.” There is warning in Alesso’s voice.

  “You can go now; thank you. Let me know when I can return the favor.”

  I open the door and close it firmly on him, locking it. Walking into the library, I stare unseeingly at the books lining the shelves. Turning to the door, I lock it with the old-fashioned turn-key which dates back to when this room was refurbished in the 1840s, or so I’ve been told.

  Petro fucking Babiek. The one who got away. The one who died a peaceful life in England, after bringing up his child. His unharmed child who had never been raped by a piece of shit like him. Unless, oh God, what if he’d molested Violet? But then, no, her innocence hadn’t been a lie. I was sure of it. She wasn’t a virgin, but she wasn’t worldly about sex.

  For some reason, I think back to after we’d first fucked, and the awe-struck way she’d pressed her small hand on her stomach and told me
she felt me everywhere. My heart cracks wide. Was it all a game to her? Has she been playing me all this time?

  I storm to the bar in the corner of the room and pour a huge shot of whiskey, which I down before pouring another. I take it to the table in front of the now cold hearth and carefully place it on the surface. There’s a violence building within me, and if I let it out, I’m liable to rip this whole damn library apart. Instead, I lock down and try to control my raging emotions. It’s what I do, what I was trained to do from a young age.

  Fuck me, though; this is more personal than anything I’ve dealt with before. I coldly killed Kyrylo’s brother; it didn’t cost me anything. He deserved to die. Kyrylo, I’ve always known will be a bigger deal because he orchestrated the whole thing. My hatred for him goes beyond honor and vengeance. But my hatred for Babiek was the worst of all. Burning bright in the first years, eating me up inside. Then I thought he must be dead because he’d disappeared for so long. Now, I find his fucking daughter is in my house. The man who committed the worst crime imaginable against my sister has a child, and she is in my fucking home.

  Fingers shaking, I take out the plastic bag and unfold it, emptying the contents onto the table. I skim more of the diary. There’s no mention of the things he’s done, which is odd. It’s highly personal, and I can only assume it is private and Violet found it after his death, so why no mention of the things he’s done? The whole thing is nothing more than a poor me rant. I keep skimming, and then I get to the end, and it suddenly makes sense.

  My darling Violet. If you find this diary, it means I am gone. This is important for your future, so always keep it somewhere safe.

  If you ever feel you may be in danger or under threat, go to the police. Give the papers that are with my diary to any of the officers on the organized crime team at Parkland Station, no one else. Do not trust any other police officers.

  I am sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, but my greatest wish was to keep you safe. In this diary are the facts of what Sergei Allyov did to our family. It will be hard to read, but I believe once I am gone you need the truth in order to keep you safe. I will no longer be able to make sure you avoid people who will mean you harm.