Fearless III

by Amarie Avant

  “Was,” Simeon grunts.

  “He’s shark food now, by way of the Atlantic Ocean,” Anatoly laughs.

  Zariah looks up at me, her fucking face. Her beautiful motherfucking face is too much for me to stare at. “Who the fuck is he!” I tower over her.

  “Vassili, hold it,” Malich starts out of his seat, but Anatoly stops him with a hand at his shoulder.

  Yuri comes to her side. “Brat,” he lowers his voice, “Let’s chat somewhere else.”

  “Nyet!” I growl at him. “She belongs to me, not you, Yuri!”

  “I didn’t say she did,” he steps closer to me. “Zariah is family now, brat.”

  Zariah touches his arm. “It’s okay, Yuri. I-I can explain.”

  He steps back a few paces next to Mikhail. I glower at them all.

  My wife looks up at me, with a strangled voice. “Attorney Tyrese Nicks worked the Noriega case with me. I didn’t know he was a Fed then—”

  “You fucked a Fed?” I ask, begging myself not to be plunged in that place. The dark place where she’s holding me, sobbing and crying tears at my chest. The place she goes to die.

  Zariah moves closer to me. I’m too quick on my toes for that shit. “Talk!” I bark.

  She speaks fast. She mentions her father and how I sent her home.

  This time, she gets close again. I grab her biceps and shake her. “Skip that shit, Zariah! Tell me about you. Tell me about you and another man.”

  My gaze lights with murder. She clutches her throat. What the fuck for? My hands are weighted at my sides.

  “Vassili… listen to me. You tell Natasha everything. The night you came to see us at Maxwell’s when I’d just gotten home—”

  I laugh, “From out with another man.”

  “Don’t do this, Vassili. Look at me, look into my eyes. Don’t do this.” She sniffles back tears. Her hands are out in an attempt to clasp mine. “What about the woman Danushka had screwing with you? I never held it against you!”

  “Do not touch me.”

  Her hands shake as she pulls them away from me and across her chest. “Remember the night you came to see me? The night I was in the shower when you came to my father’s home?”

  Jaw clenched, I nod.

  Taking a deep breath, Zariah murmurs, “That night I heard you. While you thought I was sleep, you spoke with Natasha. You tell our baby everything.”

  “Don’t bring my daughter into this,” I grit out.

  Zariah wipes away the tears with a trembling hand. “You told Natasha you wanted a new life. No bad shit. You were making moves on your end. I wanted to get rid of my father for us. We were supposed to celebrate this news once we got back from Moscow.”

  I blink at her. Twenty of my family and associates are here to witness my wife make a fool of herself.

  “I went to Tyrese for help—”

  “You went to another man for help!” A vein in my neck pulsates. I push Zariah away again. She won’t stop fucking trying to touch me.

  “To get rid of my dad. Vassili, please believe me. In the beginning, when I learned Tyrese wasn’t truthful, I assumed Maxwell was his target. You believe me, don’t you?” Zariah’s hands reach out for me. She’s grazing my jaw when I step away from her again.

  “Simeon,” I growl. “Lock her ass up. Let’s finish this meeting.”

  Zariah gasps. “Vassili, don’t talk to me like that. I’m your wife!”

  “Dah, you belong to me.” I step toward her now that she isn’t attempting to place her silky, tiny hands on me. It makes my gut tie in knots that Yuri edges closer. My brat wants to save the woman who manipulated me! I point a finger at her. “Your biggest mistake is forgetting that I own you.”

  Simeon clasps her arm. She wrestles with him. Every fiber in my being wants to fight this mudak for touching my wife. But these are my orders. Yuri pushes at Simeon from the opposite side of her, Mikhail too. A resounding slap echoes across the room as Zariah slaps my cousin. Simeon growls. She wrenches her arm away from him.

  “Vassili, I’m your wife. You are not your father.” Her fingers stroke my chiseled jaw. I clasp her hand on my face. Looking her deep in the eye, I notice her brown orbs softening. The pleading has become hope.

  My fingers tighten around her hands, squeezing the fuck out of them. “First, you talk shit about my mother? Now you compare me to Anatoly!”

  “You told me to mention her,” she shouts, voice strangled.

  The entire room disappears as I continue to crush her fingers. I shake her body, growling, “You’re comparing me to that mudak of a father of mine? Is that what you’re doing.”

  “Vassili—”

  Grabbing Zariah’s face, I crush her lips harder than ever in a kiss that weakens her knees. Once she’s putty in my hands, I toss my wife. She stumbles backward into Simeon’s arms.

  I declare, “You compare me to my father, big mistake. If you’re right, Zar, then that means I. Kill. You. Simeon, lock her ass up while I make up my mind.”

  42

  Zariah

  “You should stop crying,” Simeon’s deep voice dips with deceptive sympathy. We’re in a dark room on the top floor of Anatoly’s mansion. The windows are too high up for daylight to touch down on us. The gilded bedroom is strangled by dusk. On the edge of a four-poster bed, I sit with my legs at my chest, chin on my knees. Lips trembling, I glare at him. “When will he kill me. Oh my God! My husband wants to kill me.”

  “He won’t.” Simeon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stop crying.”

  “Why? My crying pierces your evil soul?”

  The beautiful monster smiles. “Nyet. I like to watch people cry. It makes them real. I like it from a distance. Except, I’m stuck here with you, shit makes my head hurt.”

  “You like crying from a distance? What does that mean.”

  He shrugs.

  “What does it mean!”

  Simeon glares at me again as if to say I’m crossing the line for pushing. “I kill people. That’s the job. Love the fucking job. Love it so much that when I’m done, I watch the dead man’s family mourn. If they don’t mourn—”

  Unable to get a grip on my life, I taunt him with, “What? You kill them too?”

  “Dah,” Simeon chuckles softly. “I do. Even bad men should be loved. I can tell when a wife is breaking after her husband. Like Anna. I’d never kill her. She’s family. Zariah, you are too.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Oh, come on.”

  “You are. Anyway, those dead, rich men’s wives that the Bratva need cleansing I’ll watch them. Read them. Leave them or collect their lives too.”

  With nowhere to go but six feet under, I focus on Simeon. I was wrong about him. The only resemblance to my husband is by way of his looks. He’s a friggen serial killer who doesn’t know when to stop. “You’re the grim reaper and then you play judge, jury, and executioner by way of going beyond the call of duty. Sounds like overkill. What about the wife who isn’t ready to grieve? Some people take time before it all sinks in.”

  I pluck up a pillow, ready to suffocate myself, so Vassili doesn’t get to do the honors. After a few beats, Simeon decides to respond.

  “Zariah, it’s best to cut off the vines. Say a husband is the root of the family, and if they truly follow his views on life, they should be cut down.”

  “What?”

  His eyes sparkle. “You’re a sophisticated being, Zariah. You’re also listening, I know you are. Some women are trapped in relationships with vile, powerful men. Others are an equal threat—poison ivy. You cut the root—the husband—that vine will attach itself to something else. That parasite continues to grow.” Simeon ceases his quasi-philosophical rant to shrug. “Zariah, expand your horizons. I don’t just need another life to claim. There are various reasons that I do what I do.”

  “Okay, you’re Robin Hood, who steals the souls of bad people so they’re not harming good people?” I huff, for a moment forgetting my predicament.

  “I appreciate
your assessment.” He nods. “Grim Reaper, Robin Hood of souls. Although it’s not so complex. When I’m bored, I need an outlet.”

  “You’re bored, try a book.”

  “I have an advanced reading collection in my home. I own one of the largest libraries in Moscow—amongst other locations, with large volumes of work.” His voice grows far away as he adds, “I get restless . . .”

  “Oh sheesh, genius serial killer.” I lean back against the head post, gripping my hair. “With your skewed moral compass, you should be glad to watch Vassili mur-murder me. I’m cheating scum, right?”

  He folds his arms. “You’re not. The agent kissed you. You pushed him.”

  Eyebrows zipping together, I murmur, “How? How are you aware of this?”

  “I’m the reason that Anatoly has photos. I took one of the kisses.” Simeon bites his bottom lip. “Had Vassili not taken the bait on round one, a photo expresses a thousand variables. In certain instances, it tells everything aside from the truth.”

  Blood pounds in my ears, I growl, “You watched me that entire night! You watched Grigor—”

  “Nyet. I was exiting the building across the way, the same as you. That shouldn’t have happened. I apologize.”

  “Don’t have the nerve to be sorry, Simeon! Try being sorry about,” my voice breaks. “Being sorry about Natasha and my baby. I am pregnant!”

  “You will birth a Resnov baby.” Simeon turns on the heels of his expensive loafers and exits. I hear a deadbolt click as a sob cracks through me.

  My son . . .

  43

  Vassili

  I claim the fucking seat. The one that my father has prepared for me and the opposite of him. While the meeting is commenced and the first issue at hand is on the table, I stare at nothing in particular. On my left, Sofiya scoots her chair close to me.

  “Malich vouched for her,” my aunt says under her breath. “Before you make any lasting decisions, Vassili, take everything into perspective.”

  “She betrayed me.”

  My aunt clasps the back of my hand, her thumb kneading over my skin. “Half the mudaks here will never have half the wisdom I do. How many times have I told you this?”

  “Auntie,” I groan.

  “How many, Vassili?” she growls.

  “A thousand.”

  “Try a million,” Simeon’s mother whispers wisdom. “Did I appreciate anyone else’s opinion regarding Natasha? Nyet. My brat, Malich, is the only man I’d ever trust without time and consideration. Yuri, Mikhail, and Malich all love your wife. You do too. Things are not always as they seem.”

  “Sofiya,” Anatoly clears his throat from the opposite end of the table. “We’re discussing the ports on the northeastern shore of . . .”

  I sit back in my chair. The heads of the table chat and the surrounding family wait for outcomes and orders. All I hear is white noise.

  I glance at my fists; the blood has gone from beneath them. The team is discussing Congress in the States. Names of senators are tossed around and how the petition will never see the light of day. Someone in the crowd confirms that he has the means to head this requirement.

  Simeon returns to the room.

  He nods at me, two hands fisting the finest champagne. Restless from even this short period of time sitting with the Bratva, I stand up from the table.

  “Father, let’s do this right. You’ve waited years for me to sit here. Let’s set business aside to drink some champagne!”

  Anatoly clicks his tongue, arising from the table. “I haven’t properly welcomed you, moy syn. Good idea.”

  I nudge my chin, and he comes to my side. Like I’ve always done with Malich, I regard my father. My hand goes behind Anatoly’s neck, our foreheads press together. I show him the utmost respect, a reverence he’s never received from me.

  “There will be two kings,” I tell him, giving the back of his neck a pat.

  Anatoly calls out, “There are two kings, long live us!”

  One week ago, I was living the worse days of my life. Kong was in a coma—fuck, he still is. My wife and daughter weren’t under my roof. I sat on stools with Simeon at the island in my kitchen. Two bottles of Resnov Water between us, because one wasn’t going to cut it.

  I mumbled, “My wife doesn’t make it, you’re dead.”

  “Brat, I’ll keep her safe with my life.”

  I stared at Simeon; the motherfucker looked just like me. I needed to trust him. How could I? He spent more of his life beneath my father’s thumb. Saw the bastard crazier than me. “You let one hair . . .”

  “I don’t need fucking threats, Vassili.” Simeon glowered at me. “I give my word; you take my fucking word.”

  “I take your word?” I cackled, tossing back the entire bottle.“Sounds like you wanna fight this shit out. I’m not stupid, Simeon. I want more than your word to trust. You have always wanted to be …”

  “I want to be you?” He pointed a stiff finger at me. “That’s your motto. Every time I look at you, mudak. All I fucking hear is ‘You want to be me, Simeon.’ Brat, grow the fuck up.”

  Giving my skull a few pops, I growled, “I—Fuck! I can’t trust anyone with Zariah. She’s my fucking life. She and Natasha are my life!”

  “You’re our father’s son.” He shook his head, then his eyes met mine. He was testing me to deny those words.

  Our father’s son.

  I couldn’t deny them.

  Anatoly had raped Sofiya while Sasha was in my mother’s belly. He’d been drunk out of his mind when my aunt tried to save my mom from another smacking. To my father, I can only fucking guess that he thought he was screwing his wife’s best friend. Not his own sister. The two titles were given to Sofiya.

  In return, she gave her brother a son.

  “You think,” Simeon groaned, “I’m jealous. Nyet, it’s misplaced adulation when we were young. You were my big brat—you fucking idiot. I expected to work for you! I thought that I saw the same rage in your eyes for him. For OUR FATHER.”

  I patted his shoulder. There wasn’t anything else I could think for us to do. We’d never been close and for this revelation to come out, the entire situation was awkward.

  “Danushka said she had the same disease tonight before I killed her,” I muttered. “I was about to strangle her, and she wanted me to stop. Like I wouldn’t kill her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Right before I took her out, she reminded me of some shit. Fuck!” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’ve always had time missing from my mind. Like I didn’t want to remember certain things about the past.”

  “Defense mechanism,” he mumbled.

  “I’d forgotten about Anatoly raping Sofiya until Danny stopped me from strangling her. She and Grigor were there when our father raped your mom. Might be why those two . . . those two. . .” Shit, I couldn’t say it out loud. That the siblings had been screwing each other too.“Sim, the three of us, even my mom, tried to stop our father. We all watched him rape her. It’s the first and only thing I ever did with them. They grew up to be two of the weirdest mudaks. They held that memory—”

  “They weren’t strong like you. Not strong enough to forget, brat.” He patted my shoulders. “They were lost a long time ago.”

  I drank more of the liquid. “Why don’t you hate me, Simeon? Why isn’t this shit my fault? Everything else is your fault.”

  We sounded like true brothers for a second as he retorted. “You thought Igor was my fault when we went for blows at Urban Kashtan.”

  I shrugged. “We have a fucked-up life. Danny saw it. I saw it. Anatoly beat my mom! He raped auntie.”

  “Dah! He raped my ma!” he growled.

  I huffed. “Dah, all of that made me not want anything to do with my siblings, you included. You hate me, you must. So, now I can’t trust that you’ll keep Zariah safe.”

  “Eh, you don’t understand Vassili. Knowing what happened to my mom, your mom, it all made me work at being Anatoly’s second.” Si
meon drank so much that it wetted down his chin and chest. “I should have noticed Danny and Grigor.”

  “They ended up more fucked over than us, brat.” I shook my head. “She was so out of it when I choked her out that I had to remind her that I knew Anatoly raped your mother. Or maybe she had forgotten I was there. Maybe that bitch and Grigor thought they carried all this. The two of them... and it messed their brains over. Right before I killed her, Danny said she did this for you—for us!”

  He roared. “She was so stupid, so fucked up. She was still our sister. Grigor . . . I didn’t watch him enough!”

  My eyebrows came together. Simeon is the youngest, but at that moment, he felt like the oldest. I knew what he meant by ‘watch’ Grigor. Not because he worried the little bastard would be disloyal. Simeon, the one who loves blood, would’ve been there, I wasn’t. I muttered, “We didn’t, Simeon. Brat, we didn’t watch them enough.”

  “They may have been stupid, incestuous creeps, but we gotta right these wrongs, brat. Anatoly’s abuse ruined them, Vassili,” Simeon slurred. “We have to vindicate Danny, Grigor, Sasha.” His eyes locked onto mine as he mentioned my sister’s name. At that second, I knew that Simeon had spent years under the devil’s rule to learn his ways. My calculating brat was a mastermind and more worthy to be king than all of us.

  I pointed the neck of my Resnov Water at him and asked, “Sim, do you want the throne?”

  Like my father declared, there are two kings.

  He isn’t one of them.

  From the back of the room, Simeon holds two bottles of champagne in his hand. They are symbolic that our plans are in order. He shouts, “I’ve got you all covered.”

  “Moy syn!” Our father accidentally slips with the truth. Over the years, I’ve always wondered why he didn’t just let Simeon rule alongside him. That would bring his dirty secret to ahead.

  At my side, my father glances through the crowd at the young man he’s never claimed. The soldier that he could only ever be proud of and never give the crown to. The one who went above and beyond, while following his orders.