Love and Devotion (Born Bratva Book 10)

by Suzanne Steele

  Kindle Edition

  ©Love and Devotion

  ©Born Bratva Series

  ©Distinguished Series

  Copyright © 2020 Suzanne Steele

  Published by Suzanne Steele

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidence, and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  This e-book is Rated 17+

  To the Reader

  The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns us about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from, and yet are drawn to like a moth to a flame.

  If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find is dark passion. My heroes often carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. Each character I create has demanded their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling. I have stayed true to their personalities and to the beliefs that drive the choices they make, with which the reader may not always agree. The world my characters occupy is dark, and often their love is dysfunctional, but, nonetheless, their stories must be told.

  Stalk me…

  Suzanne Steele’s Blog: http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The men and one woman seated in the conference room of ‘The Club’ were the movers and shakers of Louisville, Kentucky. They were the kind of people who held life and death in the palm of their hand. They were all deeply entrenched in organized crime—so much so that each one was the head of their sect, or brigade of organized crime. They had accomplished the unprecedented ability of being able to work together. Bratva, Colombian cartel, and Sinaloa cartel were each represented in the establishment.

  The conference room where they were gathered boasted of LED video walls, interactive whiteboards, video conferencing with crystal clear acoustics, and custom-made furniture. Though the ambiance was opulent with each detail of its décor thought out, the atmosphere was still thick with a sense of foreboding. It was impossible for powerful people to inhabit the same space without egos being bruised and posturing being manifested. Had it not been for the knowledge of the odd union being understood, there would have surely been a death or dual over the years. Each person present had the insight to know if they worked together, they would accomplish more, and there would be less bloodshed—they would save that for the corresponding enemies they shared. The group had been able to put their egos aside for two reasons: money and avoiding incarceration. They were as smart as they were deadly. Brains and brawn, even in the case of the one woman present: Aurora, the wife of the man who ran the Sinaloan cartel. Her husband had been dubbed Escondido—the Spanish word for hidden, because of his ability to hide. Their union had been one that came with its own set of challenges. The fact they had both been heads of the Sinaloan cartel was enough to cause any marriage to dissolve under the most peaceful of merges. Through the years, they’d managed to assimilate their union in business as well as their agreed-upon nuptials. The struggle in and out of the bedroom had been interesting as well as financially profitable. The love they shared provided a safety net; only those who live in danger would understand. When your life partner had your back against opposing threats that sought to kill you, it caused your relationship to be bound by blood. Every person represented in this group shared the same intensity as their mates. There was something about the looming threat of death that caused an appreciation for life that nothing else could. Like brothers in arms, the marriages represented here were forged in fire and wrought in blood. Though egos were inflamed at times in gatherings such as this, the relationships among the heads of crime were forged in fire as well. Much like a family, they could come close to blows, but they had each other’s backs against outsiders.

  The man who had called the meeting: Alexander Glazov was appropriately the first to speak. The man known as the Pakhan, head of the Bratva brigade, was impeccably dressed. His long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his bespoke suit was tailored for a man with the physique of a Greek god. There was no need to remind the people here why they were careful not to be seen together because flying under the radar was not only a way of life but a necessity. These weren’t men who enjoyed the attention their lifestyle brought. Age and years of doing business had taught them the wisdom of discretion.

  Rooms were always swept for bugs, and cell phones were prohibited. A top of the line bug detector wand was waved with expertise by a bodyguard over each person attending. There was no room for offense against such measures. Each head of cartel knew the devil was truly in the details. Much like the devil, the cartel members were too. Evil could always glean wisdom from one more malevolent.

  Glazov straightened in his seat as if preparing to discuss a difficult situation. Alexander Glazov was a man accustomed to difficulties. Oth
er men would have been broken by what the man faced in a day, much less what he’d faced in his lifetime. He had clawed his way out of the roughest neighborhoods in Russia with no help from anyone but his cousin, whom he considered his brother: Novak.

  Glazov’s voice rang out with the clarity and confidence only a man of war could possess.

  “We’ve overcome many obstacles since our arrival in Louisville, Kentucky. We’ve evaded the law and abolished our enemies. We have even overcome the pride that men”—he took a moment and looked at Aurora— “and ladies suffer from because of the power they wield. We’ve done what other sects and brigades determined impossible and worked together—thus generating more money than we could ever spend and more power than could ever be wrenched from our hands. Almighty God himself said there is nothing that can’t be done when men and women unify in a common cause. Which brings me to the necessity of this meeting…”

  Antonio Wayne played with an expensive knife—one of the many in his vast collection—as he glared at Novak.

  Novak’s lip curled when he snarled, “You gotta problem with me motherfucker?!”

  “I don’t like you. I never have, and I never will.” Antonio Wayne’s eyes were hooded with an attitude of indifference. He felt the touch of his elder brother’s hand on his arm, a way of telling him not to let his temper get the best of him. Of the two brothers, Ricardo was the more level-headed one. He was as deadly but in a more systematic way. Where Antonio Wayne was a hothead, his elder brother had been a Colombian government official and bore the self-discipline his years of service brought with it.

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever give a fuck.” Novak’s eyes were as cold as the imaginary conditions he spoke of.

  Aurora flipped her long dark hair over a shoulder with the confidence of a woman who had dealt with her share of big bad wolves. “Alright, men, you can braid each other’s hair and talk about cheerleaders later.” That got a chuckle out of all the men present, including the two arguing about nothing in general. For emphasis, she jabbed a perfectly manicured nail down on the wood table with inlaid stone. “This is neither time nor place, to be measuring the size of your cocks.”

  Another chuckle.

  Glazov continued. Before he did, he smiled with his eyes at Aurora, who, in turn, nodded and smiled. He respected as well as liked the powerful woman who was able to not only work a room but the men in it. He was a man who appreciated strong, intelligent women; it was the reason he had married Kathleen. His cock jumped as he thought about what he’d do to his wife later. He never tired of coming up with ways to discipline the fiery redhead, and she never tired of coming up with ways to yank his chain. They both liked to play.

  “We’ve all been successful in the area of laundering our money through the purchasing of real estate.”

  “And, many of the neighborhoods are better for it in that we’ve been able to do it without displacing families because many of the buildings were abandoned,” Escondido solemnly added. Escondido came from the cold streets of Sinaloa; streets permeated with the brutality of human trafficking. He had no tolerance for the coyotes who broke the backs of their own people—all under the guise of offering the American dream.

  Glazov slowly shook his head in agreement with his comrade, who was as well-groomed as he was. “That was an important factor to every one of us being that we’ve all come from humble beginnings.” Glazov continued with the discussion he’d come here to have. “There have been complaints about an investor buying properties we’ve been interested in. It’s imperative we obtain the real estate we’ve strategically planned to buy. Not only is it an avenue for us to appear legitimate, but it’s also an avenue for us to gain territory. We all know territory is power.”

  “I say when we find out who it is, and we take that knife I’m gonna shove up Antonio’s ass if he doesn’t quit fucking with me…”

  Antonio flew over the table in one leap like a lion going after prey. The only thing that stopped him was his brother’s hand. Ricardo had barely been able to grab the tail-end of Antonio’s suit jacket. It was taking every bit of his ample strength to hold his little brother back.

  Novak had been just as fast on his feet and now stood with a Glock outstretched, glaring at his opponent.

  “Do it motherfucker! You’ll start a war the likes these streets have never seen.” Antonio’s voice was as menacing as it was intuitive.

  The statement of truth registered with everyone present, especially the man no one wanted to upset: Glazov. He was the man who possessed all the dangerous qualities of everyone in the room, wrapped up in one big bundle of crazy. Nobody here wanted to be hit with that tsunami of destruction.

  Glazov’s fist hitting the table reverberated through not only the table but the hearts of the people watching the chaos unfold. This situation could go one of two ways: bad, or really fucking bad.

  “Enough!”

  Glazov was standing now—not good.

  Novak clenched his teeth and lowered his weapon.

  Antonio Wayne stood straight and brushed the imaginary wrinkles from his suit jacket.

  Both men glared at each other as they once again took their seats out of respect for the man holding the meeting. It wasn’t the first-time respect and fear were kindred spirits, and it wouldn’t be the last. Throughout history, wars had been won because soldiers both feared and respected a leader.

  “We don’t have enough fucking enemies that we have to fight each other now?” Glazov said in a disgusted tone. Both men looked down when a sense of shame brought about by truth whispered through them.

  “Back to the business at hand,” Glazov took a moment to sit down and allow his irritation to dissipate. Like a bunch of fucking kindergartners, I’ve got to keep in line. He jerked his jacket open and loosened his tie. What was intended as a way of calming himself down only served to remind the group Glazov was strapped and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them all dead if they didn’t get on board with his vision. Everyone in the room breathed and decided it was best to continue with the discussion as Glazov saw fit. Glazov was the kind of man who could command a room without even trying. All eyes, as well as attention, were on the man now.

  “As I was saying…” he paused for effect, unable to resist the opportunity to remind the gangsters who was really in charge. “The man we’re dealing with is no novice to the business world. He’s very adept at business practices.”

  “Hmph, I say we put a bullet in his brain when we find out who it is,” Novak said.

  “Finally, something we agree on,” Antonio Wayne complied.

  Both men nodded at the other—a gangster’s olive branch being offered between two frenemies. It was a delicate dance these men did of not stepping on each other’s toes. Time, endurance, commitment, and a dash of greater good had been not only necessary but acquired, even if there was an occasional posturing of the men.

  Glazov slowly shook his head, “This isn’t a situation that involves an easy solution.”

  An ominous sense of knowing they were dealing with a formidable enemy slithered into the room. Like a venomous snake, they could only watch strike down all they’d worked for. Years of work down the drain as if they’d never been spent toiling in blood, sweat, and tears threatened to float away like dust in the wind. They all felt fear fisting their heart at the thought of the loss. Like an artist who gave birth, creating something from nothing or a mother losing the child she gave birth to, the fear accompanied with sorrow was almost too much to bear. Something about this fight seemed different—like it was a fight they could lose. Losing had never been an option in the past, not only because they had all worked for a common goal, but because they were so powerful unified, no foe or enemy could take them down. Glazov didn’t have to explain this was a battle that couldn’t be won by an iron fist coming down like the angry hand of Glazov’s had connected with the table just moments ago. This was going to be a chess match with someone who deduced every possible outcome before acting out
their plans of deception. There were people who made an art of duplicity—people who enjoyed the planning of a takedown as much as they enjoyed the takedown itself. Systematic planners of destruction who roamed the earth hidden in plain sight, they were the sociopaths among us; the people whose neighbors said: “but he was such a pleasant guy, I never expected he’d kill his whole family and burn the house down.” This was that kind of enemy—not just an enemy but a nemesis who would not just go away. This enemy would be different because it wasn’t just a battle over territory; it was personal. The man they were dealing with would see to that.

  Aurora let out a breath she’d been holding. Of all the people in the room, her instincts had detected the shift in the atmosphere immediately. “Who is it?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. There was some part of her that needed to know but didn’t want to ask. Maybe not putting the words out into the universe would change it from being their present truth. No…Glazov was right: knowledge was power. The man oozed not only knowledge but the wisdom to know how to use the Intel he strategically gathered.

  Glazov met her direct gaze and answered with two words, “Black Rose.”

  A vacuum sucked the air from the room, leaving only despondency. There was no formula for a problem of this magnitude because they weren’t just dealing with a shrewd businessman. They were dealing with a serial killer.

  “But he was such a pleasant guy. I never expected he’d kill his whole family and burn the house down”.

  Chapter One

  “So nice of you to wait on me.”

  Glazov chuckled when he heard the indistinguishable garble from behind the gag. He knew his wife well enough to know she was more than likely telling him to “go fuck himself.” It wouldn’t be him he’d be fucking tonight, that was for damn sure.

  He tossed back the chilled vodka and gently set the shot glass back into the matching Waterford Lismore diamond-cut chill bowl.

  “Would you like a shot of my vodka,” he asked his wife, who was presently hanging from an extended chain on a meat hook in his dungeon. There were two rooms in the dungeon: One that was crude and was usually used when Glazov wanted to send the message he was doing anything but playing, and another room that was an opulent playroom, much like one might see on TV in a BDSM movie.