Love and Devotion (Born Bratva Book 10)

by Suzanne Steele

  The man never saw the eleven inches of black leather power until the blackjack slapper connected with his cheekbone cutting into it with ease. The bone intensified the solid blow. Blood poured from the open wound where cells of fat now poked through.

  “Now that’s going to leave a scar,” Charles sneered.

  “Please just kill us,” the man begged.

  His partner in crime cut his eyes at him with a new surge of adrenaline.

  “Speak for yourself. I don’t want to die,” tears ran down the man’s face. He directed his attention towards the man known as Black Rose. “I don’t wanna die, mister.”

  Charles's face turned to stone with blazing eyes of accusation.

  “You killed the wrong family. The family you killed didn’t want to die, either. You killed two kids under the age of five; babies.”

  It sounded heinous when described like that, but the truth always hit a nerve, and this man was no different than anyone faced with the horror of death by one’s own hand. He hadn’t slept since they killed those kids, he couldn’t speak for his partner, but the faces of innocence had terrorized him since they killed those children. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. Maybe death would be better than dealing with the demons of his past. The man leaned forward as far as the ropes would allow like it would help prove his point and gain a pardon. This Black Rose guy is crazy. He’s Judge, jury, and executioner. You better make it good.

  “We didn’t know. They were speaking Spanish; it sounded like gibberish to us.”

  Charles's expression was blank—unreadable.

  “So, you’re a racist too. I hate racists.”

  “No, no, no,” the man backtracked. “I just meant we couldn’t understand them.”

  “So, that makes it okay to kill kids.”

  “No, no, you’re twisting my words.”

  “If there’s anything twisted, it’s your warped way of thinking. Men like you two can’t be rehabilitated. It’s the reason I do what I do. Trash needs to be taken out or burned. When left to pile up in the streets of the city, the rats multiply, and crime becomes an epidemic. It’s forced upon those who are vulnerable: the children, the poor, and senior citizens. People who only want to live out their lives in peace. People who want the best for their families. Law-abiding citizens who don’t deserve being subjected to the whims of criminals and their efforts to secure easy money. I can see it in your expression, the wondering how I can talk about law-abiding citizens. It’s a means to an end. Too many dirtbags go free because of technicalities and prisons being overcrowded. I’m just speeding things up. I feel no shame or guilt for the things I do.”

  Charles stared at the man daring him to reply.

  “The same way you dug yourself into a hole with your words, you’ll dig your own grave where the worms will eat your corpse like the garbage you are.” Charles’ voice held resolution.

  Both men sat with heads hung, and the mixture of tears and snot flowing freely. There would be no pardon because a man like Black Rose was incapable of feeling mercy when it came to baby killers. They signed their death warrant as soon as they bum-rushed their way through that family’s door. It would send a message to anyone thinking about robbing a fellow drug dealer. They might get the wrong house too. These two had never thought about that, but anyone thinking about doing the same would now—a shining example to a dark world inhabited by criminals.

  Chapter Three

  Glazov sat up in the adjustable king size bed his wife had insisted they buy. Of course, said bed was custom made, complete with all the bells and whistles one could imagine. He’d resisted the idea because their last bed was set up for bondage. When she’d argued they had the dungeon and imagination, he’d reluctantly given in. Glazov didn’t like the idea at first, saying, “I’m not that fucking old or sick,” but in the name of world peace, Glazov had given in. He’d learned over the years, once his wife got something in her head, there was no changing her mind. Though it was an attribute that at times drove him crazy, she was a better businesswoman because of it.

  He watched, mesmerized as if seeing her for the first time across a crowded room. She glided across the plush carpeting like an angel—his angel. She held a cup of coffee in each hand. She smiled as she handed one to him and kissed his cheek. Her moves were graceful, and not one drop was spilled. After decades of marriage and birthing two babies and adopting one, she was still as beautiful, if not more so.

  “We have people to do that, you know,” he said as he took a sip of the hot brew.

  “I don’t need a maid to wipe my ass, Glazov. The bidet does a fine job of it.”

  “Smart-ass,” he grumbled.

  “Smart brain too, my love. It’s the reason I’m here.”

  “Huh,” he grunted. “Your curiosity has something to do with you being here too. You’re here to drill me about the meeting.” It wasn’t a question—he was well-aware it took little to pique his wife’s curiosity. When Kathleen and Katrina got together, they became detectives who could find any information that had awoken their interest. Glazov knew women were natural-born stalkers, and the two of them were the best of the best. Glazov and Novak had used their wives more than once to flush out an enemy. They could follow a subject under the guise of two women having lunch out shopping together. They didn’t set off alarms and were often underestimated because of their beauty. The women loved doing it, and it kept them out of trouble. They were going to get into something; better Bratva business than trouble.

  “I want the dirt. Tell me about Novak and Antonio Wayne’s fight.” She didn’t need to be told what happened; the air was always thick with tension when the men were in the same room. Their testosterone always assured they butted heads. It always amazed her how much like family they were, and they couldn’t see it. They would be the first to defend the other if an outsider talked shit about them, and they weren’t there to defend themselves. Typical men: couldn’t see the forest for the trees. When a woman detested another woman, she was consistent about it. Men couldn’t sort out their feelings if they were smacked upside the head with them. Good thing they had strong women as partners in crime. Like a well-oiled machine, they all served a purpose in getting jobs done. The opposition they faced came from outside sources, and Glazov was grateful for that. He was firm but fair towards his employees, and they respected him. He saw too many cartel members who fought among themselves, and it always ended with somebody dying, snitching, or doing time. Nothing good ever came from split unions, and Glazov was concerned about the ongoing enmity between his cousin Novak and Antonio Wayne.

  “Well, Novak almost shot him after Antonio jumped over the table to cut his throat.”

  “Ooh,” she crooned, picturing the scene in her head. “This is getting good—too early for popcorn, though. I’m gripping my coffee mug in anticipation.”

  This was entertainment for his wife or any other woman for that matter. Glazov just shook his head like it was nothing new, but Kathleen wouldn’t be appeased that easily. She wanted details—nasty, dirty, sordid little details.

  “It sounds like things are escalating between those two. That could be dangerous.” She stared down at the dark brew, pondering what it would mean for the brigade if the two men couldn’t get along. They needed the Colombian cartel, and the thought of a chainsaw massacre wasn’t a pleasant one. That bunch just loved cutting off body parts—a finger here, an ear there, and the message was loud and clear. Amazing what it could do to a woman, opening-up what you thought was a present and finding the tongue of your dearly beloved Henry, Hank, or whatever other name the man had been christened at his baptismal. Not quite the romantic gesture the receiver would have initially thought. Said husband wasn’t amorous; he was the babbling idiot she’d always thought he was, literally. So much for romance. Too bad every woman can’t have an alpha knight in jagged armor, Kathleen thought, with just the hint of a smile on her face.

  “Escalating… I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
Glazov chuckled. “Novak looked like death in real-time when he drew down on that fucker.”

  “What did Antonio do?” she asked excitedly.

  “Told him to do it—that there would be a war like none other if he did. The truth of that statement smacked all of us between the eyes. Things calmed down after that. Leave it to Antonio Wayne to keep it real.”

  “The man does have a raw quality about him,” she shook her head in agreement.

  Glazov cut his eyes at her. She didn’t need to look in his direction to feel his piercing gaze of accusation.

  “You have the same quality, my love. It’s just in a more polished manner. Antonio Wayne still has the street-thug thing going on.”

  That seemed to appease her husband.

  “Anyhow, there’s still the issue of Black Rose. I’ve dealt with every kind of gangster there is but dealing with a vigilante serial killer is a first.”

  “That guy’s creepy.”

  “Most serial killers are.”

  “He’s got to be smart to carry it off without getting caught.”

  “You’re batting a thousand today, aren’t you?”

  “I can assure you I have no hidden crushes on any of the crazy bastards you work with.”

  “You better not, or I’ll be crushing something with my fists, and they won’t be breathing when I’m finished.”

  Kathleen would have laughed if what he was saying wasn’t the truth. His hands were the size of a giant’s and capable of plowing through anyone who got in his way. By the time he was finished, there would be a puddle of nothing. She’d seen Glazov beat a man unrecognizable more than once. It was so bad one time that one of the bodyguards puked at the sight of carnage Glazov had left in his wake. Of course, the guys never let him live it down, but that wasn’t the point. There were probably more who came close to puking, but they would never admit it.

  She looked at her husband, pensively, “How are you going to handle Black Rose?” She was only saying what they both knew. “He’s not the normal cartel you can kill and be done with.”

  “Yes, it’s a bit more complicated than most problems we normally deal with. That came up in the meeting, and as far as how to deal with him, I’m not sure yet.”

  She playfully punched him, “Good thing ya got me, huh?”

  “A very good thing,” he answered seriously. When it came to Kathleen, he was always serious. Well, serious was part of his make-up. When it came Kathleen, he was dead serious.

  Glazov took a sip of coffee, “It’s going to take some thought. As always, I’m open to your ideas. If you come up with some magical solution to this conundrum, please enlighten me. Nothing about dealing with Black Rose is going to be easy.”

  Glazov would look at it like he always looked at a challenge: it was a chance to gain more knowledge, and knowledge was power. This problem would take him out of his comfort zone. It would stretch him; force him to come up with new ways to deal with problems. It would also forge a stronger bond with the other bosses he was working with. It would build discipline and perseverance. These lessons were never easy, but they had to be successful. Defeat was not an option.

  Chapter Four

  Kathleen smiled when she saw Katrina walk into the coffee shop they were meeting at. An idea had come to her when she’d been discussing Black Rose that morning, but she wanted to have it planned out before she presented it to her husband. To Kathleen, this was no different than a business proposition to a client. She had no intention of her husband asking her a question she wasn’t prepped for. Katrina was her best friend. She was smart and the perfect person to bounce her idea off-of.

  “What are you up to?” Katrina sat at the small round table with the specialty coffee she’d already stood in line and purchased.

  “Has Novak talked to you yet?”

  “Yes, and I gave him a piece of my mind about drawing down on Antonio Wayne.”

  “Can’t blame him after Antonio tried to stab him.”

  “I said the same thing, but they’re still playing with dynamite, and I don’t like it. It’d be a major fucking-war if it went any further than it did at that meeting. They’re both hotheads. I was so mad at my husband. I could have stabbed him myself.”

  Kathleen almost spit her coffee out laughing. “You’re going to make me spit coffee all over that nice white satin blouse you’re wearing.”

  “It’s not white, it’s eggshell,” Katrina rolled her eyes as if the detail didn’t matter, but she said it to be facetious anyway.

  “You say tomato…”

  “Yeah. I know. I figured I’d do the ‘I have a stick up my ass’ country club version of conversation.”

  They both laughed at the inside joke. They always had fun standing around the corner and mocking the straitlaced rich bitches they were forced to attend galas with sometimes. It had become a game to them, mocking the women who were uptight and judgmental, women who begrudged anyone outside of their self-appointed cliques, even the women who were part of their inner circle weren’t safe from sudden exclusion that was all too common among the rich and famous. It was a difficult tightrope to walk; one Kathleen and Katrina were too confident to fall prey to. Their lack of caring caused the Born Bratva women to be leaders, though that wasn’t the reason for their carefree attitudes. Though the elite country club members feared Glazov and his family, there was a certain amount of intrigue about them that caused a lot of curiosity from even the most law-abiding of citizens. Glazov did a lot of fundraising and behind the scenes work for the local library. It was the only reason Kathleen and Katrina subjected themselves to the agony of being around fake people. They were more comfortable being around those who kept it real. When a gangster hated you, you knew it. The only time they kept their plans to kill a secret was if it was one of their own who had betrayed the organization. It was the reason Glazov’s men feared him. You could never tell what the man thought until it was too late. It kept everyone on their toes, which is exactly where he wanted them.

  Kathleen’s expression became serious, “It’s like they look at us like we’re bugs under a magnifying glass, but they don’t want us to catch them staring.”

  “Maybe we should hiss at them like a feral cat the next time we catch one staring. They all think we’re lawless animals anyway.”

  “Oh my God, you’re hilarious.”

  “Hilarious because it’s true.”

  “The best comics have mastered that.”

  “Well, I’m sure you didn’t call me here to talk comedy, and Black Rose doesn’t strike me as a man with a sense of humor.”

  “Black Rose strikes me as dangerous—a danger to the public and us. I don’t like this one bit. I don’t scare easy, but that family of vigilantes scares-the-shit-out-of-me.” Kathleen shook her head as if trying to adjust to the thought her husband was going into new territory.

  “Well, it’s the first time we’ve had to deal with super-hero villains. Let’s just hope they’re not some Harley and Joker couple.”

  “You are not putting my mind at ease, Katrina. The thought of them being consumed with blood lust is creepy.”

  Katrina straightened in her seat, ready to get down to business. The only way to solve the potential problem was to get ahead of it. They weren’t the type to run from trouble. This needed to faced head-on. “Tell me what’s going on in that trouble-making psyche of yours, and maybe we can get out of this unscathed.”

  Now it was Kathleen who was straightening her posture in preparation to share her plan. “I think we should by-pass the men and talk to his wife, Melanie. If she’s anything like us, she’s concerned with bloodshed too. I know we’re scared of Black Rose, but I’d be willing to bet they’re scared of Glazov and Novak.”

  “Hmm, I hadn’t thought of it that way. You just may have a point. That’s why you picked this location. Charles owns Louisville Lattes coffee shop.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How are we going to get Melanie’s contact info?”

  Ka
thleen smiled slyly, “I’ve already got it.”

  “You’re such a thief—you stole it from Glazov.”

  “I’m not the one who stole my husband’s Intel and wrote a book; then got forced into marriage.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you, Kathleen?”

  “Nope. It’s funny. Best decision you ever made. It put you on the NYT list.”

  “And…I inherited a psycho husband. What more could a girl ask for?”

  “Don’t know, sis, I got forced into marriage too.”

  Chapter Five

  “Charles. Stop working and talk to me.”

  Charles turned his office chair to see his wife better and removed his glasses as a show he was listening. Whatever Melanie had on her mind wasn’t going to wait. He knew all too well how hard-headed his wife could be. She wasn’t the type of woman who could be shrugged-off.

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass, Charles. These people are dangerous. You’re dealing with Colombian cartel and Bratva. These aren’t street thugs we’re planning to exact vengeance on.”

  He patted his knee as a sign for her to sit on it.

  She stood with her arms crossed and shook her head no.

  Charles squinted his eyes, “You’re succeeding in convincing me. You’re also giving me visions of turning you over my knee and spanking that pert little ass of yours.”

  Now Melanie was having visions of her own: his strong hand rubbing over the red print, his lithe fingers fucking her while his thumb manipulated her clit. Her face bloomed bright red.

  His lips curved in a sinister smile. Before she had time to process what was happening, he’d grabbed her and turned her over his knee. His hand quickly raised her skirt. The sting of his palm hitting her ass made her moist. When he hit the other ass cheek, she squirmed. The touch of his callous-free hand rubbing over the heat only made her wetter. Though his hands were callous-free, his heart wasn’t. He was the coldest man she’d ever met when it concerned heinous criminals; he dealt his brand of justice out with no guilt or regret.