Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2)

by Nicole Fox

  “As far as crime lords go, he wasn’t a very good one,” I say flippantly.

  Guillermo’s eyes go wide. “The kid thinks you killed his old man.”

  “Then he’d be right.”

  “Fuck,” Guillermo mutters. “Fuck.”

  “I killed his father and his goons months ago,” I point out. “Why’s the kid all riled up now? Is he as slow as his fucking father or just scared?”

  “He’s young,” Guillermo tells me. “Nineteen, I think.”

  “Won’t stop me from killing him, too.”

  “He bought new guns from me just last week,” Guillermo tells me. “It was like he was preparing for something.”

  “How many men does he have?”

  “I’m not sure. Ten, maybe fifteen. I recognized only two of them,” he says. “The others were new.”

  “Which means he’s hired them,” I conclude. “So he is scared. At least he’s not stupid.”

  “Amigo, no offense, but are you?”

  I laugh. “No, I’m not stupid. I am Bratva.”

  Guillermo’s face goes bone-white with fear.

  He knows that word. Enough to be afraid of it. He’s smarter than I gave him credit for, it seems.

  I straighten up and look out towards the farmhouse where both boys are now jumping off the porch in turns.

  Innocent and fearless. Too young to be as scarred as I am.

  There was a time when I’d entertained the notion of a quiet life like theirs somewhere peaceful.

  But that was only a fever dream.

  I was a fool to think I could leave the Bratva behind.

  It is part of me.

  Sutured into my skin, as necessary to me as air.

  “Where can I find the little bastard?” I ask.

  Guillermo stays on the ground at my feet. “They work out of a small farm to the southwest of the mountain range. Right off the highway. You can’t miss it.”

  I nod. “You’ve been useful, Guillermo.”

  It’s the closest he’ll get to a thank you.

  I leave Guillermo lying in the shit and jump into my Jeep. Then I start the drive to the farm he described.

  With every mile that passes under my tires, I get angrier.

  This fucking kid thought he could fuck with me by ransacking my cabin like some a goddamn cat burglar.

  He and his men are about a get a lesson in the art of fear mongering.

  You don’t fuck with Artem Kovalyov.

  The adrenaline is pumping through me as I drive fast down the rural highway. I see the house rear up in the distance. I stop half a mile away and pull my truck out of sight behind a pyramid of hay bales.

  Then I sit and wait for nightfall.

  When darkness comes, I tuck a pistol into the back of my jeans and grab my rifle. It takes me half an hour to get within range of the house. I move slowly, stopping and starting often, and always watching for signs of life.

  When I come up on the structure, I can see only a few men outside.

  They’re smoking cigarettes and laughing. I see a mound of beer cans littering the ground at their feet.

  Fucking perfect.

  I screw the silencer onto the pistol as I take stock of the situation. I know I have to be fast. There are three men out front, and I have to hit all three before any of them can warn the other men inside the cabin house.

  My hands are steady as I take aim. It helps that all three men are sitting close together.

  So considerate of them.

  Then I shoot.

  One. Head shot.

  Two. Head shot.

  Three. Head shot.

  When I lower my gun, I see their bodies lying next to their beer bottles. I might have thought it was poetic, if I were the poetic type.

  The silencer has done its job. My bullets barely made a sound. No one inside seems to have heard.

  I leave the corpses cooling in the night and set back off down the path I took to get here.

  The boy will get my message soon enough. And when he does, I have no doubt he will rally his men and bring them down to the cabin… to my neck of the woods.

  And then…

  Well, then we’re gonna have some fun.

  18

  Artem

  The walk to the car and the drive home that follows both go quickly. I can move much faster under cover of night.

  The moment I park outside the lodge, I jump into action, setting traps in the surrounding area and getting all my guns in order.

  I pick the spot I’m planning on luring them to and start setting up traps around the perimeter. I work quickly and quietly with a flashlight clenched between my teeth to illuminate my hands.

  With some old car parts filched from the junkyard on the outer rim of town, I fashion jagged-toothed traps that will snap shut on anyone who wanders too close. I pity the poor fucker who gets caught here.

  When I hear the crunch of leaves in the underbrush, I get up fast and snatch the gun resting at my side.

  They’re here sooner than I expected…

  Or not.

  It’s just the mutt from before.

  “Fucking hell,” I mutter. I set the rifle down and return to finishing my traps.

  The dog pads over to me. Instinctively, I put my hand out and push him away from the sharpened sticks.

  “Unless you want to lose a leg,” I tell him, “I would clear away from this general area.”

  The dog cocks his head to the side as though he’s really listening to me. I finish setting up and make sure each trap has been expertly hidden by leaves.

  Once that’s done, I head back to the cabin to check on a few things. I probably don’t have very long. They could arrive in a matter of minutes, but I’m counting on my traps to tip me off.

  The dog follows behind me. I realize that the annoyance I usually feel has lessened somewhat.

  When we get back to the cabin, I put some water down in a bowl for him.

  Motherfucker has the audacity to look surprised.

  “Don’t get too excited,” I growl at him. “This is a one-time thing.”

  He laps up the water, finishing it in seconds. I fill it up for a second time and then go back to cleaning my guns.

  When I start towards the door, the dog follows behind me.

  I put my foot in the way. The dog does that curious head-tilt shit he loves doing.

  “Just for today,” I grumble, “you can hang out in the cabin. Don’t make yourself too comfortable. And stay off my goddamn bed.”

  Then I shut the door on him, trapping him inside. I hear whimpering on the other side and pawing at the door, but I ignore it and keep walking.

  It’s for your own good. You don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

  I head back to the location I’ve marked in the woods, settle down amongst the leaves, and lie in wait.

  I should probably feel like a man who’s been backed into a tight corner.

  But I feel more like a hunter stalking his prey.

  It takes them longer than I’d anticipate to get here. Long enough, anyway, to make me second guess whether they’ll come at all.

  But then I hear the crunch of boots on gravel and a smile stretches across my face. I have a fight on my hands.

  Fucking finally.

  I double-check my position against the new arrivals. From the direction they’re coming in, I know they’ll fan out, but they won’t be able to circle around me. So I don’t have to worry about defending my back. Not just yet anyway.

  I see movement and I keep my gun cocked. It’s obvious from the clumsy, careless movements that they’re not expecting me to be lying in wait.

  Amateurs.

  The moment their figures approach, I assess the situation. I can see four of them but I know there are more at their backs.

  All the men I can see are armed, which means the rest will be as well. None of them are yet aware that I’m here, watching them.

  Two of the poor souls wander within range of my
bullets. The other two in the lead party are still weaving between trees, making a clean shot difficult.

  I decide to hedge my bets and wait a little longer. This will all be over soon enough. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

  Snippets of their hushed conversation carries over to where I’m hidden.

  “… we need to be fucking careful…”

  “… are you fucking serious? He’s one man. There’s nine of us.”

  Well, thank you for that morsel of information.

  “He’s not just one fucking man. He killed three of ours today.”

  “From a distance, under cover. That’s not a fucking accomplishment. That’s the coward’s way out.”

  I laugh silently. I’d give the braggart a brave man’s fight if that’s what he’s after, but it will end exactly the same way.

  This is much cleaner and easier for the both of us.

  I peer around the corner and catch a glimpse of the fucker who just spoke. He looks young, but definitely older than twenty. He should fucking know better.

  He was not meant to be my first target, but he’s just changed my mind.

  I take aim with the rifle.

  Don’t blink. Don’t hesitate.

  This is just more target practice.

  Without a silencer, the gunshot blasts through the air, careening through the silence like an avalanche.

  Before the first bullet has even met its target, I’ve shot a second time. Two bodies drop to the forest floor.

  The remaining men scatter in a frenzy of panicked limbs.

  Two down. Seven to go.

  I back away quickly, moving towards the cabin and making more noise than necessary. I want them to hear me—they need to follow me in order for my plan to work.

  “He’s trying to run!” someone shouts.

  Assuming they’ve gotten me on the defensive, they rush out at me with their guns raised. The trees provide plenty of protection and all the bullets bury themselves harmlessly in the thick trunks.

  They charge forward in search of a better line of fire.

  And then a blood-curdling scream penetrates the air.

  Two more follow on its heels. I smirk with satisfaction, knowing that the steel traps have done their work.

  Rapid-fire Spanish wails out into the night. I don’t have to speak the language to know that the trapped bastards aren’t exactly offering their thanks to me.

  I circle back around, making sure to keep a good distance between me and the remaining men.

  Three of them are caught. One poor son of a bitch has already fainted. Blood pools around his nearly severed leg. He’ll be dead in minutes.

  The other two have been caught at safer angles. There’s still blood, but not nearly so much.

  They’re all still in shock. So in shock in fact, that no one really even notices me until my bullet buries itself in one of their skulls.

  Three down. Six to go.

  Of course, that gets their attention. The remaining able-bodied men open fire immediately.

  I pivot to the side and unload a clip on these motherfuckers.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  Five down. Four to go.

  My eyes zero in on the last remaining youth, the only member of this misguided little gang whose leg is not stuck in one of my steel traps.

  His arm is raised, his gun pointed at me, but I know already that he no longer has the confidence or the ability to shoot me.

  Even if he does, I’m confident he’ll miss.

  “Drop your gun,” I command.

  “You’ll kill me if I do,” he says, his voice shaky.

  Now that I’m looking at him, I realize his features strike me as familiar.

  “You Razor’s kid?” I ask.

  The boy flinches. Guillermo had mentioned he was nineteen, but he looks even younger to me. Nowhere near a man.

  Not that that changes anything. He came for me. This is the price he’ll pay for that transgression.

  “You killed him,” he says, but the accusation sounds weak.

  “He messed with the wrong fucking don,” I reply unfeelingly. “I assume you found his body.”

  “What was left of it,” the kid spat at me. “And there wasn’t much after the ravine spit him out.”

  “At least you got to bury him in peace. That was a luxury I wasn’t afforded, and my father was a fuck ton more important than yours.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” the boy says. His voice is shivering so pitifully that I have to resist the urge to laugh.

  I glance over at his three men in my steel traps. Their unseeing eyes look up at the star-lit heavens.

  “Is that so?” I ask. “Because you came at me with nine men and yet, here we are, mano e mano.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Drop the gun,” I say calmly. “Now.”

  His arm trembles but he refuses to lower it. I sigh with exasperation and jerk my head towards his comrades.

  “They can’t save you, you know. It’s just you and me now, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid,” he barks.

  “No?” I ask. “Then shoot me.”

  “I… what?”

  “Shoot me,” I enunciate clearly.

  He gulps like he thinks this is a trap. I spread my arms wide and smile.

  It’s a tense standoff for a second, though I don’t understand why. I’m giving him the chance to avenge his father. Pull the goddamn trigger.

  And then, he does.

  The gunshot rips out.

  But Lobo’s hand is trembling so badly that, even though I don’t move at all, the bullet only grazes across my left arm. It’s nothing more than a flesh wound.

  Pity.

  I stoop low and throw my body against his. His eyes go wide but he’s too slow or shocked to get out of my way.

  We hit the ground in a heap.

  The moment I’ve got him pinned underneath me, I rip the gun out of his hand and fling it into the dirt several feet away from us.

  He struggles like a fish out of water until I punch him in the face. Then he goes limp immediately.

  Just like that, the fight leaves him. Lobo looks up at me with defeat and hopelessness.

  “Are you going to kill me?” he asks.

  It’s a child’s question. Not a man’s.

  I sigh. “Yes.”

  I clamber off him, leaving him stunned and shivering on the earth.

  He sits up a little on his elbows and looks around. He’s trying to determine what his odds are of getting out of this forest alive.

  I pick up my gun and check the clip for my remaining ammo before returning to face the boy.

  “Don’t even think about running,” I say. “It’s pointless. You’re not gonna get away. Not from me.”

  “You killed all of my men,” he says. There’s an awestruck note in his tone.

  I shrug. “I’ve been training since I was a boy. I was told I’d be in charge one day. Unlike you, I was prepared for that inevitability.”

  “I am prepared. I… I… was prepared,” he stammers. But as he glances around at the bodies of his friends and followers, the last of his confidence snuffs out.

  “I think the evidence speaks for itself.”

  I take a step forward. He flinches and seems to huddle lower into the ground.

  “I know what it means to inherit your father’s legacy,” I tell him. “It’s all worthless in the end.”

  His eyes go wide. “Then why do you do it?”

  “Because I have no choice.”

  I raise my hand. The boy seems to understand that the conversation is over. His lower lip starts to tremble and I can see the desperation flit across his eyes.

  “It won’t hurt,” I reassure him. “You won’t feel a thing.”

  “I feel it now,” he replies. “I can feel it already.”

  A tear slips down his cheek.

  I still feel nothing.

  My finger is poised over the trigger. I’m ready to pull.
r />   Do it.

  End him.

  But I can’t.

  I sigh in frustration and let my hand fall down to my side.

  “Get out of my sight before I change my mind.”

  His eyes go wide with disbelief.

  “I said, go.”

  The kid scrambles off, tripping several times before he manages to gain enough wind to disappear into the woods.

  I stomp back to the cabin in the blackest mood I can remember. I’ll let the night foragers take care of the bastards’ bodies.

  At the lodge, I kick in the door, drop my guns on the kitchen table, and collapse into a chair, head buried in my hands.

  “What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath again and again. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…”

  A whine answers me.

  I raise my head to see the mutt lying between my feet. He’s gazing up at me with those big, emotional eyes.

  “I actually pity you too much to kill you,” I grumble.

  He flicks his ears as though my threat is hollow and he knows it.

  The worst part is, he’s right.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to be doing?” I ask him.

  I’ve been training like a madman for months. But I haven’t left the mountain. I could’ve gone at any time once my injuries healed. Just get in the Jeep and make for Los Angeles.

  And if tonight hasn’t proved that I’m as good as ever—better, even—then I don’t know what will.

  So what am I waiting for?

  I should be retaking what’s mine. Hunting down Budimir and slaughtering him the way he deserves.

  Instead, I’m freezing my ass off on this fucking mountain.

  To prove some unknown point.

  To some unknown person.

  And I don’t even have an answer as to why.

  The mutt nuzzles at my hand.

  “Get away from me, you idiot,” I sigh. I push his nose away from me.

  He doesn’t take it personally. His tail wags, thumping against the floor. Those eyes haven’t changed. No matter how much I shove him aside or curse at him, he still looks at me like his savior.

  It makes me sick. I’m no one’s savior.

  Not anymore.

  I get up abruptly. The chair screeches back on the floor.