Living for the Badman (Russian Bratva Book 4)

by Hayley Faiman

The future looks a bit dimmer without her in it, for all of us. Not just her children, but for all the people who loved her like a mother and a friend. Men like me, like Maxim, and like Radimir, who hadn’t ever felt the kindness of a mother figure ever in our lives, until her.

  This Irishman will suffer, as will all who are associated with him. This war that they’ve brought amongst themselves is going to be a bloodbath. I, for one, cannot wait to get started.

  THE DOOR UNLOCKS AND swings open. I jump with a yelp only to see Yakov standing at the threshold, looking—determined. He prowls toward me, and without stopping, he crashes into me and wraps me in his arms, picking me up slightly as he goes.

  “Jacob,” I whisper. He buries his face in my neck and inhales my scent.

  “Sonia didn’t make it,” he whispers against my skin.

  “No,” I gasp.

  “Oksana is going to stay with you girls,” he murmurs, placing a kiss against my neck before he clears his throat and steps away from me.

  “Oh, Oksana are you all right?” I ask as I rush up to her and wrap my arms around her shoulders.

  “Yes, I will be,” she whispers. She sounds anything but okay.

  I guide her over to the sofa that was delivered just a few hours ago. The delivery men were probably scared half to death by the outrageous army that surrounds the house.

  I didn’t apologize for them, or even get upset when three of Yakov’s men followed them inside and watched, each with their hand on their gun, waiting to strike. Had it been just a regular day, I may have been annoyed; but today, I wasn’t—not one bit.

  I look around at the furniture as I keep Oksana close to my side—furniture that Sonia picked out for me; furniture that she was planning on staging today; furniture that she’ll never see. My heart aches and breaks all at once.

  “Timofei, you stay with the women,” I hear Yakov growl.

  “No. Fuck, no. I want this guy,” Timofei grunts.

  “This is too close,” Yakov warns.

  “Don’t care. I need to see him bleed out and take his last breath. I want my face to be the last one he sees,” Timofei growls, his voice unwavering and strong.

  One glance at him, and I can tell he already looks older than the boy I met just weeks ago. I hate the reason he looks older, but he does. I shake my head and pinch my eyes closed.

  “Yakov,” Oksana calls out.

  I look from her to Yakov, who stops talking to Timofei and turns to face Oksana with a furrowed brow. He dips his chin for her to continue.

  “Let Timofei go. Let him avenge our mother. Let him be a man,” she whispers. Her focus is on nobody except her brother.

  I watch as he dips his chin in a nod to his sister in thanks.

  Not another word is spoken before the men leave the house, locking the front door behind them.

  “Oksana, this is Quinn. Quinn, this is Oksana,” I announce.

  “Who do you belong to?” Oksana asks, staring at Quinn with an arched brow.

  “I don’t belong to anybody,” Quinn grumbles.

  “You’re here, safely surrounded by at least fifty big ass Byki and Shestyorka,” Oksana points out.

  “So?” Quinn asks.

  “So, you’re important. You aren’t Russian, so you must belong to someone,” Oksana says, sounding very logical and to the point.

  “Ziven,” Quinn finally mumbles.

  “I could see that. He would go for a typical California girl,” Oksana chuckles. “What do you do in the California sunshine, aside from laze on the beach?”

  Just like that, the topic of conversation shifts, and we all start to talk casually amongst ourselves. After a few hours, I excuse myself to make a few phone calls. I need to tell Haleigh, Emiliya, and Tatyana about Sonia. I’m sure that they know, but I need to talk to them myself.

  “Ashley, thank goodness you’re okay,” Haleigh exhales as soon as she answers the phone.

  “What do you know?” I ask, not wanting to repeat any information she may have.

  I’m being weak. In all honesty, I’m hoping that they all know already.

  “Just that Sonia and Oksana were being held hostage. Maxim, Radimir, and Kirill gathered us all up in one house and took off,” she says.

  “Put me on speaker, then,” I announce.

  A few seconds later, Haleigh confirms that I’m on speakerphone. I clear my throat before I tell them the news—news that will shatter their hearts, every single one of them.

  “Sonia didn’t make it,” I whisper.

  “What?” Tatyana breathes.

  “They were able to get Oksana out of the house, but Sonia didn’t make it,” I say a little louder.

  “Who was it?” Emiliya asks harshly.

  “The Irish, I think. All I know is that a war has been declared. Yakov hasn’t told me much else.” My voice trembles and I try as hard as I can to keep my tears at bay.

  “How is Oksana?” Haleigh asks.

  “Strong,” I murmur.

  “She would be. She’s probably in shock, but the fact that Sonia’s blood runs through her makes her strong as hell, on top of anything else,” Tatyana grunts.

  “I’m sure there’ll be a service in a few days. She was loved by so many people,” I mutter.

  “The men will tell us when to pack, but I assume we’ll be leaving tonight,” Haleigh announces.

  “I can’t believe it’s happened. I can’t believe she’s gone,” I say, shaking my head and pinching my eyes closed.

  “She’s not gone, Ashley. Sonia will live on in each of us. She was like a mother to every single one of us, and has touched us in one way or another. Sonia has helped each of us grow, and she guided us into being better women for our men, more accepting women, and strong as hell women,” Emiliya speaks and the tears I was doing so well to keep at bay come pouring out of my eyes.

  “Take care of Oksana as best as you can. She’s going to need guidance,” Haleigh whispers.

  “Oh, god, I can’t guide anybody,” I blubber.

  “Sure you can. You’ve been guiding me since that disastrous brunch,” Oksana says from behind me.

  I whisper that I have to go and I turn to face her. She has a little more color in her face, but she still looks stoic. I gulp loudly before I take a step toward her.

  “How much did you hear?”

  “I heard you tell Haleigh, I’m assuming, that my mother was loved by many people and that you couldn’t believe she was gone,” Oksana whispers as her eyes tear up. “I want to be like her. She was strong, but she was loved. I don’t want to be known as some prissy bitch. I don’t want to be like some of those other women. I want to be like my mom, like you and Haleigh,” she announces as tears fall down her cheeks.

  I take the few steps toward her and I wrap my arms around her in a hug.

  “You’re so much like her already; even if you’re a little strong willed, you’re so much like her. Didn’t you just agree to meet with four men for a possible marriage? She was so happy you did that,” I whisper against her hair.

  “I did it to shut her up, not because I’m a good person,” she sobs.

  “It still made her happy. Do you know how many things I do for Yakov to shut him up? It’s what we do sometimes, to make the people we love happy,” I chuckle.

  “Okay,” Oksana says straightening. “Now I have Semion, Gavril, and Mika’s social media accounts. I couldn’t find Andrei, but maybe spying on them will take my mind off of—everything,” she whispers.

  “That sounds like a plan. We can get Quinn’s opinion, too,” I shrug.

  Together, the three of us sit down. I grab my iPad, a gift from Yakov just a few days ago, and we start searching the men’s social media accounts. We’re looking for clues on how to get to know them better, or at least I am. I think that Oksana may possibly be trying to figure out their love lives—if there are any women consistently in their lives or not.

  It’s a good way to spend the next few hours. It takes our minds off of Sonia and the
men’s absences. When I notice that Oksana is yawning, I decide to put her in the guest room. Luckily, along with our master bed, Yakov and I ordered a mattress and frame for one of the guest rooms. Sonia and I picked sheets out the other day, and I had already washed them and put them on the bed.

  I go to the master bedroom and grab a towel for her, along with some soap and bubble bath.

  “You can take a shower or a bath if you want to,” I murmur, handing her the items.

  “Thank you, Ashley. You’ve been so kind,” she whispers as her eyes well up with tears. She turns away from me, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Quinn asks as I enter the living room again.

  “She will be,” I nod.

  “Those men, is she going to have to really pick one to marry? Men she doesn’t even know?” Quinn asks, her eyes wide in surprise.

  “It’s normal in this group,” I say, trying not to give too much away.

  “Does that mean that Ziven will have to marry someone else?” she asks, looking down at her fingers, which are twisting in her lap.

  “Most of the time, the men have more control than the women. It’s backwards and it’s caveman, but typically, the men will offer themselves for a contract and they’re the ones who make the final decision or not. Ziven can do as he pleases. There are men that marry for love and not within the organization. Most stay within the organization because it’s easier. They all come from the same background. The women have been raised to know how to behave, what they’re allowed to ask questions about, and what they aren’t.” I try to explain the best I can.

  “What about you?”

  “Me?” I ask, arching a brow. “My story is one that isn’t easily told; but maybe you should hear it, so that you know what kind of man Ziven is, and how you should maybe give him a bit of a chance,” I wink before I begin.

  I start at the beginning, and I tell Quinn my entire story.

  The ride to the warehouse is silent.

  Timofei is angry in the backseat. I can practically taste it in the air. Ziven and me, we’re somber. This isn’t the first time a good person has lost their life, and it won’t be the last. But this time, we’ll be able to torture one of the fucks that caused that loss of life.

  “You cannot run in there and start hacking away,” I announce, turning to face Timofei.

  “I know,” he nods jerkily.

  “No, I am being serious. This is not something you have the lead on. We need to extract information from him. He’s going to say shit that will piss you off. He’ll be doing it on purpose, because he knows you’ll want to go off half-cocked. He’ll do the same to me, too. Just remember, the sooner he dies, the less information we have a chance of getting from him, and the less he suffers,” I say as I get out of the car and walk toward the heavily guarded warehouse door.

  Once I walk inside, Ziven and Timofei are at my back. Tied to a chair is the Irish fuck who shot me, and who was part of Sonia’s abuse and murder. I walk over to him, standing directly in front of him, and I cock my head to the side.

  “Who gave you the orders to shoot me?” I ask calmly.

  He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t say a word. I nod as I take a plier from the table next to me—a table that is set up with every small torture tool one could ever think of. The pliers are a favorite of mine. They’re such simple tools, and yet, they can deliver so much excruciating pain.

  I bend down slightly at the man’s hand and grin when I see that it’s completely bound to the chair, he’ll not be able to move, even though he will most certainly want to. I clip the plier to his pinky fingernail and I slowly tug.

  “First, I’m going to take off every single fingernail,” I whisper as I continue to tug off the pinky nail.

  “Then what?” he almost whimpers before he clears his throat.

  “Oh, I won’t tell you what comes next until I’ve already begun,” I shrug before I move onto fingernail number two.

  He’s already breathing heavy and sweating like hell. The room is silent. Most of the men are just staring nonchalantly at what I’m doing, others looking out the few sporadically placed windows to make sure we’re still in the clear. Timofei is staring intently as I continue to take this Irish piece of shit’s nails off. When I’ve finished his first hand, I ask him again who sent the order to shoot me.

  “I won’t speak,” he pants as his eyes dart from me to his other hand.

  Obviously, he thinks I’ll be working on those nails next.

  I won’t.

  I have plans for this Mick-fuck.

  The next four hours, I torture the asshole. Short of cutting off his balls, there’s not much left of him by the time I’m finished. The only information I could extract was that the order to shoot me did not come from the boss of Staten Island, Patrick O’Neil. In fact, O’Neil truly knows nothing of what’s happened to me, or today.

  “We have nothing. Absolutely, fucking nothing,” Timofei growls.

  “That’s not true,” Ziven says, rubbing his chin with his hand. “We know that the boss has no clue this has happened. He’s probably not going to be very happy that his men went behind his back and started a war, is he Mick?” Ziven asks grinning at the asshole.

  The man tied to the chair moans.

  “Anything else you need to tell us before we go to your house and drag your wife and daughter out by their hair?” I ask. He makes another moan. “Oh, you didn’t think we knew? See, you kept your wallet in your pocket, so when my men searched you, they found all they needed to know. I have three men sitting in front of your house waiting on my orders to either leave them alone, or do as they wish with them. Unfortunately for your family, I didn’t send very nice men over there.”

  “Ronan Kelly,” he mumbles.

  I look over to Ziven who is already typing information into his phone.

  “What’s Kelly want?” I ask.

  “My family?”

  “Won’t be touched by my men, I vow it,” I say, meaning every word.

  In all honesty, I probably wouldn’t have had anybody touch them. I don’t get off on seeing women and children harmed for the sins of their fathers. I very well could have been tortured and brutally murdered for the sins of my own.

  He mumbles to me that Kelly wants New York. He wants to be a boss, but fuck the territories—he wants it all. He wants the Russian’s gone first, then the Italians, and he wants to work his way down until the entire city is his.

  “Kill him,” I grunt to Timofei before I walk out of the warehouse.

  I have phone calls to make. I have troops to assemble; though, luckily, most of them are already here preparing for war. It isn’t going to be a fast war. It’s going to be drawn out and painful—for Kelly and his Irish, not for me.

  “I have some news you might find interesting,” I grunt into the phone.

  “Speak,” the voice grumbles.

  “In person, alone. You’ll want to know about the men that have started to turn on you. I have names,” I say.

  “Five minutes. Name the place.”

  “Come to my warehouse; you’ll want proof, I’m sure,” I say.

  “No games?” he asks.

  “No games, O’Neil,” I assure him.

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulls up alone. He looks wary, as he should be, but I pay it no mind. We walk into the warehouse, and I hear his intake of breath at seeing the man on the ground.

  “Sean O’Conner one of yours?” I ask, looking at the man’s now lifeless body.

  “Yes,” O’Neil mutters.

  “Ronan Kelly one of your men?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “He is—punk ass pain in my ass, but yes,” he nods.

  “You’re going to want to put that traitor down,” I announce. O’Neil opens his mouth to object, but I hold my hand up and I explain. “He had this man try to kill me, warn me off of South Beach. He also orchestrated a hostage situation for a Pakhan’s wife and daughter. His wife was brutally raped a
nd murdered by Kelly’s men, probably your men, too. They’re all dead, so no need to worry over them. This Pakhan’s territory is Brighton Beach, not anywhere near Irish territory. Your dead friend informed me that Kelly wants to take down every mob in the city so that he can have absolute control. Now, I’m amassing an army. I’ll use that army, and I’ll take down every Irishman in the entire state, plus their families.”

  “I had no idea,” O’Neil breathes.

  “I assumed you didn’t once I found out the truth, which is why I called you. You have one month from today to clean house. One of my men, or their women or children, get one scratch, and I’m taking down every one of you whiskey drinking fuckers. Also, I want Kelly. Alive.”

  “Understood. One month from now. If I haven’t cleaned house well enough myself, then I may be asking for your aide. Kelly is yours when I have him, alive,” he grunts.

  “Could be a good idea,” I chuckle.

  He leaves us, ignoring the traitor on the ground and walking away from him, as if he wasn’t ever one of his men. I lift my chin for a few of my guys to clean up the body and blood before I walk outside, Timofei and Ziven at my back.

  “You gave him too much time,” Timofei shouts.

  “I didn’t. These things take time. I’m going to let him try to weed out his traitors. But don’t think I’m just going to sit around and sip tea while I wait. I’m going to have all eyes vigilantly on all of them. Now that we at least have Kelly’s name, we can dig around. I’m no pussy, but I’m also not going to go off half-cocked,” I explain.

  “My mom,” Timofei whispers.

  “Yes, I know,” I say, clapping his back. He walks away toward the car, and I turn to Ziven. “I want you, Timofei, and Mika on the way to Denver the day after the funeral. He can’t be here. It’ll make him crazy,” I order.

  “Yeah, boss,” he nods.

  We all go back to my house. Without a word, Ziven gathers Quinn as Timofei gathers Oksana. They’re all going to be staying at The Mark.

  Pasha wanted his children safe, and with Ziven in the suite next to theirs, with about fifty armed Byki and Shestyorka all around, they’re going to be extremely safe.