The Life (The Russian Guns)

by Bethany-Kris

  A slight movement over Viviana’s shoulder caught his eye. Just beyond the stone fence that surrounded their backyard, an unmarked, grey car sat on the back road. The window was rolled down. Anton could see the lens of the camera sticking out the window. There was no doubt in his mind it was a federal car, and his anger swelled at the sight.

  What in the hell gave them the right to be taking pictures of him and his wife in their backyard? It wasn’t like Anton was in the middle of a business meeting or brandishing a gun for the neighbourhood to see. Being the head of his family, a family that dealt heavily in the world of organized crime, it wasn’t unusual for the feds to be around. That didn’t mean he liked it.

  Instinctively, Anton’s hand covered Viviana’s stomach, wanting to somehow shield his pregnant wife from the photographs. He knew it was useless, but he still bared his teeth and openly glared at the camera.

  Fuck them.

  He hadn’t been doing anything to warrant the feds following him, never mind picture taking. If they wanted to play that game anywhere else, Anton didn’t care, but not as his house. Usually there was always a car parked near their home. Some idiots attempting to catch a bit of Russian mob action, but this was different.

  It even felt different to Anton.

  After Tatiana’s appearance earlier in the day, and her father blowing Anton off later, the boss was two seconds away from losing his patience.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Viviana’s worried voice resounded above the rushing rage pulsing blood in Anton’s ears. He hid the anger on his face with a tender smile. The deflection didn’t work. It shouldn’t have been a surprise; Viviana knew him better than anyone. His wife was already trying to turn around to look in the direction of where his gaze had travelled. Anton diverted her attention with another kiss.

  “Come on, let’s go inside and get Rocco out of this heat,” he murmured, his hand finding the small of her back.

  The dog in question perked up at his name. With a low bark, it was all the animal offered. Anton assumed he must have been given his pain medication for the day. The German shepherd hadn’t even gotten up to greet his master like he usually did. The meds always made the pup sleepy and weak.

  “But—”

  “No buts,” Anton interrupted, glancing back at the car with its camera still trained on them. He didn’t want whoever that was taking more pictures of them than they already had. God knew how long they’d been out there as it was before he returned home. “In the house, Vine.”

  “Okay.”

  Following his lead, Viviana chancing a glance behind them. Sure enough, her gaze narrowed and a slight pink reddened her cheeks.

  “Anton, why are they photographing us?”

  “I don’t know,” he said gruffly.

  “Has that been happening a lot?” she asked as they started up the steps.

  The Bratva boss sighed heavily. Bending down, he gathered the dog in his arms, being mindful of the sensitive areas that hurt Rocco when they were touched. He didn’t know what to say to Viviana, honestly. Yes, they’d been following him a little more recently, but no one understood why.

  “Yeah,” he finally answered. “But don’t worry about it, baby.”

  Her brown eyes met his as her bottom lip disappeared under her white teeth. “How can I not?”

  How, indeed.

  It was the ways and rules of their life, and no one played fair.

  *

  Anton rested between Viviana’s legs, his hands acting as a pillow on her stomach while he watched her read. The textbook in her hands barely received any attention at all. Whenever her husband was around, her mind wandered more than usual.

  Tonight was no exception.

  “Quit watching me,” she whined behind the book.

  “I can’t.” Anton offered nothing else as an explanation. Shifting his form a little, he moved up Viviana’s rounded midsection. Pushing her maternity tank away from her flesh, he kissed and spoke in a language she still hadn’t bothered to learn. Finally, his words turned to English again. “For God’s sake, would you pick a name for this boy of mine already?”

  The textbook was tossed to the sheets, forgotten. “Is that what you’re muttering about down there? That he doesn’t have a name yet?”

  Anton shrugged his broad shoulders. “No.”

  “What do you say, then?”

  “Things.”

  Viviana knew her lover wasn’t one to be shy, so his change in demeanor had her curiosity perking. With another movement, Anton allowed her to sit up.

  “Did you get anything out of that lecture this morning?” Anton asked.

  Viviana didn’t miss the deflection tactic for a second. “No, it was a waste of my time as usual. Did something happen that I didn’t hear about on the news? Are you in trouble?”

  Anton’s eyes widened at her brazen question. “I’d tell you if there were.”

  “Would you? There are feds photographing me behind our home. At least I assume it’s federal. Erik and Ivan are missing lately. If something is about to go down, I would appreciate getting a heads up about it. What’s going on?”

  “I really don’t know,” Anton said almost gently. The heated blue of his gaze bore into hers with an openness that told Viviana he was telling the truth the best he could. She knew sometimes Anton held things back from her, not because he wanted to, but because he knew she wouldn’t want to hear it. “I swear to God if I did, I would tell you.”

  Nodding, Viviana reached for her textbook and whispered, “Okay.”

  “The moment we hear anything, you’ll know. I wouldn’t keep it from you if it was something terribly important or imminent.”

  “We?”

  “Erik is doing his job, so is Ivan. We are all working on figuring it out. Maybe the guys haven’t been around because we’re trying not to bring any more attention here than what’s already been around, Vine. I know it’s tough, but …”

  Viviana didn’t tune him out, but she didn’t need to hear the same speech again, either. There was a certain level of faith she had to put into her husband. If he thought she had to worry, Viviana had to find trust that he would let her know. Because of his boss status in his crime family, the feds were always trying to take down the king pin before hacking away at the rest. Why only harm the outer shell when you can take out the jugular and go straight for the kill?

  “You’re going to be here, right? You say you don’t know what’s going on, and I’ll take that for what it’s worth as your word because it’s you, Anton. But I need to know you’re going to be here for this.”

  “What?” Anton turned back to her, his eyes sharp and his mouth set down into a frown. “For what, baby?”

  “Him,” Viviana said, pointing to her stomach. The baby always fell asleep whenever she was resting in their bed. She hoped he was as good about sleeping outside of the womb as he was inside. “I can’t do all of this by myself.”

  Anton blinked back at her, emotions crossing his handsome features one after another, never settling down on one thing. He appeared torn, saddened, confused, and hurt all at once. Viviana didn’t purposely set out of make him feel that way. Rarely did she bring up the prospects of his profession and their life, but she still knew there were things that had to be said.

  “I just can’t, Anton. We’ve only got a couple of months left before he’s here.”

  When he didn’t give her a response, Viviana sighed and opened her textbook again. Minutes passed by as she read. Silence covered the bedroom but for the rhythmic sounds of the couple’s breathing. Fully engrossed in the study of biology, she nearly missed Anton’s deep voice that turned uncharacteristically soft.

  “I tell him his mother is pretty damned amazing. That she’s beautiful and intelligent, but stubborn as hell.” Viviana’s breath caught as Anton’s thumbs rolled around her navel, and he continued speaking. “I tell him there’s a whole world of people just waiting to see his face, but no one more eager for his arriv
al than you and me. I say that I hope he’s nothing like me in a lot of ways, but just the same in so many others. I tell him hopes and fears … I have lots of those, Viviana.”

  The textbook dropped from her hands, resting to her chest. Viviana listened to her husband hum a sweet tune and trace loopy pathways over her exposed midsection with his fingers. To her, there was nothing better than seeing Anton at an honorably vulnerable place.

  When doors closed, she still got him just the way she liked.

  “But most of all …” Anton said with a tender smile, “I tell him that I love him.”

  Viviana cleared her throat, forcing back the emotions and tears threatening to rise. “It has to be Russian? The name, I mean.” Anton nodded silently. “I picked up a few books, but nothing caught my eye. It’s just lists. Nothing seems to fit.”

  “I thought you’d go right for the namesake,” he replied, chuckling.

  “Anton did cross my mind for a second, but more for the middle.” Viviana scrunched up her nose. “Is that what you want?”

  “No. He has to have his own to make his way. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Maybe Daniil?” Viviana suggested the name as she reached down to brush away the black wisps of his hair that had fallen over the eyes she wanted to see. “Your mom would really appreciate that.”

  “Again, making his own way,” Anton said, lifting his shoulder dismissively.

  “Does the meaning of the name have to be terribly important?”

  Another graze of his hand over the unblemished plains of her stomach had Viviana’s body turning into a puddle of want and desire. Starting in on her final months of the pregnancy had dimmed her sexual appetite, and she worried her lack of desire would send Anton off running to find it elsewhere. That didn’t happen. Anton seemed to find the things to say or do to have her need for him flaring up with a power she simply couldn’t ignore. Like now.

  “Not if you don’t want it to be,” he said, laying a kiss below her breast. It wasn’t long before he had her shirt pulled up and tossed away, the textbook pushed to the bed sheets. “It just … has to sound strong—feel important. He has to be able to own it.”

  “Alexei means defender.”

  “That’s nice. You’re getting warmer.”

  A few random names that had managed to stick out in Viviana’s memory were on the tip of her tongue. “Vadim?”

  Anton made a face. “No.”

  “Marat?”

  “No, Viviana,” Anton mumbled, kissing the swell of her tender breast. Then, he leaned up and said, “It reminds me of something like Igor. I don’t want to give him a name that doesn’t fit in being said in English. There had to be one name you really liked.”

  Viviana pursed her lips, considering the many baby name books she’d read since finding out their baby was a boy. There had been one name, but she wasn’t sure if it would fit well for a Russian Bratva child. Especially for theirs, considering the Avdonins seemed to really prefer their names to be wholly Russian and well suited to the child.

  “Well, how about Demyan?” Viviana was thoroughly enjoying the view of Anton tugging off his shirt. Her husband froze, the action making her nerves grow. “I mean, I know it’s the equivalent of Damien in a way, but it still has that Russian ring and style. It’s strong and fits in. I kind of liked that one. But if you don’t, then that’s okay.”

  “Demyan.” Anton tilted his head, his fingers drumming a tantalizing beat to her side. “And what about for the rest?”

  “I think the middle names should reflect the footsteps he’s following, because you can say he’s making his own way all you want, but he’s still an Avdonin. Your middle name is Daniil, and I really wanted your given name somewhere in there. So if we add in Daniil, it’s almost a repeat of yours, anyway. You don’t want that. So, Anton Nicoli for the middle, then.”

  “Say it for me, all of it. I want to hear it from you first.”

  “Demyan Anton Nicoli Avdonin,” Viviana said, smiling nervously. Names were so important, especially for this boy she carried. After all, it would be his first title, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, so much was already expected for Anton’s son. “What do you think?”

  The flash of his movement as he leaned down over her, his face coming to stop just a millimeter from hers, was a flurry in her vision. The brilliant grin overtaking his features washed every worry she had down the drain. When his hands weaved into her hair, his thumbs sweeping along her neck, Viviana sighed into his touch. Instantly, she was relaxed again

  “You like?” Viviana asked, breathless.

  “Love,” Anton said fiercely. “It’s fucking perfect.”

  Chapter Two

  Anton tossed a wrench hatefully to the floor. “I’d rather be shot in the face than deal with this crap.”

  He was completely exasperated. Every damned ounce of patience that was left in his body disappeared. Anton didn’t think he could take another minute of this shit before he totally blew his top.

  “Why does this have to be so hard?” Anton asked the empty room.

  Well, he thought it was empty.

  The snickering from the doorway drew in his narrowed, aggravated gaze to where his lawyer stood with half of a cookie shoved in his mouth. At the sight of Anton’s growing anger, Ivan shrugged apologetically and took a step inside the room. Looking around at the mess scattered across the floor, the older man didn’t seem to know what to say.

  “You’ve built three of these goddamn things so come fix this for me,” Anton barked.

  “Nope.”

  “Ivan!”

  “Nope, I did not build them,” Ivan said, cocking his eyebrow. “I came home one day and they were already set up. Eva did it without a lick of my help and never fails to remind me.”

  Turning to glare at the offending wooden and metal pieces scattered over the floor, Anton had absolutely no idea how he managed to get himself in this predicament. Running guns, getting the narcotics past authorities, and keeping his business and guys in line was his thing, not this.

  Even the fucking directions were in Chinese!

  Not really, but they might as well have been.

  Defeated, Anton heaved a sigh. “This is pointless.”

  Ivan swallowed the last bit of his sweet. “No, it isn’t. You’re just pissed off because everything else comes easy for you and this hasn’t.”

  That was a little bit true. Anton couldn’t help it that he wasn’t the kind of guy who had tools in the shed and the basic understanding of how to work a fucking wrench. That wasn’t the values and life lessons he’d learned growing up. If Viviana walked in and saw him now, she’d probably laugh herself into labor.

  “I feel like an idiot,” Anton said, sitting down to the floor.

  Sounding just as bleak, Ivan muttered, “I did, too.”

  “Eva did it for you, remember?”

  A bitter laugh chimed in the room. The silence that followed the laughter felt awkward, and Anton wondered if maybe he crossed a line with his friend, but Ivan only shook his head and chuckled. Bending down, Ivan picked up a bolt and twirled it between his fingers.

  “Yeah, she did, but not until after I tried to set one up myself. The damned thing was a deathtrap waiting to happen. My pride wouldn’t let me call my father and say, “hey, can you come down here and teach me how to set up a baby’s crib?” I mean, it’s a fucking crib. Just wood and bolts.” Ivan waved at the pieces of what should have been set up an hour ago if Anton knew anything about what he was doing. “It can’t be that hard, right? Yeah, whatever. I spent a decade getting the education I have and spent a couple hundred grand making sure I got the best one, but not a lick of it got me ready for this shit, or parenthood.”

  “I wish I could call Daniil. He’d tell me to suck it the fuck up and get it done.”

  That was really all Anton needed; his father to say he was acting like a spoiled man, and to handle his stuff. Unfortunately, Daniil wouldn’t be spending any time outside of
the hospital unless it was in his casket. That only served to have Anton’s sadness rising. Simply thinking about not having his father around for things like setting up his son’s crib or a late night phone call when he didn’t know what to do after Demyan was born was a dreary prospect. One that broke his heart to pieces.

  Sure, he would still have his mother, but there was a whole different facet to the relationship Anton shared with Daniil. Be it the way his father raised Anton, the Bratva lifestyle, or the secrets each man carried for the other, their father and son relationship went a little deeper than others.

  “Is this really about the crib?” Ivan asked. “Or is it something else, too?”

  Anton blinked away the miserable expression he must have been sporting and slid on one of his usual masks. “What the fuck are you, my therapist?”

  Ivan didn’t bite onto the jibe. “No, I’m your friend, so quit with the attitude.”

  Fuck, Anton hated feeling shit. When it came to emotions, he would much rather just bottle it up and store it away for a rainy day when some asshole in the Bratva pushed the boss past his limits.

  “Have you talked to Vine about whatever is going on with you?”

  Glancing away with a grimace, Anton said, “A little.”

  “And?”

  “And what? She’s got enough going on, Ivan. I don’t want to stress her out with nonsense right now. Between being pregnant, her classes at the university, trying to get ready for her final exams before the baby is born, and now last week with the feds suddenly photographing her? My wife has enough to deal with without me adding to it.”

  “Well, that’s crap if I ever heard it.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “No, it is,” Ivan said just as sharp. “Think about it, that girl knows you better than anyone, and you’re telling me she’s sitting back oblivious to the fact that you’re clearly bothered by something. Absolute crap.”

  Not wanting to dwell on the elephant in the room, Anton began tinkering away with what little bit of the crib he already had set up. Purposely ignoring Ivan, he somehow managed to get the four walls of the crib to stay up long enough for him to loosely place the bolts where they needed to go along the bottom. Without saying a word, Ivan was suddenly kneeling down beside Anton, steadying the structure as the younger man began placing washers along threaded steel and tightening the nuts to the backs of the bolts.