by Jane Henry
He’s under the doctor’s care now, resting under a powerful sedative while his broken limbs are set, his lacerations doctored, and he’s given IV fluids and nutrition. Larissa stays with me through it all, wincing when the needles poke his arms, wiping silently at her tears when they set four broken bones.
“This is so cruel,” she says on a broken whisper. She stands to the side to allow the doctors I’ve summoned to do their work.
I take her hand and tug her on my knee. “This is the world I live in.” I pause. “The world you live in. Can you handle this? My best man was kidnapped and brutalized. We’ve taken him back. This means war.”
“War?” she repeats.
“War, Larissa. Are you prepared for this?”
Nodding, she places her head on my shoulder. “Prepared? No,” she whispers. “Will I do what it takes for me to learn my place in the brotherhood? Hell yes.”
I fight against this. She’d be an asset, but I can’t have her in danger. I can’t have her on the field.
“You’ll do exactly what I say,” I warn.
“We go over this like literally every day.”
I give her butt a smack. “Maybe we should go over it twice a day.”
With an adorable pout, she places her chin in her hand. “If you say so.”
“I do. I fucking do.”
“Okay, okay. Got it.” She nods. “I’ll do what you say. But I don’t want to sit by idly, Demyan. I can bring tools to this table. Skills that would be an asset to you.”
Her beauty and strength are assets to me, more than she’ll ever know.
I stand and take her hand, and we walk quietly to our room. Maksym is recovering. He needs his rest.
We go back to our suite in silence. When we reach the door, I open it and take her in with me. I call my men to get the status update.
The three men who ambushed us were killed, no one else has followed. It’s only a matter of time before they discover we’ve taken him back. How they retaliate is up to them.
I shut and lock the door behind her, then lift her in my arms. Her legs encircle me, her hands on my neck. I bend down and give her a gentle kiss.
“Malyshka. I can make the second bedroom your office. Let you run the inside operations that require the skills you have.”
“You would do that?” she inclines her head curiously.
“Of course.”
Grinning, she tightens her grip on me.
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes! You’ll let me work for you?”
“With me, but yes, I’ll be your boss.”
Grinning, she quirks a brow. “Do I get paid?”
“Of course.” I suggest a salary and her brows shoot up.
“And Calina?”
“Calina will have a place here as well. To rest and recover.”
“No more institutions,” she says, pleading.
“No more institutions,” I promise.
“Thank you,” she whispers. I draw her to my chest and hug her.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “You found Maksym. You brought joy to me. But more, Larissa.” I squeeze her, because I can’t let her go. And now that I don’t have to, I will spend the rest of my life showing her how much she means to me. “You’ve brought purpose to my life,” I tell her. “And I will spend my life showing you how much that means to me.”
Epilogue
Four months later
* * *
“America?” she blinks in surprise, her fork raised halfway to her mouth at breakfast. We’re sitting at our table, as we usually do, eating our morning meal together.
We do everything together. Everything. She joins me when I hit the workout room, and does her own routine. When she spends time with her sister, I go downstairs. It took me some time to get used to seeing double, but the feeling quickly dissipated because Calina and Larissa are like night and day. I’m thankful Larissa has her own name now, because it represents a new start. A new life together.
“America,” I tell her. “We are going to visit my friends Kazimir and Sadie. They live near the ocean in Washington State.”
Though Maksym is recovering physically, he hasn’t mentally. He would give his captors nothing, and he endured endless torture as a result. He flails in his sleep and experiences intense post-traumatic stress syndrome.
After months of therapy, his therapist said it’s time for a change of pace. The doctor suggested a move, something even drastic to get him out of his current state of mind. He broods in angry silence, and has expressed thanks for saving his life, but other than that, doesn’t speak.
With Amaranov gone, and a new official in his place, our rivals seem distracted. We’ve agreed to a temporary truce while the politicians sort out their new roles.
I have not forgotten the way they tortured Maksym. I have not forgotten their traitorous plans with Amaranov. But for now, I will see to the rest and taking care of Larissa and Maksym. They are my family.
So when Kazimir, our former brother who now lives in the States, offered to take Maksym into his home, I agreed.
Larissa and I will join him on the trip.
Her reaction surprises me, her lower lip trembling. “I haven’t been to America since…” Her voice trails off. Since her mother died. Since her father took her and Calina to Russia.
“Well. Is there anything you miss about it?” I ask curiously. She places her fork down.
“Anything I miss? Are you kidding? I miss the food.” She looks away. “The ocean. The language. She shoots me a withering look. “Reliable fucking internet.” I stifle a smile. Larissa is no submissive, and it’s one thing I love about her. “I miss democracy. The very air in America different.”
I scoff. “Pollution smells different than the clean mountains? You miss that?”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” she says, buttering her rye bread. “And for the love of God, I want an American donut, not those little fried dough things you top with powdered sugar and pass off as donuts.”
I give her a curious look. “What do you put on American donuts?”
“Chocolate and jam and glaze,” she says, licking her lips.
“That sounds disgusting.”
“It’s delicious.”
I can’t help but smile. She’s adorable and feisty, hot-tempered and brilliant. Loyal and outspoken.
And all mine.
She continues. “Good coffee. Coffee shops!”
“What’s wrong with our coffee?”
“Yoga,” she says, on a tirade now, ignoring my question.
“Yoga? Why the fuck can’t you do yoga here?”
“It’s not the same. Traffic-free driving,” she continues listing American amenities off her fingers while she chews her bread. “Affordable shopping. Sales racks. People who smile.”
“Okay, now you’re taking this too far,” I say with mock severity. “We smile here!”
“Like once a year on Christmas,” she mutters, wagging a finger at me chidingly. “You, sir, are an austere group of people.”
I get up from my chair and love how her eyes widen. I love how she still calls me sir.
“That’s enough, little kisa,” I tell her, but my tone holds a teasing edge, feigning to be affronted. “Don’t take this too far. Is there anything you actually like about mother Russia?”
I gather her in my arms and sit her on my knee, and when she smiles, it’s like sun breaking through clouds after a long winter. My chest warms and I can’t help but smile back.
“There are many things I like about Russia, Demyan. But what I love most about it is you.”
She frames my face with her little, soft hands.
When her lips meet mine, I know I’ll give her everything she wants and more. American donuts and good coffee, a shopping spree that beats all shopping sprees, and I’ll even smile at her. I’ll make love to her when she wants slow and steady, and I’ll fuck her when she needs her stern master. I’ll kiss her to sleep and hold her to me, promising sweet dreams and undyin
g devotion. I’ll slay her demons and protect her to the very death. Larissa is my special girl, my woman. My everything.
“Alright, then. We bring Maksym to rest with Kaz and Sadie.” I grimace with what I’m about to agree to next. “We… visit. Like fucking tourists.”
Her lips twitch. “Poor guy. No gun to tote? No one to command? How will you deal?”
I tug a lock of her hair. “Who says I’ll have no one to command?” I tease, but already, my cock tightens beneath her. Grinning, she squirms on purpose on my lap.
“If only you had someone you could take over you knee,” she says in a whisper. “Or tie up and torture.”
“Oh, but I do.”
She purrs like the little kitten she is, gently tracing the fresh ink on my arm, a little kitten curled up and content.
“You do,” she whispers. “I love you, Demyan.”
“And I love you.”
I will take her to America. It will be almost like our honeymoon. And then we return. We will not leave the Bratva. I cannot leave the men I’ve pledged to lead forever.
But I will do so with my wife by my side.
Forever.
From the author:
Thank you for reading The Bratva’s Bride! I sincerely hope you enjoyed this book. Please consider leaving a review to let me know what you thought. I am so grateful! Read on if you’d like previews of other books you may enjoy.
Preview
The Bratva’s Captive: A Dark Mafia Romance
Chapter one
* * *
Maksym
* * *
The cold, unyielding floor of the cell where I lay offers no comfort in my distress. They've covered my eyes with a blindfold, but it's no matter. They're swollen shut even without a covering. My breathing is slow and labored, and I'm confident I have broken ribs from the beatings I've taken. They like to take turns at night when they're high and drunk, tying me up and using fists and weapons. Even a trained fighter like me doesn't stand a chance against half a dozen armed men.
Yuri's oily voice makes my skin crawl when he whispers in my ear, "They keep you as their lackey, don't they?"
The sound of his voice reminds me of a time long ago when I was bitten by a snake. The way the hideously green, slithering creature glided up to me before it struck, baring its teeth.
I don't respond to his question. I learned quickly any response brings more violence. He likes to taunt me.
"The big, powerful one. Sent to spy on me. Sent to do detail."
It's taken years to master the art of detachment from physical pain, to will my mind not to fear bruises and blood, throbs and stings, but most of all, the fear of inevitable death. The key is to accept that you might die. Once you cease fearing death, pain is but an aspect of the human condition. Unpleasant but bearable. And with this knowledge, I'm able to keep my mouth closed. I'm able to withhold what he wants. I've accepted my death, so no amount of beatings will draw truth from my mouth.
Thwack.
I scream, the small cell echoing with the sound of my tortured yells when something strikes me across the soles of my feet. I imagine it's the truncheon feared by Russian prisoners. A Russian guard's ready weapon, the solid, stout stick supposedly only for self-defense, is used far more frequently than one might think.
They don't stop there, mercilessly beating me about the thighs and body, demanding information I won't give. I'm panting, but I can't move with restraints on my wrists and ankles. It's dark. So dark, I feel I'm being pulled down into quicksand the color of pitch. The walls close in around me and I find it difficult to breathe.
They stripped me and dragged me to this cell, but not before I broke the nose of one and knocked a second out before they overpowered me. And now they punish me for raising my hands to them. For my failure to speak. Because I represent their most loathed rivals.
I writhe, sweat breaking out over my body. Unable to stop the pain. Waiting for the blow to my head that will kill me.
My only regret is that I didn't get a chance to say good-bye to Taya. My Taya.
The questions come hard and fast, but I don't respond.
Tell me how you made alliances with Amaranov.
What have you done with Sergie?
What do you know about the funds from Sarajevo?
From money laundering to kidnapping, they seem to think our brotherhood is responsible for everything illegal that's happened in Russia in the past decade.
Some things I know for sure we are guilty of. We intentionally plotted to overtake the illicit fund transfers orchestrated by former prime minister Amaranov and did so by making him an offer that countered theirs. But rival Bratva bids aren't licit deals and their only claim on us is revenge. Still, they are dissatisfied we've essentially stolen from them.
I don't know the details about Sergie, but I do know his blood was on the hands of Dimitri, our former pakhan. Sometimes, not knowing details proves useful. I knew Sergie did something that personally offended Dimitri. I knew Dimitri didn't take kindly to offense. And though he never told us what he did, it became clear The Thieves suspected we were the ones responsible for his going missing. I wasn't, but my brotherhood was, and now I bear the consequences.
Any of us would. It's one of the major tenets of the brotherhood: we stand as one.
I know nothing about Sarajevo.
And even if I did, they would extract nothing from me.
I wouldn't even tell them my name.
While they abuse me, inflicting pain the likes of which I've never known, I force my mind to escape to a place of quiet.
The little cabin in Istra, bordered by violet crocuses, the first flowers of early spring. The smell of orchids by the creek when I fish, amidst the quiet and calm running water.
The soft hands and gentle touch that come to me when I'm bound, bruised, and barely conscious. So quiet, so gentle, I'm convinced it's my imagination. An angel come to minister to me in my distress.
The smell of roses.
I am not here.
This is my body, being beaten and abused, but my body is only a part of who I am.
I am somewhere else, far away from here, where no one can touch me. And in that place, I mentally plan how I would take them down if given the chance.
I hear the sound of approaching feet and for a brief moment, when I'm half-conscious and delusional, I imagine it's the footsteps of my brothers, come to rescue me.
But it isn't.
Reinforcements have come for another round of entertainment. I shake, knowing what's coming, knowing I can't stop it, when I hear a voice.
"Maksym? Maksym..." Her voice breaks into sobs when she sees me helpless and beaten.
Taya.
The motherfuckers brought Taya here to watch. If there's anything that could break me...
I struggle against my chains, rattling them, writhing with the effort of getting free. They cut into my flesh, but I don't budge. I scream in helpless fury. I don't want her to see me like this.
And that's when I wake from the nightmare.
Every night.
Every fucking night.
I'm in a cold sweat, panting, and sit up quickly in bed. I blink in the dark room and stare at my wrists, half expecting them to be bound in cuffs, but they're free. There are no more bruises, no more broken ribs. Gingerly, I touch my body, feeling for blood, but I'm whole. The pain in my lower back and leg remind me that I'm still recovering, but I'm no longer injured.
Physically, anyway.
I brush a hand across my sweaty brow.
I was dreaming. Remembering.
The worst of a prisoner's punishment is that even after he's free, his subconscious holds him prisoner.
My heart still hammers in my chest as I try to get my bearings. I may not be bound anymore, but I don't remember where I am or why I'm here, and for a few brief seconds, panic sweeps over me.
Where am I?
I will the pounding of my heart to steady as I slowly remember.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I'm in the guest room in my friend Kazimir's house.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply through my nose again, then exhale through my mouth.
I'm in America for now. Our pakhan Demyan made me see a therapist, who told me I needed a change of scenery. So here I am. A year ago, I wouldn't have left Taya. But she insisted.
"We need a break," she said, not meeting my eyes. "We need some time to figure things out."
I couldn't give her what she needed. The relief she felt when I came back quickly evaporated when she realized I was no longer the man she knew. She couldn't love me like this. Spending night after night with the angry, brooding man I am now undid her. She fell in love with the man who worshipped her. The man of her youth, who overcame adversity by strengthening his mind and body. The man who loved her back.
Not the man I am now, who sees ghosts in the shadows. Not someone whose life work involves murder and deception.
While I was in prison I said nothing. The only sound I made were the screams I couldn't hold back. Not a word. Not when they talked to me. Not when they demanded answers under promise of further torture.
Not even when my brothers rescued me and brought me home with them. For weeks, even after the open lacerations had healed, even after my bones had been set in casts and my wounds doctored, even when I had night after night of quiet rest.
I tried with Taya, but the words were broken. I was not the man they'd taken prisoner. The only sounds I made when freed were the screams that came unbidden in my sleep.
And now, as I lay mute in bed, remembering how she shook her head while tears fell down her cheeks, the memory revives the ache in my chest.
I'm trying to make peace with it all when the soft sound of a baby's laugh captures my attention. I look to the window overlooking the bay, lift the shade, and see Kazimir, holding his daughter Yolanda to his chest. I watch them in silence, the peaceful scene soothing my pounding heart. He sits on the deck and kisses her little cheek. She giggles and coos, helplessly trying to wriggle away, but he holds her fast.