“Gavril was lost. He would have been good for you, for the Bratva, if only he could have seen past his anger. He had connections, great connections,” he says, shaking his head as if he’s sorely disappointed. “You were married days later. Do not act as though you are innocent,” he rumbles.
“I’m not an innocent person, no. But I had nothing to do with Gavril’s demise. I can’t say that I’m sorry he’s gone, or that I mourned for even a moment the loss of him, but I had nothing to do with his death.”
“And Mika?” he asks, raising a brow.
“Mika grabbed me and ran,” I shrug.
“He just happened to have Sergei and his plane on standby?”
“I couldn’t tell you what happened, or why it happened the way it did. All I know is that I was gone and Mika was the one who took me away. I’m glad for it, too. I married a man who cares for me, and that’s what my mama wanted,” I say, lifting my chin stubbornly.
“You have no clue, Oksana. None. I’ve spoiled you. Your entire life has been a fucking fairy tale and a dream. It doesn’t matter if your husband cares for you. It doesn’t mean a fucking thing. All that matters is that the Bratva is run by capable leaders, and that you produce babies to raise as new leaders in the generations to come. Gavril was capable, and he would have made a great asset, had he kept his head on straight,” he grinds out.
“Careful papa. Your Ivan Chekov is showing,” I say, raising a brow.
Ivan was a traitor, a man who was the leader of a ring of people who took the Bratva girls and sold them or whored them, like what happened to Mika’s sister all those years ago. Ivan was brought down, but it wasn’t very long ago. In fact, I could have been taken as one of those girls and sold off, had my father not been in the high position that he’s in.
“You tread on thin ice, Oksana,” he growls.
“It doesn’t matter. What you want, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m married now. I’m Mika’s wife. I am Oksana Rybina, and there’s nothing you can do about it,” I say haughtily.
“You’ll be a widow twice over if I have anything to do about it.”
“Oh, that hitman you ordered to kill my husband?” I ask. I watch his jaw tick as soon as I call Mika my husband. “He knows all about it, as does Sergei, and I don’t think Sergei is very impressed with your tactics, papa.”
“I don’t give a fuck, Oksana. How about that?”
“So you’re going to kill my husband and then sell me off again? What happens if I’m pregnant with Mika’s child? Who will want me then?” I ask as I stand, having had enough of this conversation.
“You’re pregnant and the baby goes,” he grunts.
“You wouldn’t?” I ask, placing my hand on my stomach.
“Try me, Oksana. I could give a fuck right now,” he snaps.
“You need help, papa,” I whisper. I turn to walk out of the room, refusing to engage in anymore conversation with him.
He’s fucked up in the head.
The father I know and love, he wanted a house full of babies. He would never purposely kill a child, not ever. This version of him is a fucking monster.
I walk back to my room, locking myself inside, wishing that I had memorized Mika’s phone number so that I could call him and beg him to rescue me.
Hours later, there is a knock on my bedroom door. I ignore it. Then my father’s voice booms that it is time for dinner. One thing that has not changed, and probably the only thing since my mother’s death, is dinner. We dress for dinner, always. We eat together, always. And we pretend that everything is perfect at the dinner table, always.
Tonight is going to be exhausting.
After I left my father’s office earlier, I took my burgundy dress and laid it on an accent chair in the corner, choosing to lounge in a pair of cotton pants and a tank. I hurry and put my dress back on, slide back into my high heels, and check my hair and makeup one last time before I unlock my door and make my way downstairs to the dining room.
I stumble slightly when I see who is waiting at the dinner table. It isn’t just my father. No, it’s a whole table full of people. Some I recognize, and others I don’t, but my eyes clash with a man sitting right next to my father. I know why he’s there, and it makes my stomach churn. I’ve only met him once, but that was enough.
“Papa,” I say softly. My father lifts his chin in greeting.
I walk over to the only empty seat, next to the man who took me. He stands as I make my way to the chair and pulls it out for me. The room goes silent, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, focused completely on me, and waiting. I don’t know what they’re waiting for. All of these people know that I would never make a scene in public.
“Sana,” a soft voice says across from me.
It’s Aleksandra, and she gives me a sad smile before biting the side of her lip in worry.
“Hey, Aleks,” I smile, tipping my head to the side.
I don’t want her to think that I’m mad at her for anything, because I’m not. Even if she told my father where I was, or her husband did, I wouldn’t be mad at her. She has her own life to look after. Her loyalties lie with her husband, and his with my father. It is the way our world works, and I would never be angry with her for something like that.
“Are you okay?” Konstantin asks, his voice low as people start to converse around us.
“Yes,” I nod.
The rest of the dinner, my father ignores me, which I’m grateful for. I eat quietly, keeping to myself. I’m also grateful that nobody tries to engage me in conversation. I’m completely lost in my own thoughts. I spin my giant ring around my finger, thinking of Mika, and wondering where he is.
When dinner is over, we all retire to the living area. A couple of the men, along with my father, go into his office. A few minutes later, they walk out with his cigar box and start to light up, the smoke filling the room. My mother would have a heart attack if she knew my father’s cigar smoke was seeping into her expensive furniture, forever damaging the fabric.
“Tell me the truth, are you okay?” Konstantin asks as he slips his hand around my waist.
I look up at him in surprise and then move my eyes to the side to see my father looking at us smugly. Konstantin’s hand squeezes my waist, and my gaze shifts back to his.
“The truth,” he rasps.
“Why are you here?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“I think you know why. You aren’t a stupid woman,” he murmurs.
“What makes you better than Mika?” I ask.
“I’m not better. I did save Inessa Markova’s life, and when I did that, I killed the man who was responsible for your mother’s murder,” he admits. My eyes widen as I gasp in shock.
“Seriously?”
He nods as his affirmation, and I lift my hand to wrap around his bicep, giving him a gentle squeeze before I release him.
“Thank you for that,” I whisper.
“Not needed, but you’re welcome anyway. What I want to know is if you’re okay?” he pushes.
“Physically? Yes,” I answer. He nods.
I feel him lower his head, his lips at my ear, his breath hot against me. I hold my breath.
“I’ll do what I can to help,” he murmurs.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Too bad we hadn’t met before,” he grins as he straightens.
I don’t answer him. Instead, I widen my eyes and lift my brows, which makes him grin and chuckle.
“I prefer brunettes, usually; but something about your feistiness makes me wish we’d met before you and Mika,” he rumbles.
“Konstantin,” I hiss.
He winks before he steps back, and I watch as he walks over to my father.
“He’s cute,” Aleksandra mutters. I turn to my side and smile at her.
“I love, Mika,” I blurt out. Her smile widens.
“I’m glad you love your husband, Sana. You should,” she says, her smile still in place.
“My father has already put a price on h
is head, and he’s told me he’ll kill him,” I whisper.
“Something tells me that Mika is not a man who takes anything lying down. Not the way he threw you over his shoulder and already had an escape plan in place on your wedding day. I think all will be just fine.”
“I hope so,” I murmur.
“If not, Konstantin wouldn’t be a bad second choice,” she says, tipping her head to the side with a grin.
“Aleks,” I groan.
“His scar makes him like a hundred times hotter. Just saying,” she laughs.
“You’re awful,” I grunt, shoving my shoulder into hers.
“Mika makes you happy, though—in all seriousness?”
“Most of the time, yeah. He really does.”
She giggles before she speaks again, “The other times?” she asks.
“I want to strangle him,” I admit with a shrug.
“Dear god, you really are in love,” she laughs softly.
“I am.”
THE PLANE LANDS, AND I’m nervous. I can’t remember the last time I was nervous. Maybe when I flew by myself to Russia for my training when I was a boy? Ustin gently wakes up his woman as I stand. They quietly follow behind me, and I grin when I see both Ziven and Timofei waiting for me on the tarmac.
“Who’d you bring?” Ziven asks, lifting his chin behind me.
“Ustin and his woman, Leonie. Oksana and Leonie became close. She’s overly worried, and I figured another man on our side would not be a bad thing,” I shrug.
“Quinn’s at the hotel. She’s worried, too. Pasha isn’t right,” Ziven murmurs.
“Nyet, he is not,” I agree.
A few men load up our luggage as I continue to introduce Leonie and Ustin to Ziven and Timofei. They both greet them with smiles, and then we climb into the SUV.
“We’re staying at a hotel; tomorrow morning will be better to make contact. We all need a good night’s rest,” Ziven rumbles.
I don’t respond to his words. To me, another night without Oksana is fucking torture. We arrive at the hotel and check into our rooms with plans to meet in the lobby around six the next morning. Ziven also tells Ustin that his woman and Quinn can stay together, along with a Byki.
Ustin nods, and Leonie thanks him before they go up to their room, Ustin carrying their bags. Ziven and Timofei don’t leave me. When I try to walk away, Ziven asks me to join him in the bar, Timofei close to my side.
“What is it?” I ask as we sit down in a booth.
“I called Pasha and told him that you were in Russia together. I didn’t think,” Ziven says, shaking his head.
“I know,” I nod.
“You do?”
“Sergei told me that he’d called you a few days ago. We couldn’t hide forever, and Pasha put a price on my head anyway. My days are numbered as is,” I explain.
“He did what?” Timofei shouts.
“I don’t know who he used; private, I assume. But, yeah, there’s a price on my head,” I shrug as if it’s no big deal, even though it is a very big fucking deal.
If I were a traitor, then I would be dealt with by the Bratva. What is never done are hits on members, not ever.
“He needs to be held accountable for his actions. He’s not thinking,” Ziven states.
“The excuse of him being distraught because of my mother’s death is now done. None of this has to do with ma, and it has everything to do with him. He’s gone off the deep end,” Timofei murmurs.
“Let’s see how our meeting goes in the morning,” Ziven says.
“You call Yakov?” I ask.
Yakov is the other Pakhan in New York. His area is close to Pasha’s, but it’s not nearly as large.
“I called both Yakov and Dominik. They’re meeting us here, and we’re all going to Pasha’s together,” Ziven murmurs.
We say goodnight and I head toward my room. Timofei is the only one who stays behind. After I’m a few feet away, I turn to watch him walk up to a woman in a short, tight dress. I know how he’s going to spend his evening. I laugh softly to myself as I step into the elevator car.
“It’ll do good for him to get married and stop whoring around,” Ziven murmurs.
“Yeah, okay,” I snort. “He better get it all out now. I have a feeling that his new Irish father-in-law won’t take kindly to him fucking around on the little princess.”
“No shit,” Ziven chuckles.
The elevator door pings open and we both walk out. I lift my chin to him as I turn toward my room and head inside. I’m glad to see that my luggage has arrived, and I make my way to the shower when something catches my eye. There’s a man in a chair. I reach for my gun, but he speaks before I get it out.
“I’m a brother. Konstantin,” he announces.
“I could have killed you,” I murmur.
“You could have, you still might, but I have to talk to you anyway,” he says cryptically.
“Speak,” I demand.
“Pasha sent me after Oksana. It was me who brought her here,” he announces.
I continue pulling my gun out and point it directly at his head. It would only take half a second for me to kill him, yet he doesn’t even flinch.
“I was following orders from a Pakhan, a powerful Pakhan,” he murmurs. I lift my chin, urging him to continue. “I brought her here, and Pasha did not receive her well. He said some things that I don’t agree with. They had a meeting this morning. I did not feel good things, Rybin. I offered her my help before I left her, and she told me to bring you,” he says as his eyes stay connected to mine.
I put my gun back in its holster and let his words sink in. Pasha didn’t receive her well. She probably smarted off to him, which is her way, but I would guess Pasha’s patience is nil at this point.
“Come with us tomorrow. We’re meeting in the lobby at six,” I say.
“I don’t like to see women mistreated,” he murmurs.
“Neither do I.”
“I’ll be here,” he rumbles. Without another word, he stands and walks past me.
I feel even more uneasy now than I did just moments ago. I close my eyes and think about Oksana, my Oksana, my forever. Fucking hell. She could be pregnant with my baby right now. If her father so much as harms one hair on her head, I won’t hesitate to lay the fucker down and dig his fucking grave my goddamn self.
I WATCH AS KONSTANTIN walks into the hotel lobby at six on the dot. His eyes shift to me before he lifts his chin and then continues in my direction. The elevator pings and Ziven, Timofei, and Ustin step out, also walking toward me. I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t.
I spent the entire night sitting, looking out into the city that never sleeps, thinking about my Oksana. I thought about her, wondering if I am doing the right thing or not. Her being with me has the potential of completely obliterating her relationship with her father. I’m not sure if I can be the cause of something that big, or if I’m worth it.
“You look as though you’re waging a war,” Konstantin mutters.
“Just thinking,” I mutter.
I’m not going to tell this guy a fucking thing that’s going through my head. I don’t know him, and he’s the one who took Oksana from me.
“This could get ugly,” Ziven announces as he and Timofei reach our side.
“It could,” I agree.
“Who’s this?” Timofei asks, lifting his chin to Konstantin.
“Konstantin Skumin,” Konstantin introduces himself as he holds out his hand to shake both Timofei and Ziven’s.
“Why’re you here?” Timofei asks suspiciously, after introductions.
“I took Oksana from Moscow, on Pasha’s orders. I didn’t like the way he was talking to her when we arrived. I paid a visit to Mika last night before I had dinner with them,” he shrugs.
My eyes shift to Ustin, who is silently taking in the scene, his focus on Konstantin. He doesn’t show a reaction to the man, but I have no doubt that he’s got some kind of opinions about him just by his first glance.
“You didn’t tell me you had dinner with Oksana,” I grind out, turning to him.
“Big dinner, not just me. I wanted to make sure she was okay. Pasha plans,” he informs.
“Konstantin?” Dominik’s voice questions as he and Yakov walk up to our huddle.
“Dominik,” Konstantin grunts, turning to him.
“What’s happening then?” Yakov asks.
It takes a few moments to fill them in, and when Konstantin speaks of the dinner, of the fact that Pasha set him right next to Oksana at the table and how he kept watching the two of them throughout the evening, it makes my blood boil. Pasha plans all right; he plans on contracting my fucking wife to Konstantin.
I don’t know his games, but they’re over now.
This shit ends to-fucking-day.
“So, what are our plans?” Dominik asks as we make our way to the two waiting SUVs.
“No plans,” I shrug.
“What?”
“I’m going to walk up to his house and demand my wife back,” I announce.
“Mika,” Ziven practically groans.
“She’s mine. She has my name and wears my rings—she’s fucking mine,” I all but growl, feeling like a fucking enraged animal.
“Fuck it. Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up.
It doesn’t take us too long to get to Pasha’s home in Brighton Beach. Konstantin leans over in front of us and punches in a code. We watch as the gate opens, then hurry and speed through before it closes on us, pulling into the driveway. It only takes us a few minutes to walk up to the front door, and I’m not surprised when Pasha opens it, his hard, stony gaze bypassing everyone to focus on me.
I lift my brows and give him a smirk, which causes his mouth to go tight. I am not going into this completely blind. I know what kind of man Pasha is because we’re all that type of man. I know he enjoys torture, and this is probably a way to begin his torturing, keeping me from what is mine—Oksana.
“You have balls,” he grunts as he turns and walks away.
I would call him a brave man for turning his back on me, but it would be a lie. Shooting a man in the back is weak, and I’m not a spineless fuck.
Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7) Page 11