The Fixer: Bratva's Dark Allegiance (Bratva Dark Allegiance Book 1)

by Raven Scott

  The Fixer

  Bratva’s Dark Allegiance

  Raven Scott

  Contents

  1. Ophelia

  2. Ophelia

  3. Sascha

  4. Ophelia

  5. Sascha

  6. Ophelia

  7. Ophelia

  8. Sascha

  9. Ophelia

  10. Ophelia

  11. Ophelia

  12. Sascha

  13. Ophelia

  14. Sascha

  15. Sascha

  16. Ophelia

  17. Sascha

  18. Ophelia

  19. Ophelia

  20. Ophelia

  21. Sascha

  22. Sascha

  23. Ophelia

  24. Ophelia

  25. Ophelia

  26. Sascha

  27. Ophelia

  28. Sascha

  29. Ophelia

  30. Ophelia

  31. Sascha

  32. Ophelia

  33. Ophelia

  34. Sascha

  1

  Ophelia

  Shivering as the door flung open, gushing cold air into the room, I curled up tighter. This concrete box wasn’t a place I’d ever expected to find myself in. Exhaling shakily, I could almost see my breath— or was that just simple delirium? My thin clothes weren’t designed to protect against the cold, and I scowled lightly as I forced my eyes off my knees.

  Aleksander Makovich was leaning casually on the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed…the absolute epitome of power seeping from every pore on his skin.

  He looked exactly the same as the last time I’d seen him, but now— I was his enemy. Now, his demeanor was closed off, eyes sharp and guarded heavily.

  His stubbled jaw set hard, his gaze throwing daggers on my frigid skin as he scanned the small space. “Get up.”

  My body moved even as my mind clung to the floor. I just wanted to melt into concrete and hope Aleksander didn’t notice me. Goosebumps rose long my bare arms and under my jeans, as my toes flexed in my sneakers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that my dad held my mom around the shoulders, but I didn’t dare look directly at them.

  What kind of terrible parents put their children in mortal danger knowingly? Bitterness clouded my eyes and stained my tongue. How could two old people who had a good lot in life just ruin it so damned easily? This was a question I’d never have the answer to, I knew. In a few short hours, my parents were only going to be memories.

  “So… I’m just curious, which one of you actually took the shot against Vyachaslav and missed?” Aleksander asked.

  I kept my head down, not even trying to push my hair back in the hopes of keeping Aleksander’s attention off me. His eyes could kill and I ground my teeth hard at the edge in his tone.

  The loaded question hung in the air, suffocating my parents and brother.

  If someone spoke up, ratted out… it wouldn’t matter and everyone knew it. Most likely, Aleksander knew the answer to his question already. He just wanted to see what would happen if he dangled hope in front of our eyes.

  “If you get the answer right, you get a prize,” Aleksander spoke again.

  “I did it.”

  My eyelids fluttered closed at my dad’s declaration bouncing against my skull. Leaning against the wall, my skin burned from the cold, and I puffed out a thick sigh. The silence that followed was torture in itself, and my gut tightened into knots. An icy sweat slickened my skin, but there was no reason to be anxious.

  Here, in this room, I had only two outcomes. I walk out or I don’t. All because my daddy decided it’d be a good idea to connive and try to move up the oiled pole.

  “Is that your way of protecting your son from his own idiocy?” Aleksander queried in a dry tone. “As far as I’m concerned, the only person here that’s not heading for the chopping block today is Ophelia.”

  The sound of my own name fired off signals in my brain, and I cracked my eyes open. Blearily glancing up, I bit my inner cheek.

  Aleksander scoffed loudly, “Please, don’t insult me more than you already have,” he went on. “Don’t you think the Avernisk’s tried to give me information to save their own lives? It didn’t work, of course, but it made things go by quicker. I know Yysev pulled the trigger. It’d be even more impressive if he hit his actual target, not the body double.”

  “Don’t take out our mist—“

  Aleksander held up a hand to silence my dad, his lips twisting into a nasty sneer.

  I felt so tired; there was absolutely no reason to say anything right now. Aleksander Makovich probably plotted out his course of action on the train to Moscow, long before we’d ever met in person. Despite however long it’d been, I still couldn’t wrap my head around what my parents had tried to do.

  I mean, who tries to kill any Makovich, let alone the Patriarch, and fails?

  “You’re going to kill us, so just do it. But I’d appreciate it if I could call my boyfriend and tell him I love him,” I finally spoke as my voice scratched my throat.

  Those hard, brown eyes turned to me to flash in curiosity.

  Straightening to smooth my shirt, I nodded more to myself than to him. The incredible sadness I felt only struck my eyes, the ache unbearable as I blinked hard. “If you’re not going to kill us in this room, I would like to call my boyfriend.”

  “You’re thinking of that plokhaya krov’ at a time like this! Ophelia!”

  My mother’s strangled hiss fell on deaf ears, as I held Aleksander’s gaze firmly.

  Slowly, the spark of interest brightened in those dark eyes.

  I knew—I knew I had no right to ask him anything, but this was better than pleading fruitlessly for my life. If the most powerful man in Russia wanted me dead, I was in no position to argue.

  “Envre, your cell phone.”

  She handed it to him. He then held my phone out to me.

  Tears welled in my eyes at this and my throat tightened to block my lungs. My trembling intensified even as the cold vanished from my scope of comprehension. Shuffling across the room, I carefully reached for the smartphone offered to me.

  Aleksander snatched it back slightly, almost playfully. He smirked grimly to thicken the goosebumps blanketing my skin. “Three minutes, Ophelia.”

  “Three minutes.” For the first time, I let my mind wander to Sascha. His handsome, strong jaw, his thick beard that ruffled my hair when he drew me close. His bright, brown eyes twinkling whenever they caught mine. Taking the phone, I tapped in his number and closed my eyes to picture him.

  Sascha… the love of my life; the man I wanted to hear my final words. If I truly was about to pay for the mistakes of my family, I needed him to know my heart was his. The ring on the line tightened my chest, as I struggled to breathe under the weight of what might very well be my final conversation with him.

  And we couldn’t even have this talk face to face. How deplorable. My family despised Sascha; he wasn’t Russian born, but he’d lived in Russia almost all his life. He spoke our language, ate our food, taught at our universities…

  “Dr. Matheson,” Sascha answered.

  Leaning heavily against the wall, I stuffed my free hand into my mouth at the sound of Sascha’s voice. So deep, soft, but filled with confidence and authority.

  “Hello?” he spoke again.

  “Sascha—” I croaked hoarsely and sniffled hard as I wrapped my fingers around my throat. The action did nothing to relieve the burning, the pressure, and I licked my lips heavily. My face grew so hot, I exhaled stale air as dread roiled my stomach. “Sascha… I h-hav
e to go, now.”

  “Ophelia? What’s wrong? I’m worried about you…you haven’t taken any of my calls or anything for two days.”

  The relief in his tone sent sharp, icy prickles down my sternum and I smiled sadly. Why did I ask to talk to him? I had no idea what to say now when he was on the phone. “I just want—I want you to know— Sascha, I love you so much—” My voice cracked harshly, and I sniffled viciously. “I love you.”

  “What did your parents do this time, Oppie?” he asked.

  A horrendous sob burst from my throat, and I practically threw the phone at Aleksander. Crumpling to pull my knees to my face, I covered my head and buried my hands in my hair. Blood drummed in my ears so loud that I couldn’t hear my own cries or ragged breaths. The sting in my throat intensified as my heart beat out of control. Why— why— why didn’t I accept Sascha’s offer to run away? We could’ve eloped and gone to America… we could’ve gotten away from my ugly family and been happy!

  Tremors assaulted my spine as snot and tears stained my face and jeans. The heat in my face threatened to melt my cheeks as it seeped down my neck. After four years of trying to separate us, my parents finally succeeded. Now, though, there was no use for anger.

  But this didn’t stop it from forming a dense, writhing ball in my chest, knocking my heart out of rhythm and squeezing my lungs until they were useless. Everyone around me was more concerned with their plans than my happiness. My mom and dad were more focused on where Sascha was born than what he grew up to be.

  “Ophelia…” Aleksander’s called to me. He, at least, had the decency to look sad for me. “Let’s go.”

  I swiped at my throbbing, reddened eyes with the back of my arm. Sniffling harshly, I struggled to stand, alone, even as Aleksander’s henchman flooded the room. Shouts and struggles were drowned under the ache in my head. Getting dragged out of the room, my parents and elder brother yelled and begged while I stayed silent. Like so many times before, the differences between us were obvious. I seemed to be the only one who could face reality.

  When they decided this attempt on Vyachaslav Makovich’s life was a good idea, they’d sealed their fates. The only real issue for me was… I wasn’t involved at all. I didn’t know anything was going on behind the scenes. I’d been too caught up in Sascha and our life together to notice something was amiss. Maybe, because I didn’t want to shatter my beautiful moment— the unfiltered happiness that had filled me to bursting.

  Only, now that happiness was gone, there was nothing but a void left. Unfillable, bottomless— empty.

  2

  Ophelia

  “My father wants to kill everyone in your family.” Aleksander watched me with his hawk like gaze. “Are you upset because of what they did?”

  I could only summon a slight nod. He’d been raised as the eldest Makovich to be power itself. In no feasible way did he care about the opinion of a small fish like myself when he was a shark whose teeth always grew back. “They’re stupid.” Licking my dry lips, I lifted my head.

  Aleksander arched a brow quizzically.

  My mouth dried at his calm demeanor— all the while I was falling apart. “What?”

  “You’re not going to try to reason with me for your life?”

  A soft scoff escaped my nose, but if he took offence, it didn’t show on his face. The darkness that slowed my mind became deeper, and I reached a trembling hand to my temple.

  “Well, I suppose that does count for something.”

  “I’m sure that unyielding attitude intimidates some people, but you didn’t kill all the Avernisk’s. You’re not gonna kill us all, either.” I sniffled as I spoke, “Whoever you keep alive… don’t expect much.”

  Aleksander’s features drenched in amusement at my rasp. “What if I decide to keep you alive, Ophelia?”

  For a fraction of a second, my mind puttered into action before I shook my head.

  Aleksander leaned back, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa leisurely. He exuded iron will, and anything or anyone that got in his way would be crushed. “What if I gave you the opportunity to take your boyfriend and leave this life?”

  “You wouldn’t. The families wouldn’t be crushed if you did that.” Maybe, for the first time, I stared Aleksander directly in the eyes. My eyelids ached and threatened to close, but I didn’t feel the instinctual need to look away. “You can’t just obliterate them. You need pawns. You don’t want them but need them. It doesn’t matter who they are, though. Pawns are replaceable for a reason…because once they go rogue, there’s no forcing them back onto their square.”

  “You think I see this as a game?” he asked.

  Frowning slightly, I shook my head again.

  Aleksander tapped the back of the sofa with a thoughtfulness blazing from his eyes. “Tell me about your relationship with… what was his name? Sascha?”

  “No,” the answer slipped out before I could stop it. Pursing my lips thinly, I ground my teeth as the temperature in the air dropped like a stone. We were sitting, waiting for whatever grotesque play Aleksander had planned. Glaringly, I wasn’t involved, but I didn’t know if this was a good thing or not. Whether Aleksander had different plans for me was not a mystery, but the specifics were. Regardless… it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

  “How about I tell you what I know about your relationship, then.” Aleksander gazed at me through hard, narrowed eyes.

  There was no escaping it, but the anxiety of him knowing anything about Sascha flooded my gut.

  “Your boyfriend is a professor at Moscow State University as a nuclear chemist. You’re only 22, but he’s almost 40. You’ve been together since a few weeks after you turned 18, but I couldn’t find out how you met. Your parents hate him because he wasn’t born in Russia, but he’s been here since before the fall of the USSR, and he’s got dual citizenship. Both his parents are dead, now, and he’s got no siblings in the country.”

  “… That’s not much about our relationship, just us as people.”

  Aleksander shot me the blandest look possible.

  My brows twitched as they drew together. “You really don’t know anything about us?” I asked.

  “You’re very good at keeping secrets. I’ll be honest, Ophelia, I came here today with every intention of killing you.”

  Goosebumps rose on my arms and across my chest at how casually he spoke. What kind of monster just says something like that?

  Leaning back again, Aleksander crossed his knees to tilt his head at me. “I decided not to because of exactly how little I could find on you and your boyfriend. Interestingly enough, you always use cash, avoid places with too many security cameras, and have no online presence. So, either you’re very careful or very boring, both of which I find positive traits.”

  “We’re boring. I like it… being boring.” Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I held my throat in a clammy palm. Inhaling a shaky, shallow breath, my eyelids fluttered to dislodge a particularly brave tear. “Being n-normal people— they don’t worry a-about coups, about dying, being k-killed—by their bosses.”

  “Why would you worry about my killing you, Ophelia? Ignorance isn’t an excuse, and that’s a philosophy I live by. Frankly, though, you weren’t ignorant. You didn’t suspect something was going on and ignore it, which is the definition of ignorance, by the way. No… you, Ophelia, aren’t just ignorant. You’re innocent. At least, in this, you’re innocent.”

  Hiccupping a gasp, I closed my eyes tightly and turned away.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever truly believed someone was innocent, but this coup…” he paused. “You’re innocent of it.”

  “You’re contradicting yourself.” Aleksander talked circles around me, and I was tired of spinning around. “Just say it, okay?”

  “You can’t be innocent in this business, Ophelia, and you can’t just escape it. Work for me, and I’ll allow you your side piece and your relative anonymity.”

  Now this drew my tired eyes to his face.
>
  Aleksander frowned under narrowed eyes. “All you have to do is marry a man that does benefit me if you won’t.”

  “Excuse me?” Croaking harshly, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  Aleksander stood up to smooth his jacket, staring down at me like I was a bug under his shoe. His 5,000 ruble shoes. “Innocence doesn’t equate to uselessness. Either you’re useful to me, or you get removed from the picture. Keep your boyfriend. Keep your secrets. Keep your boyfriend a secret I don’t care. Somehow, someway, Ophelia… you said it yourself. All pawns are replaceable. I’m giving you the option to decide how you’re replaced.”

  The strangest sense that Aleksander Makovich ‒ the most powerful person in Russia ‒ was doing me a favor swept through me as my eyes widened in surprise.

  He inhaled deeply through flared nostrils. “I’ll give you two months to decide, Ophelia. Now, let’s go execute your parents and brother.” Aleksander held out his hand for me, eyes expectant and glistening with impatience.

  Clenching my jaw hard, I forced my knees unbend and flexed my toes. Every part of me was still and unyielding, as if my joints were made of the concrete I slept on last night. Just moving was exhausting, but I refused to take his hand. Crossing my arms tightly over my chest, I shook my head and hoovered a huge breath— until my lungs couldn’t take it.

  He raised a brow at me. “Do you care if they die? Or do you care because it affects you?”

  I didn’t bother trying to think hard enough to answer him. The living room seemed too wide, and my legs ached just thinking of crossing it.