Bratva Redemption

by Coco Miller

  “My vodka,” he says after the coughing fit, his eyes getting heavy again. He can barely keep them open as he tries to talk to me. “Pour it out. Poison. Test the vodka.”

  My brows pinch together in confusion, and I don’t have time to ask him what he means before he falls back asleep. He is constantly in and out of consciousness and the fact that I caught him awake, even if it was only for a few seconds, means the world to me. Something tells me it won’t happen again and stomaching that type of realization is new to me.

  I’ve killed many men, I’ve watched them die, I’ve watched their eyes turn to black and the last bit of air leave their lungs. But having my father die, if that’s what this is, feels different.

  “The vodka,” I whisper out loud and look towards the door. His words are finally starting to sink in. It makes sense. He has a glass of imported Russian Vodka every night before bed. He has for twenty years. Anyone that knows him knows that is his routine, so someone could have easily poisoned the bottle. It’s an old tactic but effective since nothing is showing up on the tests.

  I run out of the bedroom and grab the door trim as I turn right, swinging myself down the hall to get to his office. Thank god I’m allowed in here, or I’d be fucked because of the fingerprint scanner on the door. It reads mine, his, and Vlad’s, just like all the other doors. But how would someone get inside? They would need our fingerprints to enter and that isn’t something easy to come by.

  The door beeps and I push it open revealing a dark room. I flip the light switch on, and his desk is illuminated immediately. The walls are made up of bookshelves with all the first editions of my father’s favorite books. I wander to the right to the cart my father uses for his coffee and alcohol.

  His decanter is half full of the clear liquid. I grab the cold crystal, glimmering different colors as it reflects the light and open it. I smell it to see if there is anything immediately different about it, but there’s nothing. It only smells of the finest Russian Vodka money can buy although I trust my father’s instincts. If he thinks he’s been poisoned then I’m inclined to agree.

  With a curl of my lip, I put the top back on and hold the neck of the decanter as I walk out. I turn the light off and close the door. If the Italians want to poison my father, then I’m going to give them a taste of their own medicine.

  And then they will see just how lethal a Russian can be.

  Chapter Five

  Alegra

  “Smile for the camera,” Igor laughs as he points his phone at me. My hands press against the floor as I push myself up. My head is pounding, and when I reach up to feel the spot that hurts, the skin is tender and there is a knot the size of a silver dollar on my forehead. I manage to lift my head up and see Igor smiling behind his phone having a grand old time.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I mumble. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to watch me all the time?”

  I wrap my hands around the metal bars and pull myself up, plopping on my ass. I lean my head against the cage and close my eyes. If I’m going to be here, I might as well get my rest.

  “My orders are to watch you.”

  “That isn’t creepy. Hear from Ivan yet?” I giggle, wanting to really sell that angle. I rub my hands up my body and moan. “I miss his touch, Igor. He has such big hands and what they say about big hands…it’s definitely true.”

  I open my eyes and watch my new captor between the bars, the phone blocking the majority of his face, but I can see the wrinkles in his forehead. He is pissed.

  “Sucks for you, I suppose.” I lift a shoulder and then yawn, lifting my hand up to pat my mouth as if I’m bored.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” He snaps, finally putting the phone down. The giant idiot looks at his hands, flipping them over to see what I’m talking about.

  “Nothing. I’m just saying, big hands, big feet, big…” I allow him to fill in the blank.

  He steps forward and takes the bars in his hands.

  “You’d be a lucky woman if you ever saw my cock.”

  “I doubt it,” I mumble, doing my best to sound unimpressed. Most men his size have tiny dicks. I’m sure I’m going to continue to get my head bashed in if I keep speaking up, but I would rather keep him side−tracked, so Kazimir has time to find me. I don’t want to show how scared I really am, how I’m fearful that he will unlock this cage and really show me what he is made of to make all my terrors come true. “Your hands are really small. I bet you have little dick syndrome. It’s why you’re all bulked up.”

  “You fucking cunt!” he roars, trying to reach for me again but I dodge his hands.

  “Did I hit a sore spot, Igor?”

  “That’s not my fucking name! Stop calling me that and my dick isn’t small. You want to see? Is that it, whore?”

  I just tasted a little vomit in my mouth.

  I’d rather die.

  “It is, isn’t it?” He walks around the cage, his hands rattling the cage as he circles me like a lion. “You insult me, belittle me, and if you have fucked Ivan than you must be aching for more aren’t you?”

  “Not yours,” I say, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. “I miss Ivan’s. Is there any way you can call him and tell him I need him?”

  “How about you show him?” Igor takes a step back and gets the phone out and unzips his pants. “And while you show him how much you miss him, I’ll show you what you are missing.” Igor lifts the phone again. “Why don’t you tell him what you miss, Alegra? I’ll send it to him and to Kazimir, so the stupid Russian prick knows that you are nothing but another whore. Just like your mother…”

  I rise to my feet and press my body against the bars. He said that last statement as if he knows a lot more about my past than I originally thought.

  “What the fuck do you know about my mother?”

  I do my best to snatch his phone from him, but he pulls back just in time tossing his head back in maniacal laughter.

  His deadly eyes land on mine and he takes a step forward, licking his lips.

  “Oh, I know all about your mother. Mr. Santini had her plenty of times. She was a used up and a broken whore, and it looks like you’re on your way to following in her footsteps.”

  “Fuck you,” I spit at him again as he unbuttons his pants to match the state of his zipper. Open and ready to ruin my life.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he says hungrily. “All this talk about Ivan and cock,” he mutters, reaching into his pants but he doesn’t pull out his dick. “I bet once you saw me, you’d get to your knees and suck me off just like your mother did to Mr. Santini. He has tapes, you know. I’ve watched them a hundred times. Our personal porn stash. Like mother like daughter?” His pants hit the floor, but his phone stays in his hand, wanting to record every minute of my discomfort.

  Now he is getting to me.

  “Doesn’t look so small now, does it?” he taunts, stepping back to make sure I see his dick, and before I can look away, I get a glimpse of it. Bile billows up my throat when I see it. I always thought dicks were ugly until I saw Kazimir’s and now none of them compare to it. Granted, Kazimir’s is the first real one I have ever seen, but before that I watched porn and I saw pictures.

  And Igor’s is pathetic.

  It’s hard, maybe five inches, which is the average size I know, but on Igor it looks way smaller.

  Kazimir’s is thick and long, with a throbbing vein going down the middle to fill it and a wide mushroom tip.

  “It’s the tiniest thing I have ever seen,” I say with a wicked smile. “You might want to consider an implant to satisfy the women you sleep with because I doubt they can even feel you fucking them.”

  I don’t even see the fist coming my way until it’s too late. The bars protect me from some of the impact but not all of it. He hits me in the eye and I crumble to the ground, clutching my eye as the agony of blunt force tears through me.

  His foot comes down on me next, and the burn in my side has my h
ands moving from my face to my abdomen. Kick after kick, the pain worsens. Something snaps, and I cry out as I feel the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Tears sting my eyes and I can’t catch my breath. It’s like an inferno is in my stomach, igniting me from the inside out.

  Igor’s voice is sinister when he picks my head up by the thick of my hair and crouches down at the same time. I whimper and do my best to keep the painful sounds locked inside me but it’s all too much.

  “Maybe you’ll think twice before disrespecting someone who has killed numerous people, don’t you think?” He smashes my face into the ground, another bone cracks, and blood fills my mouth. My scalp burns when he picks my head up again. Blood trickles from my mouth, and I spit it out onto the floor. “Now be a good little whore and smile for the fucking camera, you lying bitch. Ivan would never touch you.”

  Still my mouth and mind seem not be attached right now. “And why is that?”

  “Because he doesn’t fuck women with a dirty mouth.”

  He bashes my head against the floor again, and I hear the shutter of a picture being taken at the same time another string of blood leaves my mouth.

  “Ah, beautiful. Now if you’re smart, you’ll shut the fuck up and do what we say and stop taunting me. Kazimir is going to love this photo of you. The bruises really bring out the color of your eyes, Alegra. Maybe I’ll bring the tv down and show you those tapes of your mother that we have? I’ll bring the popcorn.”

  He taps my cheek and lets go of me suddenly, my face falling to the floor with a painful thud. This time the tears flow freely. My sides burn, my face aches, my jaw is sore, and all I can think about is Kazimir and if I’ll ever see him again.

  There’s banging upstairs, the pounding of feet, laughter, and then the door opens shining light inside the cave I’m living in now.

  I hadn’t realized Igor left.

  Wheels squeak and it makes my eyes pinch shut and my body tense. Every turn of the damn cart makes me dig my broken nails into the cement.

  “Like I promised, a movie starring your mother. It isn’t award-winning or anything but it’s decent enough.”

  I don’t look up. I’m too numb. Too afraid. Maybe Igor has finally broken me. The memory of my mother is a soft spot for me, always has been and always will be, especially after learning what I have about her over the last few days.

  A whore.

  A liar.

  A fraud.

  A snitch.

  What made my mother turn her back on me and my father? What made her live this double life as a wife and a whore? And why did she risk everyone’s lives to snitch?

  I’d never rat on Kazimir. Ever. I’d never be that selfish. What did my father see in her? Is Igor, right? Am I like her? I did have sex with Kazimir pretty quickly and only for one reason. I was seriously drawn to him. Totally drawn to a dangerous man that knows his way around a gun and probably torture. So why don’t I care about that?

  I only care about how he treats me, touches me and speaks to me. I know it hasn’t been long, but everything I know so far tells me that I can trust him. And in his heavy handed, over-the-top way, Kazimir truly cares for me.

  And it’s made me love him quickly.

  I thought when I fell for Kazimir that I was blindly falling for the enemy, but it’s clear who the enemy really is. Compared to the Italians, Kazimir is a saint.

  And Igor and his employers?

  Well, they are most definitely the devil.

  Chapter Six

  Kazimir

  “What the fuck?” Ivan grumbles as his head tilts from side to side as he wakes up. He as a huge black eye from Vlad’s fist. It’s black and blue, swollen shut, and there is a small cut on his cheek, slowly trickling blood.

  “What the fuck indeed, Ivan,” I say calmly, sitting down in the chair in front of him.

  Vlad is standing to my side, hands laced behind his back, readying for me to give him the go-ahead. It isn’t often that I get my hands physically dirty, but I’m going to now. I said I was going to bathe my hands in blood until I got my Alegra back and I meant it. I cross my legs, my right ankle over my left knee and give him a small smile. “How are you feeling, traitor?”

  I keep my tone calm, even, but the lividity still shakes the low baritone. I’m unable to hide all of my discontent. I’m so furious; I could kill a hundred men and not feel an ounce of fucking remorse.

  His eye widens, the murky brown orb looking like nothing but shit on the bottom of my shoe. “Traitor? I would never! Mr. Volkov, I would never betray you. I want to be here. My grandfather—”

  “—Was a traitor too,” I say. “It must run in the blood.” I bend down and pick up the decanter holding the poisoned vodka.

  “Want a drink?” I offer, picking up a crystal lowball glass. I have two decanters, one on either side of me. The one on the left is good, unsoiled. The one in my lap is the one Ivan used to poison my father. I pour half a glass and hand it to Vlad.

  “Please, help him out, Vlad.”

  “Da, Kazimir,” he says, taking a step toward Ivan who is bound to the chair, unable to escape.

  “I’m fine. I’m not really in the mood for vodka, Mr. Volkov. Thank you for the kind offer,” he trips over a few words as he eyes the drink.

  “What real Bratva soldier doesn’t want a free shot of this brand of vodka? Or perhaps the Italian side of you isn’t in the mood.”

  “That’s not it all, Mr. Volkov.” Ivan shakes his head lightly, licking his lips.

  “You fucking liar,” I roar as I stand and lift my fist back to punch him in the face. He coughs up blood, but I grip his jaw tight and pry it open. “When a Volkov asks you if you want a drink, you fucking take it.”

  I rip the glass from Vlad’s hands and do the deed myself. I pour the vodka inside his bloody mouth and then cover the gaping hole with my hand that has bloody knuckles. I toss the glass to the side in anger and it shatters against the wall. I pinch his nose with the other hand, so he has no choice but to drink the alcohol.

  Once his throat bobs, I lift my hand off and wrap my palm around his throat. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Please, Mr. Volkov—”

  “Please?” I mock him, leaning my head down until he can feel the breath against his cheek. “Please? Oh, the fucking nerve you have, Ivan.” I tsk. “My father is in his bed dying and he had a theory before he fell back into unconsciousness. He said it was his vodka making him sick which makes sense since he has it every night. And with how you just reacted, I’m assuming you know there is a chance you just got poisoned as well.”

  “Did I?” he timidly asks as the smell of piss fills the air.

  Fucking coward.

  “I don’t know. I think we should play a little Russian Roulette. What do you think, Vlad? A little bit of this vodka, a little bit of that one.” I point to the decanter to my left.

  Next, I pull the gun out of the waistband of my pants. It’s a simple revolver; one that never fails to get the job done. I take out all the bullets except one.

  “This may be a little cliche, but it’s always a dependable game. Now, for every time you don’t get a bullet in your head, you get to drink a shot to help get you through to the next round. How about that?”

  “N—n—no! Wait, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Whatever. I swear to god, please,” he cries like a little bitch, pleading for his life. “I’ll tell you everything!” Ivan’s voice cracks from the emotion, becoming high−pitched like a teenage boy.

  “You want to know the difference between you Italians and us Russians, Ivan?” It’s a rhetorical question that I don’t expect him to answer. “You are fucking rats. You turn over on your back and show your belly as soon as trouble hits. My men would fucking die before they said a word. They would welcome death and take all the information to their grave because they’re Bratva. You’re pathetic. I want to know where they have Alegra and you better tell me everything, or my friend Vlad is going to start taki
ng fucking fingers.”

  I spin the chamber of the gun and flick my wrist to shut it, then cock it, and point. The bullet is a few spaces away, but I love to see the fear on his face.

  “I don’t know,” Ivan sputters, spit flying from his lips.

  I sigh and place pressure with my index finger on the trigger and pull. The click causes him to jump and then he sobs with relief.

  That relief is momentary because Vlad gets a cigar cutter out of his pocket and slides it onto Ivan’s ring finger. Ivan doesn’t know that he is never going to leave this room alive, only in a plastic bag.

  This room has seen a lot of death and torment. It’s old. The only part of the house that has not been redone or updated with a new modern look. We aren’t sure when this house was built, but the basement is more like a dungeon with stone walls and bars for windows. The floor is dirt, and there are chains in the walls.

  A chair is bolted in the middle of the room where Ivan is, the wood stained a dark, dirty red from all of the other traitors before him.

  “No, please, no! No!” he screams as Vlad clips his finger off. Just like cutting a rose from its bush. It’s quick and easy. Vlad then grabs a hot poker, searing the wound shut, which makes Ivan scream louder.

  Vlad kicks the finger to the left, and I pick up the decanter to my left and take a swig. “Would you like some?” I ask, handing over the vodka, obviously showing him that this one is fine. “It’s tasty.”

  “I’ll tell you everything. They have her. Santini has her. You won’t find her. It isn’t any warehouse or place you know of. It’s new. He wants you to go there. He wants to kill your father, then you and take over the city again. He thinks Alegra is the way to get to you,” Ivan proclaims.

  Santini isn’t wrong. She is the way to my heart and my mind.

  “Excellent, we are making progress,” I say, spinning the chamber again and cocking it. Vlad pinches the man’s jaw again and pours the toxic vodka in Ivan’s system. “You’re going to tell me where that is and what it is that you gave my father, that’s currently coursing through your veins right now, so I can get a cure.”