Booze and Bullets (Brooklyn Brothers #3)

by Melanie Munton

  I just had to remind myself that my father wouldn’t have even considered this if the escalating danger in the organization wasn’t serious. He wouldn’t have made a decision like this lightly. So, I would respect his wishes and do as he asked because it was the least I could do. After all, I owed him everything.

  For my father, I could handle being married to Nico Rossetti for a little while.

  Even if my new husband was the most insufferable, sarcastic dickhead I’d ever met.

  “You want to explain yourself, Niccolò?” Dad demanded in an eerily low voice.

  I winced. My siblings and I went by nicknames or shortened versions of our birth names, and it was never good when Lorenzo “Enzo” or Valentina “Val” Rossetti called you by your full name.

  “The marriage is part of a business deal I struck with Sergei,” I answered, choosing my words carefully. “You all know I’ve been looking to break into the vodka business. Kozlov Industries produces the highest quality labels of vodka in the world. And Sergei has been looking to sell off his majority shares in the company to the highest bidder.”

  “Why would he do that?” Cris sputtered. “The company is worth a fortune. Year-over-year profits have climbed over two hundred percent in the last three years.”

  Cris was the money guy in the family. He played the stocks, dabbled in all manner of investments, and founded Manhattan’s most successful financial management firm that wasn’t operated on Wall Street. Kozlov Industries was one of the largest international companies in the world, so it didn’t surprise me that he was familiar with their portfolio.

  “Get this,” I mused, “Sergei actually needs protection.”

  “Bullshit,” Ace hissed. “The richest and most dangerous man in Russia should have security coming out of his ass.”

  “Now, there’s an image,” Luka muttered in the background.

  “Protection from what exactly?” Dad asked pointedly.

  “It seems the Russian organization is being split into two factions.” I stood up and traipsed back over to the credenza to pour a few more fingers of the Russian rot gut. Glutton for punishment? “There’s been a lot of growing unrest over the past several months. A group called the Voiny have made it clear they want Sergei out of the game, and are willing to use force, if necessary, to make it happen.”

  “They want to take him out?” Rome asked.

  Dad hummed. “Sergei’s made a lot of enemies throughout Russia. Hard not to in that country and in that business.”

  “And what of the other faction?” Luka asked.

  “Many have remained loyal to Sergei and his empire,” I explained, scrubbing a hand down my face, “but those numbers seem to be dwindling. His allies are either disappearing back into the woodwork out of fear, or they’re being persuaded to join the Voiny. Either way, Sergei is losing ground fast.”

  “So, he’s selling you his shares in the company in order to…buy protection?” Cris inquired.

  I grimaced as the poison these Russians had the gall to call whiskey slid down my throat. “Basically. People are calling in debts in exchange for their protection and loyalty, and the company shares are the most valuable thing Sergei owns. Of course, I’m all too happy to take them off his hands.”

  Because the kind of money that would come from stamping the Rossetti name onto Kozlov Industries would keep my parents—my entire family—comfortable for years.

  “Sergei’s hoping a financial incentive will get him the soldiers and fire power he needs to combat the Voiny,” I continued. “Not to mention, reveal information on who their leader is.”

  In order to get me to agree to his end of our bargain, Sergei had confided in me the inner-workings of the current issues within their syndicate. Otherwise, there’s no way in fuck I’d have been privy to any of that information.

  Dad stepped back in. “And what of this marriage to his daughter? Alexia, isn’t it? How did that come in to play?”

  I loosened my tie when it started feeling like a noose around my neck. Just the sound of her name sent a very unfamiliar jolt through my system. “Sergei’s worried about Lexi’s safety.”

  When the hell had I started referring to her as Lexi? Legs was far more comfortable, more my style. Name shortening was just a habit, I decided. A running theme in our family. There was no intimacy or underlying meaning to it. Nothing to get frazzled over.

  “He wants her away from the rising tension,” I went on. “He thinks things are on the verge of war around here and he wants her kept out of the line of fire.”

  “Why the hell doesn’t he just send her on a fucking vacation to a secluded tropical island, then?” Luka exploded, clearly losing control on the reins of his temper.

  I sighed, feeling a headache forming at the back of my eyes. “One, because he doesn’t want her to be alone. Two, because he knows of our reputation, and he thinks we can protect her. Not to mention, she’ll be in the States and away from all of this. The marriage is only temporary.”

  “What does that mean?” Cris spoke up.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It’s part of the deal. A show of good faith, you could say. Sergei signs over half of his shares if I marry Lexi and take her back to Brooklyn with me. Once Sergei has handled the situation over here and deemed it safe enough for her to return, he’ll sign over the rest of his shares, come collect her, and we can annul the marriage.”

  “He’s taking out insurance that she’ll be kept safe,” Dad concluded.

  “Exactly.”

  “Jesus Christ, bro,” Luka grunted. “What the hell have you gotten us into? You know we already have enough shit stirring on the home front.”

  My grip on my glass tightened. The lack of trust in my younger brother’s voice made me want to shatter the fucking thing against the goddamned wall. I’d never given them a whole lot of reasons to depend on me, in terms of familial responsibility. But I’d never given them a reason not to trust me when it came to the shit that really mattered. Like keeping my family safe.

  “I’m handling this,” I growled over the line. “None of this is going to touch us.”

  “The hell it won’t!” Ace snapped. “You’re bringing one of them back with you. The boss’s fucking daughter, of all people.”

  I glared at the wall, pretending it was Ace standing right in front of me. “You really don’t want to be talking about fucking the boss’s daughter, do you, little brother?”

  Since he’d been cavorting around with the daughter of an enemy family—now former enemy family—he really had no room to talk. Not that I was fucking the boss’s daughter. Hell, based on the little tête-à-tête we’d just had in the study, I’d say that day was a long fucking way off, if it ever happened.

  Ace spat curses in the background as Rome cut in. “You’re taking a calculated risk, man. You sure about this?”

  I’d never admit to anyone how spectacularly shitty their lack of trust made me feel.

  You’ve done it to yourself.

  “It’s already done,” I replied coolly. “I’ve gathered what research I could on my end, but Ace, I want you to run background checks on the list of names I’m going to text you.” The names that made up Sergei’s and Lexi’s personal security team. “And get every scrap of information on Alexia Kozlov that you can. I don’t want any surprises from my new wife.”

  God, had that word just come out of my mouth?

  I might as well have been speaking Russian because no other word had ever sounded so foreign on my tongue.

  “You got it,” Ace agreed reluctantly.

  What I’d already learned about Lexi Kozlov was sparse and superficial. Twenty-eight years old. Only child of a major Russian crime boss. She’d been an international super model in her early twenties. Like, top five most popular in the entire world. Posters of her on every fourteen-year-old boy’s wall kind of popular. And no wonder, with legs like that and that face. She’d modeled for all the top designers, and had been a regular fixture at every red carpet e
vent back then.

  Then she’d just dropped off the entire map for a while. No appearances, no photos, nothing. A few years back, she suddenly re-emerged on Instagram out of nowhere. She now had millions of followers and was still considered to be an international sex symbol by all accounts. I’d even read a few articles in the tabloids about her being frequently offered new modeling gigs, all of which she continued to turn down.

  So, that’s what I had. Former model. Instagram star. Fantasy of men world-wide. Spoiled mafia princess.

  “Is it too soon to address the irony in this situation?” Luka snickered.

  I gnashed my teeth, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yes.”

  “And here I thought I’d be the first one down the aisle,” Cris threw out, obviously muffling his laughter.

  That sent everyone else into coughing fits in attempts to disguise their own amusement.

  I felt the tiniest urge to grin. A small part of my usual self peeked out to give a quick salute before crawling back into his newly-formed pit of marital despair.

  “What can I say,” I quipped to Cris, “you know I’ve always been competitive. If you’re not first, you’re last.”

  “You asshole, we didn’t even get to throw you a bachelor party.” This from Luka.

  “Wait, what the hell is Mom going to say?” Ace asked.

  Everyone simultaneously groaned, even Dad. “I’m not telling her,” he said adamantly.

  I sighed again, squeezing my eyes shut in dread. “I’ll tell her when I get back.”

  “Which should be when?” Rome asked.

  I glanced down at my watch, realizing that Lexi’s hour-long time limit to gather her belongings was up. “Two days. We’re leaving Moscow this afternoon, and I’ve got one more stop to make on the way to Brooklyn. I’ll let you know before we take off from there.”

  “Watch your back, son,” Dad said in a somber voice. “I don’t like the state of things over there. Instability is always dangerous.”

  “I always do.”

  I tipped my head back and downed the last of the toxic abomination.

  “Oh, before you go,” Luka interjected before I said my goodbyes. “I forgot something.”

  “What?”

  “A toast to the bride and groom! May the two of you always find happ—”

  I hung up on the bastard.

  I had enough shit to deal with.

  My asshole brothers could get their shots in later, when I didn’t have to go collect my sassy wife and get on a plane so I could put this balls-cold, whiskey-less, desolate wasteland of a country in my rearview mirror.

  Since my driver had already packed my bags into the waiting town car, I had nothing to carry as I left the guest suite except for my phone.

  The Kozlov compound just outside of Moscow was more of a fortress than a home. The mansion itself was like a palace with its gilded décor and sky-high buttresses. Butlers—yes, there was more than one—housekeepers, cooks, and guards milled about the house, silently going about their respective jobs.

  To say that my new wife had grown up in the lap of luxury was an understatement.

  I had been standing in the foyer for only about thirty seconds when I heard a series of feminine grunts, followed by hissed Russian coming from the main stairwell.

  The scene when I looked up was nothing short of comical.

  Lexi was doing her damndest to muscle three giant suitcases down the stairs all by her skinny little self. With every step, she tottered precariously under their massive weight, knocking the hulking objects against her legs and the stair railing. She’d wriggle two suitcases down a few stairs, then reach back up for the third and repeat the process.

  Watching her struggles shed light on one glowing aspect of Lexi’s personality.

  She wasn’t the type to ask for help.

  I couldn’t say I liked much of what I’d seen from the woman so far, but I at least respected that. After all, you could respect someone without actually liking them. There were about a dozen people in the house she could have thrown those suitcases at and strutted off without another word. So, she wasn’t a totally useless, spoiled, whiny, brat.

  But why for the love of God did she have to look kind of…cute?

  She still wore the same outfit she’d had on for the ceremony—which was admittedly sexy as hell. It showed off her svelte form, her long, lithe legs, slim waist, and high, tight ass. Her breasts were no bigger than teacups, which was fine with me because she had those legs to make up for it.

  Legs for days.

  Slender enough to contort into any position a man could want. Long enough that he would always have something to grab onto, guide himself into her by. The kind that were made for wrapping around a man’s waist and squeezing him so good as he pounded into her. I had to confess that ever since I’d gotten my first glimpse of the woman, I’d been imagining myself as the man who had those legs wrapped around him like vines.

  And don’t even get me fucking started on that cherry red lipstick. A woman could get pretty creative with the kinds of trails she could leave on a man’s body with lipstick like that, if properly motivated.

  I could give you so much motivation, baby.

  The backwards black messenger hat she wore somehow added a level of cuteness to all that sexy. Her light blond hair was straight and shiny and barely skimmed her collarbone. Her silver hoop earrings peeked through the strands, a look I found damnably hot for some reason. The deep sapphire of her eyes was the kind of color a man could lose himself in if he didn’t keep his wits about him.

  Not a problem for me.

  Only pussy-whipped douchebags like my two brothers forgot themselves to the point that they got lost in a woman’s eyes.

  On a withering sigh, I strode across the foyer and met her on the stairs.

  “I’ve got it,” she snapped when I reached for one of the suitcases handles.

  I took it back. She was a brat.

  She had the most curious accent, too. Clearly some Russian in there, but it was mixed with what sounded like British. Had she studied in the U.K.? I hadn’t gotten that far in my research yet, so I’d have to wait for Ace to get back to me with the details of her education. Whatever you called it, I itched to hear her whisper Russian words in a British accent right before she took my cock between her plump red lips.

  Whoa, whoa, fucking whoa. Pump the brakes, Rossetti.

  “Yes, I can see that,” I responded snidely. “And as entertaining as this show is, we really need to speed things along. I’d prefer to not be late for my next appointment.”

  “Oh, I apologize,” she said haughtily. “We’ve only just been forced into matrimony with each other. Forgive me if punctuality isn’t high on my priority list right now—”

  “Allow me.”

  Unable to listen to anymore of her sniping with my worsening headache, I snatched two of the suitcases out of her hands, threw them over my shoulders, and took off down the stairs.

  “Well, aren’t you the gentleman,” she muttered under her breath, though clearly not making an attempt to be quiet.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea, legs,” I shot back over my shoulder. “I just don’t have five years to wait for you to make it out to the car all on your own.”

  “Yebat' tebya.”

  My steps faltered. She whispered those words like she was putting a curse on me. Not for the first time, I realized I really should have boned up on my Russian before this little trip. If for no other reason than to keep up with the names my wife spat at me.

  “Alexia.”

  We both spun around at the deep, booming voice.

  Sergei’s righthand man and head of security, Dimitri Novikoff, approached us. Dressed in the standard black cargo pants, black thermal shirt, and black combat boots that all the guards wore, he walked into the room like he thought he fucking owned it. With black hair cut brutally short and a deep scar bisecting one cheek, he reminded me of a comic book villain.

  The Russian G
.I. Joe flashed me a murderous glare before focusing all of his attention on Lexi, his expression noticeably softening.

  I hated the way he looked at her.

  It made absolutely no sense that I even cared. She wasn’t really my woman. This farce of a marriage was a marriage in name only.

  I still didn’t like the son of a bitch.

  As they stood close and began murmuring in low Russian to each other, I sensed an obvious level of affection there. I couldn’t quite glean if there was intimacy behind it or just familiarity. Had they slept together? Were they still sleeping together? Based on my information, Dimitri had been a part of Sergei’s organization since he was a teen. Which meant he and Lexi had known one another for years. It would come as no surprise if they’d gotten more than friendly at some point.

  Dimitri kept shooting me glares over her shoulder as they spoke in hushed, yet heated, tones. She appeared to be trying to console him, maybe reassure him. Aside from meeting his glares head-on to let him know he wasn’t dealing with a man who would easily back down when threatened, I tried not to pay them much attention. She’d already said goodbye to her father before he’d left for his business meeting. I’d give her two more minutes to say her goodbyes to this Russian schmuck.

  Standing idly by proved difficult, though, when he cupped her cheek in his hand, thumb stroking her soft skin.

  I noticed two things in that moment.

  One, Dimitri was missing the pinkie finger on his left hand, making me wonder who he’d pissed off. And two, my hands involuntarily fisted when he leaned down and laid a longer than necessary kiss on her forehead. Lexi may not have been mine, but she sure as fuck wasn’t his, so he needed to keep his grimy hands off.

  He eventually released her, allowing her to step back and once again take hold of her suitcase. As she walked toward me, his gaze lowered to her ass.

  “Your boyfriend doesn’t look too happy,” I murmured loud enough for him to hear.

  That drew Dimitri’s gaze up to mine. He scowled.

  I smirked.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Lexi said through clenched teeth. “Just a good friend who’s worried about me flying off with some American arsehole. Can’t say I blame him.”