The God: (A Dark Mafia Romance) (Bratva Blood Book 3)

by SR Jones

  “They aren’t going to be sleeping in your room, Dasha,” he snaps. “But they will be living with us and accompanying you to work for the foreseeable future.”

  “Can’t we simply go to the police?” I ask pleadingly.

  “No, the police are useless in cases such as this until something actually happens. This company, their bodyguards are trained in deadly force.”

  “Fine. If we must.” I don’t push it because I am scared. The note was horrible. To think there is someone out there fantasizing about slitting my throat.

  I would have thought the only person who has such thoughts about me would be Jasper. I freeze and turn to stare at my husband. Oh my God. What if this is his way of murdering me and pinning it on some deranged stalker?

  No, I tell myself. Why would he pay for protection if that were the case? To make it look realistic, a dark little voice whispers to me. No, no, no. I cannot go down that path. I will lose my mind if I start thinking such things.

  “For now, until the person is in place, we are going home. No more practice for you,” he orders.

  “What? But the new show is in less than three weeks. I can’t miss practice. Madame won’t allow it.” I refer to the head choreographer, a fearsome woman, who is all of four-foot-ten but terrifying.

  “Madame won’t argue with me,” he states. “You can practice at home.”

  So I do. I go home, and the next four days are torture as I practice my dance and try to ignore the growing terror I’m feeling.

  On the fifth day, Jasper calls me downstairs at midday. “Darling, come quickly please,” he demands in those imperious tones of his that I loathe.

  I am sweaty and hot as I’ve been dancing in the studio in the attic, but I do as he says and head downstairs.

  When I reach the hallway, he smiles at me. “Our protection is finally here. Come and meet Daniil, your close protection guard.”

  I step into the living room, and the whole world stops.

  Standing in front of me, smiling blandly is Bohdan.

  My breath catches in my throat as I stare into those beautiful blue eyes with the hint of ocean green in their depths. Then I frown. My mind is playing tricks on me, and I am finally going crazy. This isn’t Bohdan. This man has Bohdan’s perfect mouth, strong jaw, and pretty eyes, but he’s got a different nose. His hair is also shorter and darker.

  I saw Bohdan only mere weeks ago, and he looked like a grown-up version of the boy I had loved. This Bohdan looks slightly different. Did he have a brother I never met?

  “You’re… You look like—”

  The man in front of me steeples his hands together, his index and middle fingers only of each hand touching, and he raises them to his lips, as if he’s waiting for me to carry on or deep in thought. I know what the gesture means, though. It means shush.

  Bohdan invented it as a way of telling me to be quiet when we were kids, hiding from the bigger boys, or even from our parents. I always used to shut up immediately. It works still, and I purse my lips tight.

  It is Bohdan, if he’s making this gesture.

  I’m so confused I don’t know what to say. Why is Bohdan standing in my living room? Why is he called Daniil now?

  Then I notice that his nose has what looks like a cut across the top. Not thinking, I walk to him and reach out toward his nose. He frowns and steps back. Then he glances at Jasper and gives a soft laugh.

  He touches his nose as if self-conscious. “I broke it recently. I hope it’s not a problem? Most of our clients don’t care what we look like.”

  I gather my thoughts. I can’t give away that I know him, not until I understand what the hell is going on here. He gave me a signal, and despite what he did to me, despite our past, I trust him more than the other man in this room. My own husband.

  “No, of course not,” I say formally. “I just wondered what had happened to it. If you, erm, hurt it on another protection job? It made me wonder how safe I am, if you have to get into fights often.”

  “No, not a fight in this case, just a game of rugby. I got tackled by some great oaf.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  I don’t like his new nose. I liked Bohdan how he was. This nose, it makes him more masculine and a little more rugged. Not quite so pretty, but still beautiful.

  I turn to Jasper. He’s watching me with a strange expression on his face. Fuck, I can’t screw this up. Not until I know why Bohdan is here. Jasper, though, he sees everything.

  “I’ll make us all some tea, and we can talk about how this is going to work.”

  I escape to the kitchen and try to get my breathing under control.

  “Someone’s got a crush on the hired help.”

  I almost scream at Jasper’s voice behind me.

  “You scared me,” I admonish.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type, or I’d demand we send him back.” He chuckles.

  “I don’t have a crush on him at all.” Then I go with a partial truth. “He reminds me a little of a boy I knew a long time ago.”

  “Oh? Knew how and when?”

  “A long time ago. I was a child. He looks a little like him,” I say.

  “What happened to the boy?” he asks.

  “He died.” It’s not even a lie. Bohdan the beautiful boy did die for me, and Bohdan the betrayer was born.

  “I’m sorry. Make the tea and come sit while we sort out how this will work.”

  “Of course. I’ll be two minutes.”

  I make the tea like some automaton going through the motions as my mind scrambles to try to understand what has happened here.

  Bohdan is here. In my house.

  My past has collided with my present, and I don’t know what to make of it.

  Chapter Five

  Bohdan

  The house is not an apartment as most homes in Paris are, but an actual house. It’s also not a faux-period piece like K’s. This is the real thing. This house cost money. Lots of it, and from what I’ve seen and heard so far, the money is Dasha’s; not her piece of shit husband’s.

  Trouble is, when he married her, he locked down stuff so tight in his name, it will take an army of lawyers to ensure he doesn’t walk away with most of it.

  Would she care?

  I think she might. She clearly likes being the regal queen of all she surveys. I doubt she will want to walk away and live with a whole lot less. Start all over again.

  She also seems addicted to the limelight, to her work.

  She comes back into the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups on it. They’re dainty, tiny things, and I hardly think my finger will fit through the handle.

  I once had to go to Tokyo for K, about a year ago, and I went to an ancient tea ceremony there. Proper Geishas serving it. I would have loved to travel to Kyoto but didn’t have the time. The ceremony was beautiful, sublime almost. I’ve long had a love for Japanese art and Buddhist ideas, and one day would love to make a long visit to Japan and then onto Tibet afterward.

  The way Dasha pours the tea is nothing like what the Geisha did, but it is still graceful.

  She passes a cup to Jasper who holds it in the saucer, slots one long finger through the handle and takes a delicate sip.

  When she hands me mine, I take it and don’t even bother trying to get my finger through the dainty handle. I simply tip the whole cup to my mouth with my hand. Christ, K would crush the cup if he tried to drink from it. It’s like something from a doll’s tea set.

  “Do you want to talk us through how this is going to work?” Jasper asks.

  I sit with the damn cup on my knee, balancing it awkwardly.

  “There has been a threat. So far, my people haven’t been able to find out who that threat is from.”

  What a consummate little liar I am. I have no people. This whole organization I work for is a shell quickly cobbled together by Damen. There’s also no mystery to who the threat is. It’s me. I wrote those sick notes so I could be sitting here now, worming my way i
nto Dasha’s life. It’s totally fucked up. It’s a huge betrayal. Another in the long line of them she and I seem to perpetuate against one another.

  I tell myself as Dasha looks at me, confusion and pain evident in her jewel blue gaze, that this is for her own good. I am committing yet another betrayal of her, but only to try and save her.

  I want to get her away from this man.

  “How do you propose to protect my wife? She’s the most precious thing in the world to me.” Jasper smiles at her, and you’d almost believe he meant those words.

  Almost. If, unlike me, you hadn’t seen him fuck a curvy and rather young looking blonde in his bedroom while his wife tried to sleep only a few doors down.

  The man is strange. Why marry someone he clearly has no desire for? If it was purely for money, there were better targets he could have picked. After all, Jasper had no idea whether or not Dasha would make it when he took her under his wing.

  If I had to make a guess right now, with what I know about him and his past, I’d say he likes the prestige that comes with the scene Dasha is in. She’s not the first dancer he’s managed, but she is the first he married. Perhaps he simply saw her potential and wanted to be Mr. Prima Ballerina for all the Paris elites to fawn over as he accompanied his wife to many star-studded events?

  “The way we will protect the asset,” I say purposefully, using the term because that’s all he sees her as. I bite back a smirk when his eyes harden. I turn to Dasha. “Sorry, that’s just what we call the person we are protecting.”

  She gives a tiny dip of her head.

  “I won’t leave your side,” I tell her. “That’s how I will protect you.”

  “Are you going to set up a camp bed in my room?” she asks acidly.

  I shake my head, but she’s giving me ideas.

  “No, of course not, Mrs. Felix. I will be in the room next door. But if you leave the house, I go with you. I wait outside your changing room at the theater. If you want coffee, you take me.”

  “You are armed, I take it?” Jasper fuck-features asks.

  Rather than answer with words, I slowly open my jacket and show him my gun.

  Jesus, the shit Damen had to pull for this to all come together. I barely know the guy, and I owe him big time now. If he ever needs me, I’m there. I sent Maya, his wife, a huge ass bunch of flowers with a note that said; thank your husband for me; these are for you.

  “Are you trained?” Jasper demands. “I was told most of the men working for the firm are ex-Special Services.”

  I decide to go with something of the truth. “Better than that, Mr. Felix. I’m highly trained and worked undercover for a long time with criminal gangs, so I know how the mindset works.”

  He blanches, and Dasha bites back a small smile. Interesting response from her.

  “Don’t worry. When I was recruited and trained, it was because I have a very thorough background, and I know how to protect someone from threats.”

  “Okay,” he says, sounding unsure. I flash him a smile. My mind supplies an image of me pulverizing his face, and my smile darkens, so I purposefully lighten it up. No need to give him too much to worry about … yet.

  “I have rehearsals that I’m missing,” Dasha says. “If it’s safe now, darling, why don’t you let me go with Daniil?”

  Her piece of shit husband gives one curt nod and shrugs. “I suppose you can now you have your own personal Rottweiler. Don’t go letting anyone near her now, will you, Mr. Protection, or there will be consequences. I am paying very highly for your services, and I expect nothing but the best.”

  “All you need to know, Mr. Felix, is that I would lay my life down to keep your wife safe.” I don’t have to lie this time. It’s the truth. I would die for Dasha if it saved her life.

  Would she for me? Doubtful. So what does that make me? A fool. That’s what. I had decided I only wanted to save her. To love her. Every now and again, though, my anger at her resurfaces. I’m a fucking mess and really shouldn’t be doing this.

  “I’ll go grab my dance kit,” Dasha says and heads out of the room.

  I watch her go and feel rather than hear, Jasper Felix walk right up behind me. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he whispers in my ear.

  He’s so close his breath blows over me, hot and disgusting.

  What the fuck? I do not do well with men I don’t know in my personal space, and I have to lock myself down, so I don’t turn on him and hit him.

  I take two steps forward and turn around. “Your wife’s beauty or lack thereof is of no concern to me,” I tell him. “I’m here purely to keep her safe.”

  “Still, a red-blooded male must notice beauty when it is in front of him, no?”

  I decide to fuck with him. I give a one-shouldered lazy shrug. “Not all men do. I know a guy, married to a stunning woman, and he screws around with women who can’t hold a candle to his wife. It takes all sorts.”

  “Yes, indeed.” He fixes me with a piercing glare, but thankfully moves on from his creepy interrogation. “Do you have any dietary requirements for while you’re staying with us?” he asks, smoothly changing the subject.

  “Nothing, except no seafood.”

  “Allergic?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “I just hate it.”

  Dasha appears at the door, holding a big, squishy bag on one shoulder. I think it’s designer, but I don’t know for sure. Her plain black leggings, ankle boots, and loose, light sweater combo are flattering to her petite frame.

  “Take my car, not hers,” Felix insists. “It’s bigger and armored. Not up to today’s exacting specs I’m afraid, but still much better than her run-around.”

  He dismisses his wife with the way he says her. As if she’s shit on his shoe.

  Armored, eh? That’s interesting. I file it away. The man is wealthy and paranoid. I bet he’s getting a background check done on me as we speak. Damen will make sure I pass that.

  He passes me the keys, and I take them with a nod. “Of course, sir,” I say. I add the sir to give him a sense of security and hopefully complacency. Fuckers like him are used to being fawned over and having people treat them like kings.

  “Come, Mrs. Felix,” I say. “I will drive you to your practice.”

  She gives me a wan smile and waves at her husband. “Be back in a couple of hours, darling.”

  When we hit the garage, she starts to speak, but I shake my head at her and put one finger to my mouth. It’s hardly safe here. I know the place isn’t bugged, except for by me, but that doesn’t mean she should go shooting her mouth off anywhere that Jasper or a member of staff might hear.

  We climb into the sports utility vehicle, me holding her door open and getting daggers as I do so. I jog around to the driver’s side and climb in.

  She clicks her seatbelt, and I can feel the anger rolling off her. It keeps hitting me, waves of elemental energy, like the edge of a storm.

  The moment we’re out of the garage and onto the Parisian streets, the thunderclaps and the storm breaks over me, as she turns to me and starts to yell a million and one questions.

  “What the fuck? What are you doing here? What happened to your nose? Are you really working security now? Why did you come backstage at the theater?”

  I hold a hand up to shush her and sigh. “One at a time, Dasha.”

  “God, you’re insufferable. Why are you here? In my life?” she demands, haughty and angry at the same time. “Daniil.” She laughs bitterly as she says my false name.

  “I’m your bodyguard,” I state blandly.

  “Oh, how convenient. You expect me to believe it’s all a coincidence?” She’s speaking in Russian now, the language rapid fire from her lips like she’s spitting bullets at me.

  “What is a coincidence?”

  “You just happen to show up backstage at one of my shows, and a very short while later, I get a new stalker, and you’re my new guard?”

  Then she surprises me with her next question.

  “Are
you working for the Russian government. Do they want something from me?”

  I can’t help the burst of laughter at her words. “What the hell would the Russian government want with a prima ballerina?” I ask.

  “Bohdan, why are you here?”

  Oh, my name falling from her lips. I imagine the letters as she says my name, spilling from her mouth in blood red shades. Sometimes my mind does this. Supplies odd imagery or off the wall thoughts. I used to worry about it. Now I accept it as part of me.

  “There is a threat against you, Dasha, and I am here to neutralize it. This much I swear to you is the truth.”

  It is the truth too. I simply don’t add that the person I will be neutralizing is her husband.

  “Okay, but there’s more, Bohdan, I know there is. Come on, this is us.” She sighs and shakes her head. “We have far too much history for you to be here simply to protect me.”

  “I want to protect you,” I tell her. “The rest can wait.”

  “What rest?”

  “Dasha,” I say, “you’re in danger. I am here to protect you. Yes, I asked for your case, okay? Happy now? I saw your name and photograph, and I didn’t want anyone else to have it. As for the past, we have much to discuss, but you’ll be at your practice soon. At some point we can talk, though.”

  She snorts. “As if you’ll tell me the truth or want to know the truth. You deal in lies.”

  How wrong she is.

  I want to know the truth. I want to know why she did what she did to me. How could she have done it? How did it feel?

  Does she still suffer guilt?

  Yes, I want the truth. Very much so.

  Chapter Six

  Bohdan

  Aged Eleven

  It’s so cold your piss will freeze if you dare to do it outside. Still, we loiter outside, preferring to be out here than inside with drunken, or abusive, or drugged up parents.

  We keep going in and out of the stairwell at the bottom of our block of flats. It’s warmer inside, but the old lady who is on duty tonight orders us out every time we sneak back in.

  “You run drugs, don’t you?” asks my friend Abram.

  I shake my head and laugh. “No, of course not.”