Andrei: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bakhtin Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  “Well, aren’t you scared?”

  I almost laugh at that. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

  She throws herself at me. When she wraps her arms around my shoulders, I feel so damn close to her. “You’re not scared of death, I know. But I am scared. For you.”

  I hold her, hugging her tightly. We kiss. Her breath tickles over my cheeks, down my neck. She holds my gaze. Our eyes sear into each other.

  “We should’ve been more careful,” she whispers.

  “Yes.”

  “Now we’re fucked.”

  “Yes,” I agree again. Because it’s the only thing I can say. “But your father won’t hurt you, will he?”

  “No, even he has his limits. But you, Andrei. Maybe … maybe you can take me hostage? Maybe you can get out of here?”

  “Maybe. But I’m guessing that Declan has gone to gather his troops. With the two-lock system, getting upstairs is going to be impossible. I’m assuming this place is crawling with security?”

  She nods, biting her bottom lip. “Fences, guards, spotlights, the whole deal.”

  “So there we have it. No, there is only one thing you can do to save my life.”

  “What?” she whispers.

  “Convince your father to keep me alive until your private exhibition.”

  “What? Why then?”

  I think about telling her what I suspect. Egor has somehow gotten to her friend, Molly, and convinced her to propose Russia Day as the date for the exhibition. If that’s the case, it means Egor has found a way in. Potentially. Either that, or it’s one hell of a coincidence. Which means I’m as good as dead.

  But, if I tell Jamie, then she knows. And if she knows, her father might find out. Not on purpose. She might just let it slip. Or, what if she’s wrong? What if Cormac doesn’t have limits?

  He could torture her. He could drug her. He could blackmail her.

  “Because two weeks is better than nothing,” I mutter. “Maybe we can figure something out. Convince him, Jamie. Try. For me. For us.”

  “I will,” she whispers. “I promise. And, Andrei, there’s something else. I have to tell you now. Just in case—”

  With a crash, the door flies open. Jamie leaps out of my lap. But I stay where I am. I just turn my head, regarding Cormac, Declan, Rafferty, Jerry, Garret, Ronan, and about five other guards crowded in the hallway.

  “How nice,” I drawl. “The whole gang is here.”

  Cormac strides forward, a pistol in his hand. “Russian,” he growls. “Russian.” He does not even look at his daughter. Spit clings to his lips. He looks like he could explode. “Fucking … Russian.”

  “I might be wrong,” I smile. “But I think you already said that.”

  “Get my daughter,” Cormac snaps to nobody in particular. “Take her to her room. Guard the door and the windows. Do it now.”

  Jamie and I lock eyes as Ronan and two other guards stride into the room. She nods meaningfully. She’ll try and delay my execution if she can. But then she’s gone. She doesn’t go easily.

  “Fucking pigs,” she snaps. “Assholes. Don’t touch me! Seriously, squeeze my arm any harder and I’m gonna smash you over the head with that gun!”

  But there are three of them, and they have guns. And they take her away.

  That might be the last time I see her. Since it’s possible Cormac will just kill me here and now. I have to try and delay him. Just long enough to give Jamie her shot at convincing him. I don’t like it. There are too many factors in play here.

  “Russian,” Cormac snarls again. He hefts his gun. Slowly, the men crowd deeper into the room. “You must have known this wasn’t a good idea. I’ve been good to you. I’ve let my daughter pamper you, feed you good food, treat you like a fucking king. And you do … you do this?”

  I stand up slowly. I’m gratified to see Cormac look nervous when I step forward. Guards back him up. Jerry glowers, reaching for his gun.

  I need to convince him to get to Declan torture me. That way, Jamie will have some time.

  “And yet you stand there with that Irish dog at your side.” I nod at Declan. “I won’t say why I hate that man so much, because I don’t want to air Jamie’s business in the open. But you and I know what he did, Cormac. He’s a vicious, cowardly fuck. If I had a daughter, I’d die before standing next to the man who …” I spit on the floor. “Kill me now. Do it quick. Do it clean. Before I live long enough to make you regret it.”

  “Listen closely, boy,” Osip told me a long time ago. “If you want your enemy to do something, order him to do the exact opposite. He can’t stop himself from defying you … and then he ends up doing what you wanted him to in the first place.”

  I see the cogs turning behind Rafferty’s eyes. He might suspect some ulterior motive. But his son is quick to leap on my words.

  “Quick?” he roars. “Clean? You are fucking joking, Russian. Your crime … not just defiling your daughter, Cormac, but insulting me right here for the men to see? Let me take him to the other cell, sir, and I swear to God, I’ll make him pay for this. You know I will.”

  A glimmer enters Cormac’s eyes. “I told you I’d let Declan torture you,” he says. “I warned you. And you, you do this.” He shakes his head, seemingly genuinely disgusted. “Take him, Declan. He’s yours, until I figure out what to do with him.”

  I step back and spread my hands. “Come on then, boys,” I grin.

  Declan steps forward. “Don’t be a fool,” he growls. “There are at least a dozen of us.”

  “Thirteen,” I mutter. “There are thirteen of you. And you all have guns. And you’re all big, tough Irishmen. The scourge of this fair city. Shouldn’t subduing one prisoner be a breeze?” In Russian, I add, “I am going to rip each of you to pieces. I’m going to crack your skulls and laugh as your blood pools on the floor. I’ll fucking end you for the crime of touching Jamie.”

  But then, they bring out the guns with the rubber bullets.

  Cowards.

  Five of them fire the guns at the same time. I’m forced to close my eyes as they pound into me. It takes every ounce of willpower to stay rooted and standing tall. I can feel bruises blooming at each impact point, aching and painful.

  Through the agonized humming in my ears, I hear them talking in disbelief.

  “What is this guy made of, metal?”

  “Fucker’s gonna go, surely!”

  “What the hell?”

  But all of us are just men. Osip taught me that in my teenage years when I got too arrogant. It doesn’t matter how big you are. How tough. When it comes down to it, we’re all just flesh and bone and muscle and blood.

  So, finally, I can’t take it anymore.

  I stumble to my knees, and then onto my face.

  As I lose consciousness, I remember Jamie’s strange question. Asking me about children. In the dim moments before complete blackness, I wonder: was she talking about us?

  Then I’m gone.

  I’m not sure how long I drift in and out for. I’m vaguely aware of being carried between four men. Everything throbs. Every inch of my skin is in agony. Strange dreams grip me. I remember the first man I ever killed. I was fifteen years old and he was a rapist. I knew he was a rapist because my girlfriend’s sister told me. And several other girls. Then, we had iron-clad proof.

  Me and Egor, two fifteen-year-olds driving out in Osip’s car to confront this Italian mafioso and all his friends. We fought like possessed demons, two against four. And we came out on top.

  Like we will now.

  They won’t stop us. Let them torture me. They’re going to pay for it. I will make them scream in terror.

  I feel Jamie’s breath on my neck. She’s whispering. I have to strain to hear her voice.

  “Will you always love me?” she says. Her hand strokes up and down my body, soothing my bruises. “I know we haven’t said it yet. I know you said you have to stay cold and emotionless because of what happened to your parents. But you were just
a kid, Andrei. You can let that go now. You can love me.”

  When I awake, I’m strung up by my wrists, my shoulder joints sore. Everything hurts like a motherfucker.

  As my vision clears, I see Declan sitting nearby, smoking what smells like a joint. His eyes are glassy and he’s smiling like a kid on his birthday. He looks giddy with excitement.

  I wonder how different his expression will be when I wring his neck.

  “So, this is quite a turn of events, eh?” he smiles. He holds up the joint. “Would you like some? This is Timofey’s favorite strain. He and I sometimes smoke and hang together. I bet that annoys you, doesn’t it, thinking of me and your second-in-command as good friends?”

  I just stare at him.

  With a sigh, he stands up, tossing the joint to the floor. He prances from foot to foot. He looks pathetic. His power comes from his father. And from Cormac. If he was left on his own, he’d be dead within a week.

  “No clever remarks now, Russian? Nothing?” He claps his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a miracle! A silent Andrei fucking Bakhtin!”

  He’s talking to Jerry and a few other guards I don’t recognize. They stand at the edge of the room. Observing. Just as cowardly as Declan. If they cut these ropes, they’d all be dead within seconds.

  He continues, “That wasn’t very polite, the way you were badmouthing me last night.”

  I must react visibly, because he grins.

  “That’s right, Andrei. You’ve been moaning and sleeping and whining for a whole fucking night and day. Really, I thought you were never going to wake up.”

  “I have something to say,” I interrupt, “if you’re ready to listen.”

  He narrows his eyes. Then, laughing, he beams. “Sure, why not? What is it you want to say, Russian? Tell me, since you asked so nice!”

  He has the air of somebody being magnanimous in victory. As though, now that it’s all over, he can afford to treat me indulgently. Like I’m his pet. It just makes my threat feel all the more real. Because I mean it.

  “I am going to kill you, Declan,” I say quietly. “If I ever get out of here, if I ever get the chance … you are a dead man. The smartest thing you could do is execute me right here. Otherwise, I swear on the Bratva, I swear on my dead parents, I am going to end your life. Not just for disrespecting the Bratva. But for disrespecting Jamie, too.”

  He looks at me for a long time. His cheeks quiver. I can tell he feels offended and like he needs to reclaim control. “Disrespected? Is that how she described it to you, Russian? I guess that’s one way to put it.” He grins viciously. “There are other ways, though, more accurate ones. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say that everything you can do to a slut, Jamie let me do to her.”

  I note his phrasing. Let me. Monsters like him need to believe they’re the good guys. It’s laughable.

  I try to keep my exterior ice-cold. But when I hear him talk about Jamie like that, I feel myself tense. Veins bulge in my muscles. My strung-up body twitches with the desire to wrap my hands around his throat. To squeeze until his eyeballs bulge and his cheeks turn red.

  “Just remember this moment,” I tell him. “When I’m twisting the knife in your chest. Remember it.”

  He shrugs, stepping forward. “You know how hard it is to find a decent punching bag, Andrei?” he says. Conversationally. “A good one’ll run you—shiiiit—at least five hundred bucks. It needs to be heavy. It needs to not swing about too much. Otherwise, it’ll fall from the hinges. But look. I’ve got one for free.”

  I expect what comes next. He beats me pathetically. He beats me like a man who is used to people being scared of him. And he’s angry that I’m not. I don’t make any noise. This makes him angrier. He beats me harder. Finally, he knocks me across the jaw, and my whole body sags.

  Blood drips down my face.

  He steps back, panting. He looks like a sweaty, tired bully. Utterly ridiculous. “Who’s killing who now, huh?” he snarls. “Now what’ve you gotta say?”

  I look up, grinning with a mouth full of blood. “I’m going to kill you. Nothing’s changed.”

  He walks over to me, gesturing, like he wants me to fear what’s coming next. I keep my face blank. I can tell it annoys him. So I keep doing it.

  “I could bring her in here,” he whispers. Trying to sound tough. “I could do things to her in front of you, Russian. And you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” I repeat. “Nothing you say or do will change that.”

  He raises his fist. I just keep smiling. I honestly am not scared of this man, or of the death he seems keen to deal me. But I am scared he will hurt Jamie in some way. I just have to pray Jamie can convince them to keep me alive until the art show. Not that I’m doing myself any favors.

  Finally, he steps back.

  “I’ll be back very soon,” he says his shoulder. “Get comfortable.”

  “You will never be feared,” I call after him. “No matter how hard you try.”

  He stops, almost turning. I can tell I’ve gotten to him. But then, grumbling, he leaves the room. It’s only once he’s gone that I allow myself to feel the injuries. My head sags and my body aches. I endure it with the knowledge that I’ll give Declan twice as much pain when his time comes.

  Hours pass. I’m not sure exactly how long. I think about possible ways to escape. But that doesn’t take long. They have me tied up. They have the double-lock elevator system. They have the place surrounded. But if Egor somehow infiltrates the art exhibition, I will be ready.

  Ready to kill. To die, if necessary.

  Eventually, my eyes start to sag sleepily. It’s impressive, the conditions a man can sleep in. Even with my shoulder joints going numb and my whole body twisted. I’m tired. I try to fight it. I don’t want to be caught unaware by Declan or another Irishman.

  But I can only fight it for so long. I close my eyes and fall into a fitful half rest.

  Suddenly, I’m standing at the bottom of a sun-touched hill. The sun blinds me. I’ve been inside for so long. I shield my eyes with my hand. When I remove it, I see that Jamie is standing at the top of the hill, a camera around her neck. She looks gorgeous in her hiking shorts and tank top. Her wild hair streams down her back. Then I start laughing, smiling like a fool. She’s pregnant.

  Jamie is pregnant with my child.

  And I’ve never been happier.

  I run toward her. Or I try to. But my legs won’t work. I’m rooted to the spot.

  “What the fuck is this prick laughing at?” Jamie growls. Her face warps, becoming mean. “Stupid fucking Russian. Wake up!”

  I awake when Jerry throws the bucket of water at my face. Ice-cold, it splashes over my whole body. I draw in hollow breaths. It was just a dream. It clings to me. But then it begins to fade.

  All I remember is the pregnancy. How happy I was.

  I could never be that happy in real life, could I? A Russian-Irish baby—it’s the stuff of fantasies. But in the dream I was happy. Does what mean something?

  Do I love her?

  My fogged mind throws up all kinds of absurd thoughts. I stamp on them like enemy throats.

  Jerry steps back, bucket in hand. Behind him, Cormac is already sitting in his plush stool. He is staring at me in a way I’ve never seen from him before. Usually, he looks petulant. Childlike. Like a little boy on the verge of throwing a tantrum. Now, he looks ice-cold. Murderous.

  Goddamn, he looks efficient. It’s the look I have seen in Egor hundreds of times. In the mirror, too.

  “Leave us,” he says, nodding at Jerry.

  The man scurries away at once. Cormac looks up at me. He tuts like a disappointed parent.

  “You have overstepped, Andrei,” he snarls. “I think we both know that. You know the importance I place on keeping my daughter … pure.” He lingers on the word. “And now you’ve ruined her with your Russian—”

  “Cock?” I offer, when he trails off.

  H
e makes a sad tsk noise. “Even now, you try and humiliate me. Maybe you’re telling the truth. Maybe you really aren’t scared of dying, eh?”

  I shrug. At least, I shrug as best I can with my wrists bound above my head.

  “But I know something that’ll scare you, young man,” he says. He climbs to his feet and walks slowly toward me. “All this time, you never even guessed, did you? That’s how foolish you are. Osip kept the truth from you because he didn’t have the whole story himself. All that old fool knew was that it wasn’t really an electrical fire,” he spits derisively. “Your old man was the Bratva king. Your mom the Russian slut queen. Don’t you think it’s a bit of a coincidence, them going out that way?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I whisper darkly.

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Suddenly, I feel like an idiot. I should have asked Osip more questions. I knew the Irish and the Russians had been at war before. But that was before I was born. I had no sense of it, not really. Osip never talked about it. Business ran along smoothly enough.

  “It was you,” I growl. “Is that what you’re telling me, Cormac?”

  He sniggers. “Of course not,” he says. “Do you really think I’d get involved in something like that myself?”

  “But it was your order.”

  “Yes,” he says easily, circling me. “Your father was just like you, Andrei. A disrespectful man. He went one step too far at dinner one evening, dancing with my wife, making a show of it. I warned him to stop, and then he turned her against me. Both of them mocking me … out in the open, for everybody to see.”

  This is a twisted version of events, I intuit. I imagine the light banter Cormac took too seriously. Deadly seriously. I imagine how he wanted to shut my suave, charming father up.

  “And so you ordered their house to be burned down. With his wife inside. With his child inside.”

  “Yes.” He stops in front of me. Lip curled in disgust. “But the man we hired didn’t have the stones we needed from him. When he got there and saw some goofy little kid building a snowman outside, he skirted around and entered through the back. After fixing the fire, he snuck up behind you and knocked you out with chloroform. He thought you might try and go inside.”