Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

I stood at my father’s side in his office, feet planted firmly on the ground and hands behind my back. I stared across the room as my grandfather walked through the doorway, flanked by two hulking figures dressed in dark clothing.

Despite being in his late seventies, Sergei Volkov was in excellent shape. 6’3, with hard, broad shoulders and short, grey-white hair. Even though we were in the middle of a brutal heat wave right now, he was still wearing his long, heavy fur coat, his hand curled around an antique bear walking stick that doubled as a sharply pointed sword.

It had been years since I’d seen the man, yet he looked exactly the same. Harsh. Focused. Brutal. His face was littered with scars, ranging from small little nicks to a massive slash across his cheek. He didn’t have any tattoos. He was the type that found them pointless. But, the scars on his body were his tattoos. They told the story of the harsh life he’d lived, of how many people had tried to take him out and failed.

My last trip to Russia had been pleasant enough, the only memorable thing to happen being the threesome I had in the club before I left.

It was a business trip that ended in pleasure. We needed to pick up a shipment of guns and my father sent me to collect, preferring not to go himself.

My father’s relationship with Sergei was strained at best. They only communicated when absolutely necessary, mainly in regards to shipments or stock, if we needed more guns or Sergei wanted confirmation on a big order.

Sergei looked around the office with his nose in the air, distaste evident on his wrinkled face. He was an old man set in his ways. Tradition was hardwired into his DNA. I could tell from the way his eyes swept across the room that he hated how Americanised it was., the lack of Russian culture.

My mother was the one to decorate the house, and since her death my father hadn’t changed a thing. If something broke, he fixed it. If one of the rugs got stained with food or blood, he got it professionally dry cleaned. Our whole house was a shrine to my mother. Keeping everything exactly the way it was before she died was my father’s way of preserving what he could of her. He still had all her personal belongings. All her clothes were hanging in the closet of the room they’d shared. He hadn’t gotten rid of a thing.

Father got to his feet, buttoning up his suit jacket. He stepped around his desk and walked towards Sergei. “Otets, dobro pozhalovat’. Nadeyus’, u vas byl priyatnyy polet.” Father, welcome. I trust you had a pleasant flight. He stopped in front of him and bowed his head slightly in a show of respect.

Sergei grunted in displeasure. “Priyatno bylo by voobshche ne byt’ zdes’.” Pleasant would be not being here at all. His crystal blue eyes cut to me. “Aleksandr, idi syuda i pozdorovaysya s dedushkoy. Ili ty poteryal vse svoi manery?” Aleksandr, get over here and say hello to your grandfather. Or have you lost all your manners?

Father’s jaw clenched in frustration at Sergei’s blatant dismissal of him.

I waited. Sergei may be my grandfather, but my first loyalty was to my father. He was the one I took orders from.

I didn’t trust Sergei. Not really. He was a brilliant man. Smart, strong. But he was also conniving. The only thing he cared about was the family name, not our family itself. If he thought for one second you were in jeopardy of tarnishing that family name, he’d end you without a moment’s hesitation. Even if you were his own flesh and blood.

Father glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with me. He gave the slightest tilt of his head.

I moved out from behind the desk and walked over to them.

Sergei’s guards watched me closely. Too closely. It looked like Grandfather didn’t trust me either.

Sergei slapped me on the shoulder, pulling me in. “Akh, moy mal’chik. Posmotri na sebya. Ty stanovish’sya bol’she kazhdyy raz, kogda ya tebya vizhu,”Ah, my boy. Look at you. You get bigger every time I see you.

I begrudgingly accepted his affections. Sergei had said on numerous occasions I was his favourite. It had nothing to do with me as a person. For some reason I reminded him of himself, and that was the only reason he favoured me over the others. Even his own son.

“Zdravstvuy, dedushka.” Hello, Grandfather. I stepped out of his embrace, moving back to my father’s side. “Ty khorosho vyglyadish’.” You look well.

“Kak i ty, moy mal’chik. Kak i ty.” As do you, my boy. As do you. Sergei’s look of pride didn’t sit well with me. Like he was somehow responsible for me, for the man I’d become.

Everything I was, everything I am, I owe to my father. Not this man who didn’t even know when my birthday was.

I followed Father as he made his way behind his desk, taking a seat in his chair. “Priznayus’, ya udivlen videt’ vas zdes’, otets. Chto privelo vas v takoi put’?” I’ll admit, I’m surprised to see you here, Father. What brings you all this way?

Sergei eyed the desk, looking for anything amiss. Anything to nitpick and lecture my father about. But there was nothing. It was the cleanest I’d ever seen it before. Not a single thing out of place, no papers overflowing the mahogany surface, not one speck of dust. Just a closed notebook, some pens and a black photo frame with an old family photo in it.

In preparation of Sergei’s arrival, Father had made sure there was nothing he could possibly use as ammunition against him. He’d made sure the house was spick and span, the repairs finished so Sergei wouldn’t ask questions about what happened (though the man likely knew already). You couldn’t hide a thing from Sergei. He had spies everywhere.

“Uchityvaya, chto vy vydali moyu vnuchku zamuzh za ital’yantsev, vy ne dolzhny udivlyatsa. Osobenno, kogda ya skazal tebe, chto khochu vudalt’ jeje zamuzh za Tarasovykh,”Considering you wed my granddaughter to the Italians, you shouldn’t be surprised. Especially when I specifically told you I wanted her married off to the Tarasovs.

My eyes sliced to Sergei.

He what?

The audacity of this man. The arrogance to think he had any right whatsoever to do something like that.

“And I told you I wouldn’t be selling my only daughter off like some bitch in heat,” Father snapped, his fists clenching on the desk. He was so angry he’d slipped back into English, and Sergei was furious about it.

Sergei understood English, could even speak it if he wished. He just refused to. He only spoke in Russian, and he expected all of us to do the same.

“To, chto vy khotite, neznachitel’no.” What you want is insignificant. Sergei narrowed his eyes in warning. “YA dogovorilsya s Tarasovymi. V obmen na dostup k svoim marshrutam snabzheniya oni vyydut zamuzh za chlenov sem’i Volkovykh.” I made an arrangement with the Tarasovs. In exchange for access to their supply routes, they would marry into the Pakhan family.

Father leaned back, careful not to let the smile he was holding back slip free. “Chto zh, dumayu, ochen’ zhal’, chto ona uzhe zamuzhem, ne tak li?” Well, I guess it’s too bad she’s already married, isn’t it?

If I didn’t know better, I would think Father planned the meet with the De Lucas to save Illayana from being married off to some guy in Russia. Could he have? Could he have orchestrated the whole thing in the hopes Illayana would choose Arturo?

I looked at the back of my father’s head. The man was cunning enough, that was for sure.

Sergei took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Father’s desk, laying his walking stick across his thighs. His guards stood behind him, one on the left side, one on the right. He smirked, his voice taking on a mocking tone as he said, “Chto zh, ya dumayu, khorosho, chto u tebya troye sovershenno zdorovykh synovey, kotoryye mogut zanyat’ yeye mesto, ne tak li?” Well, I guess it’s a good thing you have three perfectly healthy sons who can take her place, isn’t it?

I stiffened as Sergei’s eyes landed on me.

Father growled. “YA skazal vam, kogda vy podnyali etot vopros, chto ya ne budu prinuzhdat’ svoikh detey k braku, kotorogo oni ne khotyat.” I told you when you brought up this issue that I will not force my children into a marriage they do not want.

Sergei arched a condescending brow. “Eto srabotalo khorosho dlya vas, ne tak li?” It worked out well for you, did it not?

I gripped Father’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly to keep him from lashing out like I knew he wanted to.

My parents had an arranged marriage, and although it resulted in a loving union, originally it was something neither of them wanted. My mother wanted to pursue her love of dance. She’d been accepted into Juilliard and was packing up her life to move to New York when her father forced her into the marriage.

He threatened to break her legs if she put up a fight. To make it impossible for her to ever dance again, professionally or otherwise.

My father’s only desire had been to become Pakhan. At eighteen, he didn’t want a wife. But Sergei didn’t give him a choice. If he didn’t do as he was told, Sergei threatened to give the role of Pakhan to Dominik, and by that point the feud between them had reached boiling point. My father refused to allow Dominik to win, so he begrudgingly accepted.

They hated each other when they first met. Mother resented him for the marriage and Father found her hard-headed, smart mouthed and cold. All traits he came to love about her in the end.

There was a bedtime story they used to tell us when we were kids, about the time Mother had tried to strangle him in his sleep and as retaliation, Father threw her off the second story balcony into the pool.

They would tell the story together, using sound effects, imitating each other’s voices, and it would end the same way every time, explaining that despite their harsh beginnings, they’d found love and comfort with one another.

Those moments were the closest I’d ever had to a normal childhood.

Father tapped my hand once, signalling he was in control of himself and I removed my hand, glaring daggers at Sergei. He’d had shit all to say about my mother over the years and yet here he was, using her as leverage to win an argument.

If it wouldn’t get me killed, I’d strangle the fucker.

“Nevazhno, kak eto poluchilos’ u nas s Yekaterinoy. My poobeshchali drug drugu, chto nikogda ne budem prinuzhdat’ nashikh detey k tomu, chto nam navyazali, nezavisimo ot iskhoda.” It doesn’t matter how it worked out between Yekaterina and I. We promised each other we would never force our children into what had been forced upon us, regardless of the outcome.

Sergei rolled his eyes with derision. “Menya ne volnuyut obeshchaniya, kotoryye ty dal svoyey pokoynoy zhene. Vy budete vypolnyat’ svoy dolg. Cherez polgoda odin iz vashikh synovey prijedet v Rossiju, chtoby zhenit’sya na Ane Tarasovoy. Konets obsuzhdenia,”I don’t care about the promises you made to your dead wife. You will do your duty. In six months time, one of your sons will be in Russia to marry Anya Tarasov. End of discussion.

Father’s anger was strong enough to stifle the air, as if all the oxygen was being burned out of the room. “A yesli net?” And if they’re not? He gritted out.

“Togda tebya zamenyat.” Then you will be replaced.

Tense silence followed. Father placed his hands on the desk and pushed himself to a stand, leaning forward threateningly.

Sergei’s guards reached for their guns, watching Father’s every move, and I reached for mine, prepared to defend him.

I’ll take out the one on the right first, I thought.

He seemed like the bigger threat.

Father’s desk groaned under his weight as he brought himself to eye level with Sergei. “Vpered, prodolzhat’.” Go ahead, he whispered menacingly.

Sergei narrowed his eyes. “Proshu proshenia?”Excuse me?

“You’d never allow anyone other than a Volkov to be Pakhan. You have no siblings. No other children, apart from Dominik and I, and we both know Dominik isn’t fit to lead. He’d destroy everything we’ve built within a month.” Father had slipped back into English again, but I don’t think that’s what made Sergei so angry.

It was because every word he said was true.

Father continued. “So go ahead, Father. Have me replaced. See how fast your empire crumbles without me.”

Sergei’s scowl grew, his jaw clenching and his eyes burning with anger. His guards looked anxiously at one another, their hands still hovering over their guns. He placed his walking stick back on the ground and stood, tilting his head to the side. “It would be a shame if something happened to that lovely granddaughter of mine, wouldn’t it?”

Father tensed, his whole body going rigid. The fact that Sergei was now talking in English, something I’d never seen him do before, spoke of the gravity of the situation.

“I’ve heard New York is such a dangerous city. So many accidents happen on their streets. Just last week, there was a woman who’d been raped and murdered in Central Park. Dreadful, absolutely dreadful.”

Father lunged and I just barely got my arms around him to hold him back before he did something that would get us all killed.

Sergei’s guards had their guns aimed at us in an instant. Sergei laughed as I wrestled to keep my father in my grasp.

“Like I said, in six months’ time one of your sons will be in Russia to marry Anya Tarasov. I don’t care which one, you can pick. But one of them will be there, or it won’t be you who suffers the consequences. my son.” A smug smile flashed across his wrinkled face as he took his seat once again. “Now why don’t you tell me all about what’s been going on around here? I’ve heard it’s been quite an eventful last few months.”

It took a few minutes to calm my father down. Sergei’s smug face didn’t help matters, but eventually he managed to reign in his anger and sit down. He kept the hateful glare on his face as he told Sergei about The Los Zetas and The Outfit. About The Dirty Vultures and the burning of our buildings.

I was worried that when he found out we weren’t any closer to figuring out who was responsible for that, he’d lose his mind. But he had been surprisingly understanding about it. About most of it, actually. He seemed to understand that when you were at the top, there were plenty of people who tried to take you down. He took it as a compliment.

After two hours of going through everything, the inventory list and placing an order for more supplies, Sergei left, hobbling back to his car and driving away.

“That fucking bastard!” Father roared the second the front door shut, punching the wall in the foyer. His fist went right through it, plaster crumbling around him. “How dare he!”

“Father, calm down.”

He spun to face me, his rage unlike anything I’d ever seen. “Don’t tell me to calm down, Aleksandr,” he spat. “You heard him! He threatened Illayana.”

“I know, I heard. Losing your temper and yelling like this isn’t going to solve the problem.” I knew what would, though. “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” he barked out.

“I’ll marry the woman.”

Father stared at me, his chest rising and falling quickly with each breath he took. The anger he was feeling slipped away, replaced with sadness. “No, Aleksandr—”

“There’s no point arguing with me,” I said, raising a palm in the air. “I’ve decided, and there’ll be no changing my mind.”

I was the only one who could do it. Nikolai was in love with Tatiana, as much as he’d try to deny it. Even though there was only the slightest chance of them working things out, I wanted him to be free to do so. To get what he wanted. What he deserved.

Lukyan was…well…Lukyan. Something this important couldn’t be left to him. I loved my little brother, but he couldn’t be trusted with a delicate situation like this. He didn’t do well when given no options, when forced and backed into a corner. The last thing I needed was him backing out at the last second, risking Illayana’s life. Grandfather would go through with his threat without a second thought.

Father looked as though he was still planning to fight me, indecision flashing over his face. “Aleksandr—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about what Grandfather had planned? About his plans to marry Illayana to the Tarasovs?” I asked, hoping to distract him from fighting me on the issue.

He huffed, walking towards the kitchen. I followed. “What would have been the point?” He opened the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water. He handed one to me. “Sergei had dictated it, expecting his order to be followed.”

“And you didn’t tell Illayana either?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He opened the water and took a drink. “I knew if I told her, she’d do it. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew what would happen if Sergei’s orders weren’t followed. She’d do it for me.”

I nodded in understanding. Illayana would have done exactly that.

I opened my water, taking a sip before placing it on the kitchen counter. “Did you arrange the meet with the Cosa Nostra?” When he called us into his office that day, he told us Alessandro’s son, Vincenzo, had been the one to reach out. Was that true?

Father’s eyes flicked to me. “I didn’t,” he replied hesitantly. “However, I did take advantage of the situation.”

His words to my sister that day flitted through my head.

“There’s a chance a marriage proposal could be offered.”

“I would never force you to marry.”

“The choice in the end is yours, Illayana. Always.”

“You hoped she would fall for one of the De Lucas,” I stated.

Father nodded, taking another drink. “I knew they would be better suited for her than whoever Sergei picked out. I don’t know much about the Tarasov family, but I do know they’re a bunch of brutes. I couldn’t let her marry one of them. Marry into that family.”

But now I was.

I wasn’t afraid. No matter how brutish the men in their family were, I wasn’t scared of them. If they got in my way, I’d kill them.

What scared me the most was the fact that once I married this Anya Tarasov, I would more than likely never see Drea again.

Once that thought wormed its way into my head, a tidal wave of anger consumed me.