Deadly (Born Bratva Book 5) (16 page)

Anastasia

I open my eyes, squinting and blinking rapidly against the morning light that’s streaming through the window. Thoughts of last night’s events flood my mind.

I’m convinced Roksana and Oleg are crazy—the whole fucking family is. It’s not a bad thing because, frankly, I don’t think I could ever make it in mainstream society again after the things I’ve done. I’m no longer the conventional suburban cop’s little wifey; now I’m a cold blooded killer. No one else could ever understand the things I’ve done or why I’ve done them. The Glazovs might be viewed as criminals by polite society, but to me they’re kindred spirits. They are quickly becoming my people. My tribe.

I press the button on the intercom.

“Yes, Miss Anastasia, I bring your coffee now.”

Alyona’s broken English crackles through the device, promising blessed caffeine before I even ask for it. I smile to myself as I amble over to the shower.
Maybe I do fit in around here after all.
The thought brings a chuckle. The Glazovs aren’t the type to embrace outsiders. Just because Alyona knows what I want before I ask for it doesn’t mean anything is written in stone. It’s probably best that I remember that and take nothing for granted.

I quickly get through the shower and throw on some jeans and a t-shirt before I sit down to enjoy my coffee and go online to check the morning’s headlines. Who knows, today I may very well be part of a front page scandal.

During Emily Finley’s killing spree, I learned that the authorities can control a lot of things but they usually can’t control the press. The old saying ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’ is true; reputations are made and destroyed at the media’s whim. It’s one of the reasons Glazov has Novak’s wife, Katrina, working at the newspaper. The Pakhan even has his own reporter and from what I can tell that’s the closest you can get to controlling the written word.

Katrina focuses on Glazov’s good works, such as his generous financial support of the library. According to Roksana, the Pakhan has a deep love of literature and if you can get him talking about a book, he’ll entertain you for hours. I tuck that thought away in a mental file for future use. The guy intimidates the shit out of me so if I can ease the tension by talking about books, I’m all for it.

“Hey, are you dressed yet?”

I look up to see Roksana staring at me inquisitively from the doorway. “Would it matter if I weren’t?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’ at the end. “Come with me. We’ve got trouble.”

“Oh, great,” I groan. Sounds like the Pakhan has gotten wind of our activities from last night. I look back longingly at my steaming cup of coffee as I follow her out the door. This house is huge and I still get lost at least once a day, but damned if I don’t have the way to Glazov’s office memorized now. I get called on the carpet here more than any job I’ve ever had.

By the time we reach Glazov’s office, Oleg and Dmitriy are already there and have assumed their standard, respectful positions, hands folded behind them. Novak’s lurking off to the side in his usual chair.

Glazov is, as always, holding court from the ornate chair behind his desk. Dmitriy says everything in this house has a story; I’d love to know the story behind that fantastic chair. At first glance, the Pakhan’s posture appears relaxed, even serene. But I now know him well enough to recognize that his elegant, muscled frame is utterly still, like a panther waiting patiently before leveling its prey.

I’m jolted from my reverie by the commanding presence of a man I’ve never seen before. He’s immense but seems tightly muscled. His face is cut in severe lines and jet black hair curls slightly at his collar. His dark eyes are so intense that they practically glitter with caged energy, prompting me to avert my eyes when he looks in my direction as we enter.

The stranger turns his attention to Glazov, and the air becomes charged with primal male energy as these two alpha males face off. He speaks deliberately, as if choosing his words carefully, although I have no doubt he has no trouble speaking his mind and on his own terms.

“It is a matter of professional courtesy, Glazov. You should have given me a heads up that you intended to wage war against the Venezuelans. Colombian cocaine is flown out of those airstrips in Venezuela.”

“Since when do you care? You don’t deal in drugs; you deal in guns and women.”

“As I said, it is a matter of courtesy. When you strike a blow that close…my brother and I should have known.”

I can tell Novak is chomping at the bit, wanting to say something. I don’t think he likes this guy. And I bet the feeling is mutual.

“I’ve got no beef with you, Antonio Wayne,” Glazov says smoothly. “When you relocated your operation to Louisville from New York, we supported that move. It makes sense to capitalize on the advantages to be had in a location that is off the beaten path and off the feds’ radar screen--”

“And we agreed we would not step on each other’s toes,” Antonio Wayne interrupts heatedly, leaning forward in his seat.

Glazov raises his hand for silence as Novak straightens in his seat.

“I am officially in the diamond business now. You deal in women and the movie industry. As such, you can’t expect me to tell you every business move I make. Ultimately, it comes down to this: those diamonds were Russian diamonds, which should have given me right of first refusal. The way I see it, they were already mine.”

Glazov’s features are expressionless, like stone, and yet a gleam of antagonism heats the depths of his steely blue eyes. He appears to be toying with the man. No doubt he has balls of steel because Antonio Wayne is clearly a man who doesn’t like being toyed with.

“So. Am I to understand this is the last issue you’ll have with the Venezuelans in this matter?” the visitor asks, his eyes not leaving Glazov’s face. I’ve never seen anyone speak this bluntly to the Pakhan. It’s becoming clear that while this man respects Glazov, he’s not intimidated by anyone.

“What the fuck do you care?” Novak hisses from his corner seat, earning a warning glance from Glazov.

A sinister shadow passes over Antonio Wayne’s face as he cuts his eyes over to Novak. It’s obvious this is a powerful man—from what I’ve gleaned so far I’m guessing he’s a Colombian boss. I hope Novak knows what he’s doing by baiting the man this way.

“I
fucking
care because it’s hitting real close to home.” He returns his attention to Glazov and leans back in his chair. “Too close.”

“If you’re that concerned about a war between me and your neighbors, you should be talking to them and not me.”

The look on Glazov’s face is impassive but, nonetheless, the animosity and tension in the air are palpable.

“Perhaps I shall do that.” The man’s voice sounds more like a growl from some feral animal than it does a response.

Antonio Wayne unfolds his large frame from the chair and stands, adjusting his cufflinks. Damn…the guy is fucking gorgeous. No wonder he deals in women; one look from him and they probably follow him home. His gaze locks on Dmitriy with a frown, his eyes narrowing as if he’s studying him. Slowly, he smiles as if he knows a secret but he won’t share it with the rest of the class. He nods his head almost imperceptibly before addressing Glazov again.

“It is my sincere hope that we will not have occasion to discuss this again. Such a discussion would be short.”

“Indeed it would,” Glazov says in a steely, uncompromising tone as he rises from his chair and extends his hand. Antonio Wayne accepts the gesture of civility and after a brief, firm handshake, turns toward the door.

“I’ll see myself out.” With that he saunters out of the room, supremely confident despite being seriously outnumbered. I saw no sign of him being intimidated by being alone on Bratva territory.

Glazov waits until one of his guards closes the door after Antonio Wayne’s departing figure before he addresses us, making it clear that he has us to thank for this morning’s visitor.

“I’ve tolerated your thirst for violence since you were a child, Roksana. If it interferes with the peace treaties we have in place, I will not continue to be so understanding. What the
fuck
happened last night?” He emphasizes the F-bomb by slamming his fist down on the desk and Novak chuckles when we all jump.

“Father…we were doing surveillance on the Venezuelans and came across these two lowlifes in an alley. We thought they were small-time street thugs, but as they talked it became obvious they had connections to the Venezuelans. I overheard the leader disrespecting you. He wanted to get rid of you. I did what had to be done—I killed him so he wouldn’t kill you. Killed the other one so there would be no witness.”

“Is that true, Oleg?”

“Yes, sir, it is. The man said you and Novak’s old asses shouldn’t still be in the game.”

Novak’s chuckle rings through the air. “Then there you have it; he got what he deserved, Glazov.”

“Yes. It does appear the young men needed a lesson in respect.” He directs his next question to Oleg. “Do you anticipate any more problems with the gang?”

“Sir, I can’t make any promises. You know how gangs are—they’re inherently volatile and they multiply like pestilence. These guys import a large percentage of the cocaine in this area. What Antonio Wayne said is true—the airstrips are in Venezuela.”

“I don’t give a fuck what they fly out of there as long as it isn’t Russian diamonds. I think that was a onetime thing, a fluke of sorts. One that worked in our favor, I might add. The thing we need to be concerned about now is a gang seeking revenge for the death of their leader. If they try it, blow the whole lot of them up.”

“Do you anticipate the Ramirez brothers being a problem?” Oleg asks quietly.

Glazov’s answer is swift and to the point. “No. He was just posturing. He’s made his point. The Ramirez brothers are in the same position we are—gangsters who want to embrace some legit business prospects. If anything… we may have to band together to achieve that purpose. They know it. I know it. And before it’s over, the gangs will know it. The young bloods don’t have the connections we do. Fire power and bravado do not a gangster make…”

Roksana

“Well, that was Antonio Wayne, one of the infamous Ramirez brothers.”

“That was in-fucking-tense.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Any time you get that much alpha testosterone in a room, it’s going to be fierce. I was worried about how my father would react to us killing those boys last night. I know him, though, and now he’s going to be more determined than ever to do things his way concerning the Venezuelans.”

“Did you see the way Antonio Wayne looked at Dmitriy? What was that about?”

“Dmitriy’s half Russian, half Colombian; Antonio recognized it.” I look at Dmitriy, silently assuring him that I know his story is his own to tell.

“What are we going to do?” Even though Anastasia is asking me the question, Oleg takes it upon himself to answer her.

“We’re going to maintain surveillance on them.”

“We need to up our game in that department. It’s Dmitriy’s area of expertise. Even though he often serves as a bodyguard, the guy is a complete geek when it comes to surveillance and gathering Intel.” I jab him with my elbow, smiling.

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he drawls. “The thing is, most of these guys slinging dope do surveillance too. The way they do it may not be as professional, but it’s surveillance nonetheless. When it’s done right, it’s a team effort and seems almost choreographed.

“They go to the police precinct and take pictures of the cars in the parking lot. They know some of the cars may be employees but they also know some of them are undercover. When they’re dealing, they post a man on the roof of the housing development to look for those cars and then they notify the guys on the streets when they spot them in their neighborhood. When the dealers know a cop’s in the area, they disappear until the cops are gone and then they come back.”

“What kind of equipment do they use?” Anastasia asks.

“The usual; sometimes they text or use earpieces with push-to-talk microphones. Hell, they could be using walkie-talkies as far as that goes.”

“There has to be a way we can listen in,” I suggest, glancing at Oleg. “You know how baby monitors or radios sometimes pick up a different frequency and you can hear truckers and stuff?”

Oleg cuts his eyes at me. “You do realize my area of expertise is torture, right? If there is a way we can intercept their communication, Dmitriy will know it.”

“I’ll get to work on it,” Dmitriy responds.

I saunter over to Oleg, standing in front of him so he’s forced to look me in the eye. I trail my fingers up his chest, wedging my fingers between two buttons until I can feel the heat of his skin. “There’s always the old-fashioned way of going to the club where they party. You boys can work the outside while Anastasia and I keep them occupied inside. Just think, Oleg, if we bug their cars we’re going to hear more than just one or two conversations. If we find out where the clubhouse is and bug it, too, we’re going to hear their daily conversations. People let their guard down when they’re at home. It’s perfect.”

“You know I don’t like you going into bars without me,” he says, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t like the thought of a hit being put out on my father and me not stopping it. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him.”

“I know. The safety of the Pakhan is always of utmost importance.”

“Exactly. We have them right where we want them, baby; we’ve killed their leader. Just imagine what it would be like if we lost our leader—it would be chaos. We’d be angry, confused, grieving, and lacking direction. I highly doubt those young-blood gang-bangers are organized—they aren’t like us. Now that they have no leader, they’re going to scatter.

“I say, we hit them hard while they’re weak. It’ll send a message to anyone else that Bratva controls the diamonds coming out of Russia. The cartel will come in and take over their drug trade but they’ll leave the diamonds alone and everyone will be happy. One thing I’ll say for the cartel is they do respect the powers-that-be.”

Even though his expression betrays nothing that is going on inside his head, I know I’m getting through to him. He knows everything I’m saying is true. It’s like that old saying ‘if you want to kill a snake, cut the head off’…