The Russian Bodyguard: A Dark Mafia Romance (Krasnov Brothers Book 3) Read online

  Lucky, Kelly, and Dex—all three of Jo’s brothers—attended the ceremony as well.

  The O’Sullivans. Yet another relationship that had started with a vendetta. Now they were an extended part of this Bratva family. In many ways, we were all mongrels or misfits—especially Boris Yelpsin—apart from Yury, his mother Svetlana, and Sasha.

  And, yes, even Boris the mutt was present for the exchange of vows.

  Remarkably, as Lucia swished down the aisle in her wedding gown, I thought I caught a glimmer of wetness in Arkady’s eyes.

  He definitely swallowed hard when she joined him and placed her hand in his.

  “Is he getting choked up?” I asked Kirill.

  “Just wait until it’s your turn.” He sent me a sideways smirk.

  Nyet. That was never going to happen.

  This was only the second wedding I’d ever attended, and already I grew weary of the vows and the ritual.

  I watched curiously as tears flowed down Lucia’s cheeks while Arkady gave his promises to her in a brusque tone.

  When Lucia spoke her vows, Arkady—who’d been raised to live and die by the Bratva—twined his fingers with those of his intended’s as though his very existence depended on that touch alone.

  I heard a loud unladylike sniffle and glanced at the weeping person.

  It was Jo.

  “It’s just the hormones.” The fiercest woman of all wiped her eyes with Kirill’s pocket square then blew her nose loudly.

  Then I looked across at Sasha.

  Her bottom lip quivered as if she was about to let loose with the waterworks too yet, despite every atrocity the Bratva had been through, I’d never seen her cry. Not once.

  A strange shift happened in my heart when Sasha dipped her head and dabbed discreetly at her face.

  Finally, with the rings exchanged, the wedding ended with shouts and hollers and congratulations.

  Baba blubbered into a handkerchief large enough to be called bedlinen and, in the midst of another bout of tears, Jo commented, “Why didn’t Baba cry at our wedding?”

  “Possibly because you acted like you couldn’t be bothered with the whole thing?” Kirill brought her into a hug, her huge belly bumping right against him.

  “I’m gonna be a terrible mother!” she wailed.

  He rolled his eyes, his hands sweeping up and down her back.

  And I walked away.

  When the crowd around Arkady and Lucia finally thinned, I made my way to them.

  Arkady pulled me into a bear-like hug, tugging at some string Sasha had loosened earlier—a nugget of a feeling that made me uncomfortable.

  “Congratulations.” I pulled away from him, frowning slightly.

  He had been the man of the family all my life though only five years older than me, and this was the first time I’d witnessed him wearing his emotions for all to see.

  “Lucia.” As I turned to her, I was swamped in a hug—and by her gown of epic proportions—as her arms ringed around my waist.

  When she leaned back, she peered up at me. “I used to be frightened of you, you know?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Moving quickly, she popped a kiss to my cheek. “But I know you heard me that second night after Arkady took me when I was crying and upset. He told me you were worried.” She kissed my opposite cheek. “You’re a good man, Maksim, and a good brother.”

  Something hot and stinging happened behind my eyes, and I had to squint down at her.

  I had to nod instead of saying anything.

  I held in every gruff emotion as I always had. Nothing and no one could bring me to tears, and it was very rare that I even allowed a grin or chuckle.

  I stalked off, deciding for once I wouldn’t search out Sasha in order to check on her wellbeing. What safer place could there be than this fortified mansion during a wedding filled with close-knit people?

  On the large stone patio, Baba was once again in her element and had stopped mopping up her tears. The Zolotov matriarch was made for big family gatherings, and she presided over the lavish tables laid out for the reception feast. Russian and Italian fare mingled side-by-side, creating a new contrast.

  When Lucia and Arkady joined the party, champagne and vodka were passed around.

  Kirill raised his glass, and we all followed suit. “For my brother.” He glanced at me. “Our brother. Arkady and Lucia, may you never grow bored. And with these hooligans as relatives and in our line of work, I don’t think that will happen. Za zdorovie!”

  Jo was crying again. Sasha, even with her ever-present champagne flute in hand, looked about to do the same. And Baba may have put more tears—happy ones—into the borscht than beets.

  Fuck it. I was drinking.

  And eating.

  I piled up a big plate of kournik, apparently a traditional savory wedding pie, and something that had to come from the Italian side because it was filled with pasta, sauce, and strings of melted cheese. I was still eating when Lucia insisted on a couple of American wedding traditions.

  First, the garter belt hunt. This I had not heard of before. I watched curiously as Arkady burrowed beneath Lucia’s voluminous skirts while she sat in a chair. She bit her lip as he disappeared, and I had a good idea of what he was doing under there. Finally, he emerged with a wolfish grin, triumphantly twirling the lace circle of Lucia’s garter around one finger.

  She tried to snatch it back, but he took her in a kiss instead.

  Cheeks flushed, Lucia next announced the wedding bouquet toss.

  From what I knew of the ritual, the unmarried woman who caught the flowers was said to be the next one married.

  Baba took central place, Sasha on one side of her, Valeria on the other.

  It was a very small playing field.

  I expected Baba to come away victorious, after all she was the only one wearing shoes that didn’t sink into the ground—those being her habitual Crocs—but Sasha leaped high and to the left and snagged the bouquet singlehandedly.

  Good. Let her get married. Then I would no longer bear all the responsibility for the upstart.

  While she shimmied around in victory—causing the skirt of her dress to flip dangerously high—I retreated back to the terrace.

  Valeria fussed over the dishes on one of the long tables, replenishing food and clearing away empty platters.

  She’d been at the estate since her rescue last fall, but not as a slave or servant even though she spent most of her time shadowing Baba and helping out in the household any way she could.

  She’d flourished here and had begun to speak better English under Sasha’s tutelage.

  I’d considered pursuing the young Russian woman. The idea crossed my mind again as I watched her concentrating on her work, bottom lip pulled between her teeth and roses of color in her cheeks.

  She, unlike Sasha, actually was demure.

  I always made sure to approach her carefully, not knowing exactly what she’d endured under the Italians’ imprisonment.

  “This must be a little overwhelming.”

  Her eyes flipped up, and her fingers stilled from folding a linen napkin.

  Moving a little closer, I offered her a glass of champagne. “Are you doing okay with all these people around?”

  After accepting the flute, she took a small sip and nodded quickly.

  “Da! Oh . . . English.” She brought a hand to her mouth, eyes sparkling. “I’m just so . . .”

  Twirling around, Valeria spread her arms wide.

  Happy. She was safe and happy.

  Leaning against the edge of a table, I smiled with her, admiring the whimsical sight she made.

  Then Sasha appeared directly in front of me, shattering the quiet moment.

  I peered around her to see Valeria’s attention now focused on an arrangement of flowers on the other side of the terrace.

  Smacking the giant wedding bouquet against my chest, Sasha hauled my attention back to her.

  “You can reel your tongue back in, Maksim,
” she hissed in a low tone. “You should know better than to leer at someone who’s already been taken advantage of.”

  Before I could defend the innocence of my actions, Sasha stomped off as fast as her stilettoes could carry her.

  Utterly perplexed, I didn’t even notice the three Irish brothers approaching until the youngest, Dex, said, “Hey, man. No need to bogart all the pretty girls.”

  “Yeah. What did you say to Sasha to piss her off?” Kelly joined in.

  And just for extra fun, Lucky nudged an elbow at my ribs—an affront I’d normally kill over, but then Jo would never forgive me.

  The eldest O’Sullivan grinned. “I wanna know so I don’t make the same mistake with her.”

  “Everything he says pisses her off,” Dex mentioned in an aside.

  “You’re right. Never mind, bro.” Lucky chuckled, and I was tempted to glass him with a magnum of champagne but again . . . wedding . . . in-laws . . . making nice.

  I was just about to go after Sasha when Grigor let out a loud shout, “Molchi!”

  The young brigadier was Jo’s bodyguard and Kirill’s most trusted at The Sickle club.

  Everyone silenced at his yell for us to shut up, and I forgot all about going in search of Sasha.

  With his phone clapped to his ear, Grigor’s mouth formed a harder and harder line as his skin paled.

  He handed the phone over to Kirill then announced in a stricken voice, “It’s under attack. The nightclub is under attack.”

  Those words shot adrenaline through my system, lighting me up as only a threat to the Bratva could.

  Without a second thought, I bounded into the house and all the way upstairs, intent on grabbing my SIG SSG sniper rifle. The confusion of voices and shouts of command grew downstairs and outside, hammering urgency into my veins.

  I’d just slung the gun case over my shoulder when the most blood curdling scream ripped across every other noise.

  Jo.

  Sprinting back outside, I only halted my mad dash when I saw the very pregnant redhead doubled over. Kirill and her brothers surrounded her.

  “Oh, shit.” She glanced up with wild hazel eyes. “I think I’m in labor.”

  “I need to get her to a hospital now.” When Kirill gave an order, he would brook no disobedience.

  Lucia rushed to Jo, Arkady saying he’d bring a car around.

  “I’ll get to The Sickle.” I assured both my brothers, snagging Grigor by the arm.

  “What’s happening there?” I asked the man who had learned to handle all manners of mayhem during his year with the Bratva.

  He swallowed roughly. “They said it’s Russians. Shot the place up. Trying to get into the basement and the arms vault.”

  “Russians?” I glanced at Yury, but he was helping with Jo as she let out another ear-splitting scream.

  “Yeah. It’s the Russian’s, motherfuckers.” An unknown voice, with an American accent, sounded right behind me.

  In the next second, a new cacophony blasted through the air as gun shots rattled off.

  Spinning amid the shower of glass shards and stone debris, I took aim with the handgun I palmed without even noticing.

  I narrowed my eyes at the suka. “You are not from the motherland.”

  “Nah. But the scary dude who hired us sure as hell—”

  Stopping the fucker’s words in his throat, I shot him in the neck. Through the burst of blood, I saw a dozen more thuggish looking bastards bolting across the gardens.

  We’d been infiltrated.

  Lunging forward like a beast, I threw my entire body into the closest cunt and wrestled him to the ground, flinging up dirt and grass.

  Bad to worse and all hell broke loose.

  Boris went on the attack, his snarls and growls feral and ferocious.

  I pistol-whipped the asshole beneath me then sent a bullet pointblank into his chest.

  Our soldiers converged from all points, machine gun spray raising earth, raising my hairs, and spitting out the blood of the interlopers.

  “Papa! Get the women into the house.” Kirill charged ahead, leaping over a shrub.

  Jo grunted behind us on the terrace. “Urghh. Fuck my life. I’m seriously gonna give birth during a shootout and I don’t even get to take part.”

  “Do as I say, malyshka.” Fear was written all over Kirill’s bleak features.

  More bullets whistled. The Irish right beside us.

  Arkady threw off his jacket. He slung his bolas with deadly accuracy so that the crude weapon slammed around one of the American’s necks, strangling him.

  “Where is my Sashenka?” Yury bellowed.

  I had lost all track of her after she’d stormed away.

  Blyad.

  I had other things to worry about now.

  These pizdas kept coming like stray cats, and I didn’t know who the delusional dickheads thought they were, but they were about to get smoked.

  One of the bastards launched himself onto my back and started pummeling me around the head. Reaching around with a mighty snarl, I wrenched him off. I tossed the cunt to the ground like the trash he was and pinned him in place with my shoe planted across his windpipe.

  I decided not to waste my bullets on him.

  Leaning down, I grasped both sides of his head. I wrenched his face to one side so hard and fast his neck probably snapped before he knew death was coming.

  Shame. I would’ve liked to prolong the agony.

  Then I heard it.

  The one voice in the one note that would forever be etched upon my soul.

  “Maksim!” Sasha’s shrill shout ricocheted through me like a bullet.

  Spinning toward the sound, I saw her struggling within the arms of her attacker. The punk who kept hauling her toward a gate at the side of the grounds was none other than one of her late-night visitors I’d chased off the place.

  Ice cold fear and red hot anger clashed inside of me when he drew a pistol and aimed it at her head.

  Standing in the middle of the continuing clash, I instantly raised my handgun to take him out.

  “Lower those weapons!” the smug little fuck demanded. “All of you! Unless you want me to take out my anger issues on this dumb whore.” Asshole cocked his weapon as Sasha wriggled some more.

  The real terror I read in her eyes made the raging beast inside of me want to howl.

  The distraction in the garden, even the commotion at The Cat and the Sickle, had given the bastard the chance to grab the girl.

  When I dropped my firearm, so did everyone else.

  And the blond douchebag cracked a lopsided grin. “Good choice. Be seein’ you around. Or not.”

  “Maksim?” Sasha’s voice quaked, her previously immaculate dress grass-stained and disheveled.

  Unless I wanted her killed on the spot, I was helpless to do anything but watch her get bundled into the back of a van that screeched up.

  Not for long. If anyone deserved to take anything out on her or at least beat her ass red, it was me, and these fly-by-night fucks were not getting away with my Sashenka.

  2

  Sasha

  I COULDN’T BELIEVE MAKSIM just let Jimmy—goddamn Jimmy—get away with me without lifting a finger or firing a bullet. Granted, Jimmy was holding a gun to my head, but Maksim was an excellent marksman.

  Jimmy was just some random good-looking guy I’d found on Tinder, and now I couldn’t believe I’d ever been so stupid. With hindsight being 20/20 and all that, I sure was relieved Maksim had shut down that nightmare scenario before I’d spread my legs for this ignoramus.

  Jimmy threw me into the back of a big black van where three more of his friends, colleagues, whatever waited.

  My dress rode up a little, but I yanked the skirt back down before Jimmy’s entourage of idiots could get an eyeful of my panties.

  When the doors slammed shut and the van shot into motion, trepidation set in.

  Then a schmuck wearing a reversed Red Sox baseball cap stuck his head around to the fr
ont where Jimmy drove and said, “Dude, why didn’t we just rob the place? You see the fuckin’ size of the house?”

  Another of the tools sat across from me, gun limp in his grasp. “Are you kiddin’ me? Fuckin’ A, those giants just dusted Kyle and Brett. They mowed through a whole bunch of the guys without even blinking.” He looked haunted by what he’d witnessed and the death of his buddies. “They’re like robots or something.”

  True.

  The idiot with the big mouth seemed unfazed as he leered at me as if he was in with a chance.

  “You tapped that, Jimbo?” He jerked his head toward me, and the fourth loser who’d been silent throughout cracked a nasty grin.

  Jimbo most definitely hadn’t tapped this. But the thug had tackled me to the ground.

  I’d walked away from Maksim and the party instead of ruining the reception by going off on the overbearing pig yet again.

  I’d just rounded the corner of the house when Jimmy appeared from nowhere. At first, I couldn’t even grasp why he was there.

  He knew he wasn’t welcome after Maksim had threatened him just a couple weeks ago. But then he got that goofy smile, which was almost cute in comparison to Maksim’s perma-cranky expression.

  “Having a wicked big party, huh? Didn’t think to invite me?” Jimmy had approached with a swagger, and something seemed off in his suddenly guarded expression.

  Then the first sounds of gunfire screamed through the air, and I heard garbled yells echoing from the other side of the house.

  “What have you done?” I backed away.

  “Ain’t done nothing yet, babe.”

  I began sprinting away only to have him yank me off my feet with a fist twisted in my hair.

  He hauled me back against him with strength I hadn’t expected. I only got one over on him when I cranked my leg up behind me, hopefully catching him in the testes.

  Howling, Jimmy shoved me to the ground where I quickly flipped over.

  He cradled his groin, a scowl forming on his face.

  “I hope I punctured one of your sad little balls with my heel, if you had any to begin with.” I started to rise, shaken and unsteady.