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

  My face burned, and Maksim stood like a wooden statue beside me.

  Papa’s features softened minutely. “Men are coming for you. They already try to invade Boston. Those Russians,” he spat out.

  “What Russians would go against you?” Maksim asked in a dark tone.

  My father studied his cigar, pacing a couple steps away. “What happened yesterday is because of things I did in the motherland decades ago.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

  “I killed to avenge your mama’s murder.” The look in my papa’s eyes was black and indomitable. “Now they come for reckoning.”

  Papa had never really opened up about my mother. All I knew was that theirs had been a grand, short-lived love, ending with her death not long after I was born.

  A sudden deep sorrow for the mother figure I’d never known splintered through my heart.

  “I don’t need to marry Sasha to protect her,” Maksim said.

  “Who are they? These Russians?” I asked.

  “Oleg Kamenev.”

  My breath halted in my chest. Oleg . . . so he was real and so was the danger.

  After puffing out a billow of blue-gray cigar smoke, my papa squinted through the foggy tendrils as if seeing into the past. “He comes with his Bratva. The one he inherited from his father.”

  Maksim mumbled out a harsh curse.

  “I killed Oleg’s father, Leonid, because he murdered my Liliana. I did away with the oldest son too. Oleg is second son. He comes to America to get his revenge.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!” I took a couple of strides toward Papa. “I have no skin in this game.”

  Papa looked at me blankly. “Skin in game?”

  “Argh! This has nothing to do with me. And how is getting hitched to Maksim supposed to save me?”

  A black look passed over my father’s face, and he glanced at Maksim.

  Maksim, who took me by my arm and drew me back to him.

  Maksim, apparently, was supposed to keep me in line for the rest of my life.

  So not happening.

  “Blood is blood, Sashenka. And you are of my blood. Vengeance does not follow logic, only anger. Oleg’s anger has been steeping for years.”

  I still didn’t want to believe I was in that much danger. “How much of a threat could this guy be if he sent that numbnuts Jimmy to snatch me?”

  Papa’s expression became harder, his features harsh. “I slaughtered Oleg’s brother and his father in front of him when he was only seven years old.” A cruel gleam entered his eyes. “I left the youngest alive and untouched in the middle of the slaughter so he could tell all not to cross Yury Zolotov.”

  “Blyad.” Again, Maksim swore viciously.

  I got the fact my father was someone to be feared in the mafia world, but I’d never witnessed the true extent of violence he was capable of.

  Now it was becoming obvious, and my throat tightened.

  “Oleg will have greatest pleasure in taking you, maybe even killing you, mutilating you.”

  Papa’s words began to instill true terror in me, and I sidled a little closer to Maksim.

  “You are, in many ways, American. Like Liliana.” A wistful expression crossed Papa’s face before his countenance darkened again. “I thought you would be safe here.”

  Liliana. My mama. It was Baba who’d told me the story of the two of them, just once, when I was old enough. I’d never pushed my father about her because he gave few answers, looking pained like she’d passed away just days ago instead of when I was still a baby.

  “But . . . marriage?” I had to ask one last time.

  “Oleg may be bound by code of honor if you are married. As my daughter and Maksim’s wife, you could be twice as untouchable.” Coming forward, he grasped my chin lightly. “I will not bury you too.”

  I never knew my very existence weighed so heavily on Papa.

  Tearing my gaze away, I couldn’t keep the venom from my voice. “Because marriage worked so well for my mom?”

  I immediately wanted to take back the bitchy comment when that age-old hurt blanketed Papa’s face.

  Next to me, Maksim hadn’t moved.

  He hadn’t grumble-grumble-grunted.

  He was rock-steady beside me then he said, “He is right, Sashenka.”

  Shock could’ve made me collapse. He sure changed his tune but, when I whirled on him, he didn’t seem all that thrilled about it either.

  Lips in a firm line, he shook his head, warning me to be silent.

  “How long?” Maksim asked Papa.

  As if he were a dying man and wanted to know how many months, days, hours he had left to live.

  Asshole.

  Or like he was going to prison to serve a life sentence, although I supposed I’d already been that for him.

  He’d been forced to be at my side for years instead of rising to his own merited role in the Zolotov Bratva. I understood now that I’d been nothing but a burden to him. So why would he agree to this now?

  We definitely had chemistry . . . of the bad kind. Although, during breakfast, we’d shared something. Something crazy that started with me smearing a caviar-covered blini in his face then him retaliating with the egg yolk. We’d actually laughed together, and he’d looked so gorgeous, much less stern when smiling.

  If my father hadn’t showed up out of the blue, I thought Maksim might’ve kissed me after he cornered me.

  I might have let him.

  Now he’d be stuck with me.

  “Time is of essence,” Papa announced. “Day after tomorrow for wedding.”

  Meeting Maksim’s steely eyes, my heart skipped a beat and then fell all the way to my stomach.

  I cursed that damn bouquet I’d caught yesterday.

  I didn’t want to be under any man’s thumb, let alone Maksim’s. Sure, Jo and Lucia made the mafioso’s wife thing look easy, but my intended had hardly ever treated me like I was a woman to begin with. How was I supposed to magically become his wife overnight?

  With such short notice, I was completely caught up in plans—a blessing, I supposed. There was little time to see Maksim let alone cross words with him. This might’ve been a shotgun wedding taking place in the shell of a nightclub—not exactly the type of venue I would’ve chosen—but I’d be damned if I didn’t pull out all the stops to make this a classy, upscale affair.

  That included a couture gown for me.

  The wedding had been announced so all syndicates knew of the upcoming nuptials in hopes of heading off Oleg and his Kamenev crew.

  Baba was in charge of all things culinary.

  Lucia took my vision and ran with it in the décor department so hopefully the half-finished Hammer and the Sickle would be presentable.

  Which left me a little bit of time to fret about my gown.

  The next day I stood in the apartment upstairs surrounded by one of Boston’s elite designers. The furnishings had been pushed back to make space for the dais and mirrors Madam Veronique had brought along with her assistants and racks and racks of bridal attire.

  I stood on the raised platform while Madam lifted the latest bell-like behemoth off of me then whisked the dress away.

  With poofy shoulders and pools of pearl encrusted satin making up the skirt, the gown had been a travesty.

  In just an opulent corset and satin panties, I turned this way and that, dissecting my figure and my fat ass. Whereas Jo was slim and could make everything look slinky, I was blousy. Where Lucia’s curves were more proportional, I was all boobs and butt. Sometimes I hated my body, and I wondered how on earth something could be altered to fit in time.

  And I was one picky bitch.

  Madam Veronique puffed on a long, slim unlit cigarette in a long, slim silver holder as she retook my measurements. “Yez, yez. I see. Va va voom, za? Ve must think about zis again.”

  With her accent—was she Russian? French? German?—I wondered if I’d hired a crackpot instead of the couture designer of my dreams.


  She was still peering at me, assistants unpacking more gowns and placing them on the rolling racks when Maksim unexpectedly entered.

  I had nothing to hide behind, and I was well aware my breasts bounced luridly in the tight-fitted corset when I wheeled around. And of course the mirrors surrounding me gave him spectacular 3D views of every aspect of my body that I’d just cursed.

  “What are you doing here?” I stared at him.

  His silvery eyes zoomed in with laser focus as he took in my state of dishabille. “I . . . I . . .”

  Maksim often grunted and grumbled. I’d never seen him totally speechless though.

  “Well?” Hands propped on my hips, I had the audacity to question him about what he was doing in his own apartment.

  “Apologies.” He dipped his head, but his eyes still seared into my flesh. “I didn’t know where you were. Was worried when I couldn’t find you.”

  Something about his half-mast gaze and his husky voice—maybe even his concern about me—warmed me.

  Heated me.

  And, thus, heated my ire.

  “Well, I’m here! Get out. It’s bad luck to see me in the gown before the wedding.”

  Except he slinked inside, a smirk framing his sculpted lips perfectly. “But you’re not in a gown, and I think I have the right to see all the goods before they become mine.”

  His utter male possessiveness would’ve made me shriek normally.

  Instead, shivers pulsed through me, and I did nothing but track his moves as he entered the lounge fully, sending all the other women into a frenzy.

  Two nights I’d been in his bed so far.

  Two nights we’d lain together and not touched. We’d barely talked. We definitely hadn’t broached the subject of our forced wedding.

  Last night, the air clung on all sides so dense with things unsaid I couldn’t breathe. If Maksim had so much as brushed against me, I would’ve either broken down completely or shown him just how bold I could be.

  Now he sat down amid all the finery and frippery, grinning wolfishly.

  His dominance evident, he kept his eyes on me but nodded to Madam Veronique. “Carry on.”

  When Madam called out my measurements again and her assistants started rifling through dresses, I could’ve been mortified. I wasn’t about to let Maksim get the better of me though, no way. I straightened my posture, pushed out my breasts, and accentuated all my assets.

  In turn, he laid both arms bulging with hills of muscle along the back of the sofa. He spread his brawny thighs, drawing my attention to the blatant ridge of his cock riding down the inseam of his pants.

  This was not the boy I’d tormented for years. And I’d made that shit my life’s work.

  I was being faced down by a pure virile male . . . a beast.

  Damn him.

  It was impossible to pretend he was anything less than coldly handsome or that his physique nothing other than mind-bogglingly drool-worthy. Any other man, and I’d do him in a heartbeat. But Maksim and I couldn’t even be civil to each other.

  Madam began holding up gowns, tutting over this and that as I held my arms out, my breasts close to escaping the corset.

  Maksim let his grin grow, leaning forward with each jiggly move I made to accommodate the designer.

  My skin became hot, a flush hitting my cheeks as my nipples hardened with awareness. He was recognizing me as a woman now, which presented its own set of dangers.

  Something carnal and compelling torched between us.

  Finally, I couldn’t take his infernal presence any longer.

  Crossing my arms over my body, I turned a desperate look on him. “Please . . . it’s not really fitting for you to be here, Maksim.”

  Saying nothing, he quirked his head. That heavy-lidded look of his made my belly somersault.

  He rose slowly, unfolding his large form.

  He approached with a long easy gait, and I swallowed dryly.

  As he stepped in front of me, the power of his body daunting, I brought my face up.

  I met his gaze that steeped me in something powerful and primal.

  He wore a suit tailored to his muscular frame.

  I stood there in my expensive underthings fit for a bride.

  My pulse fluttered in my throat, and I watched him watch me when I licked my lips.

  He was still so tall that even though I was on the dais, I had to tilt my head to see his face, and his jaw twitched at the back before his mouth formed a smile.

  That there was enough to take my breath away.

  Damn him.

  His next gesture intimate, he trailed a fingertip down my cheek to linger on my bottom lip, and I knew he felt my breath hitch as I swayed.

  “Since you asked so properly, I will leave.” With a desultory wink, he pivoted and left, and I watched him go the entire time.

  Finally, air rushed back in and I could breathe again. Or maybe it had been the corset constricting my lungs.

  Yeah. Right.

  “He eez tall dark drink of water, za?” Madam Veronique clamped her cigarette holder between dark maroon lips.

  “So he’s the one, huh, hon?” The head seamstress at least was Boston through and through. The plump woman fanned herself. “No wonder. The sparks coming off you two are like fireworks on the Fourth.”

  Sparks? More like I wanted to stab him with my stiletto blade. Or so I told myself.

  “I have just zee dress. Only a woman vith a figure like yours could pull eet off.” Madam V stood in front of me with a very wicked twinkle in her eyes.

  Lord I hoped so. Suddenly, I wanted to make Maksim’s eyeballs fall right out of his head.

  Early evening the day after the fitting from hell, I stood in the bedroom after another restless night beside a mostly stiff Maksim.

  I was on the verge of marrying a man against my will and had no idea where he was or if he was prepared for this whole thing because I sure as heck was not.

  I’d shooed both Jo and Lucia away after they helped me into the gown, oohing and ahhing the whole time. I’d asked them to leave for a couple reasons. One, I was worried about Jo’s water breaking all over my train. And two, I just needed a moment.

  A day.

  Another year or more to get used to this idea.

  As I applied my lipstick—my hand trembling—then wiped it off and tried again, I was hit by a wave of all-consuming loneliness.

  With no mama to walk me through this, I was lost.

  But Jo had done it alone. So had Lucia. Neither of them had had their mothers either.

  Maybe Maksim was right.

  Maybe I was just a spoiled brat.

  I angrily swiped off the lipstick and tried one last time to get it right, and tears hovered in my eyes, making my vision stupidly watery.

  There was a loud knock on the door then Baba hollered, “I come in now.”

  She bustled inside, took one look at me, and spat into a wadded-up tissue that she conjured from inside her sleeve to remove the lipstick.

  Then she batted my hands away. “I do it perfect for you.”

  Her brusque babushka handling was exactly what I needed to get my head in the game. My skin rubbed off my lips or a ghoulish lipstick smile? Not so much.

  “I watch YouTube video,” she said, showing me to pucker up.

  I rolled my eyes but did as asked.

  Eyes narrowing, she slowly applied the color to my lips. “Now press lips together on tissue.”

  “That hasn’t actually been the thing to do since the sixties, Baba.” But I did as told again then peered in the mirror.

  I had to admit she did a pretty decent job. I mean, I didn’t resemble The Joker or a clown, and she’d stayed right on the natural line of my lips.

  “Beautiful.” She clapped her hands together. “Missing something.” She frowned.

  “I know. I know.” Carefully rearranging my long skirt and the train, I plunked onto the bed. “I didn’t have time to get a veil.”

  “Baba fix.
” She bundled out of the room then came right back with a giant white box.

  She slapped my hands away when I tried to lift the lid.

  From inside, hidden among leaves of pristine white tissue paper, she withdrew a long, gauzy, elaborate veil embroidered in gold and studded with seed pearls. “This I make for you for long time.”

  My heart walloped in my chest.

  “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous in my life.” I reached to touch the veil, and she smacked my hands again.

  “Not even from Paris designers?” Her robust laugh made me shake my head and giggle too.

  Or that could’ve been the two glasses of champagne I’d already imbibed.

  After screeching a chair across the room, she stepped up, almost tipped over, and carefully arranged the stunning veil fit for the most regal Russian orthodox wedding.

  Then she plopped down next to me and gathered my hands. “Your mama would be so proud.”

  The weepies set in again, and I gave more thanks for my waterproof mascara. “Do you think so?”

  “Da, precious child. She had much love for you. When she was carrying you, she sang to you every day.”

  I tried not to sniffle, but I’d heard so little about my mama. “How do you know?”

  “Baba knows.” She patted my cheek then gave me a sneaky smile. “Also these.”

  From somewhere else in her pantsuit, she produced a bundle of old letters tied together with a silk ribbon.

  “Letters from your mama to my Yury.” She placed the missives in my hands before folding hers—work-worn and wrinkled—around mine.

  Then she switched to the mother tongue. “Your mama and Papa were separated for a bit when she was pregnant. Visa things. Yury insisted on doing everything legal with her, proper. They wrote to each other.” She squeezed my hands and lovingly kissed my cheek. “After she died, he doted on you so much. You are the last piece of his beloved Liliana, Sashenka. He cared for you from infancy. No small thing for a big gruff man like him.”

  More tears threatened. I had so very little of my mother, the letters were probably the most precious gift I’d ever been given.

  Throwing my arms around Baba, I hugged her fiercely. “Spasibo.”