The Lazarov Bratva: The Complete Mafia Romance Collection

31. Alena

Russia is piercingly cold but utterly beautiful.

The drive from the airport takes us past forests of thick pine trees all dusted in snow, and there’s barely a glimpse of civilization. What I know of the country is limited, and where I expected to see the heart of a city, it seems we’ve arrived somewhere in the country. I barely take my eyes off the passing scenery, not wanting to miss a thing about the new place I’ll be staying.

While the flight was long, Kristof barely left me alone, and the number of orgasms he pulled from me was too high to count. He’s definitely committed to his apology, that’s for sure, and I have zero complaints.

The heater in the car works overtime, and every so often, I glimpse the car carrying Nastja and Ivan. They’re driving separately, at Kristof’s request, leaving us in a comfortable silence until our car pulls free of the never-ending tree line and a stunning, old-stone mansion rises up to greet us atop a small hill.

“Wow,” I breathe out, pressing up against the window until my breath fogs the glass. “This is where we will live?”

“Yes,” Kristof replies. “This is where I grew up.”

The mansion looks like it leaped right off the pages of a storybook. With grey cobbled walls and a red roof peeking out from layers of snow, smooth stone columns lining the front porch and framing the front door, and a few high hedges on either side hiding the back from view, it strikes me how Kristof is a harsh man who doesn’t seem like he grew up in luxury.

“Here?” I ask, glancing at him. “You grew up… here?”

“Is that such a surprise?”

“Honestly, yeah. You’re so…” I pause, eyeing him as I search for the right word. “You kinda seem like you were born in the gutter.”

Kristof arches a single brow. “Indeed.”

I bite back a chuckle and turn back to the windows, peering to catch every glimpse of the manor that I can as the car weaves up the winding driveway.

“My parents died when I was young. Too young. In Russia, there’s very little State help, so I had a choice to make and I made it. I became head of the house and devoted myself to caring for my younger brother and sister.”

Slowly, I turn back to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was tough, I won’t lie, but we managed with the help of Alyona.”

“Who is that?”

“She was my mother’s maid, and she became the housekeeper. She maintains the property when I’m not here, although I’ve tried to get her to retire for years. The woman is as old as worn leather, but she refuses.” A note of affection slips into his tone. The car pulls to a stop, and he claps his hands against his denim-clad thighs. “Who knows? if I’d had decent parents, maybe our lives would have turned out very differently.”

I can’t imagine Kristof in any other life. However, it’s easy to reason that a change like having his parents alive might mean the Kristof I know would never have come to be.

“Then where would I be?” I reply. His gaze lingers on me for a thoughtful moment, then he slides from the car like a shadow.

Two seconds later, he’s opening my door and holding out a hand for me. I accept it with a smile. Immediately, the cold is biting, seeping through my clothes as if I’m stark naked. I shiver hard and cuddle into Kristof, who wraps an arm around my shoulders and bundles me up the snow-covered path. Gravel crunches underfoot as Nastja and Ivan pass us in a hurry.

“Freezing my fucking tits off,” Nastja exclaims, taking the steps two at a time to the front door. She raises a hand, but her knuckles don’t reach the door as it swings open as if on instinct.

Immediately, a thick, grisly flow of Russian erupts from the doorway and Ivan bursts out laughing. Both he and Nastja fall into speaking Russian in reply to the third voice, and my heart ticks up a few beats.

I don’t speak the language. Will whoever that is immediately look down on me for that?

Reaching the door, Kristof hurries me inside and kicks the door closed.

I’m engulfed in a welcoming heat in the middle of a large, golden hallway with doors splitting off in all directions and a grand white staircase curling up to the right. A sparkling copper and black chandelier twinkles above me as Kristof helps me with my coat, then he strides forward and hugs someone I can’t see.

“Ahh, Babushka,” he greets warmly, then he steps aside and sweeps an arm toward me. “Alyona, this is Alena.”

Alyona is smaller than even me, hunched over with a red shawl wrapped tightly around her small shoulders. A pair of wiry spectacles balances from a slightly crooked nose, and a pair of striking green eyes peers at me through a face full of heavy wrinkles. A shocking scorch of red hair sits atop her head, and when she smiles, grey teeth glimmer at me.

“Tak eto devushka Kristofa? Dobro pozhalovat’, moya dorogaya, bozhe moy, ty kozha da kosti!” Her grisly voice is so shocking to my ears, but her smile is warm.

My heart sinks, and an uncertainty pulls at my smile.

“English, Alyona,” Kristof says. “She doesn’t speak Russian.”

“Skin and bone!” Alyona declares, and she reaches for me with one wrinkled hand. “Welcome, welcome!”

Her hand clasps around my wrist, and before I can stop her, she pulls me into a hug that’s far stronger than I expect from how frail she looks. Clearly, there’s a lot of strength hidden under those wrinkles. She breaks away, distracted by Nastja, who takes off her coat, and Alyona spots a fresh tattoo of a dove peeking out from under her shirt.

“What… what did she say?” I whisper up at Kristof.

He looks down and winks. “She called you my girlfriend.”

My heart does a flip in my chest, and warmth spreads across my cheeks.

Girlfriend.

It’s so exciting to hear that word come out of Kristof’s mouth, and yet, at the same time, it doesn’t feel right. It’s as if it’s not important enough to describe what we are.

“Alyona, are the rooms prepared?”

Alyona breaks away from scolding a laughing Nastja and turns to Kristof. “Yes. Yes, all ready. Go, go. You stink. Unbelievable!”

“Love you too.” Kristof chuckles, and he presses a kiss to Alyona’s wrinkled cheek.

It’s the first time I’ve heard him say love. And the first time I’ve seen him so soft with someone. It’s like the shroud of anger and danger has melted away, and I’m getting a glimpse of the man underneath. The man who grew up too fast as a child and took care of an estate and his siblings, all before he hit puberty.

It shifts my perspective a little.

“Get off,” Alyona scolds, and she begins to hurry away, only pausing beside me. “You sure you want someone like him? Trust me, I know twenty with a better hairline.”

“Alyona!” Kristof barks.

Alyona cackles and hurries away, followed by Ivan and Nastja.

“She’s… quite the character.” I chuckle. Kristof taps my nose as he passes me by.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“About the suitors or the hairline?”

“Both.”

Taking my hand, he leads me up the grand staircase.

The ceiling above is painted in extravagant art that rivals even what I had back home. The banister is gold, and as we reach the top landing, more hallways and rooms stretch out before us. Kristof leads me up another set of stairs, pausing to introduce me to a couple of the servants as we pass.

Seeing them makes my heart ache for Katja. I miss her dearly. When I get a chance, I’ll ask Kristof to send her a message.

The bedroom we walk into brings me to a stop, and my lips part. It’s not a bedroom, it’s like a hotel room. The immediate room contains luxury sofas and a cream carpet that make me too scared to step further in case my footsteps disturb the crisp whiteness. The walls are a warm pink, keeping the area bright. To the left is a massive TV built into the wall and surrounded by couches. To the right, a blazing fireplace warms the air from behind protective glass that gradually changes color. At the far end, an archway leads through to a glimpse of a massive bed clad in black sheets.

Kristof strides right in, stepping over the carpets and rugs without a care as he shrugs off his shirt.

“I need to take a shower,” he grumbles. Discarding his shirt, he starts on his jeans but pauses when he sees me watching him. All that rippling muscle makes my mouth water, and even here, in the soft light of the room, the way the shadows of the flames dance across his torso makes my core clench.

“What are the rules here?” I ask as my knees knock gently together. “What are your rules?”

“This is your home,” he says. “This is my home. You are free to go wherever you please. My only request is that you be escorted by a guard when walking the grounds and you don’t leave the house without telling me. I will assign someone to you.”

My lips part further. Is he serious? He looks serious, and he sounds serious. No rule to stay by his side, to be naked and crawl. No threats of a cage. I’m allowed to go where I like without consequence. A smile pulls across my face, and I walk slowly toward him.

“Which guard?” I ask.

“I’d prefer a female one, but I’ll see what I can do,” he states pointedly.

I chuckle. “Understood. Is this… is this the room you grew up in?”

“God, no,” Kristof scoffs. “We grew up in the East Wing of the house. This is the North Wing. No one goes to the East.”

“Why not?” I tilt my head.

Kristof’s hands pause, and his shoulders rise sharply. “My parents’ things are there.”

“Oh.” There’s a tightness in his voice that urges me closer. I want to comfort him, pull him close, and thank him for being so honest with me from the moment I started asking questions, but just as the words form, a knock on the door makes us both turn.

A tall man with golden skin stands there with our suitcases under his arm. His sun-kissed blonde hair is gelled and slicked back, and he’s dressed in a black shirt and matching slacks. White suspenders stretch over his shoulders, and a leather back holster clearly shows his gun.

“Sir.”

“Andrev!” Kristof brushes past me with an affectionate touch to my arm and greets the man with a short, sharp hug where they slap each other briefly on the back.

“Good flight?” Andrev asks, moving past Kristof and settling the cases down on the floor.

“As good as any.”

“Is this her?” Andrev fixes me with a piercing gaze, blue eyes as vibrant as the ocean.

How many people know about me? When Kristof first kidnapped me, I felt like some kind of dark secret. Now it seems he can’t keep quiet about me.

“Yes.” Kristof shoots me a small smile. “Alena, this is Andrev. My real, trusted, right-hand man.”

“Nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand, and Andrev firmly shakes it with a warm palm.

“It’s nice to put a face to the name.” Andrev smiles, flashing a perfect set of white teeth.

“You’ve heard about me, then?”

“Who hasn’t?” Andrev chuckles. “All good things, I promise.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Andrev snorts softly and glances at Kristof, who appears perfectly relaxed.

“How long have you been Kristof’s man?”

“Too long,” Kristof remarks. “He’s been with us long enough to be family.”

“Don’t let Ivan hear you say that.” Andrev chuckles deeply. “I still owe him a couple of thousand.”

“Gambling?”

“A bet,” Andrev replies, and he winks at me, earning a playful punch to the shoulder from Kristof.

“Get out of here.” Kristof laughs, a sudden, warm sound that washes over me, and I find myself smiling immediately at the sound.

“I’m going. Alyona is cooking, by the way, says you’re all too skinny. When you’ve got a sec, I need to run some security by you.”

“I’ll be with you soon.” Kristof claps Andrev’s shoulder, and he makes his exit.

“He seems nice,” I comment, wandering toward the bed. “You’ve never mentioned him before.

Kristof catches me before I reach the bed, gripping my waist and turning me to face him.

“I couldn’t tell you anything in case you decided to run away,” Kristof says in a low voice.

“Didn’t we already establish that it would only happen in your head?” I point out.

Kristof leans down and kisses me gently. “Indeed.”

I slowly wind my arms around his neck and arch my body into him, deepening the kiss as a pulse of want shoots through me. He kisses me deeper, then pulls himself away with a groan.

“You tease me,” he grumbles, “but I must check the security. I won’t sleep otherwise.”

“Alright,” I sigh, immediately missing him when he pulls away. “I’ll be here, unpacking.”

He kisses me once more, then quickly pulls his shirt back on and vanishes, leaving me to unpack and explore my new room.

* * *

Unpacking,it turns out, is not something I enjoy. With half a small suitcase to go, I’m already bored and feeling a little nauseous from the travel. Expected, I’m sure, from my first plane ride. Kristof hasn’t returned, so in a burst of boldness, I take it upon myself to wander the hallways in search of either Kristof or his siblings.

I found neither, instead discovering the kitchen where Alyona is hard at work with countless pots and pans bubbling away on a massive stove. For a woman so small and wiry, she darts about the kitchen with an unexpected energy. When she spots me, she breaks into a wide, toothy smile.

“Alena! You poor thing, come here!” She flaps one hand at me and pats a stool on her way past. “Tell me, are you hungry? Let me make you something.”

I take the indicated seat, tucking my feet up onto the wooden bar and curling my hands together on the countertop.

“I’m not hungry. Thank you, though.”

“Nonsense,” Alyona snaps, tending to one pot that threatens to bubble over. “When did you last eat?”

“Uhm…” Casting my mind back, I haven’t had a full meal since before the argument with Kristof. We only snacked on the plane amid all the sex. “It’s been a while.”

“Exactly.” Alyona sucks on her teeth and weaves around the kitchen with a practiced ease that only comes from decades of experience. “So, what will you eat? Tell me, I must know these things.”

“Honestly, I’m feeling a bit sick.”

“Sick?” Alyona pauses and rakes her eyes down at me, her lips pressing so firmly together they almost disappear. “Hmm. I will fix.”

I want to ask her how, but Alyona is quickly in a world of her own. Within five minutes, she’s sliding a smoothie toward me and shoving a straw into my hand.

“Drink,” she barks, and I obey quickly.

It’s cold and sweet, so cold in fact that the chill seeps down my breastbone as I swallow, and I tense the moment the coldness reaches my gut.

“Good?” She eyes me.

I nod. “Yes, thank you.” I can’t quite work out the different tastes and flavors other than the cherries and berries I glimpsed when she was making it. She returns to her cooking, managing each pot like a different potion, and a comfortable silence falls while I work up the courage to talk.

“So, uhm… Alyona.”

“Yes?”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Worked?” She throws a scoff over her shoulder. “I haven’t taken a penny from Kristof in years. Although he thinks I don’t know about how he squirrels money away for me. I won’t accept it, I won’t do it, I tell you!”

She flaps a cloth at me and chuckles dryly.

“He told me that you… you were a maid for his mother?”

Alyona pauses, and she nods, shaking her head. “She was a good woman. His father, not so much, but we do not speak of him. He grew up too fast, that poor child. I look at him and still see the scrawny kid telling me he’ll take care of Ivan and Nastja.” Alyona laughs warmly. “He was a man when he should have been playing hopscotch. He still makes the same stupid mistakes, though, I see.”

“Mistakes?”

She waves a hand at me, seemingly not wanting to elaborate, so I return to my smoothie.

She pulls several pots off the stove with her impressive strength and empties some kind of stew into a waiting glass dish.

“It is nice to see him bring someone home. I fear he is too hard, you know? His work with the Family is important. I know this. We owe them too much, but…” She sucks on her teeth again. “Not my business. But it makes him hard and he has no choice. I know it will make him stronger one day, but still. It warms my heart to see him finally meet someone.”

The urge to make a joke about kidnapping rises in me, but I refrain. I don’t get the impression that Alyona will see the funny side.

“You, child?” She peers at me over the edge of her dish as I sip my smoothie.

“Me?”

“Your parents, do they know you are in Russia?”

“Oh, no, they don’t.” I scoff. “I doubt they’d even care. Not much can make it past my father, but my mother?” I roll my eyes slightly. “I’m not costing her money, so I doubt Mara will ever care.”

“Mara?” Alyona’s hands pause.

“Mara is my mother,” I explain, taking another long sip.

“You don’t call her mother?” Alyona frowns deeply.

“I just don’t think I’ve ever called her Mom. She’s a cold woman. Though she’d tell me that’s the Orlova way.”

“Orlova?” Her face twists slightly, and recognition flickers. “You are Alena Orlova?”

“Yeah…” I frown softly. “I thought you knew, with your talk of the Family and everything.”

“Yes, of course!” Alyona spurs back into action, and the fleeting concern on her face vanishes. “Now, drink. All of it, child.”

Only when she says that do I realize the nausea has faded and my stomach feels much more settled.

“Oh, wow, I didn’t even notice I was feeling better.”

“You’re welcome.” Alyona grins toothily at me. “Now go, a young woman like you needs her rest!”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” I ask, eyeing the dirty pans and the several others bubbling on the stove.

“Get out,” she says sharply, still smiling, and I nod quickly.

“Alright, thank you.”

“Yes.”

“And it was lovely to meet you.”

“Yes, yes.”

She waves me away, and I do just that, retracing my steps back through the manor to find my new bedroom. With the smoothie settling in my stomach, exhaustion tinges my senses and my eyes are heavy by the time I crawl into bed.

I think things here, although it’s alarming and strange that I’m in another country, could be pretty fantastic.

And yet, Alyona’s reaction to my name makes me pause and keeps my sleep at bay for another few hours at least.

Why, out of everyone I’ve met, did she seem concerned about who I was?