His Ruthless Deception (Bratva Brotherhood #2)

Chapter 1

Kolya

With one final flicker, the last security camera switches to a still of the empty hallway.

Slipping the tablet into my jacket pocket, I scan the back entrance of Northwood Elementary. Shadows stretch across the playground beneath the setting sun, creating warped shapes out of the slide and swings.

My fingers brush the gun I always keep close.

Not that I anticipate any trouble tonight.

The head enforcer of the Kozlov Bratva hacking a security camera to break into an elementary school?

Child’s play.

In fact, asking me to apply my talents to a job this easy is almost insulting.

Though I’d never dare voice that gripe. When the Pakhan asks, you say yes. His orders are law.

Even orders that revolve around a kindergarten teacher and a cache of missing diamonds.

Easing out from my hiding spot behind a tree, I approach the rear point of entry with soundless steps.

A metal frame and basic lock greet me at the back door. Most suburban public buildings like this lack halfway decent security measures. School budgets go to classroom supplies and salaries rather than deterrents against criminals like me.

Pathetic.

Convenient too.

At this rate, I’ll be back in Chicago proper well before midnight, and thank goodness. The suburbs, with all their bubbly soccer moms, chain restaurants, and men whose idea of violence revolves around playoffs on giant flat screens after ten at night make my skin itch.

Crouching, I pull out my picks. Within twelve seconds, the lock yields. Just shy of my personal best.

After spraying lubricant on the hinges to forestall telltale squeaking, I sneak inside a corridor with a gleaming linoleum floor. Emergency exit lights paint the walls in a soft, faded red.

My nose wrinkles over the mixture of odors.

Bleach and dirty shoes, with sour notes underneath.

Unlike most people, I experience no nostalgic hit from childhood memories.

My education took place at kitchen tables and back rooms, the lessons delivered by a variety of tutors, aunts, and cousins.

After my dad died, the family decided that my most crucial lessons should center on their business.

Academics were a distraction. That’s why I was homeschooled long before e-Learning became popular.

Public school never would’ve taught me how to invest money, rebuild a car engine, pick locks, or hide a body. Useful life skills.

I slip down the hall and silently review the plan. We don’t have much to go on. Our Bratva brother, MJ, compiled the scant information we possess before someone killed him. His scribbled notes leave a lot to be desired.

When I was still a teen, the family lost millions in diamonds during the tropical storm on Isla de Huesos. Now that we have a lead on where those missing gems might be, Roman Kozlov, MJ’s uncle and our current Pakhan, has demanded I retrieve them. Immediately.

MJ only jotted down two specific clues—Northwood Elemen. and Chloe D.

A kindergarten teacher.

So here I am, breaking into an elementary school.

Daniil Ilyin, my father and the man who ran banks and brokered territory, took a bullet for Roman’s father and died a warrior’s death. And after that, Roman mentored me. Which means I owe everything to the Kozlovs. My life. My loyalty.

Funny that my current mission involves sifting through arts-and-crafts supplies and goldfish crackers for a handful of sparkly rocks.

Dad would be so proud.

Enough reminiscing.

Room 112. I memorized the building blueprints. East wing, second door on the right. A quick in and out.

Sounds echo through the hallway.

Paper shuffling. Plastic clacking against a desk. Murmurs.

My gun’s in my hand before I can blink. The familiar weight comforts me. Pressing against the wall, I strain my ears.

More rustling.

Custodian?

No, the janitorial staff clocks out at six. It’s almost seven. The principal? Admin leaves at four thirty.

I creep closer, my eyes focused on the harsh, unnatural light spilling down the corridor. When I reach the corner, I peek around the edge.

Several classroom doors open to the hallway. More voices.

My mind spins. Staff meeting? School event? Nothing in the prep material I received suggested any events this evening.

Someone’s getting a fist to the face once I return home.

Holstering the gun, I peer down the hallway, jaw tight as my perfect plan collapses.

Leave? Or stay?

People aren’t just an inconvenience. Their presence changes the rules. I can’t search the classroom freely the way I intended. My stomach knots from the loss of control. For the first time in years, I find myself unprepared.

Unacceptable!

Whatever the cause, I’ve got to adapt.

As I consider my options, I straighten the suit jacket tailored to cover the gun at my ribs and run my hand over my jaw. The sign on the correct door reads, Miss Davidson’s Kindergarten, cut from construction paper and dusted with glitter.

As I approach, my mind cycles through contingencies. If it’s occupied, I can walk right past. Retreat and reevaluate. But first, I need eyes on the target.

I sweep the room. Small tables. Tiny chairs. Walls plastered with…art? A reading corner. Low shelves. Everything built for bodies a third my size.

A woman stands in the center.

File lists Chloe D. as twenty-three, with brown hair, brown eyes, a petite build, no tattoos, and no scars. This could be her.

Her back’s to me as she hangs a banner across the whiteboard that announces, in rainbow letters, Kindergarten Parent-Teacher Night! She wears a dress with cartoon apples, red on blue. Not too fitted, though I sense a nice body hiding beneath the absurd pattern.

She doesn’t fit any criminal profile. No tension. No wariness. Just a young woman prepping her classroom while humming and dancing.

When she spins around, her brown eyes jump up to meet mine, as if she hadn’t anticipated an adult in her doorway.

Those eyes animate at the sight of me. My mind stills. My breathing slows. The charged air fizzes around me.

Alive.

Her beauty far exceeds the photo displayed on the copy of her driver’s license.

She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’s hiding millions in diamonds.

When she smiles, her whole body transforms, brightening the room. Her eyes crinkle, her shoulders lift, and a gap between her front teeth makes her look even more open.

Pretty.

Naive.

Vulnerable.

“Oh, wonderful. You’re the first one here!” She bounces across the room and extends her hand. “I’m Miss Chloe.”

Even her voice is warm and unguarded.

Reluctantly, I accept her hand for a gentle shake. Small paper cuts mark her delicate fingers. Mine could crush them without even trying.

“You must be one of our new parents.” She continues beaming, unfazed by my size or silence. “I don’t think we’ve met before, but I’m so glad you’re here. I just love meeting everyone on Parent-Teacher Night.”

The whole time, she never stops moving. She adjusts the sleeve of her dress. Straightens the closest chair. Tucks and then immediately untucks a loose piece of hair.

I’ve barely spent two minutes in her presence, and I’m exhausted.

She smells good, though. Sweet like vanilla, with a hint of spice.

I wonder if she’s always this perky.

“Which of our friends is yours?”

My brows draw together as she regards me with an expectant smile. Friends? What friends? Oh. She means child. Though I have no idea why she didn’t just say that.

I scramble for a reply. Nothing in my background covers how to infiltrate a school event.

Before I can invent a lie, shrill voices reverberate from the hallway. More parents, some with kids in tow.

“Oh, here come a few more.” Chloe squeezes my hand before letting go. “Please make yourself comfortable. We’ll start once everyone arrives.”

Make myself comfortable? In a kindergarten classroom? Where, every day, little demons show up and wipe their snotty noses and other questionable substances on everything they touch?

I scan the room again and sigh.

Too late to escape.

A couple enters, their kid bouncing between them, and suddenly I’m swept up by the tide of several others.

Parents, children, and noise form a wall that presses me into the room.

I end up at an empty desk in the far corner opposite the door, lowering myself onto a tiny plastic chair that creaks under my weight.

My knees are practically implanted in my sternum.

I must look ridiculous.

If one of my brothers saw me, I’d never survive the shame.

I sit, rigid, watching as Chloe glides through the room greeting parents and high-fiving kids, all while radiating warmth. MJ somehow linked this woman, who’s so sweet she’ll give you cavities, to millions in missing diamonds.

This might be the single best cover I’ve ever seen.

My knees ache. The chair grinds into my back. Parents discuss lunches and soccer. Kids shriek.

Sensory overload, but entirely mundane.

Suka blyat.

All my sins have caught up to me.

My thighs cramp.

Chloe claps her hands, calling for attention. “Welcome, parents and friends. I’m so excited to share what we’ll be learning this year.”

She regards us from the front of the room, shining and unaware that a man with a kill count higher than the number of students she teaches lurks in her audience. A man who has a gun hidden under his jacket…not that he can easily get to it while wedged into a chair meant for a five-year-old.

This would be funny if it weren’t such a disaster.

But I can adapt and find an opportunity in this mess.

I’ll watch and gather intel.

Chloe D. fascinates me.

But I bet I could strip that smile off her face in no time at all. This woman wouldn’t last five minutes in my world.

I shift, searching for a less painful position, and resign myself to Parent-Teacher Night. To watching the kindergarten instructor in the apple-printed dress scurry around her classroom with no clue what’s coming for her.

Or who.