Lord of Pain (The Bratva Lords #2)

Chapter One

In which when you’re trapped at a boring event, you must find your own bit of entertainment.

Roman…

"Will you sit still?" Dmitri says out of the corner of his mouth. "It's like sitting next to a toddler."

"I am rapidly losing my will to live," I hiss back. "Why am I here again?"

"Because every other member of this family is.

" He gestures irritably around the table.

He's not wrong. Our parents are glued together, shoulder and hip, Father surprisingly free of the chilly haughtier he usually spreads like a polar vortex.

Dmitri's new wife Ava is looking at an auction item in the charity gala's brochure, and my little brother Alexsey is running his hand up his date's thigh.

If I'd had the foresight to bring a date tonight, I, too, could at least be entertaining myself by fondling her under the table.

It wouldn't be the first time.

"Don't worry about me," I murmur, enjoying Dmitri's frown.

"Worry about the auctioneer who's lasering in on your wife.

He can tell from the stage that Ava's a soft touch.

You're going home with half the auction catalogue tonight.

" I check the item list. "I hope she takes a liking to Queen Elizabeth's tea set.

There are four hundred pieces and the starting bid is thirty-six million.

That's going to look great in your minimalist penthouse paradise. "

He's wearing an expression of bleak resignation, so my job here is done.

The Oheka Castle is a sprawling, lavish tribute to monetary excess with a ballroom dripping in gilt-covered pillars, frames, and furniture, but I can't remember what we're here for. Are we raising money for the elephants, or the arts? Was it something medically-related?

"...There can be no more important cause than…

" The pretty redhead at the podium - flanked by floral arrangements huge enough to create their own ecosystem - looks vaguely familiar.

An influencer maybe, or an actress. Taking another gulp of second-rate vodka, I look around the room.

It's the same collection of Manhattan glitterati I see at every event where there's an excuse to dress up and drink heavily.

You'd think in a city this size there would be a bit more variety.

The servers are quietly clearing the plates from the tables and sliding the auction paddles in their place in front of us.

The girl who puts mine down leans a little closer than necessary, her shirt sleeve brushing my shoulder.

Her scent is flowery, though there's something sharper underneath, a citrus burst that tells me she's not as sweet as she seems. Blonde hair, and warm amber eyes.

She dips one of them into a flirtatious wink with a slight curve of a smile.

This night is looking up.

I watch her move around the room, gracefully dodging other servers.

She doesn't disappear through the servers' doors, however.

Leaving her tray on a stand, she quietly crosses over to one of the veranda doors, sliding outside.

This time, there's no mistaking it. She's staring directly at me with a saucy smile that I intend to kiss right off her face.

"Where are you going?" Dmitri glares at me as I rise.

"Getting another drink. Relax, Pakhan Junior." I pat his shoulder just a little too hard to be brotherly, enjoying his irritable grunt.

I drop my head back with a groan of relief as I walk through the veranda doors. Even Manhattan city streets smell better than the stench of money and tax evasion that permeates New York City's elite like a toxic cloud.

Not that I'm judging.

The Morozov Bratva is one of the most powerful criminal organizations on the eastern seaboard. Dealing with the straights though, with their legalized theft and vice buried under layers of false morality and artifice, irritates the fuck out of me.

Sculpturally trimmed boxwood shrubs line the pathway, and the breeze sweeps in the scent of the rose garden and cherry blossoms from the trees in full bloom.

Strolling through the castle's formal gardens, I can hear the bidding begin for the auction inside in the ballroom.

I'm sure that between my mother and Ava, the bids will be flying fast and furious from our table. Goddamn, those two are a soft touch.

The girl steps out a bit from a shadowed gazebo, beckoning me with a curled finger and a sultry smile. "You took your time."

I make a show of looking at my watch. "I didn't realize we were on a deadline. Do you need to get back before dessert is served?"

Her low chuckle runs like a finger up my spine. "You're so thoughtful of the working class."

"Of course. I'm nothing if not egalitarian.

" I slide my hands around her waist, squeezing slightly, and my cock instantly takes notice.

For a girl as tall as she is, her waist is tiny.

I can almost fit my hands around it, and she has the prettiest pink lips.

As I lean in for a kiss, she stumbles back.

"Hey!" She slaps at my hand. "I'm not here for that."

"Really?" I pull away. Moving behind her, I dip my head, whispering in her ear. "Then there's only two other reasons you'd lure me out here. One, to leave me open to a hit, the second is to rob me. I have to warn you that it will be extremely difficult to do either one of those things."

"I don't want to kill you," she says impatiently, spinning to face me again. "Or rob you. Okay, yes, I did sort of… flirt to get you out here. I want to hire you for a job."

"Do you know who I am?" I laugh.

Rolling her eyes - and wouldn't that get her a punishment if this was a proper date - she says, "Roman Morozov, second son of Maksim and Ella Morozov and Vor for your Bratva."

I should be impatient with this infuriating girl, luring me out here for such a ridiculous request. But my relief at being out of that overheated ballroom means I'll hear her pitch for another minute or so. "I'm willing to listen. You have sixty seconds." I tap my watch. "Start talking."

"I need to hire you for a hit," she blurts. Her eyes widen, as if this is the first time she's said it out loud. "I recognize that you don't often do work outside your family's interests," she hurries on, "but I can make it worth your time."

That startles me into a boisterous laugh.

"Shh!" she whispers, her gaze darting to the French doors, slightly open.

"You want to hire me to kill someone," I clarify, enunciating slowly.

"Yes." She nods firmly. "I've done my homework. You're extremely powerful in those kinds of circles, and they say you have never missed a target. That's why I need you."

Staring at her, I track the lines of her face, her high cheekbones, her golden brown eyes, and recognition flares.

"Hey!" Her hands fly up, trying to hold onto the blonde wig as I pull it off her head. Long, chestnut-colored hair tumbles over her shoulders.

"I've seen you around. Violet Monroe, correct?" Tugging on a lock of her hair, I grin as she slaps my hand away. "You should be bidding on some expensive piece of crap in there, not waiting tables. What are you up to?"

"Nobody pays attention to the waitstaff," she says matter-of-factly. "I can't let anyone see me talking to you in public. You know what gossips these people are. And I'm not going to your sex club to find you. I knew you'd be here tonight and this was my chance."

Laughter spills from the half-open French door on the terrace, and she groans softly as another couple walks out of the ballroom, heading for the garden.

"This is neither the time or place for such a discussion," I say sternly.

"I needed to meet you. Here's my number." She tries to hand me a card, slipping it in my pocket when I don't take it. "Look, my family's safety depends on you. I know that sounds overly dramatic, but I'm deadly serious."

"Yeah, very serious," I agree, "almost humorless, in fact. You don't look like you've cracked a genuine smile since infancy."

Her pretty mouth drops open in outrage. "I can be funny!" Violet says defensively. "This isn't exactly a conversation that inspires knock-knock jokes. I'm trying to get you to kill someone."

"Point taken," I allow, stepping back from her.

"Wait!" She reaches out one hand, pale in the moonlight, lightly touching my arm. "Promise me you'll call. Promise. I know you don't go back on your word."

"You're placing a lot of faith in my reputation." I straighten my tux jacket. "But just for the hell of it, I'll be in contact."

Violet's face lights up with relief and she whispers, "Thank you!" She steps back into the coverage of the clustered trees, disappearing gracefully as the couple wanders closer to us.

"And here I thought I'd be going home with a trip to St. Bart's and some ugly piece of sculpture that Mother insisted on buying for me," I muse.

Laughing, I pass the confused couple, nodding politely as I head back inside.