Chapter Fifteen
In which some arms dealers are the most gossipy bitches in Moscow.
Nikandr…
"So, the flowery language," Caroline rambles. "What the hell is that? I thought I was in some Edwardian castle, listening to the courtiers fancy-talk each other."
When we are back at the hotel, she accompanies me to my suite without argument and I gently herd her into one of the guest rooms.
"Speaking with other crime families during negotiations tends to be more formal. There's a bit of, as you said, flowery language," I say, turning on the bathroom light and pulling out a hotel robe, laying it out on the bed for her.
"Wait, how was that negotiation? That was a kidnapping!" she says indignantly.
"You'd be surprised at how many meetings I've held have started that way."
She's standing in the middle of the bedroom; her hair is still up in that messy ponytail and her lipstick's gone because she's been biting her lower lip.
Watching her chew absently on that lush lip makes me want to pull it free with my thumb.
Push my thumb inside her mouth.
Tell her to "Suck, like a good girl."
Fuck. Concentrate, you asshole!
"It will be safer if you stay here tonight," I say, subtly adjusting my pants. "We can concentrate our guards in one place."
She's just shell-shocked enough to allow it. "Oh…" She looks at the bed, the robe I've laid out for her. There's a low murmur from the guards in the main room and Alexsey's familiar voice as he gives instructions. "Okay. I'm not taking anyone's bed here, right?" Her eyes narrow at me.
Suspicious little thing.
"No, you're not crawling into my bed, darling. Though my room is right next door should you need me." My insolent smile is enough to irritate her back into our usual dynamic.
"That won't be happening," she says. "I know how desperately you need your beauty sleep."
I can't help it. Bursting into laughter, I nod. "That's my girl."
"I am not your girl!" she yells, her indignant voice cut off when I shut the door.
My good mood vanishes instantly when I see Alexsey's stern expression. Running my hands over my face with a groan, I sink into an armchair by the window. Outside, the street is empty, just the occasional bus or a taxi taking a late-night reveler home.
"That fucking Cossack prick Dariy Agapov is not the type to let a little thing like Caroline being married to stop him from chasing her down," I say to Alexsey.
"Of course, attempting this with a Morozov Bratva spouse is punishable by death, no matter how valuable his organization is." Alexsey hands me a tumbler with three fingers of vodka. "I squeezed a bit of lemon in it. Prevents scurvy."
I down half of it while I glare at him over the rim of the glass.
"We still have an issue here. It's likely Agapov has already spread his tentacles over Moscow, looking for the civil servant or the marriage license that would prove my claim.
It shouldn't fucking matter if Caroline is my wife.
She's under the protection of the Morozov Bratva. "
"You know that just saying she's yours is not enough, Nik." Alexsey sits next to me, stretching out his legs on an ottoman.
"I could put her on the jet and fly her out of Moscow within the hour," I'd said, irritably yanking on my tie. "Then this issue is done."
"You told the most gossipy bitch in Russia that you, the Sovietnik of the Morozov Bratva, are married," he insists on needlessly pointing out.
"That means that by now, the Moscow Six Families know.
Preparations are already being made, gifts being sent, and strongly worded suggestions that you hold a proper wedding here are already flooding the family. "
"And telling them that, 'Oh, it was a bit of a joke to keep Agapov's hands off Caroline' once they've made these gestures is now insulting them as well." I crack my neck, one direction and then the other.
"Iisus Khristos, every time you do that it sounds like a tree getting hit by lightning," Alexsey winces. "Bones aren't supposed to sound like that. Unless we're actually breaking someone's femur."
"The femur is the strongest bone in the human body," I nod approvingly. "Hearing the bone break and the resulting screaming is always so satisfying. But back to the problem at hand."
"Call Caroline a problem in front of my wife, and I won't stop her from stabbing you," he warns. "Coming home with the news that you've married her cousin - when she knows Caroline thinks you're an asshole - is a tough fucking sell as it is."
"Caroline doesn't think I'm an asshole," I frown haughtily. "Women love me."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Alexsey says, finishing his drink. "And you've been pissed at her since she kicked your ass in that poker game."
"She didn't kick my ass!" I snap. "She had one lucky hand."
He laughs at me, the svoloch'.
"Since you're officially no fucking help at all," I say, "you may as well get some sleep."
"Do you have a plan?" Alexsey asks. "One that will actually work without putting us into a war with the Moscow Six? You know how petty they are."
"This is ridiculous." I pinch the brow of my nose. "But yes, I have a solution that will please no one. So, that's good."
"I'm going to avoid asking for specifics so I have plausible deniability when Liria demands details when I call her later today," he says, instantly gloomy. "I will, however, back you up."
"Thank you, cousin. I know you will," I say. "Because we always look out for each other, no matter how genuinely stupid the plan is."
Alexsey goes to bed and I sit in my chair, watching the empty street, looking for suspicious passers-by or cars that could be from Agapov.
It's quiet, and I sit there long enough to watch the sunrise.
The long rays slide between the tall buildings, illuminating the windows and sending out bursts of fiery light into the street.
After a while I sigh, get up, and shower.
Shave.
Dress in a dark gray suit and a green tie, run my hands through my hair one last time, eyeing myself in the mirror. I'm the Sovietnik of the Morozov Bratva. I bear authority and responsibility because of it.
Alexsey's right, though. I am pissed at Caroline.
Not because she beat me at poker, but because that frenzied coupling in the elevator was possibly the most intense sex I've ever had.
I've pictured her beautiful face, her moans and the tight, silky grip of her pussy a hundred times since the night before.
She's going to think I engineered this because we fucked. As if I have ownership over her now. The thought though, of another man ever touching her again makes me murderous. So yes. Caroline is mine, now. No matter how enraged she's going to be at me.
I send out a few quick texts, the first to Dmitri in case he hears the "happy news" from one of the gossips here.
My phone lights up in the middle of the next text.
"Hello, son. You've been busy."
My eyes close. Of course, Father heard first. Of course.
"Hello, Otets," I say. "It's been an interesting twelve hours. I was just texting you. I should have known the gossip would move at the speed of light."
"I just received a phone call from the Sovietnik of the Sokolov Bratva, congratulating me on my son's marriage.
Is there anything you'd like to tell me?
" I can picture him, strolling around his office, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, a grin on his face.
He loves nothing more than when things go sideways.
I give him a brief rundown; he growls when I mention Agapov. "Is there anything that stupid bastard has not managed to fuck up?" he asks. "Why have the Moscow Six not murdered him by now? Why haven't we?"
"Because he's managed to make himself just useful enough to avoid a bullet," I say. "I have made the necessary arrangements, I just need to wake up Caroline."
"Caroline?" he asks. "Your bride is Caroline, Liria's cousin? The card shark?"
My head tilts back. There's already a headache brewing around my temples. "Yes, Sir."
There's silence. And then, my kind, supportive father bursts into laughter. "I'm hanging up. I've got to tell your mother." He's still laughing. "She's going to love this. Good luck, moy syn."
"Thank you for your support, Father." He hangs up, still laughing.
Then, there's a quiet knock and my head drops, exhausted. I open it to find a beaming concierge holding an enormous flower arrangement, with two bellmen behind her holding gift boxes.
"Dobroye utro, good morning, Mr. Morozov," she says happily, holding up the floral arrangement like a sacred chalice. "These gifts were just delivered for you and…" She looks a little confused as she glances at my bare left hand. "And for Mrs. Morozova?"
"Thank you," I say, rubbing my eyes. "Just put them in the living room, please."
Eyeing the first gift box like it might contain a venomous snake, I open it to find a beautiful wooden box with three bottles of Russo-Baltique Vodka. I open the note, it's from Volkov:
Pozdravlyayu, Nikandr and Caroline! We are so pleased to hear of your happy news, though I am not certain that Ivan Bukharov will feel the same. He was still angling for a union with you and his daughter Tatiana, yes?
Polina and I were most charmed by your Caroline. We wish you many happy years together.
Victor
I stifle a groan, finishing my coffee and pouring another cup. Bukharov was, in fact. fucking relentless about the possibility of getting me to marry his daughter. The old svoloch' had the audacity to approach Dmitri as Pakhan to propose the union, trying to get him to order me to do it.
Dmitri found it hilarious.
The flowers are from the Balabanov Bratva, along with an invitation to dinner, and the other gift box is from the especially chatty Sokolovs, who'd managed to call my father with the news before I could tell him.
Around nine, I pour a cup of coffee and knock on her door softly.
"Caroline? It's Nikandr. We need to talk.
" I open the door and she's just sitting up in bed, still dazed from sleep, her eyes half-lidded and her lush mouth soft.
She instantly tightens the robe around her, an action I note with some regret.
"What's going on?" she says, her voice cautious.
"Here," I hand her the coffee. "You're going to need this. If I remember correctly, you're a sixteen cup a day girl."
Her mouth twitches just slightly as her gaze lowers to the coffee. "Oh, good. You made it black. Just like your soul.” She takes a cautious sip.
I happen to know she likes it black but I don't say anything, pulling a chair next to the bed and sitting down. I straighten my jacket. "Last night was a mess," I say, watching her closely.
She shudders a little in agreement. "Yeah, that guy was like a cross between a tarantula and Fat Bastard."
I barely conceal a chuckle. "Fat Bastard?"
"The guy from the Austin Powers movies? The one who says 'Get in mah belly!'" She laughs a little and it's charming.
"That is uncomfortably accurate," I agree.
"So, now that we've been rescued at gunpoint from what was considered 'a meeting', where does that leave us?"
"Let me tell you a bit about Bratva culture," I say.
"Oh good," she says, looking interested and setting aside her coffee. "I've wanted to know more, but it's not exactly dinner table conversation."
"The Morozov Bratva is the most powerful one in New York and St. Petersburg," I begin.
"We also have substantial holdings here in Moscow and throughout Eastern Europe.
There are different alliances between the Bratvas internationally, but here in Russia, there's six extraordinarily powerful families.
They're called the Moscow Six. Our Bratvas are interconnected through several different ways. Commerce, crime, we trade services."
"Okay," she says, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.
"You have to understand…" I hesitate, rubbing my finger along my lower lip.
"You have to understand that ritual and position are important to these people.
Appearances are crucial, showing respect for the old ways.
You've seen that arranged marriages are still very much in play, based on Liria's experience with Alexsey. "
"Yes." Something murderous flashes across her expression.
"That was a very rough start. Alexsey was a complete bastard there for a while.
" Her face clears a bit. "It all worked out and Liria got her happy ending.
I don't know if that's common in your circles.
But it was with Liria and Alexsey and I am forever grateful. "
"You're important to this family, Caroline," I admit. "You have endeared yourself in a very short time to all the women, and you are appreciated by Alexsey."
Her confused expression narrows into suspicion and she's watching me carefully. "I can tell you're building up to something I'm not going to like," she says acidly. "Spit it out."
"The Moscow Six families know that we're married," I say bluntly.
"But we're not!" she protests. "It's just what you told Agapov so we could get the hell out of there and he wouldn't try to feel me up."
"News travels fast, and I assure you that every one of the Moscow Six families has heard of our sudden wedding and they all now consider themselves to be involved.
Gifts are being sent. Invitations will be extended.
Should they find out that our union was a lie after making so much of it, they will consider it a grave insult. "
"What happens if they think it is a grave insult?" she asks, a little hoarsely.
"A grave insult to the point of causing serious damage to the relationships between our Bratvas because to these families, everything is about pride and potential insult."
Caroline is staring at me as if she's trying to pluck individual words out of my sentences and create them into something that makes sense to her. "You're saying that they might go to war with the Morozov Bratva because their feelings were hurt?" she asks incredulously.
"We're not in America," I shrug. "It's no longer a matter of just putting you on a jet and flying you out of here. Moscow's ways are different."
She slumps back against the pillows and grabs her coffee, finishing it in one gulp like a shot of tequila. "Okay." She sets her jaw. "What does that mean exactly? You have a plan. I can already tell."
I smile pleasantly. "Darling, we're getting married."
***
Iisus Khristos - Jesus Christ in Russian
Svoloch' - bastard in Russian
moy syn - my son in Russian
Pozdravlyayu – congratulations in Russian