Bratva King (Volkov Brothers #3)

Chapter One

Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the ballroom, making every polished surface gleam. Everywhere Alexei looked, there were expensive suits, sparkling jewelry, and smiles that looked just convincing enough to pass.

A string quartet played quietly in the corner while waiters weaved through the crowd with silver trays of champagne. Around him, the city's elite mingled over a charity fundraiser, congratulating one another for their generosity as bids climbed higher with every auction item.

Alexei Volkov endured it.

Across from him, the mayor laughed a little too loudly at something Dmitri had said. His younger brother wore a tailored black suit that somehow made him look approachable instead of dangerous. It was a gift Dmitri had always possessed.

People always liked him, trusted him, and wanted to impress him. Too bad Alexei had never inspired those reactions. Fear, respect, caution—those came naturally to Alexei. Charm required effort, but Dmitri made it look effortless.

"...and that's why continued cooperation between your organization and the city would be invaluable," the mayor said.

"Our family has always believed stability benefits everyone," Dmitri replied smoothly. "Prosperity tends to follow when people honor their agreements."

Dimitri sounded diplomatic, vague enough to sound legitimate, and also threatening enough that the mayor visibly swallowed before nodding. Alexei almost smiled, because Dmitri really was good at this.

Sofia stepped beside her husband, accepting a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter before slipping it into Dmitri's hand without interrupting the conversation.

Their fingers brushed. It was a tiny gesture, barely noticeable, and yet Dmitri looked at her for half a heartbeat longer than necessary.

She answered with the smallest smile, and it vanished before anyone else could have noticed. He was trained to notice everything. An uncomfortable tug settled somewhere beneath his ribs.

Alexei didn’t think it was jealousy, not exactly. Annoyance tugged at him. First it was Maksim, then Dimitri.

Maksim was supposed to kill Lena, but ended up putting a ring on her finger. Dmitri's marriage to Sofia had begun as nothing more than an alliance between families, another calculated move in a world built on power and blood.

Yet somewhere between negotiations and obligations, they had become ridiculous.

The way Dmitri looked at her, and the way Sofia instinctively reached for him, there was ease between them. Affection that was almost embarrassing to witness. Any fool could see they were hopelessly devoted to each other.

That made no sense to Alexei. Love wasn't something Alexei had ever associated with marriage, and certainly not after watching his parents.

His father had ruled his household the way he'd ruled the Bratva—with absolute authority and obedience.

His mother had existed like a ghost drifting through hallways lined with expensive paintings.

There had always been a quiet elegance to her, and she always seemed to disappear whenever his father entered the room.

Alexei couldn't remember them ever laughing together, or his father ever giving her a single affectionate touch. Marriage had been another transaction, nothing more and nothing less. He'd accepted that lesson years ago.

Women complicated things, attachments dulled instincts, and affection created weaknesses enemies could exploit. He'd repeated those truths often enough they had become instinct.

However, neither Maksim nor Dmitri had become weaker. It was quite the opposite. Maksim had become calmer, certainly more patient. Dmitri somehow smiled more often without losing any of his edge. It didn't make sense, and Alexei disliked things that didn't make sense.

"...Alexei?" Dimitri prodded.

He blinked and saw the mayor was extending his hand.

"Our thanks again for your generosity."

Alexei shook it once, his handshake firm and brief.

"No thanks necessary,” he found himself saying.

The politician hurried off toward another wealthy donor the moment propriety allowed.

Dmitri exhaled. "I think that went well.”

"It did,” Alexei acknowledged.

"You hardly spoke."

"You hardly gave me the chance,” Alexei pointed out.

Dmitri grinned. "I know my strengths."

"You certainly do,” Alexei agreed.

He noticed that Sofia hid a smile behind her champagne glass. Apparently even teasing between husbands and wives had become another language he'd never bothered learning.

"You all right?" Dmitri asked.

Alexei rolled one shoulder. "A headache."

Well, it was not entirely a lie. The endless chatter had started drilling behind his eyes nearly an hour ago.

"I've already made the rounds,” Alexei said.

"You want to leave?"

"Unless you suddenly require adult supervision,” Alexei said dryly.

"I think we'll survive."

Alexei glanced between Dmitri and Sofia. "I'm sure you will."

"What about Maksim?" Sofia asked.

"He'll be putting out fires if the situation calls for it,” Alexei said.

Dmitri laughed. "Accurate."

Alexei adjusted his jacket cuff. "You and Maksim can handle whatever remains."

"You don't need to ask,” Dimitri told him.

"I know." His gaze settled on both of them. "It is ... convenient having reliable brothers."

Dmitri's expression softened. "Go home. Get some sleep."

Alexei gave a single nod before disappearing into the crowd.

****

The silence outside gave Alexei a measure of peace. The fundraiser took place in an old museum overlooking the river. Once he descended the front steps, the sounds of conversation dissolved behind thick stone walls, and only distant traffic remained.

Streetlights painted long golden streaks across damp pavement, and the cool autumn air filled his lungs. Ah, he thought, this was much better. His driver had the evening off, and Alexei preferred driving himself whenever security permitted.

Alexei liked control. His Aston Martin waited half a block away where the valet had parked it beneath a row of trees. He loosened his tie as he walked, pleased his headache was already fading. Alexei had almost let his guard down when he heard a soft, indiscernible pop.

Instinct screamed before his mind recognized the sound. Some bastard just shot at him. He moved before conscious thought caught up. Glass exploded beside him, and the bullet shattered against the stone wall exactly where his head had occupied a fraction of a second earlier.

Alexei dropped behind a parked SUV in one smooth motion.

Silence returned. No one shouted or ran about in a panic. Whoever fired had chosen the location well. Alexei gritted his teeth, then reached beneath his jacket.

Adrenaline shot through his system. It had been a long time since anyone tried to kill him. Everyone in the city knew who he was, and understood the fate that awaited fools who tried to get him or his family.

Cold steel settled comfortably into his palm. His pulse barely changed. Most men would've focused on surviving. Alexei wanted to know who had been bold enough to try.

He studied the street, but there was no second shot, not yet at least. Whoever was targeting him was patient and professional. He turned his gaze upward and noted windows, fire escapes, and rooftops. Finally, after a second of watching, he spotted movement at a neighboring building.

"There you are,” Alexei murmured.

He should've called his security team. Alexei knew that. One press of a button and half a dozen armed men would descend on the area. They'd bundle him into an armored SUV, sweep the surrounding buildings, and spend the next several hours lecturing him about unnecessary risks.

It was the sensible and most responsible option. The choice expected of the Pakhan of the Volkov family.

Alexei was painfully aware that his life no longer belonged entirely to him. Every movement was planned. In each of his public appearances, he was surrounded by men whose sole purpose was to keep him breathing.

His brothers and security team constantly worried. Even Dmitri occasionally reminded him that there wasn't a shortage of people who wanted him dead. It came with the title, and he accepted that most days, but sometimes, he was tired of being protected.

Alexei was sick of everyone rushing him toward the nearest exit while someone else dealt with the danger, and watching life through layers of bulletproof glass and armed escorts. He hadn't clawed his way to the top of the Bratva by hiding behind other men.

Besides, it had been far too long since anything had managed to quicken his pulse. The fundraiser had bored him senseless, but this was different.

Someone had taken a shot at him, then vanished into the night with enough skill to almost make him admire them. Curiosity flared brighter than caution.

He knew exactly how reckless it was, and he knew his brothers would call him an idiot if they found out. Alexei smiled anyway, then he gave chase.

The assassin moved like liquid. Whoever they were, they vaulted between rooftops with impossible precision, never hesitating, never looking back.

Alexei followed, although he didn’t do it as elegantly as she did. He’d glimpsed the assassin’s figure now and then, and finally concluded that it was a woman. That knowledge only sharpened his interest. He cleared the first gap, then another.

The city unfolded beneath them in sleeping silence while they raced across brick and steel under the moonlight. She was unexpectedly fast. Most hired killers relied on preparation and vetted escape routes beforehand. This one, however, seemed to rely on athleticism bordering on insanity.

She scaled a drainage pipe without slowing. Alexei took the stairs inside the adjacent building instead. It was less graceful, sure, but much faster. He burst through a rooftop access door just as she landed nearby.

She glanced over one shoulder. For the first time, he caught a proper look. The assassin wore black tactical clothing that highlighted her curves. Dark brown eyes peered back at him beneath a fitted mask. She widened her eyes slightly when she spotted him.

She hadn't expected him to keep pace, and that made him grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. She sprinted again, and Alexei followed relentlessly.

Every shortcut she chose, he anticipated another. It felt like a game to him. Slowly but surely, he was blocking her potential escape routes. She crossed another rooftop and found nothing. They stumbled upon a construction project with steel beams and plastic barriers. It was a dead end.

She stopped and slowly turned. Alexei emerged from the access stairwell, his gun already raised, and his silencer aimed directly at her ribs.

"End of the road,” he said, breathing a little fast. Alexei couldn’t remember the last time he had such a workout.

She tilted her head and looked almost curious.

Then she disappeared. Well, not literally. She simply moved at a seemingly inhuman speed that, to Alexei, made her a blur. By the time Alexei adjusted his aim, she'd already closed the distance between them.

Metal flashed, and cold steel touched his throat. Alexei realized it was a knife, thin enough to shave with, and sharp enough that he felt the faint sting before he noticed the tiny bead of blood forming against his skin.

At the exact same moment, he pressed his pistol firmly against her side beneath the lowest rib. Neither of them moved. The rooftop became impossibly still. Wind tugged loose strands of dark hair from beneath her hood. Close enough now, he realized she was younger than he'd expected.

"You missed on purpose,” Alexei said.

"Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Despite the impasse they found themselves in, Alexei was more amused than angry or afraid. He studied her, noting her steady breathing and relaxed shoulders. She wasn’t panicked one bit, and that impressed him.

"If I pull this trigger," he said quietly, "you die."

"If I move this knife half an inch," she replied, "so do you."

Very true. He'd met many killers before and found that most hid fear beneath arrogance, but this assassin hid amusement.

"I don't recognize you,” he told her, keeping his voice casual. “And I know most hired killers on the black market.”

She shrugged. “I keep a low profile.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I can pay more than whoever hired you.”

"I don’t betray my employers that easily,” she said, flicking her gaze to his face. Was she studying him, and if so, what did she see?

Alexei thought back to her first shot and realized that there had been no urgency in it, no follow-up round despite the fact she was clearly skilled. A strange realization settled into place.

"You intended to miss,” he said, deciding to sound out his theory.

Momentary silence, then she smiled. "I wondered how long it'd take for you to figure that out.”

Alexei stared at her, frowning. Was killing him not the objective? Did someone perhaps hire her to send a message? Could it be she was hired to take him out, but decided not to at the last minute because she'd made a personal decision?

None of the explanations satisfied him. Questions multiplied instead of disappearing. Who was she? Who trained her? Who employed someone capable of outrunning him across rooftops? Why intentionally miss? Most importantly, why reveal she'd done it?

"You've become considerably more interesting,” Alexei finally said.

"So have you."

The words lingered between them.

Neither sounded flirtatious. They were merely two predators assessing each other. Alexei almost regretted pointing the gun at her.

"I should kill you,” he told her.

"You haven’t, and you’ve already had a few opportunities,” she reminded him.

She wasn't wrong. He should've fired the instant he'd cornered her, but instead he was talking to her like they were on some sort of casual date.

"You'll keep wondering," she said softly.

"About what?"

"Why I missed."

Before he could answer, she moved, and a flash exploded against the concrete. White smoke followed, and Alexei fired instinctively. The suppressed shot vanished into the cloud. By the time visibility returned, she was gone.

The adjacent rooftop access door swung lazily in the wind, and it was empty.

Alexei lowered his weapon, then he laughed.

It was a strange sound, because he couldn’t recall the last time he chuckled like this.

She'd escaped. Most men would've considered that failure, but Alexei considered it fascinating.

He touched the tiny cut across his throat.

There was barely enough blood to stain his fingertips.

A deliberate reminder that she could have killed him, but she hadn’t. His headache had disappeared completely. As he looked across the sleeping city, one thought echoed louder than every unanswered question. Whoever she was, he intended to find her.