9. Fame
CHAPTER 9
FAME
“ S he is already betrothed. Where you are from, maybe, you make demands and get your way. Simple. This is not that world.” Balakin’s smug face makes me want to punch him, but I’m not stupid.
Well, okay, I’m obviously not the brightest bulb in the chandelier. If I was, I wouldn’t be here choking back words that could get me executed for disrespecting a man as powerful as Anatoly Balakin is. If I had half the brains nature gives frogs, I’d have laid claim to Amaliya while she was still under my roof.
We’d probably be snuggled up at the compound, doing shit that would rival the noisemaking the others get up to. But no, not me. I couldn’t be smart enough to see what was plain as day until I got my lights knocked out by that damn tree branch.
“No disrespect intended, Pakhan, but she can be unbetrothed. You want her married to a man who can assure her safety. I believe I’ve already been doing that for months.” Saying ‘no disrespect’ feels a lot like disrespect, but I stand by my statement.
“I’m well aware of the…assistance…you and your men have provided.” The way he pauses when he acknowledges everything my club’s done for his business, his daughter, and the community at large by taking down the trafficking scum pisses me off.
As if it was a trivial level of help we accomplished. As if his own arrogance and blind spots didn’t almost lead to his daughter being lost to him forever when she was drugged and kidnapped from under his nose.
“Then you’re aware there’s no need to marry her off to some old crony of yours like she’s a painting being auctioned to the highest bidder.” My temper gets away from me, and I realize my mistake as Balkin’s eyes grow cold with fury.
“Zinovy Bayev is not, as you say, some old crony of mine.” He gestures, and a man I’d clocked merely as muscle steps forward from the corner where he’s been observing our conversation.
“Bayev is Avtorityet . How you say, Captain, possibly. One of only four men in all of the organization to hold that position. Trusted beyond measure. Not old. Not a bidder.” Ice drips from Balakin’s every sneered word.
“I apologize, Pakhan. I meant no disrespect,” I repeat. Shock and despair war for supremacy in my gut.
Maybe, it’s my imagination, but I swear I feel every thud of my heart in the stitches crisscrossing my thigh where the doctors pieced my leg back together. The weight of the metal and Velcro cast holding the busted bones and metal rods in place keeps me upright. A feat for which I’m grateful as Amaliya’s fucking future husband examines me as if I’m an ant under a magnifying glass in the sun.
I know who he is. Zinovy Bayev, Beast of the Bratva, is an abomination in designer wear. Months ago, I watched him dig around a man’s abdominal cavity bare-handed while the man screamed in agony. The whole time, the Beast simply whispered the tortures eternity had in store for him as punishment for selling women and children. No sign of emotion or remorse. Not even the slightest trace of humanity.
This is the man Anatoly has selected for his beloved daughter? Bayev will no doubt extinguish everything bright and bratty about Amaliya. Strip her of all the things that make her shine brighter than the sun over open water. Fuck, she’d be better suited to one of his bowing and scraping contemporaries than to this man. No. She’s better suited to me.
Ice blue eyes stare at me, as the man in question takes stock of the cuts and bruises I know are evident over every inch of my visible skin. Years of conditioning help me hold myself still under his frank perusal. His eyes give no clue to his thoughts. It’s just robotic assessments computing in the span between each slow blink.
“She is my only child. Giving her to you would destroy any political gains her marriage could secure.” Anatoly calmly discusses Amaliya’s future as though she’s mere chattel, but I know better. The man may be a hardass, and he may infuriate me when he plays the mobster role, but he loves LeeLee. I know it. I’ve seen it.
“Ghost Born MC may not have political clout, but neither does this guy.” I flick a thumb in Bayev’s direction but leave my eyes on the pakhan. Bayev may be a weapon, but Anatoly is the finger on the trigger.
“You assume much,” the pakhan says. Bayev remains as silent as he has since I entered the room. Alert and coiled like the vicious serpent he is. Just waiting for Anatoly’s command.
“Whatever it takes to convince you I’m a better bet for Amaliya’s future. If you give her to me, you’ll strengthen ties with the club. And, as you know, there are some connections Bender and I maintain to other…organizations that can be of benefit.” It’s as direct as I can be without violating the security clearances that keep those connections working with us.
“You know, I don’t think you’ve ever explained why they call you FAME,” Balakin ponders apropos of nothing, as though we’re merely here shooting the shit and not negotiating for ownership of an actual human being. His own daughter and the woman I…I love. Fuck, the realization hits me harder than it ever has.
I love Amaliya Balakin. I don’t just want her to be mine because I’m attracted to her. Or because keeping her safe and taming her bratty little ass makes me feel like a god. It’s love. Real, serious, forever love. The kind I didn’t think I could have.
“Your nickname, Shaw. Why do they call you that?” Balakin presses.
“Fuck All My Enemies,” I grit out. Club names are only used when we’re engaged in club business, but there’s not much I won’t divulge if it convinces the pakhan to give me what I want. Who I want.
“And I suppose you want me to believe a man with the name Fuck All My Enemies will give me his allegiance in exchange for my daughter?” He nods at Bayev, and I sense, more than hear, the other man retreat back to the corner of the room where he’d been observing.
“My first allegiance will always be to Amaliya. Then to my club. If you’re willing to accept that, then yes, I’ll pledge my loyalty to you behind them.”
It’s no hardship. I’d give him my loyalty and more for his acceptance of the relationship I plan to have with LeeLee. I’m going to make her mine. I’m not foolish enough to expect there won’t be some groveling necessary to convince her. Amaliya Balakin is the pakhan’s princess, but she’s still going to be my Little Girl.