Raphael
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jetmir fucking Volkov was talking to my daughter.
How fucking dare he?
The motherfucker had some nerve to show his face around her after he seduced my daughter and married her without my permission.
Then, he almost got her killed and my brother blinded.
And to make things even worse, he broke my baby’s heart.
She didn’t outright say it, but I know my daughter and could see her eyes and smiles dim with each passing day.
For the past three years, I tried to figure out who set the explosives in Albania. I even recruited my friends to assist by hacking into the local police database. The records were suspiciously vague and data scarce which left me with one logical explanation: Kian or Jetmir had paid.
Of course, I could dial up Kian and ask, but fuck if I would. He assured me my daughter would be safe in the property next to him, and then let his fucking ward seduce her. No fucking way I would be talking to him or Jetmir about anything. They were the “enemy” as far as I was concerned.
And speaking of my ex-son-in-law, he clearly had a death wish and I’d be so happy to oblige.
I hated that fucking bastard more than words could convey.
It had plenty to do with the fact he’d seduced my daughter, but there was so much more to it.
He was a reminder of what my wife had gone through at the hands of Santiago Tijuana two decades ago.
Every time my wife saw him, she had to relive that horrific event.
Yeah, marriage between those two was a definite no-go.
Jetmir’s resemblance to Santiago Tijuana was undeniable and fuck if I’d ever allow that around my wife. That motherfucker kidnapped and tortured my wife.
The bottom line was Jetmir had no right to be here. This was an event to come to terms with Liana and her empire. After three years of bickering and hate, thanks to her son’s actions, drug and gun smuggling routes were compromised. People were dead. And both of our businesses had suffered enough.
Therefore, this was a truce between the Volkov, Tijuana, and Santos families, but that didn’t include Jetmir Thorne Volkov-Tijuana. What that fucker had done was un-fucking-forgivable.
So I would snatch him and throw him out, then kill him. I shoved through the guests, my hand already on my gun as Anya left the smug fucker who was staring after her like his life depended on it.
He must have sensed me coming because when I came to stand in front of him, glowering at him, he didn’t even flinch. Much to my regret, the fucker was two inches taller than me, so I couldn’t even tower over him.
Jetmir stood nonchalantly, his solid frame beneath his black suit making him stand out.
Personally, I preferred white suits, but whatever.
He studied me wordlessly, like some kind of freak that I wanted to murder with my bare hands.
It didn’t matter that he was the heir to the Volkov and Tijuana criminal empire, he was a young punk to me who dared marry my daughter without my permission.
To add salt to the wound, he’d also caused Gabriel’s blindness.
Yeah, the young man would fucking die.
I pulled out my Glock and pointed it in the direction of the exit doors. “Get off my territory before I blow your brains out and have them mopped up and thrown out with the trash.”
He didn’t budge. Instead, he stared at me with an unreadable expression. Clearly he wasn’t very smart.
One point against him.
“With all due respect, Mr. Santos, I’m not leaving until I’ve conducted my business.”
He managed an air of confidence and assertiveness, and somehow that pissed me off even more. This fucker was too comfortable in his own skin for someone who’d lied to my daughter and caused so much strife.
Then his eyes darted around, scanning the crowd before finally stopping on Anya, watching her with the kind of possessiveness that bordered on predatory.
Oh, he was definitely dying today.
I pointed the gun at his forehead. “You know what, I think I’m gonna kill you regardless. Fuck this truce.”
His gaze returned lazily to me, and he smiled smugly. “I couldn’t agree more, Mr. Santos. Fuck this truce.”
Why did something about his words feel off?
I couldn’t be sure whether I was biased when it came to this motherfucker, because he married my daughter.
He. MARRIED. My daughter. A sense of nausea rose in my chest. The thought of his filthy paws on my little girl was enough to send me off the deep end.
“Want to continue this war, Volkov? Or is it Tijuana?” I gritted, pressing my finger on the trigger. “Because I’d love to extinguish both names.”
A rush of familiar footsteps echoed behind me, growing louder with every heartbeat. Before I could turn, I heard the sharp intake of breath that I knew better than my own.
“Papa… what are you doing?” my daughter hissed.
A second pair of footsteps stopped just behind her, bringing with it my wife’s voice, strained with fear but fighting to remain calm.
“Raphael…” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the young man opposite me, which only worked to further piss me off. I didn’t move and my wife’s gentle hand wrapped around my bicep, her scent enveloping me. She added gently, “Put the gun down. Now.”
“Papa, please. Put. It. Down,” Anya echoed in a low, stern voice.
For a long moment, no one moved and the confined space we stood in filled with suffocating silence, broken only by my daughter’s uneven breaths and the pounding of my own heart.
“This motherfucking punk should be dead for…” God, where should I even start?
“For breaking my daughter’s heart.” Anya thought she fooled us all, but how many nights had I had to listen to her heart-wrenching cries?
How many days did I have to watch my girl pretending to be happy when her eyes were shattered like a broken sky.
“And for blinding Gabriel,” I added, knowing Anya was too selfless to care about herself, but when it came to Gabriel, she’d rip a person’s heart out of their chest to protect him.
“Nobody can punish Jetmir for breaking my heart but me,” Anya said in a hard voice, and to my horror, she stepped in front of Jetmir, shielding him from my gun.
“And Gabriel is the only one who can demand revenge for the damage to his vision. He decided against it, so forgive me, but you’ll lower your gun. ”
She carefully met my gaze, refusing to back down.
Fuck. Me. No, no, no.
For the past three years I pretended, ignored the signs, but now seeing her stand there tall and proud, I could no longer lie to myself. Yes, this fucking bastard broke her heart, but Anya… Christ. She still loved him.
And judging by how the prick stared at her with those heated eyes as if he might devour her, the feeling was mutual.
Kill him, my mind whispered. It was the only solution to get my daughter rid of this man’s spell. Right?
“Step aside, daughter. Now.”
“Papa,” Anya warned.
The top of her head barely reached Jetmir’s shoulders, so I could just as easily shoot him in the head. She couldn’t protect him and my daughter was smart enough to know it. But she also knew I would never risk firing any weapon around her.
“Raphael!” Sailor protested, her nails digging into my bicep. “Put the gun down.”
“If I were you, I’d listen to your wife,” he commented dryly.
“Shut the fuck up, boy.”
This fucker stole my only daughter once; I wouldn’t let it happen again. She was too young. Not ready for… anything, and especially not this smug asshole.
Nobody—especially this fucking gangster—was good enough for her. Didn’t my wife and daughter see that?
“Papa, can you please put the gun down?” Anya demanded once again, while Jetmir subtly moved her behind him. “And you… what the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t want the senile bastard to shoot you by accident,” Jetmir reasoned coldly.
Anya glared at him and smacked his hand that was still on her shoulder. Here we go.
“Don’t you talk about my papa like that!” It was my turn to be smug, because Jetmir fucking Volkov just made a mistake.
“I’m sorry, angel, but he’s the one with the gun.”
Liana Volkov stepped next to me and looked up, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Raphael, this isn’t the way I envisioned the night unfolding.”
“He,” I said, pointing my gun in Jetmir’s direction, “isn’t supposed to be here. Truce is between us. You and me. Not this fuck—”
“My son represents the Tijuana and Volkov organizations. In fact, he’s the head of both since he took the reins years ago, so forgive me when I correct you… This truce is between you and him.”
Anya let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose while my wife pried the gun from my hands.
I stared at her, struck anew by the beauty I saw when I first fell in love with her. I just wanted to take her home and love her all night long, get lost between her long legs. If the world was fair, Sailor would have gotten a better man, but she got me and every day I work hard to deserve her.
Anya was so much like her mother, and when she was born, I swore she would have the best life had to offer. A better man than her papa. A better life outside this criminal world. A normalcy that had not been afforded to us.
And then this fucker Jetmir showed up, fucking up all my plans for her future.
“Please forgive my husband’s manners,” Sailor said gently, flashing a smile to Liana, then to her psychopath son. “He’s… overprotective.”
Liana nodded wordlessly, but Jetmir’s expression changed to one of complete politeness and respect. “Of course, Mrs. Santos. I would expect nothing less from Anya’s father.”
The bastard smiled at my wife with straight white teeth that I would knock right out of his mouth. Soon.
“Oh, there’s no need for formalities. Sailor is just fine,” she replied gently, although her smile was tight and unnatural. “It’s about time we crossed paths.”
Jetmir raised a brow in surprise and I did the same while I shot a What the fuck? look to my wife.
“I agree.” The fucker sent me a smug smile before he continued. “It’s nice to formally meet you… Sailor.”
“This is all wrong,” I grumbled, hoping she would look at me and agree. She ignored me, but to my surprise, Anya didn’t.
“You know what, Papa, I agree. Call each other whatever you want. Shoot arrows, bullets… I don’t care.” She stepped away from Jetmir and from all of us. “It’s been a long-ass day. Happy truce or whatever. I’m going home.”
Anya kissed her mama’s cheek, then mine and left our little war circle, muttering something unintelligible to herself.
“It’s scary when she starts talking in Spanish.”
It was Jetmir who spoke, staring after my daughter with longing I was way too familiar with. Still, I wanted to gauge his eyes out of his skull. He fucked up majorly and it was unforgivable.
“You know nothing about Anya,” I growled, glaring at him, despite the fact I knew he was right. Anya was the epitome of calm and kind until she lost her temper. Then she switched from English to Spanish and spewed fire. “Unless you’re a stalker, boy?”
“Depends what you consider stalking,” Jetmir drawled, not looking away from the door Anya disappeared through.
“You fucking—”
Sailor tugged on my arm and stared up at me with a warning in her blue eyes that our daughter inherited.
Stop, she mouthed, then placed the gun back in my hand. The next words she spoke aloud: “Put the gun away, and then let’s continue this conversation in a civil manner.”
When I didn’t move, she pinched my side. Hard.
I sighed, but holstered my weapon.
“As you wish, my reina.” I swear to fuck, the women in my life would be the death of me.
She rewarded me with a smile, then turned to the Volkovs. “Please forgive my husband. He’s a touch overprotective.”
Liana smiled coldly. “Understandably.”
But I didn’t think she understood at all.
“Please excuse me,” Jetmir said, taking a step back.
“If you ever go near my daughter again, Jetmir, I will gouge your eyes out and then end you.”
As if I hadn’t spoken, he addressed Liana. “Mother, I’m sure you can handle the remainder of the evening. Have a lovely night, everyone.”
Liana and Sailor shared a look when he slipped away—in the opposite direction to Anya’s, thank God.
“Well, this is going swell,” Sailor said nervously.
“Let’s hope nobody dies tonight,” Liana deadpanned.