Chapter Two
Ivan
I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, observing the young women bustling around the safe house. After getting them settled last night, my men brought over supplies and one of our trusted doctors to check them for injuries.
Physically? They’re in decent shape. None of those pigs had laid a hand on them. It’s their mental state that’s got me worried. I paid them two visits, and three of them jumped from their seats at the simple sound of the door opening. Okay, those hinges are a bit old and they creak, but that doesn’t explain why they freaked out like that. Fear and uncertainty are lingering in their eyes. Even someone with half my life experience would see that.
My gaze settles on Clare every now and again. Leonid can’t seem to look away from her either. I can’t say I blame him. Even dressed in an oversized tracksuit with her hair gathered in a ponytail, the woman is a stunner. But there’s more to her that has both of us intrigued: an inner strength that I spotted the second she spoke up in that dingy locked room. Everyone else was terrified to even utter a word. All they did was squeak and sniffle. Not Clare. She was upset, yes, but she kept her cool.
Leonid couldn’t stop staring after her SUV as it drove off last night. His eyes stayed on it for at least thirty seconds until it became a speck in the distance. Also, he nearly bit Yuri’s head off when we arrived here to check security protocols.
That’s not what I expected from my partner. More often than not, he keeps his shit together. In fact, he’s known throughout the Bratva as one of the most level-headed men. I can see he’s rather protective of that young woman already.
As for me? It’s strange, but I feel attracted to her. And that would’ve been fine, apart from one major reason.
Our lifestyle.
The life we lead is too damn dangerous. Falling in love sounds more like a death wish. To some, it sounds like a bad joke. They don’t need attachments. They’re just complications in a life that’s already too messed up. Still, seeing Clare’s strength in the face of trauma and violence sparks something unusual in me. I feel the need to ensure that she never has to go through the same terror again.
With a small sigh, I stride over to where Leonid and Dmitri stand by the front window, muttering about perimeter guards. Leonid gives me a tight nod. His shoulders look tense, even underneath his expensive black sweater. I know him well enough to recognize when something’s brewing behind that calm expression.
“How’re they holding up?” I ask Dmitri with a jerk of my chin towards the women.
He scrubs a hand through his beard, thinking how to respond. “As expected, sir. They’ve been through a lot, but they’re coping pretty good under the circumstances. I don’t know how long the Armenians had been keeping them, so there may be some psychological issues later.”
“And our security status?” I ask Leonid, shifting my attention to him.
“Air tight, now. No one gets within thirty yards of this place without me knowing about it.” His answer is sharp; he must’ve been waiting for that question.
I check the time on my watch, the silver sparkling under the sharp morning light. “The Pakhan wants an update. We’re expected there in thirty.”
Leonid’s jaw tightens. “And the women?”
“Malachi and his team will remain on guard duty with Dmitri. No one would dare cross them.” I hope the look in my eyes tells him I’m being honest. “They’re safe here, Leonid.”
He scans my face a long moment before jerking his head towards the front door. “Let’s not keep Viktor waiting then.”
The ride to the restaurant the Pakhan owns is short but tense. I can tell Leonid’s mind is still back at the safe house with the women rescued from captivity. That’s where mine is anyway. Or maybe he’s thinking about just one woman in particular. I think I need to distract him.
“So, what’s the deal with you and that gorgeous brunette?” I pose casually, keeping my eyes on the road. “She’s gotten under that tough skin of yours.”
Leonid doesn’t even attempt denial. He shouldn’t bother. We know each other too damn well. “Something about her stood out from the moment I laid eyes on her. Can’t explain it,” he claims, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Have you ever come across anything like this in one of our raids before?”
“A group of frightened, abused women?” I shake my head. “Can’t say I have. I think the Armenians were prepping them for the sex trafficking racket or some type of fucked up auction.” My grip tightens on the steering wheel, thinking that this might well be true. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time those fuckers attempted something so horrible.
“It would explain why they were kept under lock and key in an otherwise empty warehouse,” Leonid mutters, his gaze on the road ahead.
I let off a slow exhale. This damn business makes my blood boil and pisses all over every moral code the Bratva abide by. Prostitution is one thing. The women who work our clubs do so willingly. We don’t force anyone to work for us. We treat the women with care, respect and we protect them against all sorts of assholes. If one of them gets violent with one of our girls, they get a taste of Bratva justice so harsh, they wish they’d stayed the fuck away. Those women lead comfortable, safe lives. What the girls in that warehouse had to go through? I don’t even want to imagine that.
We pull into the underground parking garage of the bustling restaurant and exit the Mercedes in tense silence. I straighten my navy suit jacket, checking that my twin holstered Glocks sit comfortably underneath. It’s never wise to visit the Pakhan unprepared.
Leonid waits for the elevator, sharp in an all-black suit and tie that matches his dark hair. The tailored clothing strains against muscles earned from years of combat training since he became Bratva at eighteen. I remember the scrawny teenager who showed up on Viktor Yelchin’s doorstep. Even then, his intensity and his ambition were obvious. He’d stood out amongst all the henchmen and was just dying to prove his loyalty to the boss.
Now, he oversees all of North Miami with expert precision. His cold control can—and often does—have our enemies scared shitless. His technical skill alone makes him invaluable to Viktor. Not to mention Leonid’s instincts have gotten us out of many potentially shitty deals.
The elevator doors slide open and we step into the small space. Leonid jabs the button for the restaurant floor, his ever-present Glock tucked under his jacket. As we ascend, I observe his clenched jaw and the tension emanating from his broad frame. In my opinion, he’s still desperate for a distraction. Business first, though—Pakhan waits for no one.
The sight of Yuri and Aleksei flanking Viktor’s usual table puts me somewhat at ease. He rarely conducts meetings, even internal business, without security present. The smell of borscht and fresh bread wafts from the kitchen and my stomach growls. Despite the early hour, Viktor already has a glass of vodka in hand.
Leonid steps forward first and shakes Viktor’s hand in a polite manner. “Good morning, Viktor.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Viktor rumbles in his deep baritone. He gestures toward the leather seats across from him. “Sit down. Pour yourselves a drink and then tell me of this trouble from last night.” His sharp eyes betray a glint of curiosity and intensity, which don’t agree with his relaxed posture.
Once the server pours our coffee, I start going over the details of last night’s operation and the ensuing firefight. Viktor listens, maintaining eye contact with me, only interrupting once or twice to ask some questions about the scene. Leonid provides accurate responses, but I can tell his mind is running wild. Sure enough, when I mention the part about discovering the trafficked victims, Viktor is quick to discover my partner’s sudden intensity.
“And what became of the women?” he asks, holding a bottle of vodka over his empty glass.
I explain the extraction and current safe house situation. Viktor takes this in with a vague stare at his drink while I mention our theories on why the Armenians had kidnapped them.
“You believe they were headed for the sex trafficking rings then,” Viktor states. It is not a question; it’s a conclusion.
Leonid’s jaw ticks. “Most likely. Their age, appearance and high-end clothing suggests as much. The women also indicated they were just recently abducted from South Beach during a shopping excursion.”
“It’s unusual for us to come across something like this,” I add. “Missing women don’t tend to run in our circles.”
“Indeed not.” Viktor shoots back the rest of his vodka and slams his glass down on the table. “Those fucking pigs have no code or conscience. This is why we must maintain control. There are things I tolerate—gambling, paid violence, extortion—but not the systematic abuse of women.” His piercing eyes swing to each of us in turn and stay on me. “They deserve safety and comfort. I trust you both agree, yes?”
“Of course,” I reply, my tone firm. Leonid just gives a swift nod, his posture hardening.
“Good. Then they are in safe hands at one of our shelters.” Viktor waves over the server and requests blini pancakes. Our meeting has shifted gears into more casual territory, that much is clear. “The Armenians will soon start sniffing around when these women fail to arrive at their so-called auction. Levon Terzian is their leader, a bastard not to be trusted,” he continues. “Have someone keep an eye on the warehouse premises and track any unusual activity.”
“I’ll assign that to one of my best men, sir,” I assure Viktor. Across from me Leonid seems distracted, stirring his black coffee as he gazes down into its surface.
After the blini arrives along with more vodka for Viktor, he fixes Leonid with a probing look. “Now, tell me what is going on in that head of yours. You seem...unsettled.” He arches an eyebrow. “Surely not over our Armenian problem?”
Leonid straightens under Viktor’s scrutiny. “Of course not. I am simply thinking through options for the women’s safe return home. They have gone through a lot.”
I resist rolling my eyes at his pathetic attempt to hide whatever the hell’s been eating at him. Why can’t he just come out and say he’s been thinking about that brunette? Would that be so fucking wrong? But Leonid is a private guy. At best, he keeps his cards close to his chest. He’s not going to reveal more. He won’t do that even if our Pakhan hangs him upside down and holds a knife to his balls.
Viktor studies him a moment longer. Then, he shrugs before pouring syrup on his pancakes. “Very good, then. I trust your capable hands to resolve the situation quickly without too much fuss.” He takes a large bite and fixes me with his curious stare. “And how do you read this, Ivan?”
Trick question... I’ve seen this too many times to make a mistake. Does he want my take on the trafficking discovery? Or my opinion about Leonid’s state of mind concerning those trafficked victims? Could be either. “Like Leonid said, the women have been through hell. But they seem resilient enough, given the circumstances. We’ll need to investigate things further.” I pierce Leonid with a hard look. “Something feels off about the whole setup. Almost too sloppy. Extracting those women was a little too easy.”
Understanding flashes in Viktor’s eyes over his forkful of pancakes. He knows I just called Leonid’s bluff. “Yes, I agree, Ivan. Dig deeper.” His expression goes cold for a moment. “I want to know who is behind this brazen kidnapping scheme on my territory. Such things make me very unhappy.” His mouth curls in a cold smile. “And if it is the Armenians, I have a plan for them.”
“We’ll find out everything,” Leonid assures. The edge has returned to his tone, the spark in his eyes telling me his brain’s kicked back into action.
Viktor tears into another blini, looking thoughtful. “There’s a gathering of family bosses in Miami in two weeks. I would like to have this mess sorted out before then.” He gives us a pointed look. “No need to concern them over such ugly business. You understand, yes?”
“Of course, Viktor,” I reply. “We’ll keep you informed.”
“Excellent.” He flashes me a broad smile. “Eat, both of you. We still have much to discuss regarding the other families after this.”
I nod and reach for a blini. Leonid does the same, but I catch his gaze straying to the restaurant entrance where two young women chat with the hostess. It’s so funny; in fact, I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. Even from here, I recognize longing and some protectiveness as he observes them.
This situation with the women has gotten under his skin far more than he cares to admit. There’s one in particular that’s affected him even more—Clare. But Leonid doesn’t do emotional attachments or relationships. He doesn’t like them, because they can become our weaknesses. Enemies exploit those weaknesses. It’s only a matter of time before they do. Beyond our brotherhood bond, there’s little else I could call an ‘attachment’ in him. I stir honey into my tea, considering what this might mean for him, and for the two of us, if he and I can’t crush our feelings.