Glazov's Legacy (Born Bratva Book 2) (17 page)

Glazov

I shake my head, eyeing my cousin. He hasn’t even been in my home office for five minutes, and he’s already got my jaw twitching.

“You sure about that? You absolutely sure she didn’t go behind your back and talk to another boss?” Novak growls at me.

“You’re no different than Antonio Wayne is. You’re always trying to stir shit up.”

I’m doing everything I can to hide the fact that he’s pissing me off. If he knows, he’ll enjoy it far too much. Time to turn the tables on my cuz.

“You need to worry about your own woman and who she’s talking to down at the CJ. She’s supposed to be working my PR for the local paper, not making friends.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Glaz?”

“You must be really pissed if you’re calling me that. The only time you ever refer to me as
Glaz
is when you’re about to lose it. Is your blood pressure skyrocketing? I tell you what… you shut up about my woman, and I’ll shut up about yours.”

I stop ragging him because the last thing I need is for him to blow up the local newspaper office, and the motherfucker is just crazy enough to do it. Novak’s temper is just as volatile as mine, and he is skilled in a variety of fucked-upness that he can use to screw up the life of whoever his target is.

I reach over and push the intercom button to call Kodiak in, knowing that my cousin will shut his big mouth now. Like brothers, we know how far to push each other; or rather, we know when to stop pushing each other.

Kodiak saunters in with his
I don’t have a care in the world
attitude. As his father, I’m well aware that underneath that calm exterior of his, there is a storm brewing that no one wants to experience the wrath of.

He tosses a memory stick on my desk, anticipating what I want ahead of time. Saying nothing, I crook my finger in his direction. When he bends down over me, I firmly grab the back of his neck to force him closer and speak low.

“You’re a good son—my son—and I love you, boy.”

His face lights up and he smiles.

“I love you too, Dad.”

He casually sits in the chair next to his uncle. He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and interlocks his fingers behind his neck. The boy just has an easy-breezy way about him; that is, until you cross him.

I pop the USB into my computer. It’s the flash drive my son broke into Logan’s place to get, and it holds the contents of her computer.

“You’ve already been over this?”

I ask the question of my son, but it’s really more of a statement because I’m sure he has. I know his nature is that of a predator lurking in the shadows, and he would feel compelled to discover everything he could about the woman he’s smitten with. When I’m satisfied there isn’t anything on her computer that proves she’s a real threat to my organization, I address my son again.

“I think it’s time for you to move in with Logan. You’re fucking her, so why not move in with her?”

Once again, he’s embarrassed by my bluntness, and he gets defensive.

“That isn’t the kind of thing I want to discuss with my dad.”

My cold, stoic look leaves no doubt that I want an answer from him. There is logic in my questioning. I’m letting him know he has more power because he’s fucking her. It gives him more control over not only her actions, but her emotions as well. She’s more likely to agree with him moving in because they are sleeping together.

“Dad, I had to break into a dorm to get that. I never told you she doesn’t have an apartment because I don’t want to bother you with trivial shit.”

This changes everything, and I take a moment to contemplate the dilemma.

“Start working on her to move in here with you.”

“What about the pool house apartment? She might be more willing to move there since it’ll be like having her own apartment while she’s in school.”

“Yes, that’s fine, but get on it. I want her moved in by the end of the week.”

Kathleen

Words dancing around in my head…

Making a world of their own, unknown to others, until they have completed their masquerade of mayhem, their chaotic confusion for the masses.

I am the scribe appointed to make sense of that which has no order. So, in the meantime, I am a being coming undone until this puzzle in my head becomes a story of meaning for my readers—a story that will connect them to me for eternity. For, you see… they are the only ones who truly understand the torment of an author’s soul.

“Oh my gosh, that’s beautiful. I didn’t realize you could write like that. I thought you only wrote about Bratva born crazy boys,” I exclaim, impressed with Katrina’s talent.

I dramatically wave my arm like I’m revealing a billboard of sorts as I continue.

“You know, the bad boys we love to hate yet can’t resist.”

Katrina turns to face me, the very picture of strength, confidence, and professionalism in her straight black pencil skirt, white button-up shirt, and black framed glasses. Even her shoulder-length, bobbed, blonde, curly hair is styled in a way that makes her look polished, and it’s very easy to see how Novak fell for this sexy businesswoman. They do make kind of an odd couple though. With his bad boy persona, he is everything she isn’t.

She is looking at me so seriously right now, relaying something I don’t understand, but conveying the depth of its meaning to her by the look in her eyes. It’s a look of longing, of earnestness, and it almost seems as though she is tormented by the information being disclosed to me. Instinctively, I know that Katrina is reaching out to me in a manner that she is not in the habit of doing. I know because my life is the same—the walled off fortress surrounding a Bratva wife’s emotions.

“I have so many characters in my head, Kathleen, so many worlds that need to be created. The characters who live there demand that their voices be heard and their stories be told. It’s like my body is a haunted house, and the characters are the ghosts who are always lurking, freely walking the corridors of my mind. In layman’s terms, if I don’t write, then I’ll go crazy. As controlling as Novak is, even he knows not to fuck with my creativity. It’s the one thing—the only thing—I would ever leave his ass over. He knows it, and I know it. It’s an unspoken rule; it’s my hard limit.”

“I feel like I just learned more about you in that one statement than most people learn in years.”

“Yes, you did,” she agrees. “Now, on another note, I think I might know what’s going on with our girl, Logan…”

Glazov

“We’ve got issues, Glazov.”

I look up to see my cousin entering my home office. The look on his face is grave, alerting me that whatever he has to say needs my full attention. I give it to him, ready to hear news that can’t possibly be good if he’s behaving this way. I’ve been doing this long enough to know how to read my employees, and I take it to a whole new level when it comes to my family. I can read each and every family member like an open book, and Novak is family.

“Tell me,” I answer him.

I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to ward off the headache I feel threatening to manifest from the stress.

“Fucking skinheads got their hands on one of Ivan’s nephews and beat him up… badly.”

“What?! We haven’t had any beef with them before. Where did this come from?”

“This wasn’t about him being Bratva. The kid is dating an African American girl, and they were out having dinner downtown. The bastards caught the two of them in an alley and did a number on them both. It’s bad, Glazov. They almost beat him to death, and the poor girl is in the hospital. She wasn’t beaten as badly but is still pretty traumatized from their attempted rape assault. They had her clothes ripped off and were molesting her when a bystander called the police. They took off before the cops could catch them. They’d have killed the kid and raped that girl if it hadn’t been for the good citizen intervening.”

“I want his name.”

“Already got it; it’s Jackson Mathews. He works the janitorial nightshift at a high-end hotel downtown. He was going into work when he saw the assault happening.”

“Set up a meeting with him. I want to do something for him and his family.”

“I’ve already had head of security do some preliminary Intel on him. He’s got a daughter who owns a struggling beauty salon. The word is she’s pretty talented and damn good at the beauty business; the same goes for her employees. The big names are running her out of business though. Supposedly, despite the high-end talent she’s got, they don’t have enough customers to counter all the overhead expenses. If we ask our women to start frequenting her establishment, it would, at the very least, stop the threat of her being shut down and evicted. She’s got a great location in a high rise downtown area. She just has a hard time making the rent.”

“Any addictions or other problems that could be causing her financial problems?”

“Nothing. The girl is responsible. It’s just your average, middle class family. Her dad has worked twenty years in the same janitorial business to provide for his wife and kid. They’re good people.”

This is why Novak and I work well together. He knows what to do before I even ask it of him. I’m glad he’s here and working so closely with me again. He asks my security team all the right questions, and by the time Novak is done deliberating with them, I know where the people in question shop and what kind of fucking toilet paper they use. Once my team finishes investigating someone, there are no hidden secrets. What most people don’t realize is that I can find out whatever I want to know about anyone. The Intel gathered on the man who rescued Ivan’s nephew and his date was information easily accessed online.

Now we just need to find out who is responsible for the heinous act of attacking the couple, and that is where I come in. I specialize in the streets. I’m a businessman like any good gangster is, but my soul is that of a mobster. The way I see it, a man is much more effective when he has both business acumen and street smarts. I’m looking forward to torturing the bastard responsible for the assault of Ivan’s nephew. The more I think about it, the angrier I get, and I resolve, then and there, to take the whole fucking lot of them down. I don’t like racists, and if law enforcement isn’t going to deal with this hate crime, I’m more than willing to do so for them.

It’s going to be fun pulling the teeth out one of those cowards, one by one, until I find out where the rest of them are. Then, I’ll be able to shoot them down like the dogs they are.