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

Glazov

Ptichka, I’ve named you thus because in my native Russian tongue, it means little bird. Had I allowed you to do so, I know you would have broken my heart and flown away.

As I climb the steps outside the house on Fourth and Magnolia, I take a moment to admire the seemingly innocent façade of one of my gambling establishments. I’ve done quite well for myself over the last twenty years, primarily dealing in guns and gambling. Having made the decision long ago to follow my father’s standards, I never deal in drugs—ever. I just leave that shit to the low-life street urchins and let them kill each other off. In the last couple of decades, times have changed, and so have the local gangs with respect to the way they do business. Rather than dealing with one another face to face, they are more likely to shoot each other in drive-bys. To a man like me, it seems like a coward’s way out. Where I come from, you look a man in the eye when you kill him.

“Boss, we’re taking a chance that he’ll come with us quietly. It may have been a better idea to pull him from his home.”

I cut my eyes in his direction.

“Well, there is always the threat of his family being harmed. I was trying to be nice; I wanted to spare them the sight of dragging him away from his house by his gullet.”

Yafon laughs at my sarcasm before he replies, “Yeah, boss, that’s you, always considerate of your enemy’s plight.”

“Hmph, Glazov the gentle giant? I don’t think so,” I contemplate out loud.

I enter the home when one of the dealers answers the door. She’s dressed in a manner guaranteed to distract the players—tight skirt and a low cut top revealing ample cleavage. She’s all smiles and unleashes her considerable feminine charms when she sees me. Since I have no interest in fucking anyone but my beautiful American wife, her efforts are completely wasted on me. Though I have been with her for twenty years, I find her even more intriguing now than I did the day I took her captive. I chuckle at the thought of what would happen to the poor girl if my wife is ever made aware of how she flirts with me whenever I come here. Long ago, after she snuck down to my gym and photographed me pummeling an opponent, my wife insisted on working out with me. She also wanted to learn how to box, so I obliged her. She has done well, and I pity anyone foolish enough to cross her, especially when it comes to me. I’m not so delusional that I believe the flirtatious woman truly wants me. No, she wants the power I wield. Fucking me would give her prestige in the organization. Though many of the men in my Bratva cells have mistresses, I’ve chosen not to keep one. Actually, I should say that my cock has chosen not to keep one. It has a mind of its own when it comes to sex, and it refuses to get hard for any woman other than my wife, not that I’ve tried. As I stated, I’m in love with my Ptichka, and the fact that she is so ruthless when it comes to me is just extra incentive for me to stay faithful. The clueless girl standing in front of me has no idea that I’m saving her from a painful demise.

I make eye contact with the man who has been stealing from me for the last six months, and his eyes widen in terror. I can tell by the look on his face that the motherfucker knows that I know. There is a split second where he appears frozen with fear, but then he takes off running. Let the games begin because I’m damn sure ready to play.

Kathleen

Standing in the industrial style kitchen, I watch my children as they banter back and forth.

Nikita punches his brother, Kodiak, as he eyes me.

“I’ll kick your ass in the ring. Even Mom could take you on, you little wimp.”

Kodiak looks up from the cereal he’s bent over eating.

“You just name the time and place, big brother. You might be a Neanderthal like Dad, but I’ll take your ass down. Nothing would please me more than seeing your big ass crumple to the mat.”

Nikita eyes him, obviously sizing him up. It amazes me how much he looks like his father. He is not only his spitting image in regard to physical attributes, but his demeanor is an exact match as well. His father has a way that he appraises a man before he goes in for the kill, and Nikita is assessing the brother he loves in the exact same way now. The boys are both the same age, Nikita being the eldest by only a few months. Now nineteen, they have grown up as close as twins since the day Glazov saved Kodiak from the fire.

Roksana enters the room, looking beautiful with her flaming red hair she inherited from me, and begins to instigate trouble with the boys like she always does.

“I can kick both your asses with all the self-defense classes Daddy has forced me to take.”

Kodiak’s eyes darken with intensity as he stares her down and responds.

“God help anybody who tries to hurt you; I’ll kill them.”

“Such a good big brother,” she fawns over him.

Though Roksana is technically the baby in the family, they’ve always rallied around Kodiak because of his circumstances. Rescued from the hands of death by his father, Glazov, we all protect him, though I doubt he needs it. All of my children are as ruthless as their father. As my husband mandated, they were born and bred Bratva. Little by little and day by day, they become more entrenched in their father’s world of organized crime. Despite all my reservations, I have come to understand it is a necessary evil.

Glazov

I eye the man I have tied to the chair. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear now, and I purposely gagged him in the car because I was tired of hearing his lies. I slowly pull the gag down and out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Glazov. I was going to put the money back. I have so many debts with my children in college. It’s my wife! The woman hemorrhages money.”

I reach back and retrieve the Glock I have tucked in the back of my tailored pants so I can slam the butt into the side of his head. He said the wrong thing when he threw his wife under the bus. Only a coward would use his woman as an excuse for his own mistakes.

I never remove my eyes from the man as I call for my son. He’s hiding in the shadows and thinks I’m not aware of his presence. I am well aware of what he’s doing. He must have overheard me talking to his mother on the phone and left the mansion shortly after breakfast. He probably called my gambling house to see if I had been there. He’s quite the ladies’ man and well able to glean the information he desires from the women dealers there. Though whoever answered the phone wouldn’t have known where I was headed, I’m sure when they informed him who I left with, he deduced my whereabouts. My son has always snuck around where he shouldn’t be. He craves knowledge and has always wanted to know about every move his father makes. He and I really bonded, and throughout his entire life, he has always stayed close to me, the same way he physically clutched onto me the day I saved him from the fire.

A man who watches his children and observes their innate traits can use that knowledge to his benefit as they grow. In my line of work, it is imperative that people are placed in positions where they will best serve the organization. Unlike many men, I spent quality time in getting to know my children as they grew up. They were never an inconvenience to me. As busy as I am with my work, I always made sure to take time for my family.

Kodiak, as his name implies, is an island. He’s a loner who prefers quiet solitude to friendships. His allegiance is to the father who rescued him from certain death when he was just two years old. Since then, he’s made a habit of hiding in the shadows to observe me, and once again, he has snuck inside the warehouse I use as a torture chamber. The bloodstains on the walls are a vivid depiction of the enemies I have slain here in the past.

“Kodiak, did you think I wouldn’t know? Come, boy.”

My hostage’s eyes widen in terror at the thought of being subjected to Kodiak’s brutality.

For a moment, Kodiak’s black eyes go soft as he approaches.

“Sorry, Dad.”

As he turns to eye the man who has stolen from me, those same eyes immediately go cold, matching the snarl now forming on his lips. I direct my attention back to the dealer.

“Vadim, you live above your means, strutting around in tailored suits and Rolex watches. Perhaps you wish to be like me?”

Yafon chuckles and shakes his head. I look back at Kodiak and cock my head to the side as I question him.

“What do you recommend we do, my son?”

Without any hesitation, he answers.

“Cut his fucking hand off, and then make him return to work. Let everybody see what happens when you steal from Alexander Glazov.”

He shocks me with his next statement.

“Let me do it, and then let me take over the gambling house so it never happens again.”

His eyes dance with excitement when I nod, signifying he has my permission. I watch my son as he makes his way over to the
wall of pain
, as we have dubbed it, and opens the cabinets containing my different tools. He returns with a double edge machete. I cannot say I am surprised by his choice; the boy has always had a love for blades, whereas my other son is more inclined to firearms.

“Son, he won’t be going back to work if you use that.”

“Yafon can tie it off and dump him in front of the hospital.”

I shrug, giving my consent. I’m not a man completely without mercy. He does have a wife and family. I look at Yafon and direct him to call the cleaner, who will take care of the aftermath and dispose of any evidence. He nods to let me know that he’ll take care of it. By the time Kodiak is finished with him, I honestly don’t know if this son of a bitch will live or not.

The man’s screams have morphed into ear piercing howls that are not only getting on my nerves, but are beginning to make my head ache as well. I pull the gag back up into place, and he shakes his head in denial as tears stream down his face. I step back as my son slams the machete down onto the man’s wrist, and I watch with interest as the severed hand flops down to the concrete floor. Today, we add more bloodshed to the history of a warehouse that already holds years of secrets no one will ever be able to pry from its foundation. Turning my attention back to Kodiak, I try to gauge how he is reacting to the heinous deed he just committed. Like his father, he is stoic and completely unreadable.

I nod toward the bodyguard who accompanied Yafon, and I speak.

“Tie it off with his belt, and dump him at the hospital. I want Yafon with me.”

Yafon stops the man I ordered and steps in himself. His training in the Russian military has come in handy more than once throughout the years, and he’s more qualified than the bodyguard to handle this anyway. He quickly applies the makeshift tourniquet in an attempt to stop, or at least slow, the bleeding. It doesn’t bother me that he stepped in and took over. The man’s more likely to live after receiving Yafon’s help, but I doubt it. After he finishes the task, he calls the cleaner and gives her instructions, though she is well aware of what to do.

She’s done so many jobs for me that she even has a fucking key to the place. She’s discreet, and in my line of work, discretion is paramount. To look at her, you would never deduce what she does for a living, but then again, looks can be deceiving. She is a tall, thin blonde with short hair. Hell, she looks like a soccer mom, but I can assure you, she is anything but. The years she spent studying forensics in college have definitely proved to be a valuable asset when we need her to clean up our bloody messes.

She became serious about the science in high school and took college courses after graduating at the age of fifteen. She is not only ruthless, but she is smart as well. I spare no expense with regard to the education of my top men’s children. Though there is very seldom a need because I pay my men extremely well, there have been times I have footed the bill for the education of a brother’s child. Natasha is a child born to a Bratva male in one of my cells, so aside from her college forensics education, she is trained in the art of killing as well. She also happens to be the childhood sweetheart of my eldest son, Nikita. Lately, she has been trying to fight the feelings she has for him because she works for me. I believe she is worried about the whole mixing business with pleasure thing. Like I do with everything else in my life, I’ll bide my time before making her an offer she can’t refuse. I won’t allow her to continue stringing Nikita along. Control is not always gained by using the brutal hand of force; sometimes it is achieved through shrewd calculation.