2. Tatiana

2

TATIANA

M y father had been a bastard.

Leonid Petrov was the worst of the worst.

He once killed a man just for looking at me. But it hadn't been because he loved me or was protecting me. It was because it had been an offense to him , and because of that, he had to take action and show how strong he was. That he had all the power.

And when he died—when he was murdered—I felt myself become somewhat of a wild child.

I liked to break the rules, even if it was the smallest infraction. Because I knew I wouldn't get beaten or locked away in my room.

I wouldn't be a prisoner.

I supposed that was what happened when I was sheltered my entire life and trained to be the perfect, little, obedient Russian bride for some piece-of-shit Mafia member.

That was the plan my father had for me.

That was the only future I saw for myself.

But then he was killed. Murdered.

And it was like the curtains were drawn back. The sun shone in. And I could see clearly for the first time in my life.

With my older brothers Dmitry and Nikolai, now Pakhans of the East Coast Bratva, busy running things and making sure they didn't get killed, I felt free for the very first time.

They cared for me. They protected me. They loved me the best way men like them in our world could. I was family.

But I was a weakness who could be used against them.

Nevertheless, even though I was protected and watched over, I figured out how to sneak away. It was easy enough when you knew the schedules and rotations of the men assigned to guard you.

I don't know about this, though, I thought to myself.

I sent a text to Giana on the burner phone I picked up the other day. I let her know where I was on the off-chance I got into deep shit while here, which was a genuine possibility.

She'd grown up in the lifestyle and knew how hard it was to survive being a woman in the Bratva, with bastards all around, trying to mold you into something you'd never want to be.

G

Be careful, you crazy bitch.

I laughed softly.

A twinge of worry tickled the back of my consciousness. That was my survival instinct kicking in. I knew the feeling well. But I ignored it.

I wanted to feel alive. I wanted to break the mold and constraints that always restricted me my whole life.

G

I mean it, Tatiana. BE CAREFUL!

I exhaled and responded.

I will.

I tucked the cell into my purse… right next to my gun.

Giana's father owned a casino that my brothers controlled—that the Bratva owned. On the outside, Giana was sweet and a little na?ve. But she repressed a party girl. A bad girl. And she was the only person I admitted all the things I wanted to do in life.

I faced the warehouse and the four men who stood in front of the rusted and chipped red metal door. I'd walked a block to Butcher and Son because, if I rolled up in an Uber, that would set off all kinds of red flags to these criminals… which was ironic in itself.

The men noticed me instantly and watched me intently. My black wig was in place, the bangs thick and blunt cut just below my eyebrows. My shirt and pants were black, my jacket baggy enough it concealed my shape and skin.

Disguised because every single person in that fucking building would know who I was because of my brothers.

Everyone in Desolation knew Dmitry and Nikolai, who had made it known I was off fucking limits. If anyone even attempted to go against that order, they'd pay with their life.

I heard about the illegal, underground fighting match after eavesdropping on my guards tonight. They'd been tossing back too many shots and had loose lips. And when they started talking about a fighter named D'yavol and how it would be an incredible match, my interest piqued instantly.

So I listened harder, and when one of them asked how to get in, the other guard had been stupid enough—and loud enough—to say the code phrase for entrance.

I told them I was going to bed, waited an hour to make sure they thought I was good and asleep, and then I snuck out.

It was easy with the fire escape right outside my bedroom window. It had been risky to dodge the security camera my brothers installed and slip through the one and only blind spot, but I managed.

So here I was—my personal cell phone back on my nightstand because it was tracked and a burner cell in my purse—walking up to the abandoned slaughterhouse, while four burly-ass-looking guys watched me.

Three out of four of them had cigarettes between their lips, a cloud of smoke swirling around them. When I got close enough, I smelled the alcohol seeping from their pores.

I slipped my hand into my purse and curled my fingers around the small pistol Dmitry had given me months ago .

My brothers made sure I had my own weapons. Guns. Knives. Pepper spray.

They trained me on how to use them… how to kill a man with them.

Dmitry and Nikolai loved me. They were nothing like how our father had been. They didn't see women as vessels or attachments or accessories. They saw them as queens to stand beside kings.

They knew women could be just as strong as their male counterparts, if not stronger.

So, even at my young age, I knew how to put a bullet between these fuckers' eyes without batting an eyelash.

My brothers were the smartest people I knew. They had to be in order to be ruthless Bratva Pakhans.

But I was just as smart, and my entire life, I'd been quiet and I watched. I watched everyone around me. I took notes on what the evil men who always surrounded me did, how they acted, and how they survived.

I filed away everything so that if—or, more likely, when —I ever needed it… I'd know what to do.

The men gave me a once-over, and right before I got to the door, three went inside, and the biggest one, who had the meanest expression, placed his boxer-like body in front of the metal door, blocking the entrance.

He said nothing as he crossed his arms and stared me down.

He slowly grinned, flashing a gold tooth in the side of his mouth. "Тебе уже пора спать, малышка.Беги туда, где безопасно, и Бабайка тебя не схватит." It's past your bedtime, little girl. Run along, where it's safe, and the boogeyman won't snatch you up.

I didn't respond to his condescending jab. I knew he couldn't deny me entrance once I said what he needed to hear in order to open the damn door. "Семь желтых бабочек умирают под солнцем." Seven yellow butterflies dying under the sun.

The code phrase made no sense—not to me anyway—but it wouldn't matter even if it was a jumble of words spewing from my mouth. As long as they were correct, that was all that mattered.

His smile faded, and his stoic expression slid back into place. "Это опасно внутри." It's dangerous inside.

I still kept my fingers around the pistol. "Я могу с этим справиться." I can handle it.

There was a suspended moment of silence between us before he stepped aside and gave a hard rap on the metal with his knuckles, and then the door opened. "Удачи." Good luck.

I didn't respond as I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a heavy whomp .

This was my first time being at Butcher and Son.

This was my first time going to an illegal fight.

But this wasn't the first time I smelled death. It was the stench of old blood, violence, and torture that never left a person's memory once they inhaled it.

Although there was hardly any visibility but for the muted, caged lights that hung above me as I walked down a suspect hallway and a rickety staircase, there wasn't anywhere for me to go except forward, so I kept walking.

When I got to the bottom, the stench of body odor, spilled beer, and aggression instantly claimed me. I could hear the noise and chaos becoming louder the deeper I made my way into the warehouse.

People leaned against the walls on either side of me, and all watched me with a level of distrust and suspicion. Hell, I was looking at them the same way.

And then I was standing in a massive room filled to the brim with a crowd screaming toward the center, where a huge boxing ring was set up. The people were packed in like sardines, and the heat and humidity made it hard to breathe.

But none of these fuckers seemed to care there was hardly any breathing room. I stood there for a few seconds, just taking in the sights, sounds, and horrendous stench that assaulted me. Because there were so many people, I was shoved to the left and right until I made my way off to the side so that my back was to the wall.

The noise was deafening, and unless I focused, I couldn't make out a damn thing. But once I filtered out the swearing and cursing around me, I could hear them chanting one thing.

D'yavol.

There was a crackle from the overhead speakers, and everyone started pushing forward. Through the parting crowd of swaying bodies, I'd gotten a stark visual of the blood-stained ring in the center of the space. Several large, fluorescent lights hung above it, illuminating the dark-brown marks on the white mat.

"I know why you dirty motherfuckers came out tonight."

The crowd went wild, making my ears ring.

"You want to see the Devil, isn't that right?"

There was a roar of screams in response.

I was shoved to the side and braced a hand on the wall, feeling the rough texture that dug into my palm and scraped my skin. A hiss of pain left my parted lips, and I looked down at my palm, seeing the abraded skin and the welled blood. I smoothed it down my black pants to wipe it clean and focused on the ring again.

Damn, I hadn't even been here that long, and I was already marked up with evidence of me breaking the rules. I was pushed and shoved even more until I was drifting toward the ring, like I'd been caught in a wave moving toward the shore.

Rolling forward and being pulled back, rhythmically repeating the movements over and over again.

I couldn't breathe as people moved even closer to me, crushing in on me from all sides. I felt claustrophobic. Suffocated. Panic started to well up.

This had been a stupid idea. So stupid.

I have to get out of here.

I clutched my purse against my chest as large men boxed me in. I couldn't even hear my thoughts, let alone form a sentence to tell everyone to back the hell up.

The crowd surged me forward once more, and because of the sudden force, I reached out and braced my hands on the person's back directly in front of me. I righted myself at the same time the man I had caught myself on turned around, which he did in a manner that set off warning bells in me, since it was so aggressive.

I felt like I was in the middle of the ocean, and the imminent threat of drowning was upon me.

In my instincts' defense, warning bells had gone off as soon as I got here tonight, but I had chosen not to listen to them.

But it all made me feel… alive .

I tilted my head back and stared at the man's craggy face, seeing the clear female-hating expression on his face. He sported tattoos on his forehead and temples, but they were old—faded and bleeding into one another.

He snarled, showcasing several gold teeth amongst yellow-stained, crooked ones.

I went to turn and forcefully push my way through the crowd and right out the damn building, but he gripped my arm and yanked me back to him.

"Ты маленькая штучка." You're a little thing.

His Russian accent made it feel like nails were being driven into my head, his voice harsh and deep, like he'd been drinking and smoking for the past thirty years .

"Мне было бы весело сломать тебя." I'd have fun breaking you.

I felt my upper lip curl in disgust. I may have been trained my entire life to become the pretty Russian wife who'd hang on her husband's arm and always do what he said. That was what my father had seen for my future.

But then I heard my oldest brother's voice in my head, telling me I was a queen. I was strong. I remembered Nikolai's words, as he'd repeated them countless times.

"Там был не только дьявол с властью и тот, кто командовал, Тати. Еще была сама Лилит, которая шептала ему на ухо, что делать дальше." There wasn't just the devil, who had the power and called the shots, Tati. There was also Lilith herself, who whispered in his ear on what to do next.

This man's voice was just as craggy as his face. It was audibly and visually unsettling, snapping me back to the here and now, as he told me, "Я заставлю тебя плакать и умолять меня остановиться." I'd make you cry and beg for me to stop. "Но я бы не стал." But I wouldn't.

His disgusting words made my heart race, but I kept my expression blank.

I'm a Petrov. I'm strong as hell and have an army behind me , I thought, as I pulled up all the strength I had inside me.

"Я предупреждаю тебя." I'm warning you. I kept my voice strong—fiercer than it had ever been before. There was even a split second of surprise on his face as I added, "Прикосновение ко мне обеспечит твою смерть." Touching me will ensure your death.

It was a lie. I couldn't tell Dmitry or Nikolai about any of this. I would just be ratting myself out. And telling one of their goons about it would just have them running back to my brothers, hoping to get brownie points by snitching me out.

" Я с нетерпением жду, когда ты осуществишь свою угрозу, малышка ." I look forward to you making good on your threat, little girl.

I didn't respond, didn't even bother looking around for help because there was no way in hell any of these motherfuckers would help me.

The speakers crackled again, and the announcer said, "Here we go, you pieces of shit. First up… Maximuuus!"