Chapter 2

SCARLET

I step out of my twenty-one-year-old, faded blue sedan. Bertha, as I call her, needs a tune-up and new tires, a new window motor, and so many other things. I groan. Our townhouse catches my attention, making me sigh. We live in Newark, and my grandmother has owned the little place since it was new. One of the many gifts my father gave her back in the day. The porch needs more work every time I look at it. The brick beam holding up the porch roof looks wonkier than it did when I left this morning. This is my early day, so I’m home before dark. The peeled paint laughs at me. I need to find some paint to cover the bare wood.

A voice calls to me, and I see our neighbor, Mrs. Abashin, waving. I shift my direction and walk to her porch. Her hair is white like snow, though she’s probably not seventy yet. She’s been a widow for decades, having moved here after her husband died. Young men stop by every once in a while, and she calls them grandsons, but she doesn’t have any children of her own. It’s always made me curious. I kiss her cheeks as an old Russian greeting, something she insisted when I first met her. “Good evening.”

“When you get done with dinner, swing over and grab two pieces of pie. I made two apple pies. One for my pseudo-grandson and the other for us women to eat.”

I smile. “That was very kind. Thank you.” I glance around her porch. It’s been recently painted and the windows look like they’re new. I point. “New windows?”

She grins. “My grandson.”

“That’s great. If he’s got the time, he can do ours next.” I step off the porch and walk next door. Entering our home, my nose flares at the smell of Solyanka, my favorite stew. “You should be resting.”

My grandmother stands at the stove with her back to me, waving the wooden spoon as some kind of answer to my comment. “Shh.”

I roll my eyes. My grandmother raised me after the death of my parents two decades ago. I don’t remember them as I was only a baby when they died. “The doctor said you needed to stay off your feet.”

“Standing in the kitchen isn’t running up and down stairs or doing a marathon.”

I set the two bags of groceries on the counter and kiss her cheek. The aroma from the pot makes my stomach rumble.

She giggles. “You’re hungry.”

“I am. I didn’t eat before my shift at the hospital and that was nine hours ago. Who wouldn’t be hungry smelling that divine dish?” I kiss her cheek. “Mrs. Abashin has pie for later.”

“Bless her.” She shoos me out of the kitchen. “Go wash up. Lord knows what industrial bugs you came into contact with on your shift.”

I place my bag on the bench by the door, reminding myself of Thane the night before. My core warms remembering being tied to his bed while he took me to highs I could never have imagined. It’s amazing that a month ago I was sexually inexperienced, only having had sex twice, and now I feel like a real slut. A happy slut. Walking out of the bathroom, the calendar catches my attention. I have to sign up for two more classes for spring. I sigh. At this rate it’ll take me two more years to finish my nursing degree.

THANE

Arriving at my brother’s penthouse, I take a deep breath as I walk into the foyer. He had stuff to do, so he pushed me off until today. I glance around his foyer. His decorator learned her craft in prison design. The condo is all grays, blacks, and white. Cold and sterile, rather than my father’s ornate and plush style. The breath-taking view of the Manhattan skyline out the living room floor to ceiling windows captures my attention. “Shit. I forgot that view.”

A dark-haired woman strolls into the foyer and crosses her arms. Mrs. Belova has been my brother’s housekeeper since he moved into his own place. “Good evening, Mr. Bravikov.”

She has never liked me, and I have no idea why. I nod. “Is my brother around?”

Her head flicks to the plain white steel door at the end of the hall. “He’s here.”

The door opens as though she spoke a spell, and my brother’s voice comes over the intercom. “Get back here, Thane.”

I walk down the hall and through the first steel door. The next door opens, and I find my brother running on the treadmill. “Papa sent me.”

“Yeah. He called. He mentioned something about Aguilar.”

“He was at Biggie T’s. He’s got some scheme.”

My brother slows the machine and steps off. “He’s always got some new venture.” He walks into his office and throws an envelope at me. “You need to go see Mrs. Abashin.”

“I haven’t seen her in years. Why am I going to see her?” She’s the wife of my father’s mentor. The man that taught him everything before he disgraced himself and his bratva helping out an enemy.

My brother flicks his head at the envelope in my hand. “She had some trouble with some people trying to rip her off or something she saw. I don’t know what’s going on. Roric took care of her house, but I need you to make sure she’s fine and those people are taken care of.”

I rip open the envelope and stare at photos of three men I don’t recognize. “Who are they?”

Cynric sighs. “Fingers is trying to figure that out.”

Fingers is my father’s hacker. A god on the computer. I flick the envelope in the air. “I’ll head over there.”

“Great. When you get back, I have a job for you.”

“What?”

“Fingers set up a security job for you at the hospital. Isabella’s hospital.”

Gritting my teeth, I bury my irritation. Why the fuck am I doing enforcer work for my father’s ward? She’s an adult, when does he have to stop looking out for her? This is all because Cynric is screwing her. I nod, there’s nothing else I can do. “I’ll inform you when I find the men that have bothered Mrs. Abashin.”

I step into the garage after leaving the building, grumbling as I climb into my BMW. Frustration overflows my car like froth in my latte as I put the car in gear. “Fuck!” My late mother’s words about my role as the second son come to my mind. I will be my older brother’s right hand. I will keep him safe and do as he commands. “Fucking obligations.”

Thirty minutes later, I park in front of the old woman’s house and tread to her door, ringing the bell.

She smiles and utters in Russian. “Thane. My favorite Bravikov son.”

I answer. “Good to see you, too.” Her house smells like cinnamon apples and the melancholy from the death of my mother grips my heart with its cold claw. “You made apple pie?”

She motions for me to enter. “I did. I was just finishing dinner if you haven’t eaten.”

My stomach rumbles as I follow her farther into the splendid scents. I sit down as she fills a bowl with stew and sets it in front of me. The table is old wood with dings and scars which just give it more of an authentic antique feel. The room has crocheted throws over the sofas, and she has that dumb painting of the dogs playing poker. It’s clean but has that musty old person smell. I cock my head to look at the small woman. “Tell me about the men.”

She stiffens, sitting down across the table. “I stumbled into something when I was dropping off meals at an apartment building for the Brooklyn Gables Senior Center. A drug buy or something, I’m still not sure. The men saw me and threatened me.”

I scoop the aromatic concoction into my mouth. The sadness I felt when I walked in envelopes my soul, focusing on a single memory of my mother’s laugh. “Have you seen the men since that night?”

She shakes her head. “I think Roric scared them off. Two men were parked out front when he stopped by. He drew his gun on them. They seemed surprised.”

I grit my teeth. “They didn’t realize you mattered to someone.”

Bang. My head snaps to the back of the house. “Get down.” Mrs. Abashin gets under the table as I pull out my phone, dialing Papa. “Where are the men?”

My father answers. “You have three men there.”

“Bullets are hitting the house, and no one is firing back at them. Those men are down.”

My father yells over the phone in Russian as I pull out my gun. My phone drops to the floor as a door slams open in the back of the kitchen, and I wait. Resting in my hand, my gun is solid, ready to take the life of whatever man is stupid enough to come against me. A man in a black hoodie steps around the corner, choosing to look right instead of left. I shoot him in the head before he turns into the room. The body crumples on the floor as a second man flies through the window near me. Glass explodes showering the area with shards of glass. I grab the knife on the table and slice it across the man’s throat.

“Any more?” She whispers from under the table.

“No, I think that’s it.” The man bleeds out on her floor. “We’ll clean this up.”

She groans under the table. “I know. I…”

I shove the table away from where she is hiding. Blood seeps around a sliver of glass sticking out of her leg. “Shit. You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine. Are you okay?” She hands up my phone which had landed next to her.

The front door knob jiggles and the faerie who has captured my fantasies runs into the foyer, yelling. “Mrs. Abashin?”

The petite redhead does a double take at me, as her scowl deepens. “What the fuck happened here?”

“Language.” Mrs. Abashin scolds as I pick her up and set her on the empty end of the table.

Red glares between the lady and me. “There’s a first aid kit under the half bathroom sink. You could grab it for me.”

In the bathroom, I pull out the box and walk back toward the ladies as my phone rings in my pocket.

“What?”

“Saxon and Roric are almost there with five enforcers.”

I scoff. “You’re all a bit late. I need a clean-up on aisle two. It was a small team. They didn’t expect anyone here to fight back.”

Cynric answers. “Yeah. We should have expected as much. Georgie is almost there, and he’ll take care of the spill.”

It’s interesting that we’ve worked out codes for things on the phone. Too big of a risk that the Feds are listening in. Aisle two means two bodies. Georgie will take care of them and supervise putting the room back together. He’s the bratva cleaner. He cleans up dead people, blood and gore, like you see on a movie, like Pulp Fiction . I slip my phone back into my pocket.

“Thane?”

Red’s impatient tone makes my cock twitch. “What can I do for you, Red?”

She opens the kit and takes out supplies, setting them next to her patient. “Hold the gauze on her leg.”

I place my hand on her leg and nod at the old woman. Being the wife of the Pakhan, I’m sure this isn’t her first experience in a shoot-out, but I want to reassure her. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Red looks at the wound. “We should take you to the hospital.”

Mrs. Abashin shakes her head. “I’d rather not.”

“We can call our dentist.” My father has a doctor who lost his license decades ago. He just practices for the Bratva off book.

Red scoffs. “How can a dentist help?”

Mrs. Abashin pats her hand. “He’s a doctor. We just call him the dentist.”

Red cocks her head as her brow raises. “Okay. I’m good.” She flicks her head at me as she sharpens her tone. “I’ll take care of it.” Red’s command makes my hand itch to spank her ass as I focus on the wound. She slips nitrile gloves on her hands and moves my hand and the gauze. “I think we can get away with some glue and skip the stitches.”

Mrs. Abashin nods. “I would rather not have to explain this, so just do the best you can. Injuries always lead to questions, and I don’t want to talk to anyone in law enforcement.”

Red smiles at her. “You’ll need to tell me if you have any trouble after I fix it.”

“Oh, I will, dear. Thank you. I always knew it would be helpful to have a nurse next door.”

My head snaps to Red. Nurse? She’s a stripper!

Her expression lets me know she knows what I’m thinking. “We should take her next door to my house.”

My brow crinkles. “You live next door?”

Mrs. Abashin snarks. “Did you think she was just walking by and decided to step in the middle of gunfire?”

I flip my head to the old woman. “Now there’s the tone I remember.”

She laughs. “Sorry. When I get scared, I get sarcastic.”

“Should you pick her up before more shooting happens?” Red’s snippy tone raises the hackles on my neck. She needs a spanking to remember her place. My brothers call out from the front of the house as I pick up Mrs. Abashin. They walk in as I flick my head in welcome. “We’ll be next door.”

“Scarlet, honey. Grab the pie.”

Red walks around me and heads into the kitchen as my brothers stare. I clear my throat. “You’ve got a shit load of stuff to do, keep your fucking attention to yourself.”

They stare at me like I have three heads.

Saxon’s lip raises. “Ah. She’s the …”

I whip my head to stare down my youngest brother, willing him to stop before he says too much. I know he’s seen her at the club. His reaction assures me he understands as they walk around me to survey the bodies.

Saxon tilts his head at the broken window. “Georgie was looking at the back window.”

“Great.” I utter as I walk the ladies next door. Red opens the door to the house on the left and calls out. “Hey Grandmother. You can come out. I brought Mrs. Abashin and her friend with me.”

I scoff. “Friend?”

She shrugs. I guess that works as well as any for a description.

An older lady who looks like Red will look in forty years walks from the back of the house. “Oh.” She smiles at me. “And you are?”

I set Mrs. Abashin down on the sofa. “I’m Thane.”

“Good evening. I’m Mrs. Finerson.” Her eyes twinkle. “But you can call me Maria.” A hint of a Russian accent piques my interest. “I heard the shooting.” She looks around me. “Are you okay, Mrs. Abashin?”

Mrs. Abashin waves her hand from the sofa.

“How long have you lived here, Mrs… Maria?”

“Twenty-three years.”

My eyes pivot to Red who stands with her arms crossed. I don’t get the chance to engage her as my phone rings in my pocket.

“Yeah?”

“If you’re done flirting with the stripper, we need you.”

“Who are you leaving here?”

Saxon growls. “There’s four around the house.”

I end the call and smile at the women. “Mrs. Abashin. Should you need something, call.” My eyes scan Red as I nod at her grandmother. “Enjoy my pie.” I turn and walk out growling at the young soldier standing on the porch as I walk by on the way to the SUV idling at the curb. I notice Saxon’s scoldy look.

His arms cross his chest. “So, you and the stripper?”

A bomb explodes in my head as I jam my hands into my brother’s chest and pin him next to the vehicle door. “At what point did life change enough that you could ask me about my personal life?”

Saxon frowns. “It was a joke. You’re so damn touchy since you got back.”

“Leave me the fuck alone. You are forbidden to tell anyone anything about my relationship to her. Make up shit if you have to, but don’t you dare let on that you have any inkling she exists.” I glance over at my BMW that’s riddled with bullet holes as I pull my hands from him and open the door, climbing into the back seat. I don’t know which of my father’s men brought the SUV and the driver, but my position in the bratva has its privilege. The driver pulls away as my other brother, Roric, joins Saxon at the curb. I bark at the driver. “Take me to my penthouse.”