Page 2 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

Maybe.

Or it was something else, like a desire to meet women who would strike a challenge, pose to be some inferno I couldn’t possibly quench, even if I tried. I’d never really enjoyed an easy chase, and the irony was that they all came too easy.

“None for you, Rafa?”

I met Maxim’s half-lidded gaze over the bare shoulder of the girl with her lips perched on his neck. He was high on ecstasy and desire, and I didn’t blame him. If I could channel my inner twenty-five-year-old, Maxim would have gladly sent her over to my suite when he was done. We’d never had a problem sharing our women. It was part of the package.

I rose to my feet, tilting a glass toward him. “None. But you have fun. You’ve earned it.”

The spread of their happiness spurred a smile to curl up the corner of my lips, and I basked in self-content. Fuck it, I was a proud man.

I tipped my head back to swallow. I liked this: the satisfaction of a fulfilled man. Didn’t matter that I’d had spontaneous urges to punch some of them in the faces at one point or the other; we were still family. And this was what we thrived on: loyalty, bond, and honor.

Dropping my glass, I fixed a hand on my hip. Everything seemed complete, and the vibe of the night progressed as planned. But someone was missing: the hype man. He’d been the most ecstatic out of them about our night out. He’d almost sponsored it. So, not finding him mingling amongst the rest of them was oddly strange. The possibility that he’d been mischievous with one of the strippers and taken her back home was not beyond him, but that was one activity I would’ve definitely caught in the partially empty club.

My eyes were still scanning, and I had my fingers hovering inside my jacket to pull out my phone when I caught movement at the entrance.

Tikhon’s shadows danced against the walls in rhythm with the pulsating lights, and the darkness of his suit reflected the vibrant blue, red, and aqua-green colors. Knotting his fingers over his belt, he stayed there, unmoving, like a statue fixed in the ground. But it was the familiar clench of my lieutenant’s jaw and the hardness in his eyes that made me groan. Current status: Harbinger of Doom.

If Tikhon Beroev saw a party with women and stayed far away from it, it meant one thing: There was trouble.

“Maxim, eyes and ears open. I’m not far.” The Russian flying out of my mouth was fast enough for another person tomiss, but Maxim was the smartest and most quick-witted for a reason.

With his hands gripping Blue Eyes tightly on the hips, he nodded.

When I got to the entrance, Tikhon didn’t even break into the smallest smirk. Loud music was reduced to a quiet muffle as he led me further away from the noise into a quiet room with yellow lights and beige sofas, shutting the door behind us.

“No explanations for your sudden disappearance?”

He stayed mounted by the door. “Rafayel, it’s not good.”

Rubbing the crease between my brows, I slipped my hands into my pocket. “What happened now?”

His eyes spoke before his mouth did. Never before had I seen Tikhon with a frown so deep or a stare so ghastly. “Jabril Enterprises is no longer our client.”

It was my turn to frown. “What the fuck does that mean? The last time I checked—which was yesterday, by the way—everything was good. Lev had that assignment under control, or didn’t he?”

Deafening silence followed, thick enough for a knife to cut right through. The only sounds between us were the heavy thumps of bass and beats from outside the room. Tikhon shifted uncomfortably. Worry wrinkles formed at the center of his forehead, and his jaw ticked.

“Lev’s dead.”

“Great.”

Shit.

I scrubbed a hand through my hair, and it wasn’t because of anxiety. If I hadn’t busied my hands, I might as well have shot something, and Tikhon was too useful at the moment to be wasted. Lev was one of my foot soldiers until I discovered his brain was bigger than pea-size and could be useful for more important things. I promoted him to the corporate ranks,granted him permission to click deals and supervise a fraction of the clientele. Now, Lev’s dead, and it smelled like someone was sending a message. His death and the loss of Jabril Enterprises were no coincidence.

With short, calculated steps, I walked toward one of the sofas, gripping the hard edge for support. My hands already began trembling. “What happened and when?”

“I found his body about an hour ago. Did a little groundwork, and it didn’t take long to find out he was ambushed while they were in an on-site meeting. Lev opposed, put up a fight, and didn’t stand a chance. Jabril was coerced to join the other side.”

“The other side….”

Tikhon blew out a breath, and I almost asked him to hold it before confirming my suspicion.

“Don Enzo Colombo. He’s had his eyes on Jabril for months now. Guess he waited for the most vulnerable time to strike.” Tikhon came up to me, so I saw the look on his face when he said, “Rafa, bagging Santana is going to mean almost nothing if Jabril is off the hook. They’ll be like mere compensation.”

My nails dug into the soft, lush fabric coating the seats, and I kept my gaze pinned on the wall. What I felt now was no ordinary anger. Fury licked up my blood and ran a course through my veins. Rage boiled and squeezed at the walls of my chest until I thought I was exhaling and inhaling internal heat.

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