Page 9 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

Chapter 3 – Rafayel

“Not on board.”

The door closed with a click, and Tikhon’s steps toward me were energetic. A scowl on his face followed after he dropped a thin file on my desk and collapsed on the chair facing mine. He cocked his head to the side, spread an arm above the rim of the twin chair beside his, and kicked a leg out.

I should have known what he was talking about the minute he walked into this office. Honestly, I did know. The problem was, negative reports and I didn’t connect. Wecouldn’texist in the same space. If I wanted something taken care of, then it had to be taken care of. There were no ‘buts’ or ‘ifs’ or ‘hows’— just what Rafayel wanted, he got.

So, Tikhon pouncing in here with that frustrated, dejected look and strained soulless eyes to deliver that message was a courageous move. A very costly one, but it meant he’d tried and was pissed that he was going to have to tell me he failed.

I folded my arms on the desk, instinctively knotting my fingers to keep my hands busy. Something to distract myself while Tikhon tapped his feet because—to stress the point—I didn’t accept failures.

“You didn’t meet with him?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.” he said sharply and gave me a look, asking if I suddenly doubted his capabilities.

I didn’t. For ten long years, he’d been by my side, knew how to get the job done thoroughly, and served me with fervent loyalty I’d found nowhere else. I never doubted Tikhon. Before he came along, I didn’t have a second-in-command, and after him…. He became mine for a reason. The man was as dangerous and as ruthless as they came, could off a man in a dozen ways with his hands and a knife, and to me, he was just fine. Maybe nearly perfect.

Trust wasn’t one of those things that came with the job description of being a Yezhov. Watching our backs was more a habit than a chore. But Tikhon was one of the few that I could trust in this world without an iota of doubt, and we’d grown to be as close as brothers as two men could be.

In short, his competence wasn’t at stake. It was that damn negative report that said the job couldn’t be done.

“You met him. Then, what’s the fucking matter?”

“Seeing him wasn’t the problem. Getting him to switch sides was.”

An uncomfortable lump restricted the airflow to my chest. That report didn’t correlate, making it difficult to process. My fingers tightened.

“What?”

Tikhon rubbed his fist over his head. He was stressed out and, as always, didn’t give a fuck about masking it. But I didn’t care, and he knew it. I wasn’t letting this go until I had it go my way.

“Rafa, coercion can’t be the only thing Enzo has over Jabril. There must be something else because he’s refusing to bend.”

Still not processing.

“He’s refusing to bend.”

Tikhon kept on talking anyway. Lost in his own thoughts, he leaned forward, brows drawn and lips tight. “Colombo might have some dirt on him, something filthy hanging over his head. Fuck, if Lev was here, maybe we’d have clarity.”

“Why did he have to fucking die after being shot, right?”

The sarcasm was loud enough to get his attention. His head snapped up, and when our eyes met, he started to press further. “Rafa, the only way we’re Jabril back is if Colombo lets him—”

“Save it. I’m not hearing anything positive.”

Contrary to general opinion, there weren’t that many fish in the sea. Or fish like Jabril Enterprises, to be precise. Even if it was going to take months to win, I wasn’t losing any clients to the Italians. It was just not happening under my watch.

“Are you going to make me motivate you now? Tikhon, there’s a way; you’ve not broken the damn walls hard enough to fucking see it. If Colombo has something filthy hanging over his head, that means there’ll be more dirt wherever that came from. Do what you do best. Threaten whoever you should, and maybe make a few examples of those who aren’t cooperating. Get some sense knocked into Jabril’s head. If you have to do that literally, fine.”

There was a rapt knock on the door, but whoever it was did not wait for an acknowledgment. He entered without a word.

When he sat on the twin chair beside Tikhon’s, I ran a suspicious gaze from his blue-and-black leather jacket to his tousled hair and finally settled on the crazed but sullen look in his eyes. That daze in his eyes had always been there, a funny mix of depressed, carefree, and egoistic, but often, his presence was nothing to celebrate.

Tikhon smiled at him and nudged a shoulder as a subtle greeting.

“What’s up, kid?”

Ivan groaned, his shoulders slouched backward, and his fingers made more messy tracks through his hair.

---