Page 9 of Brutal Promise

“Man, I can’t believe you have this place. It’s sweet. Why are you stinking up the place?” I ask him.

He shrugs his shoulders, and I remember he was a bit of an entitled prick, but he taught me about American culture and friendships are hard to maintain over the years. I stand and open the door to the balcony to air out the smoke-filled room. He joins me, and we’re overlooking a green park with trees ready to bloom.

“We could be anywhere right now, but something about this reminds me of Europe.”

“Do you miss living here?” He sounds concerned. His eyes search my face to see if I’m happy.

“Of course, I miss it. I’d be crazy not to, but family duty, y’know.” I shrug and take another puff, lost in thought for a second.

“Tell me about it. Someone is skimming money, and they’re very good. So good that our guy, Tito, hasn’t been able to figure out who it is.”

“Who the hell is called Tito?”

“His mother is Latino. His dad is Russian. He’d get much more shit about it if he weren’t such a big man.” He chuckles at the irony of what he’s implying.

“Big?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s got a man bun and looks like a sumo wrestler. He’d make a great bouncer,” he says with a chuckle. “His den of tech is complicated. He runs our computers and intel and helps with encrypted wire transfers.”

I’m not surprised there are mixed marriages here, especially with the cosmopolitan world we live in today. Travel is easier and cheaper. Websites make it easier to form long-distance relationships that would never happen otherwise.

In Russia, we only marry other Russians. We want to know we can trust our spouses and that they understand us, all while keeping the bloodlines pure. It’s the way it is. Family is everything. Outsiders are subject to suspicion, and I’d hate to be the one to bear the burden of all that scrutiny.

Even with a bratva don in the family, my loyalty might be questioned if I married outside the bratva. My family would accept the marriage, but the others in the bratva wouldn’t be so forgiving. It’s a nightmare I prefer to avoid. I wear my single status like a bulletproof vest. No one is getting through it.

We hang out, grab a late dinner, and Kirill drives us to their new club, where Kirill gives his car to a Russian to park. We can enter the club with our weapons if they aren’t showing. This is one perk of the brotherhood and being part of the family who owns the club. Kirill opens doors. I’m proud of him for moving up the ranks so quickly.

Club 69 is all it implies, with metal poles for dancing on different platforms in what used to be an old warehouse. We enter through a side door reserved for Bratva members only. As long as we keep our weapons hidden, there’s no issue. We don’t like to advertise what we do. I don’t know the players here, so I quickly take in my surroundings, the bouncers, and the exits.

“The number of people crammed into this place is insane,” I yell close to Kirill’s ear. It’s impossible to be heard over the loud bass coming from the speakers. My eardrums are going to be useless for the rest of the night.

As much as I enjoy my visit, I don’t enjoy being around this many people. Too many weak points can be exploited, and we’re out in the open. I’m recognizable at home, but in NYC, no one knows my brother is the don in two European countries, per se. If I were to say his name here, they would know as they keep in touch with their homeland as they all have family there. But most other Americans would have no idea I’m connected to a very prosperous and international Russian mafia family.

We continue to move about the club. There are private rooms for God knows what. I’ve seen places in Europe for the kinky dominant sex, and there are places where women are auctioned. I’m sure that would be harder to pull off here. I know they move tons of drugs through these city clubs.

I like moving, and I never put my back to a door, nor would any cop worth their salt. I’d rather face any threat than to be surprised by it. Call me paranoid, but I’m not trusting anyone other than Kirill. We’ve been through too much shit together not to let him into my small inner circle. I have no idea who his don has working here tonight, but they’re sloppy. I see too many bouncers flirting with college-age girls to do their job correctly.

During a routine perimeter sweep, my gaze zeros in on two girls at the bar. One girl wears too much makeup for my taste, she’s polished, and by the looks of it, she’s a kept woman. If not by a husband, then it’s daddy. The other girl is perfect with dark hair with a slight figure, and I love how she fills out her dress with her hips as she sits. Maybe New York has some hidden gems, after all.

5

DMITRY

We take our seats in a private room overlooking the lower level of the most famous club in New York City. My jacket covers the fact that I’m packing an unregistered gun. We order a bottle of Vodka.

“Bring me your best champagne,” Kirill adds before the waitress leaves.

I eye him, a question on my tongue.

“It’s for my boss’s daughter. They’ll be here tonight. What woman watching her weight won’t appreciate the low calories?” he scoffs with a mischievous grin.

“Do I sense a crush on this girl?” My eyebrows raise in surprise, and he shifts in his chair.

“Mm, dangerous. My boss’s daughter. She’ll undoubtedly be married off to someone now that she’s graduated from one of those overpriced fashion schools. The girl is a smoke show, and she’ll never have to work,” he replies and shrugs. As if to say she wasted her time going to college.

“It’s the new world. Even a caged bird wants freedom. I suppose it’s an achievement, and it makes her fit in with her peers who aren’t in the underworld. What do you expect her to talk about if she has nothing in common with the other women in her social circle? They are married to billionaires, attend charity events and even start their own businesses like clothing and makeup lines to make their own money.”

“Point taken,” he says with a nod conceding my point.

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