Page 1 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
Chapter 1 – Damien
The gold onion dome of a nearby church glinted in the last streaks of sunlight, and stretching beyond was the backdrop of steel skyscrapers bathed in the hues of early evening.
The towers of the city rose boldly to one side, their glass exteriors glowing in copper and rose where the sunset clung, as if the buildings themselves were burning softly.
Faint car headlights and street lamps flickered, and, though the outside world remained muted through the glass, I could hear the familiar echoes of trains humming in the far distance and siren wails carried by the wind.
Growing up on the brutal streets of Moscow had that effect, hinting at every possible sound that could be a signal for fight or flight; every whistle, whisper, or knock could mean something. Sometimes, the silence spoke even more volumes.
In the end, getting acquainted with the darkness of the underworld was more a matter of survival necessity than an option.
And after that stage came the painful shredding of human conscience.
It didn’t matter how loud and gut-wrenching the screams grew; this life taught you to stomach it. All of it—the profuse sweating, the streams of blood, the pathetic tears, and the pleas. Stopping the torture was not allowed until you got what you wanted.
Behind me, a man screamed.
It was intense: a primal, anguished roar echoing like a raw explosion, reverberating like his life depended on it, and I turned around just in time to meet Roman’s tattooed-fisted knuckles flying into the man’s jaw.
His swollen face twisted to the side, purple-black and bruised, with a string of crimson saliva drooping from his bustedlips to the crisp collar of his white shirt. He groaned, cursed, and threw his head back on the chair to stare at the ceiling.
Roman raised his fist again, ready to strike, and I lifted a finger. “Ostanovis.” Stop.
Roman glanced over his shoulder, his blond eyebrows tightened with concentration as he looked at me like, for a moment, he had forgotten my presence in the office.
Straightening,heclenched his bloodied fists at his sides, growing rigid with respect as I moved toward them.
I slid a hand into my pocket, raising an eyebrow at the man in the chair. “Shame that we have to conduct business like this, Benjamin.”
“Business…” he choked out, chuckling dryly in between, and then sobbed. “This is a far cry from business, Damien.”
I shrugged. “You didn’t exactly leave me a choice, and maybe you should be grateful that I have Roman here laying a few punches.”
“Grateful? I never saw it before, but you’ve got just more than a nut loose.” He spat blood, his eyes narrowing in anguish.
I ground my teeth.
Any other time, I might have done the honors of knocking a few of hisnutsloose myself. But I kept my temper in check. He wasn’t worth the effort.
I stroked the beard on my chin. “That’s nothing new under the sun. You, of all people, should know that. Instead of calling me names, why don’t you go ahead and tell me where you hid the remaining money?”
“This is stupid.” He gave me an incredulous look, struggling to search my face through his swollen eyes. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? Damien, we’ve—we’ve been in business for three years. I thought you knew me better than this. The books have been as transparent as they could ever be.”
“The books have been, but you haven’t.”
Three years held no significant weight in business matters, and if he didn’t know that, I couldn’t be blamed for his ignorance.
“And I thought Ididknow you. That’s why I never would’ve believed you would be stupid enough to steal from me, and more stupid to think I never would have found out.”
“Damien, I—”
A sharp traditional tune cut through his sentence, loud and harmonious, emanating from my desk. I walked over to it and picked up the phone. One glance at the caller ID, and a frown touched my lips.
I glanced over my shoulder at a stoic-faced Roman and an agonized Benjamin. While looking at the latter, I pointed at Roman. “He’s going to keep landing those punches until something useful comes out of you.”
Springing into action, Roman stood in front of him, blocking my view, and, when his eager fist came down, with the phone to my ear, I turned my back on Benjamin’s groans.
“Privyet.”
