Page 37 of Den of Thieves

Vladimir chuckled. “They do complain a lot.”

“If I had known he was serious, I would have ended him right there. Instead, I sliced his face as a warning to stay the fuck away from me.”

“That’s good cousin, makes him more identifiable.” Vladimir nodded.

“Eh, I pushed him into hiding. Made him desperate. I might not be in Moscow, but I hear and see more than you think.”

“You’ve been checking up on me?”

“Someone needs to watch your back. And it isn’t those dimwitted cousins of yours. Your Number One is busy chasing after Aksana and your Number Two is nothing but a spoiled brat.”

“If you know so much, what shall I do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve already ordered aid to help your cause. They should be there when you return. One last thing, cousin.”

“What?”

“I think your number of enemies is larger than you are willing to see. Also, the mastermind behind it all thinks he is clever enough to steal for the sake of greed and for that, he must pay.” Vadim’s face twisted from that of a man promising loyalty to one of someone much younger, asking for another serving of ice cream. “Promise me I can be there when you flay him?”

“It is the least I can do. If the S.O.B. is found alive, I’ll bring him here myself.”

14. “The Olive Garden Diet”

-KARINA KOVALYOVA

Beeping sounded throughout the compound, jarring the women out of contentment for what seemed like the hundredth time during their short tenure.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Aksana groaned, getting to her feet.

“Ugh, not again,” Karina complained. She went to the wet bar at the back of the theater room to grab the last of their twenty fire extinguishers.

The compound was almost a full day’s drive southeast of Moscow, in a fortress deep in the forest near the Privolshky Les Nature Preserve. It was as beautiful as it was isolated. The stone manor had an exterior wall that threatened to block out the sun. With twelve bedrooms and seventeen bathrooms, there was more than enough space for the eight women that chose to stay in the country during the war.

The pantries were stocked with every kind of food they could think of. The bathrooms filled with expensive soaps, lotions, and creams. What should have been a relaxing vacation was more like a shell of a retreat. There was no staff to clean or prepare their meals. Cell service was laughably nonexistent, and visitors were strictly prohibited.

Unfortunately, the men of the brotherhood trusted no one with their most prized commodities: their wives.

However noble their intentions, the men failed to realize that they were putting the women at a severe disadvantage. Most of them did not grow up on the streets of Moscow (for five years) like Aksana or in rural America like Karina.

These women were born into lavish lifestyles. Plucked, pampered, and raised, knowing they were to be married off for the best political connection inside the Bratva. They had no idea what it meant to take care of themselves.

It was infuriating. Karina was long past the end of her rope and refused to play maid to a bunch of helpless socialites. She was surprised they could use the bidet without drowning themselves.

“Alright, listen up, you helpless tramps! The kitchen is off limits unless you know how to work a microwave!” Karina yelled over the sound of the alarm.

Hana, Yaya, Ivanka, Marianna, Lizah, and Milah cowered near the sink as Karina wielded the red metal cylinder and hose like a weapon. AK disappeared briefly to disengage the fire alarm. One of the women meekly raised her hand. Hana, if she had to guess. They all had blonde hair, ranging from icy white to dirty blonde.

“What?” Karina barked.

“What are we supposed to eat?”

“For now, it’s the Olive Garden diet or nothing,” Karina huffed. She sprayed the stove one last time, zapping the lingering flame from the charred skillet.

“What the hell were they even trying to cook?” Aksana mumbled.

“Um, what is Olive Garden?” Hana asked.

“Soup and salad until you earn your privileges back!” Karina continued on, ignoring their groans of protest. “I’m not trying to burn to death in my sleep.”

---