Page 1 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

LUKA

T he shredder sucked in the last of the documents.

Whirring and grinding, the gears turned, the blades scissored, and the evidence of someone’s murder was gone.

These remnants and strips of paper would be burned, just in case.

After being the boss of the Dubinin Family for decades, I knew better than to ever leave anything to chance.

I wasn’t na?ve enough to believe that my staff and men, the entire force who heeded my direction, could be completely trustworthy.

I only employed the best. I only retained the loyal.

Erasing all proof of life—or death—was my responsibility, and that was what I excelled at.

I would always be responsible, and I expected the same attention to detail and diligence from my organization.

Because we sure as hell hadn’t obtained this much power and wealth by being sloppy or slacking off.

“Ready to go?” Allen, my personal assistant, asked.

I nodded, not looking away from the removal of those documents.

I’d only get up and walk away once I saw that every last sheet of photos was ruined beyond recognition.

Technology made things easier. Convenience was the biggest bonus of emails, texts, and other forms of instant communication.

It also meant that everything could be more easily traced and hacked.

Hence, these old-school glossy photos of a kill that my son, Emil, had overseen.

My son knew how to assassinate without leaving any footprint or clue behind. I trusted him, perhaps more than any other, but it was still necessary to review the proof of a hit done well.

Allen hadn’t left. He wouldn’t push or nag me to hurry.

That wasn’t his place. He existed on the top floor of the office building as my executive helper.

My comrade in arms, previously. When he was wounded too severely in a turf war some eleven years ago, he’d volunteered to be my administrative right-hand man.

It was an arrangement that suited us. While I’d never admit to anyone else being able to finish sentences for me, he intuited when I wanted something.

Allen was never one step ahead of me, not truly, but he was often on the same step as me, aware of how this business worked and how I led my life.

“The cleaners are almost through with your car,” he added.

I allowed the start of a smile. The mention of that rare antique—the Rolls Royce that everyone called my car—reminded me of the triumph I’d experienced when I took it from one of those cocky Italian capos from the Rivera Family.

I couldn’t stand those fuckers, and that was why it had felt all the more rewarding when I explained that his prized possession was now mine.

I’d never forget the glory of striding toward that sleek black car right before my men beheaded him, letting him watch me take his car before we took his life.

It wasn’t the best choice for transporting bodies, but I hadn’t counted on needing to relocate one earlier.

Sometimes, these things just happened. No matter how messy my violent life as a Mafia boss could be, I had plenty of professional and thorough cleaners in my employ to handle it all. The blood, guts, and gore.

Satisfied that the photos were ripped, I stood and buttoned my jacket. Only now did I make eye contact with the bald, gaunt-faced Allen. He seldom smiled, and that suited me just fine. With a life like mine, softer emotions were a waste of time.

“Ivan is downstairs waiting for you,” he said, referring to my nephew.

“And Emil?” I asked.

He nodded. “He’s ready to go as well.”

I arched a brow and snorted a laugh. “I wish this kind of backup wasn’t necessary.”

“But it is,” he said, falling into step with me as I left my office.

Outside the ceiling-to-floor windows that made up the entire lengths of two walls, darkness hung over the city.

New York City never slept. With glittering lights spread out down below, the sparks of life proved there was plenty of activity.

I could only hope that the meeting I was about to go to would be actionless. I was sick of these headaches, all the whiny rivals, all the back-stabbing enemies, and even all the lying moles and rats. Like any other criminal organization, the Dubinin Syndicate suffered some betrayals from within.

Violence was the currency with which I lived my life, but after so many incidents of having to remind everyone that no one could fuck with us and get away with it, it really did blend into a blur of the same old.

“Backup is always necessary,” I replied to Allen. No matter what we did, who we dealt with, or where we went, someone was bound to try to kill us. Even that was getting really fucking old. Tedious.

Boring.

I’d never admit that I realized how dull my life was getting lately, but I couldn’t deny the listlessness that was taking hold of me.

It was always the same bullshit. Maybe the players were different from time to time, but I was getting tired of having to put up with the same thing over and over again.

“Backup is especially warranted for a meeting with these dealers,” Allen added as we entered the elevator for the ride down to the garage.

I nodded once, acknowledging and agreeing with him without a word.

Of course, I’d need to be on guard when speaking with the dealers at the warehouse.

Going to the docks was risky business for the amount of traffic going on there, particularly at this hour.

But it was the fact that I was meeting with the counterparts who had to associate with some members of the Vipers Cartel that pissed me off.

The Cartel and the Riveras. Between the two of them, I had no fucking patience and absolutely zero goodwill.

I’d never trusted them. Not in business.

Not in taking their word as fact, either.

Ever since my wife, Maria, was killed near the conjunction of their turf in the city, I’d been committed to blaming them for the death of my wife and unborn daughter.

Blood had been shed.

Fingers had been pointed.

Years had passed.

Still, the anger persisted. Because forgiveness had never and would never be granted on that topic.

Merely recalling those tense, dark times of loss and grief threatened to spike my anger now.

Any thought of the woman I’d lost over twenty years ago had the power to sway my mood.

Instead of neutral and tense, I could be enraged and raring to fight.

Missing her had faded over time, but it was the regret that I’d lost my partner too soon that pissed me off.

Life hadn’t been dull or boring when I had a woman to love.

Allen and I reached the garage, and I immediately saw my son and nephew.

Emil and Ivan stood waiting near a kitted-out black SUV.

Just the sight of them helped to rein in this lurking negative energy that could prime me for killing.

They were living proof that the Vipers and Riveras hadn’t obliterated all of my family. I still had them and many others.

Emil and Ivan were more familiar with the depth of my fury for those within the other families, though. For that matter, I could rely on them to keep me in check during this meeting.

“You all right?” Emil asked. He tipped his chin at Ivan, leaving him to go into the SUV while he came to join me in my car.

“Yes.” I furrowed my brow, watching him as he got on the other side of the car. “Why do you ask?” His implication that something was wrong with me didn’t bode well. Turning to face him while the driver started the car and exited the garage, I waited for an answer.

“You seem moodier than usual,” he answered.

I faced forward and rolled my eyes. “No, I do not.” I wasn’t in a good mood. But that was generally true for most of the time. I didn’t see a reason to expend too much energy on the lighter joys of life.

“You’re not acting like yourself.”

I turned to look out the window as we sped through the city.

“Not tonight, at least.”

Perhaps he had a point there. I wasn’t excited or happy to be near some of the players associated with when Maria had been killed.

“Ivan thinks it’s old age creeping up on you.”

I faced my son, deadpan. “Shut the fuck up.” I’d dare him to try to call me old in a serious tone.

I dared him to repeat that and mean it. His cocky grin hinted that he was joking, but it was a stupid line of humor to go with.

One more year was left before I hit fifty, but I was as fit, as toned, and as sharp as men half my age.

“I’m annoyed.” Maybe if I tossed him a bone and gave him an answer—not that I owed him one—he’d shut up.

“About what?”

“The same old. There’s nothing to look forward to anymore. It’s the same fucking old.”

Emil studied me silently.

Even the whores were getting to be the same old. Too used up and too eager, like carbon copy blow-up dolls for the amount of genuine interest they were capable of.

“Why—”

I held my hand up, cutting him off. “Leave it.” Discussing my mood or any emotional crap wasn’t happening.

He replied with a sigh, and for the rest of the ride to this meeting, he didn’t poke or prod at me to say anything else.

We arrived with Ivan and the rest of the backup. Pulling up to the warehouse in a line of cars, we showed that we weren’t solo, that we weren’t weak. All of us were packing, and with practiced confidence, we entered the building as one. Strong, with numbers, and no room for error.

“Boss,” one of the men said, bowing slightly as I stepped into the room where others waited for me. “It is good to see you.”

“I can’t say the same,” I told the middle-level dealer. Maybe he was a supervisor for whoever the fuck he worked for, like an independent broker. As far as I was concerned, though, he was an insignificant piece of shit.

I was expected to attend this meeting, not necessarily to talk much or contribute any new intel.

Like a spectator in the background, I brought the weight of my position to this gathering.

It was for show. I was here to remind them all who was in charge.

Such reminders weren’t needed, though, because as the men spoke about deals and the transgressions we had against the Cartel were brought up, I merely watched and listened.

I let my men do the jobs they were given.

Usually, I didn’t play my hand and hover as an overlord.

The point was to work smarter, not harder, and I did that by delegating this bullshit to the leaders within my Family.

Every single person in the room eyed me with equal parts respect and fear. As they should.

Only one individual stood out.

Miguel Lopez.

I’d spotted his unwillingness to make direct eye contact with me. Regardless of whether he was talking or someone else was, he couldn’t look me in the eye.

What the fuck are you up to?

He was a liaison between the Dubinin Family and the Vipers, but with his intimidated appearance, I couldn’t be sure whether he was behaving like he should.

Afterward, when it was concluded that he’d deliver specific pieces of intel to another cell of soldiers near Brooklyn about a big order of drugs that would be dropped there, I wondered if that was a good idea.

While suspecting a man could be a traitor was slightly challenging, this was still the same old, same old. Because it would always end in the exact same way.

No one would fuck with me.

No one would ruin or endanger what was mine.

Afterward, on the ride out of there heading toward the massive building that I considered my fortress in the city, both Ivan and Emil rode with me.

“I don’t like this,” Emil said.

“I think Lopez is a rat,” Ivan told us.

“My thoughts exactly.” The weaselly man seemed too skittish, too nervous to be trusted.

He had to be hiding something, and I intended to find out what.

Secrets would always threaten to ruin us from the inside out.

With a heavy sigh, I slumped against the cushions.

“Set up a trap. See if you can catch him in the act with this drop near Brooklyn. And make him pay.”

Ivan nodded, getting his phone out to do as instructed.

“We’ll make it happen,” Emil said, drumming his fingers on his knee, likely itching to kill another traitor.

Commanding these ruthless men to play God, to determine the details of life or death, was one more example of how it really was the same damn old. This would be far from the first time I’d had to order a kill or to set a trap. This wouldn’t be the last time, either.

The same old shit.

Even this.

Nothing would ever chip away at my need to kill, this bloodlust to protect every part of the Dubinin organization and empire. I would see to the end of every enemy, including the nervous and tense Miguel Lopez.

He’d pay.

Just like everyone else who'd dared to cross me.