Page 13 of Claim Me (Dmitriyev Bratva #2)

M arissa

Inconsolable.

I’d heard what Kazimir had told the doctors, one suggesting I needed an injection or pills to ease my anxiety. I’d refused, almost throwing a stupid tantrum in the process. The way the doctor and nurse had looked at each other was as if I needed a straitjacket instead.

I’d insisted he bring me home, even though the walls felt as if they were closing in on me.

Everything was cold and dark, the threat of rain a justification for my sadness.

Now barefoot, I was still unable to grasp Charlie was gone.

I’d gone back to say my goodbyes with the Russian god standing behind me like some fantastical bodyguard.

Did I believe what he’d told me? The jury was out, but at this point, I had no other choice. If he’d wanted to kill me, I doubt I’d still be inside my own home in one piece. Somehow when I hadn’t been looking, six other men had suddenly arrived, all hulking masses of brute strength and muscle.

Not one had said a word to me, but they’d all acted as if they knew me. They were more than just employees. That much I knew. They also weren’t hired to kill me since they were guarding the house, or so I’d been told.

Safe.

He’d used the word again. I was safe.

Was that even a possibility?

I’d cried my heart out to the point my eyes were swollen.

Now I was numb, both emotionally and physically.

There was little I could do other than to try to keep moving forward, even if I had no understanding of what that meant.

I’d never thought about the possibility of Charlie’s death.

He’d been in the prime of his life, in very good health mostly loving life.

Yes, he’d worked too much, but his reward had been an amazing home on several acres.

He’d loved gardening. He’d adored tinkering around his house, creating and building things with his hands. He was a good person. He was… my brother.

Another sob escaped, but I pressed my hand against my mouth. I had plenty of time for grieving. Right now, I needed to think clearly to try to help the police discover who murdered him.

Thoughts of Kazimir lingered in the back of my mind. He was certainly capable of killing someone. I’d seen the outline of a weapon in his jacket when he’d manhandled me. He couldn’t fool me.

I glanced toward the entrance to my living room.

While I couldn’t hear his voice, the man making necessary phone calls, I felt his presence in every bone and muscle in my body.

He had that much of a powerful effect on me.

As I swept my gaze back to the window, I noticed my purse.

I hadn’t even remembered retrieving it after its tumble down the stairs.

I moved toward it, wondering if checking up on the man and his kingdom was allowed.

The thought brought another wave of tension. There were too many details to handle regarding Charlie’s death, yet my caretaker acted as if he’d handle the dirty work for me.

There was a chance my phone was broken. When I pulled it free, I was rewarded with an intact screen. The tough shatterproof case had proven well worth its expense. After another glance toward the door, I leaned against the piano, navigating to Safari.

Within seconds, I was able to Google and discover just how wealthy, how influential, and how powerful the Dmitriyev family truly was. Their holdings were easily worth billions, several massive casinos and resorts operating in Las Vegas.

I scrolled through the articles, many of which mentioned their expansive fortune, other magazines highlighting the brothers and their first cousins. Almost all were eligible bachelors, highly sought after by the ladies everywhere.

There were photos from charity events, and sports events at the fabulous almost new sports stadium.

Even pictures on yachts. Of course. How could I think otherwise?

I continued flicking from one to another, shocked at the number of pages of articles there were on individual family members and the Dmitriyev family as a whole.

My God. It was like they were kings of Las Vegas, not wealthy businessmen.

There was no way of reading every article. I’d be old and gray before that happened. The one that drew the most interest had a tagline that would catch anyone’s eye.

Russian Royalty = Bratva Brutality

Wow. Another quick glance and I pulled up the article, which was long, written by a well-known reporter from the New York Times . It would seem the family had had a very… ruthless beginning after leaving Russia for the United States.

Boris and Ivan Dmitriyev, brothers determined to make a better life for their families.

The reporter wasn’t condemning the family, but rather glorifying their rise to power and fame. However, he wasn’t shy on listing his beliefs and discoveries regarding the level of brutality used when they’d still been considered a powerful crime syndicate.

And now? They were seen as wealthy moguls who ran a tight ship at a Fortune 100 company.

His presence was electric. I sensed the moment Kazimir had entered the room. Even as he walked closer, I continued to read the article, not bothering to watch his approach.

He didn’t interrupt me, placing a glass of wine on the piano’s surface, which was a huge no-no in my world.

But tonight, with my world turned upside down, all my usual rules were tossed out the window.

Just being able to breathe without crying was promising, a feat that I never wanted and wished would end.

But the reality was right there in my face.

Leaning against the edge of the piano, he remained quiet, but I sensed he was watching me, studying every move I made. The air was crackling with heat and electricity.

“Your family used to be involved in highly illegal activities. Running drugs, weapons. Why the change?”

When he didn’t answer right away, I lifted my head. His shrug was nonchalant. “Because it was necessary. The life expectancy of a villain or a monster is usually cut short.”

“Understandable with all the heinous acts you perform.” While he wasn’t shouting, he was enunciating his words. I could tell he had questions about my hearing loss. He’d need to ask. I refused to supply him with any unnecessary information.

No matter what he’d said in the stairwell, there was no trust. How could there be? He’d spanked me, for God’s sake.

“You’re still insistent I’m a killer.”

“Well, aren’t you? I know what I read. You are mafia.

I’m sorry. Bratva.” With my actions deliberate, I shifted my gaze from his lips to his eyes then blatantly down to his polished loafers as he’d done with me.

When I looked into his eyes again, he lifted the glass of whatever liquor he’d raided from my cabinet.

“Yes, I’m Bratva and I’m capable of doing several things including keeping you safe.”

“So you say. So which is it? Are you the villain or the monster?”

“Aren’t they one and the same?” He moved closer, taking the phone from my hand.

I kept my fingers opened as he pulled it away, finally clasping them as he glanced at the article I was reading.

“Let’s just say I do what’s necessary to keep my business and family protected.

Anyone with a heart and soul would do the same. ”

His words were meant to taunt me. I could feel it. I had no good response as it seemed he was being honest with me. Was that good or bad? The answer didn’t come easily.

“Who were you talking to outside Charlie’s room?”

He gritted his teeth. It would appear a sore subject. “The detective handling the case.”

“Why do I have a feeling you don’t think he’s handling his job very well?”

“Because he isn’t.”

I studied his changing expression. “You think he’s working for whoever killed my brother.”

His laugh sent chills down my spine. “Don’t make this more than it is.”

“And don’t try and keep information from me. I deserve to know.”

He nodded as if admitting it was true without saying anything. “Why don’t you sit down. You’re exhausted and starting to come down from a rush of adrenaline.”

“I think that ship left the port a long time ago.” He was right and suddenly I was only catching every other word.

While I could piece together what he’d said, my brain was definitely shutting down.

It was after midnight, maybe even later.

I hadn’t bothered to check the time on my phone.

What was the point? When I woke in the morning, the nightmare would still continue.

Light, no light. It didn’t really matter.

I took his advice, easing onto the couch and immediately curling my legs under me.

He slowly sat in the chair opposite me and I realized he’d removed his jacket, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows.

I stared at his forearms, which appeared strong, every muscle surrounding by bulging tendons.

As attractive as they were, even more so were the tattoos.

In primal shades, they depicted a story, only I wasn’t certain what that could be.

But a tickling of music began inside my head, beautiful yet gothic notes forming, putting his pictures to an instrumental. It had been a very long time since I’d composed a piece of music. Something had continuously blocked me and I’d felt like something was missing for years.

Since my parents died. Huh. How odd that I could hear the music in my head. Powerful and strong. Just like him.

He was studying me as he’d done before, still on the edge of his seat leaning forward. With the way he was shifting his glass back and forth from one hand to the other, I could tell he was antsy.

Plus, he was dying to grill me about everything in my life. I simply wasn’t up for it.

With my hand shaking, I took a sip of the wine. While it was warm, the body full and rich, the taste was blander than usual.

“Just ask,” I suggested.

“What?”

When I offered a confused look since I didn’t hear him, he frowned. “What… do… you… want?—”