Page 19 of Cruel Russian Monster (Safin Bratva #2)

Things were still tense between Lev and me, but that didn’t matter. We had work to do for the faction. The morning had been a rare win, a silver lining in the storm of the past few months.

Despite Artyom’s attempts to isolate us, Lev secured an alliance, another Bratva faction on U.S. soil, willing to hear us out. All they wanted was the truth.

Lev gave it to them. The parts that mattered.

The pakhan listened in silence. When Lev finished, the man said he had a half-sibling too, and he’d burn the world to protect her. Bratva means family, he said. Then he equated Artyom’s behavior to that of a five-year-old throwing a tantrum instead of leading like a pakhan.

He said he’d speak to a few of his allies and set up a few meetings for Lev if he was interested. Lev thanked him, and we left.

By the time we got back to the compound, I got word that someone had tried to break into one of our ammunition warehouses. The man had enough fucking explosives to take down the damn Statue of Liberty.

When I got to the interrogation room, the man's lip was already busted, his left eye swollen. Before I even spoke, I checked his shoulder. Same damn star. The motherfucker was Bratva. He refused to talk, but at least I was able to retrieve a phone from him.

After an hour of interrogation, he still refused to speak. So, I carved the star from his shoulder, cut out his tongue, slit his throat, and let the boys handle what was left.

I’d just walked into my office and tossed the retrieved phone into my safe when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

An unknown number.

“Speak,” I answered.

“Jaroslav, it's Yegor.”

My blood ran cold. Did Vera change her mind about staying, and Yegor was calling to let me know that Vera was back at the Rykov’s family mansion?

“Did something happen to Vera?” My voice was strained.

“No. Vera is at your house, safe. Zahkar and I haven't told Artyom anything.”

Somehow, I felt him refrain from adding a ‘yet’ to that sentence.

“I called to ask for a favor,” he said smoothly.

And there it was, the unspoken condition being set to ensure Artyom doesn't find out, so Vera could stay safe at my house

“What do you need?” I asked calmly.

“We need a safe opened, a Rostov 8X.”

A Rostov 8X was a top-tier Russian vault-safe. It had dual mechanisms: a biometric and mechanical dial. Lots of the older mafia leaders used it since it was rare, old-school, and hard as fuck to get into. Usually, a twelve-minute window. Just like the one sitting in my office.

“And what makes you think I can open it?”

“We did our homework, and guess whose name is on top of the list, with an impressive nine-minute window marker?”

I'd been learning to open safes since I was ten. Lev and the others could, too, but I always had the fastest time and had even entered some competitions when I was younger. Little had I known how it would come in handy.

Being an underboss was more than storming into a place and killing men. Learning how to get to the valuable information that couldn't be hacked by a computer was important.

“Where is the safe?” I asked.

Something told me I wasn't going to like the answer to this question.

When Yegor rattled off the address, I bit back the curses that ran up my throat.

Fuck.

I knew the address. It was the address of a fucking Italian mafia mob boss. And he wasn't a rookie. His family had been around long before the Safin legacy.

“What's in the safe?” I asked. I knew he probably wouldn't answer, but it was worth a shot.

“An external hard drive with existing blackmail files, wire transfers, and coded communications between rogue factions. It also has compromising photos, videos, and bribes used to control high-ranking officials and Bratva leaders.”

I was surprised that he told me, but not surprised by the intel given. Of course, they had information like that; it was the sole reason Lev had wanted to marry Vera in the first place, to infiltrate their intel system.

“When do you plan to do this?” I asked.

“Now. I'll send you a message on where to meet us, and we'll go together.”

Yegor cut the call, and my phone buzzed with a message from him with the meetup spot. I changed from my suit into tactical clothing and leather gloves. I added two extra guns and knives to my person, as well as the equipment to open the safe in the pockets of my cargo pants.

I walked out of headquarters and hopped into one of the cars. I started the engine and turned off the tracking system. I drove out of the parking lot, hopefully not to my damn death.

***

Thirty minutes later, we sat in the car, Yegor behind the wheel and Zahkar next to him on the phone. The Italian mob boss had just left.

Zahkar hung up and turned slightly. “The cameras are on a loop. All electronic gates are open. We have twenty minutes to get in and out.”

Without another word, we hopped out of the car, Yegor with a backpack slung over one shoulder, and moved towards the gate at the back of the property.

Together, we maneuvered through the mansion, ducking guards until we slipped into the master bedroom. Zahkar went straight to the shelf and pushed in the first book on the top left. The shelf did a one-eighty rotation, showing a room behind it.

I needed to get Timur to upgrade the system at my house. The fact that they’d been watching and knew all this shit was unnerving. The last thing I needed was them catching footage of me eating out, Vera on the kitchen counter, or taking her from behind in the lounge.

I forced myself to focus as I stepped into the room behind Zahkar and Yegor.

The second we stepped inside, the faint scent of leather and cigar smoke filled my nostrils. The cool air of the AC washed over us. The room was set up like an office; a large mahogany desk with a computer sitting on it, a chair at the desk, and shelves lined with books. There weren't any windows.

Zahkar crossed the room, gripped the side of a floor-to-ceiling cabinet, and shifted it two inches to the left. A faint mechanical click sounded as it gave way, revealing the steel face of a Rostov 8X.

He looked over his shoulder. “It’s all yours.”

I stepped forward, crouched slightly, and ran my hand along the face of the safe. The Rostov 8X stood nearly chest-high, matte steel.

“We have fifteen minutes left,” Yegor said behind me.

Nodding, I dropped to one knee. It had a dual-layered, biometric sensor on the left, a mechanical dial at the center, and a silent time-lock wired beneath.

I’d cracked dozens of these over the years, but they still demanded respect.

One wrong move, and it locked you out for forty-eight hours, or triggered a silent alarm if the owner had been paranoid enough to wire it for alerts.

I pulled my kit from inside my pants pocket and opened it on the floor.

The tools were simple: magnets, decoders, a tiny drill with a diamond bit, and a bypass sensor tap.

I started with the biometric override, bypassing the reader entirely with a small spike that tricked the circuit board into accepting a default access loop.

Once I saw the green flicker, I moved to the dial.

The click of the stethoscope in my ears drowned out everything else. I spun it slowly, counting rotations, watching the notches line up in my head. Each one clicked into place like a puzzle I’d solved a thousand times, but it was never exactly the same.

Eight minutes in, I twisted once more, and the safe opened with a low metallic sigh. I rolled up my tools and slipped them back into my pockets.

Yegor walked forward, shining a small penlight inside while Zahkar stood watch at the door.

Stacks of euros and dollars filled the upper shelf, all bundled tight with bank straps. Underneath was the real prize: an external hard drive, a steel lockbox, several USBs, and a leather folder thick with documents.

Yegor grabbed everything except the cash, then shut the safe door.

“Time to go.” He stuffed everything into the backpack. He checked his watch. “We've got four minutes left.”

He slung the backpack over his shoulder, then slid the cabinet door back in its place.

We moved in silence, and Zahkar pressed the book again, sliding the shelf back into place before we exited the master bedroom.

As we moved down the hall, almost to the back door we’d come through, one of the side doors opened.

“What the fuck?” the man said, stunned.

Before he could speak again or alert anyone, Zahkar drove a foot into his stomach, knocking him backward into the room. He caught himself fast, knife flashing as he lunged, not for Zahkar, but for Yegor.

I saw the blade and shoved Yegor out of the way. The knife slashed my side. I grabbed the man, snapped his neck clean, and shoved his body back into the room before slamming the door shut.

“We've gotta move,” Yegor said.

I nodded. Getting caught here would blow back on more than just us. It could possibly damage every faction linked to Bratva. I clutched my side as we made it out the back and off the property.

Yegor hopped behind the wheel, and Zahkar and I crawled into the back seat. Before Zahkar closed the door, Yegor was speeding off. I was drenched in sweat, my teeth clenched against the pain. I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against the wound as hard as I could.

I was pissed.

This was the second time I’d taken a hit since marrying Vera. I was an underboss, not some rookie. This shit made me look weak. And if I couldn’t protect myself, how the fuck was I supposed to protect her?

“How are you holding up?” Zahkar asked, his voice tight.

“It's just a nick. I'll be fine,” I slurred, my head rolling to the side, eyes still closed.

But I wasn't. My limbs felt heavy, and even with my eyes closed, I felt like my head was spinning.

“Shit,” Yegor said. “I think they laced the blade with something. It could be a harmless paralysis drug or poison.”

“Fuck,” Zahkar swore next to me.

Yegor might have been right. I've gotten gutted before, but I've never felt this way so soon after.

I didn’t know how much time had passed before the car rolled to a stop and the back door opened.

“Jaroslav, you're home. Let’s get you inside,” Zahkar said.

I nodded once and opened my eyes. My vision was blurry.

Inhaling deeply, I forced one foot out, then the other, and stood in place for a moment before I began to move.

I was determined to walk under my own power, but by the third step, my knees gave out.

Yegor and Zahkar caught me before I hit the ground and half-carried me toward the house.

Before we reached the front door, it burst open.

“Jaroslav!” Vera's voice was filled with panic.

I tried to stand straighter, tried to say something reassuring. What came out was a soft, slurred “fuck” before I slumped further into the arms that held me.

She stood in front of me, her eyes wide, color draining from her face. She stared at the blood on my shirt, then looked at her brothers.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“He took a blade to the side,” Yegor said flatly as we continued to walk to the house. “Luckily, it wasn’t his gut.”

Or the side I got shot in.

Vera’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.” Vera opened the door so we could enter, then closed it behind us. “How did this happen?”

She turned to her brothers. “There's a guest room down the hall. Help me get him there.” Her voice cracked.

A few minutes later, I was lying in bed. Someone was taking off my shirt, another my boots, and someone was emptying all the shit I had in my pockets.

“Why the fuck does he carry all these weapons?” I heard someone say, but I couldn't make out who.

I felt hands touching around the wound, while someone else was cleaning the blood from my hands. Then came the burn on the antiseptic and the pinch of the skin stapler. Then light fingers pressing a bandage in place.

I vaguely heard the shuffling around me stop, and the door closing. I felt the blanket being pulled over me, up to my waist, then a dip in the bed beside me, on the uninjured side.

I knew it was Vera by the strawberry scent of her shampoo.

She shifted until she could prop herself up, easing my head onto her chest. Her fingers threaded gently through my hair.

I buried my face into her, breathing in the scent of her, letting it soothe me.

Vera kept stroking my hair, whispering how sorry she was that I was hurt. The last thing I remembered was the soft press of her lips to my forehead, and her telling me she’d always be there when I needed her.