Page 22 of The Bratva’s Arranged Virgin Bride (Fokin Bratva #8)

Damn it. Why in the hell did Darla message me about an emergency with the gallery at this time of night? I had half a mind to ignore it and stay with Nat, but I had to keep my manager happy and under control or risk the whole operation going under before the first show.

There was too much money at stake to quit now, and it would be a massive pain in the ass to find someone as qualified as her to be the face of the shows. All I could do was try to get her in line as quickly as possible and hope Nat was still in a good mood by the time I returned home.

A car, a silly car, something she could have had already if I knew it was a big deal to her. But it got me an opening with her family, so it was worth the ruse. It was disappointing that it was going to be just two of the cousins, but it was a start.

When I got to the small, nearly empty restaurant where Darla had asked to meet, my suspicions immediately rose.

I knew this place somehow, but I couldn't quite put my finger on how.

Was it one of the many small businesses I tried to buy when I first arrived in LA, or was it one of the Fokin holdings, and this was all a setup?

Darla was already there, huddled in a back booth, clutching a cup of coffee.

She definitely didn’t look happy or under control, at least not to me.

I slid in across from her, hackles raised.

How could she be involved with the Fokins?

I worked hard to keep this scheme of mine top secret. Most of my own men were unaware of it.

She greeted me, nervous, glancing behind her at the door. I patted the lump under my jacket, ready to pull the gun if necessary, despite the few other patrons in there.

“I don’t have much time,” she said, more miserable than I’d ever seen her.

She looked at the door again, and this time someone entered. It wasn’t one of the Fokins. It was worse. There was no way this was a coincidence.

“How the hell did you get involved with that guy?” I asked.

He hadn’t looked over yet, taking his time perusing the pies in the bakery display, chatting up the girl behind the counter. I swore under my breath. There was no way he wasn’t completely aware of us.

Darla leaned over her coffee cup as if it could give her wisdom and strength. “My husband’s having second thoughts. That man somehow knew and approached him at his work. He insisted I get out. He’s scared to death, and so am I now, but I thought I better tell you first.”

I tried not to show how furious I was. Darla was right not to want Vissarion Kotlov as an enemy.

He’d been mine for a long time. But there was no possible way he could know I was in LA, let alone running another sham gallery.

Keeping my anger in check wasn’t working, and I glared at her.

She shouldn’t want me as an enemy, either.

Vissarion was still chatting with the waitress, not giving us a glance. Darla was on the verge of tears. “I would have cracked under the pressure anyway, it’s better if I just get out now. Please…”

She was about to start begging for her life, and I didn’t want to hear it. I was starting to take pity on her despite my bubbling anger. That was really more for Vissarion than her.

“I will give you forty-eight hours to get down to Mexico and start your quiet life. You and your husband will both have a tail until I’m certain you’re not going to spill the beans about what I’m doing here.”

“I would never,” she insisted. I believed her, but didn’t know her husband at all. He could have been one of those fine, upstanding men who felt the annoying urge to always do what was right.

“Go,” I said. “Clock’s ticking for you to get out of LA.”

She scurried off, and the moment the bell on the door tinkled behind her, Vissarion looked over.

I was stuck facing my worst enemy. The man had been a thorn in my side for years, showing up at the most inopportune times and starting small wars against my people in Moscow, making trouble for me wherever I happened to be in the world.

I couldn’t show how this had thrown me. Vissarion was cunning and resourceful; he could have found out just by relentless spying.

No matter the reason, I had been found out, and now I had to deal with it.

He slid into the seat Darla had just vacated, moving her abandoned cup to the side with a sneer on his face.

He might have been considered handsome once, but bitterness and a constant string of failures had aged him. He was a fighter and had the scars to show it. Some of them were inflicted by me, but then again, some of mine were thanks to him. He turned the sneer onto me.

“It’s been too long,” he said in his thick Russian accent.

I leaned back, calmly lacing my fingers behind my head. “Are you really still pissed about Elaina?”

Vissarion slammed his hand down on the table, making the cup rattle toward the edge. A waitress had been on her way over, and she made an abrupt turnaround.

“She was my wife,” he hissed.

“It was an arranged marriage, wasn’t it?” I reminded him.

He almost lost control, lunging across the table at me. He sat back down in a hurry, getting himself together again, but barely. His eyes stared daggers into me as he gripped the edges of the table to keep from smashing my face in.

Yes, it really all boiled down to a woman.

Years before, Elaina had been unhappy with her lot in life and had set her sights on me.

I had been in a tentative truce with Vissarion’s people at the time, and I never interfered with married women if I could help it.

So, I sent her on her way, unknowingly breaking her heart.

Still miserable in her arranged marriage, she ran away from Vissarion and was killed by someone else who couldn’t stand him.

He’d ultimately blamed me for it. Even though he’d run through three more hapless wives since then, the man was a champ at holding a grudge.

“So, what do you want now?” I asked as he continued to snort like a bull about to charge.

“I want in on the deal,” he said.

I shook my head. Not happening. “It’s only six shows,” I told him. “Short term, not worth your time.”

Yes, it was a hell of a lot of money, but negligible to someone like him.

He did seem desperate, though, which might have been part of the problem.

There might have been reasons for wanting in other than making my life miserable.

If he was hurting for money, that might make him even more dangerous, so I hoped letting him know it was only temporary would send him somewhere else.

“It’s worth your time,” he said slyly.

“Yes, but it’s fun for me.” Vissarion didn’t understand the concept of fun.

“It might be fun if you’re in charge, which I plan on being,” he informed me. “I’ll let you stay on as a partner for now. I need someone to keep the artists in line and run the shows.

I was never huge on killing people, but I wanted to shoot the man under the table right then and there. I would so much rather have been with my wife than dealing with this. But I wasn’t giving up my venture to my enemy, either. Talk about opening a door I’d never get shut again.

Suddenly, I thought of something that almost made me crack up in Vissarion’s face.

All I had to do was get my six shows out of the way and then alert the authorities and everyone who bought one of the forgeries.

At the very least, Vissarion would be deported and would be out of my hair for a while.

I could always resort to killing him later if he got too troublesome.

Either way, I’d be getting him out of my new territory for good.

“Fine,” I said, pretending to still be pissed off.

Which I was. This meant I’d have to be at the gallery more often, since I didn’t trust the big lug as far as I could throw him. He’d find a way to screw things up, and then I’d be the one getting the free ride back to Russia, not him.

We hammered out a few details, and his sly grin at thinking he’d gotten one over on me was almost too much. But it would be worth it in the long run, getting him out of my life for good. And I could still always kill him. That was a nice, comforting thought.

I let him leave first, making sure he was long gone before I took off, also making doubly sure I wasn’t followed. I already had plenty of guards staking out the beach house, but I notified the head of my security detail to be on high alert.

“Not him,” he groaned when I told him Vissarion had popped up like a recurring pimple again.

“Yes, him, and we’re going to take him seriously.”

He didn’t have to be told twice; he was well aware of how important Nat was to my ultimate plan. Not yet knowing how important she was becoming to me, because I could hardly admit it to myself. The woman was intoxicating, and I couldn’t wait to get back in the house and start where we’d left off.

However, she was Nat. Her curiosity about where I was and who I was meeting wasn’t about to be cajoled away with kisses.

I liked thinking she might be jealous, but the truth was she was probably just trying to gain information for her own cause, whatever it was.

I wasn’t about to tell her about the gallery, and I wouldn’t even utter Vissarion’s name in front of her, so I had to be cagy, dance around her questions.

It wasn’t the right move, but it was the only one I had to keep her away from my old enemy.

It put her in a bad enough mood that there was no chance of rekindling that fire between us.

No chance at all, when she finally gave up grilling me and stormed off to her guest room to sleep alone for the night.