Page 16 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)
It’s been three weeks.
Three weeks since Arlette and I got married. And two weeks since I officially claimed her as mine. I’d fucked countless women my whole life, but I’d never gotten the level of satisfaction that I received from Arlette. I had always craved something more until she came into the picture.
Mine. I never thought it was possible, but after we made love, my feelings for her intensified. They twisted into something neurotic and manic until I was sure I’d do anything for her. She had that much control over me, whether I liked it or not.
I knew it was unhealthy for me—my obsession with her, that is. For us, and mostly for her. It never ended well when I fixed my attention on something. She wasn’t an object, but I had developed a primal need for her that couldn’t be controlled.
One that could even lead to her own death.
I was presently at my home office, reviewing the cash flow reports that Maxim had emailed to me. There were no leaks, according to the report, and everything seemed to be going well—although Joaquin still was nowhere to be found.
He had mysteriously appeared on the news a week ago at a brief press conference, but then disappeared back into the shadows just as quickly as he appeared.
Against all odds, he couldn’t be tracked. And just last week, when I was called upon by Matvey to interrogate another one of Joaquin’s spies caught loitering around the estate, we weren’t able to get any useful info.
It didn’t matter that Matvey had almost cracked the fucker’s head open with his fists, leaving him a bloodied mess. It also didn’t matter that the bastard hadn’t eaten for days and was stripped naked in the Kamarov basement, his bones jutting out from his pale skin and his eyes hollow with dread.
He was physically broken but psychologically tough—right until the bitter end, when his brains were blown out by Matvey, who seemed too irritated to keep questioning him.
It had been a while since I allowed myself in a room and atmosphere thick with carnage and grisly gore. A room that housed mutilated limbs and bodies strewn around. And though the image had been appalling, yes, I wasn’t shaken—rather, I felt restless and frustrated.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to concentrate on the numerous attached files Maxim had sent me. Something felt off.
An oversight. I could feel it. It felt like someone or something was watching my every move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I slammed my fists on the table just as a piercing scream tore through the silence of the night. It was Arlette, and she was probably having another nightmare.
This was the third time, and no matter how much I comforted her, it didn’t seem to stop the nightmares. If anything, the nightmares appeared to be getting worse each time.
I hurried to her room, where she was lying down, gasping heavily and sweating profusely. Her green eyes were nearly dead and bloodshot, as if she had just relived the memory of her mother’s death.
When she saw me, she ran into my arms, crying on my chest while I gently stroked her hair. She took in a shaky breath.
“I saw her face,” she croaked out, her voice muffled. “They killed her. They sliced her throat open and watched her bleed to death.”
A graphic detail for a child to witness. No wonder her mind blocked it out, slowly unraveling only as nightmares.
“Don’t worry, kroshka ,” I whispered into her ear, trying to calm her. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
I had to get her some sort of closure somehow, or I was sure the nightmares would never stop. But where would I begin? Jaxon Whitmore himself would’ve been the best person to talk to. If he were alive, I wouldn’t mind having to torture the father of my wife to get the answers I needed.
I always knew there was something odd about that man, and to think he lied to his own daughter about her mother’s death.
Fuck!
“Stay with me,” her tired voice begged as she lifted her head to meet my eyes. She was my downfall. Everything about her compelled me to obey, so I, like a robotic mind, nodded and gently wiped her tears with my thumb.
“I’m right here, kroshka . Right here.”
It took a while, but she finally drifted back to sleep in my arms while I kept stroking her hair, my jaw clenched and tense as fury simmered beneath my veins.
My emotions were all over the place. They weren’t controlled like they usually were, and I knew I had to get my shit together soon. It was the only way I could be strategic.
My phone, which sat on top of Arlette’s bed, started to whirr. I tried to ignore it, but it kept buzzing and waking Arlette, so while muttering a curse under my breath, I carefully moved away from her.
Grabbing my cellphone, I made for the balcony, a scowl forming on my face when I saw it was Maxim calling.
“This had better be important, Maxim.” My voice was low as I spoke, momentarily glancing into the room to check if Arlette was still sound asleep.
Almost breathless, Maxim replied, saying, “There has been a financial strain on two of our Miami fronts. Laundering slowed down a lot. I think someone is squeezing our vendors.”
My hands grabbed onto the metal railing. It didn’t make any sense. I had specifically asked Maxim to close all leaks and passages Joaquin, or any fool, could think of using to disrupt the Bratva cash flow system.
What the fuck is happening?
“We’ve been attacked,” I stated. “Double-check every book. No more slip-ups. We aren’t playing defense anymore,” I added as I turned on my heel, leaving the balcony. “I’m on my way.”
***
“You’re not gonna like this.”
That was the first thing Cassandra—who was still dressed in her navy-blue work outfit—said as I entered the conference room where Maxim had suggested we meet, a floor below my office.
The hum of servers filled the room as Maxim appeared to be working on something at one of the seats around the sleek, wooden, rectangular table at the center of the room.
A declining graph was projected on the smart board, and at a glance, I knew I wasn’t going to like what I was about to hear.
I ran a hand through my hair before grabbing a seat across from Maxim and settling into it.
Maxim acknowledged me by briefly standing up, and after I nodded, he sat back down. I pulled out a cigarette from the breast pocket of my suit jacket and took a long drag—trying to calm my nerves—but it didn’t work. The musty taste that once helped me feel calm now only deepened my anxiety.
Meanwhile, Cassandra went up to the smart board, using a pen to point at the start of the graph, which was highlighted in green, and then began to decline by the minute in real time.
“We have two fronts,” she started out by saying. “Our laundromats at Coral Way and Little Havana have had revenue drops of over 70% this week, and even now, it’s still decreasing.”
She then swiped the page to reveal a new slide centering on each of the locations she mentioned. “We’ve been flagged for several violations, sir. Nothing like we’ve ever seen before.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “Violations like what?”
“Local inspectors flagged us for the craziest shit, Boss,” Maxim—whose attention had drifted from his laptop—now said, slamming said laptop shut. “Complained about our pipes, water heaters, and the strangest part is these were all reported anonymously.”
“These fuckers used city departments to throttle us, and it didn’t stop there.” Cassandra moved to a slide showing yet another declining graph with numbers dropping sharply.
“Vendors are suddenly backing out, saying they’ve been warned off,” Cassandra claimed.
“Threatened, even,” Maxim added. “Our closest vendor for the Little Havana laundromat said he had received an anonymous call—threatening to shoot down his family if he didn’t stop working with us….”
My eye twitched at Maxim’s words.
Joaquin Saavedra was playing a dangerous game with me. He must’ve forgotten I wasn’t just in charge of the Bratva business for nothing. I was a businessman as much as I was a killer, and I didn’t shy away from having blood on my hands.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t killed in years. I was ready to delve back into that blood frenzy if he pushed me too far. And it didn’t matter if he was hiding either. I was going to force him out.
A dark laugh escaped from my lips. It was manic, almost psychotic, because it all felt like a sick joke. Never in my thirty-eight years had I been pushed so far against the wall.
Joaquin was clearly sending a message.
I hear you loud and clear, bastard.
I stood up from my seat, hands on the table as my mind raced, considering several temporary options until we could finally get rid of Joaquin once and for all.
I pointed to Maxim. “Funnel Miami operations through the second-tier fronts in Homestead and Hialeah. Cash is redirected from Little Havana for now. Keep the money moving.
Maxim nodded and began typing away on his laptop while I directed my attention to Cassandra, who had her iPad ready.
“Clean those inspectors. Cass, call our people at the county office and make sure reports about this shit disappear by tomorrow morning.”
“On it.”
“And Maxim, there’s one last thing I want you to do for me.”
Maxim’s attention sharpened before I continued, my eyes locked on his so he knew just how serious I was.
“Find out who made those anonymous calls. I want their names, addresses, pets, and even what they had for breakfast. When you get that information, I want you to send some of our men to kidnap them and bring them over to Matvey for interrogation. Do you understand?”
Maxim nodded, but I wasn’t satisfied with a nod.
“Use your words, Maxim. Do you understand what I just said?”
“ Da, Boss ,” Maxim sharply replied.
“Good,” I breathed out, cracking my knuckles.