Bratva Beast: A Dark Romance

He was right about that. I still had to fight, no matter what.

I got up and showered. I threw on a black t-shirt and a leather jacket then found my truck and rolled out into the early morning city. Joggers and dog walkers maneuvered down the relatively quiet sidewalks, though it’d get packed over the next few hours as more and more workers came out for their commute.

I found a spot down the block from Evgeni’s usual Russian deli. Two thugs stood out front, guys I didn’t recognize, but they knew me by sight. Both nodded respectfully as I stepped inside.

It wasn’t normal for Evgeni to have muscle standing around outside, but then again, the city wasn’t normal these days. Not with the Lionettis warring with themselves.

Evgeni sat at a small round table toward the back. The place smelled like pickles and cooked meat, and the employees behind the counter ignored me. Evgeni had a paper in his hands and a coffee in front of him, dark and richly black. German sat at the table next to him, scrolling through his phone.

Neither man looked up as I lingered there, staring down.

It was clear disrespect, but I kept myself under control.

You still have to fight, even when it hurts.

“Thank you for coming to see me, Mack.” Evgeni shook his paper and folded it shut. His cold eyes met mine as he gestured at the chair across from him. “Please sit down.”

I did as ordered. German still didn’t look over. Asshole.

“What can I do for you, Pakhan?”

Evgeni’s smile was tight as he waved a hand. “Dispense with the formalities, please. We’re not in an official meeting right now. The rest of the Bratva isn’t here.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, Evgeni. Why’d you wake my ass up only to come to this filthy little hole-in-the-wall at some ungodly hour?”

Evgeni grinned. “That’s more like it.” He sipped his coffee daintily and tilted his head. “You’ve been struggling lately, haven’t you?”

I looked away. I could never hold his gaze for long.

It reminded me too much of his training.

He wasn’t a gentle man. Probably why I turned out the way I did.

“I wouldn’t say I’m struggling.” I tilted my head and watched his hands. Those rough fingers, the callused knuckles I knew so well.

I had permanent bruises from where his punches connected when we’d spar when I was only a kid.

“Then why isn’t that Doyle girl dead yet?” His voice was soft, almost kind. He leaned closer. “You’ve never taken this long before.”

“It hasn’t been the right time. Do you want her dead, or do you want her gone?”

He laughed. I knew he’d understand what I meant. Anyone would take a life, but there were few men in this city with enough skill to murder a person and make sure they disappeared forever.

“I want the job done.”

“That’s why you sent Boris, isn’t it?”

His smile faded. “And you got in the way.”

“You know I’m protective of my kills.”

“I know you have some foolish sense of pride. I thought I beat that out of you a long time ago.”

He certainly tried, at least.

“I am what you made me, Pakhan.” I showed him my teeth. German glanced over, frowned, and looked away.

Evgeni sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I called you in out of respect for you, Mack. You know I think of you as my own son, but you’ve delayed this hit for long enough, and now one of our own is gone because of your foolishness. I won’t wait around for you to decide to do your job any longer.”

My jaw tightened. “What are you proposing?”

“I’m proposing nothing. I’m warning you. I called in Peter.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Peter? I thought he was in Russia still.”

“Moscow. You know how he likes the old world. But he’s still loyal to the family and he’ll do what needs doing.”

I looked away, back toward the counter. Peter was an old friend of mine from back in the day. Our paths diverged as we got older, but Evgeni trained the both of us.

Peter was massive. He was a giant, really—nearly seven feet tall and rippling with muscle. He consistently won Moscow’s Strongest Man competition every year, and Evgeni only called him when situations looked dire.

He was almost as good as me. Though Peter was more brawn than brains.

The thought of him getting involved set my teeth on edge. I liked Peter, always had—he was one of the few people I considered a real friend, and going up against him would be more than a little difficult. I didn’t want to fight him, and definitely didn’t want to kill him, but I had to keep Fiona safe.

My desire for her warred against my loyalty to my family, and I wasn’t sure which would win.