Broken Bride (Belaya Bratva 2)

CHAPTER 7

Gavril

I flipped the page back with a frown, rereading the column of numbers that were staring up at me. That couldn’t be right.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and squinted at the numbers, trying to make sense of it all. Anatoly was the only one who knew I fucking hated to wear reading glasses, preferring to strain my eyes so no one would see a weakness that I couldn’t do anything about.

Call me vain, but I wasn’t old enough for reading glasses, nor did I have the time to go get my eyes fixed.

So squinting was the result.

Still, even with my bad eyesight, there was no mistaking the numbers there. It was a list of all the shipments that had come from Russia to LA over the last two months, from the women to the additional goods like weapons and drugs meant to placate what was left of Orlov’s men.

I hadn’t expected it to be so expensive.

Quickly, I added the numbers myself, something I liked to do when I was stressed out and needed a way to calm my mind.

Tonight, though, it wasn’t working, not with these numbers.

When I had the first total, I went back and looked at previous months, before I had acquired the additional men, and wrote down those. When I was done, the truth was staring me in the face.

I was losing a hell of a lot of money right now.

I dropped my pencil and sat back, resting my hands on my stomach as worry sliced through me. It seemed that I hadn’t anticipated those assholes being so needy. I knew I was going to have to cater to them, but this shit was ridiculous.

“Motherfucker,” I breathed. I had to keep my mind focused on the alternative. I couldn’t give the vultures from the Krasnaya Bratva an inch lest they started getting the idea that they could go up against me.

If they did, it would ruin everything I had worked my ass off for.

The money—I would recoup it, I decided. After the conversation with Yardle, I could figure out a way to offset the cost.

I had to.

If I didn’t, I would have to cut ties with them, and that wasn’t an alternative right now. The women would placate them for a while until I could build up my pockets again. Otherwise, I would need to remind them that it wasn’t a good look to be so greedy with your Pakhan.

That was always the concern of the Mafia bosses, ensuring that there was enough cash flow coming through the channels. Not just to keep ourselves afloat, but to keep our own men satisfied. If there were money issues, then trust started to slide. Brigadiers and benefactors both would start thinking that they could do better.

That was when bosses turned into corpses, and organizations fell into civil war.

I had seen plenty of brigadiers who thought that they could go rogue and start their own organizations, only to find out that it was fucking expensive to do so. If there was no old money, one would have a hell of time trying to get their organization off the ground. And it was more likely than not that someone else would come swooping in to pick them apart before they even realized what the hell was happening.

I was far from worrying about having no money in my accounts, but if I kept up this shit, things would grow tight over the next few months.

So how much am I willing to entertain these assholes? The lines to the former Krasnaya brigadiers were thready at best, and I had no intention of wining and dining them for the rest of my fucking days.

I leaned forward and turned the pages again. In my hastiness, the thin edge sliced across my finger. I pulled it back quickly and watched the thin line well with blood.

It reminded me of Naomi’s injury earlier, when she had touched the crib.

Was this some sort of twisted sign that one of us was going to bleed before this relationship was over?

She had caught me off guard with her line of questioning today, and it was very unlike Naomi. Sure, she had been curious about my life, but she had never outright asked me a question like that.

What the hell was up with her lately? Was it the pregnancy? I hadn’t expected Naomi to be a woman who liked to be kept in line, one that would stay in the background, but her train of thoughts today had me concerned.

I didn’t know what had brought about this newfound desire to know more about my businesses, nor was I inclined to share them with her. It wasn’t in my nature to share those pieces of me. I had done it once before, and it had gone to shit before I could stop the wheels in motion.

I’d vowed at that time to never do so again. My mother had given me a few good pieces of advice once, and one of them was to watch who I trusted. Everyone was an enemy and should be treated as such.

I had nearly let that wall down with another woman—thinking with my cock instead of my common sense.

And I’d nearly paid the price for it.

Finding a napkin left over from dinner I had taken in my suite, I wrapped it around the small cut, pressing into the bite of pain against my skin. The pain was a stark reminder of what I had endured and what I almost hadn’t come back from.

Never again.

Where the hell had everything gone south recently? Naomi and I were getting along so well. At least I thought we were. I thought that she was happy with her new life. I thought she was content with my presence and what I could give her.

But something had soured in the last couple of weeks, and I didn’t think it had to do with the pregnancy. It must be something else. There was a coldness to her that I hadn’t expected, something standing in the way of her smile, her laugh, everything that I had grown to love about Naomi.

A harsh laugh escaped me.

There it was again, me trying to say that I was in love with another woman. A lesson I thought I’d learned the hard way, but apparently I hadn’t. I had let Naomi in without realizing it and tried to make something happen that I was never meant to have.

That I never deserved to have.

Pushing out of my chair, I walked over to the window, staring at the rare southern California rain that slid down the glass pane. The weather matched my mood tonight. But more importantly, I was feeling uncertain about everything in my life right now. The Bratva, the fragile bond between myself and the Krasnaya brigadiers…

Nothing was set in stone, and that bothered me greatly. I didn’t like the unknown, especially after seeing the amount of money I was pushing toward them just to make them happy.

And for what?

I wanted—no, needed—something in return to justify the costs. Something to prove that this wasn’t just some needless pit burning up my money, influence, and above all else, my respect.

Somehow I doubted I would see that if I demanded their loyalty. I was trying to go about it the right way, drawing them in with gifts rather than threats.

And what had I gotten in return?

I might as well have set my money on fire.