The Fixer (Chicago Bratva 2)

A whole fucking lifetime.

Blyat, I still can’t believe I have a wife.

I distract myself from my blue balls by finding her phone. I bring it to the living room and toss it to Dima, Russia’s—and now America’s—most formidable hacker. “Get her switched onto my account, will you?”

Dima catches the phone but shoots me a skeptical expression. “Do I look like your local Verizon rep?”

“You know what I need.” I make a circle with my finger in the air.

“Uh huh.” He still sounds skeptical, but he pops open the back of her phone and starts taking it apart, adding in the tracking chip which will work regardless of whether her phone is on.

“I need you to start tracking everyone who comes into the country from Russia.”

Nikolai speaks up. “Every single person? For what?”

“Well, can you cross-reference them against every known member of Russian bratva?” I ask, looking toward Dima, who is shaking his head in a long-suffering manner.

“You want to know if someone’s coming after her?” Nikolai asks.

“Yes.”

“Couldn’t anyone just hire a hit here?” Pavel pipes in.

“They won’t be as connected here. It would be harder.”

“I can set up some data analysis and name matching on all passengers from Russia,” Dima admits. “It will be a pain in my ass, but it isn’t hard. It will take me a couple of days, but I can have it search retroactively. But what if they get a new identity before they come?”

“Who is it you think will come and why?” Nikolai asks.

“If she dies, the trust goes to benefit her mother but controlled by Vladimir as trustee. He got saddled with Galina.”

“So you think Vladimir will send someone.”

“Yes.”

“So we hack the hell out of their cell and hopefully hear of any plan before it’s executed,” Nikolai says.

I shrug. “If you can.” It’s hard to cheat a thief. I doubt we’ll have much success hacking their cell, but then again, Dima is the best, and Nikolai is no slouch, either.

“For the phone, do you want the full stalker package? The Lucy?” Dima asks, referring to the complete access he gave himself to all the data input and output from Ravil’s pregnant girlfriend’s phone and laptop after Ravil kidnapped her.

“What’s the Lucy?” Lucy picks that unfortunate moment to enter the living room. She has a constant glow—both from the pregnancy, and, I have to assume by the amount of time they spend locked in the bedroom together, the number of orgasms Ravil rings from her.

Dima and Nikolai both clear their throats and look away in classic twin mirroring.

Pavel, our brigadier, says loudly, “Is that my phone ringing?” and gets up from the sofa and leaves.

“Nobody is tracking your data anymore,” Ravil says smoothly, coming up behind her and spreading his hands over her swollen belly. The two of them arrived on the same page while I was away in Moscow, but things were rocky there for a while. I was afraid Ravil put our entire organization at risk over his unborn child by bringing Lucy here as his prisoner. And he’s usually the most level-headed of all of us.

He kisses her neck. “I promise.” He sends Dima a warning glance. “Tell her.”

Dima holds his hands up in surrender. “I just do what I’m told.” His appeal is to Lucy, alone.

She twists to look over her shoulder at Ravil. “And you told him—?”

“I’m telling him now. Stop tracking her data. Except for the locator.” He nibbles her ear lobe. “I need to know where you are, kotyonok. For safety.”

“And safety, of course, is the only reason I’m tracking my bride’s location at all times,” I plead as if Lucy is our judge. In a way, I suppose she is. As an outsider of the organization, an American, and a female attorney, she brings an entirely new perspective and sensibility to the penthouse.

She narrows her eyes at me. “You don’t intend to keep her locked up here, do you?”

“Not at all. I intend to help her make a life in Chicago. And not be killed by those who want her father’s fortune. She’s an actress. Do you have any theater connections?”

I spent most of the plane ride trying to figure out how to make things work with Sasha, and the one thing I came up with to keep her happy was to get her involved with theater. Give her some creative outlet to help her get over the burn of her father’s unshared plan for her.

“No, but I can ask around.” Lucy walks into the kitchen and rummages through the refrigerator for the perogies Ravil keeps on hand at all times for her.

“Where’s my phone?” I turn to see Sasha standing in the doorway to our bedroom, wearing a pair of jean shorts and—

“Fuck no,” I growl, launching myself toward her.

Fear and excitement flare in her eyes as I storm closer to my bride, who’s wearing nothing but a goddamn black lace bra on top, her tits spilling out like a joyful celebration of youth and sex.