The Enforcer (Chicago Bratva 3)

Oleg stops. He stands there in the hallway, unmoving. Holding me captive over his shoulder.

Oleg

Blyad'.

My life is ugly. I’ve never been proud of any of it, but I’ve done what I had to do to stay alive. Still, exposing it to my little swallow is something else. She will run so fast the pavement will light on fire beneath her feet.

And if I‘m going to let this darkness out, if I’m going to tell Story about my past, I should come clean with my cell brothers, as well. Own up to my betrayal by omission. I knew this day would come at some point, and every day that went on, I wished it wouldn’t. Because I’ve come to care about this family. I trust them. I rely on them.

And now they will find out they can’t trust me.

But for Story, I’m willing to risk losing everything I have here. She said we were having a fight, which terrified me. I can’t stand the idea of her mad at me. This girl is the heart that beats in my fucking chest. Hurting her or even pissing her off is the last thing I want to do.

I change direction and walk back to the door to the penthouse, carrying Story inside.

“Um… pretty sure if she wants to go you have to let her,” Nikolai says from the breakfast bar where he’s working on his laptop. I lower Story to her feet and go for the notepad of paper and pen on the breakfast bar, pushing it beside Nikolai.

I start to write a note to her—but it’s rudimentary and crude. I don’t speak, and I’m also no writer. Nikolai reads and translates the note over my shoulder. “I can’t let you leave. I’m so sorry, Story.”

“Um, what the fuck, Oleg?” Nikolai says. His twin stands up from his work table to walk over, texting as he does. Probably telling everyone else to come to the living room.

Story holds up her hand, eyes on my paper, even though she can’t read it.

I scribble on the paper. Nikolai reads it. “You’re in danger because of me. You must stay here where I can protect you.”

Story nods. “Okay, that’s what I thought. The people after you know you care about me. That’s why they waited at Rue’s.”

I meet her eye and nod. I’m grateful and shocked by how much Story understood without being told. And she still didn’t run away screaming last night.

Sure enough, Sasha and Maxim emerge from their room, and Ravil comes out, too.

“Which people are after you?” Nikolai asks.

“Am I to understand that the men Maxim dispatched last week weren’t after Sasha?” Ravil’s tone is dangerous.

I nod.

“When were you going to tell me?” Ravil wants to know.

I go blank-faced—my usual default when I don’t want to engage. Being mute normally makes it easy to dodge questions.

“Who waited at Rue’s?” Ravil turns his quiet authority on Story.

“Some guys. Russian. They seemed like they were waiting for me,” Story says. “Out the back door, in the parking lot. Oleg…” —her throat works as she swallows— “um, Oleg took care of them.”

Maxim sends me a grim look. To Story, he says gently, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Ravil pins me with an assessing gaze. After a moment of charged silence, he says, “Story, I need to have a word alone with Oleg.”

“No.” Story steps closer to me. I tuck her into my side. “I’m a part of this now, and I need to know what it is,” Story asserts.

Maxim shakes his head. “No, doll. Everything you hear puts you more in danger. We’ll help you two communicate, but—”

“I’m a part of it.” My shalun'ya lifts her chin in challenge.

“Oleg?” Ravil asks me.

Fuck. Of course, I don’t want her to hear any of it. But as she pointed out, she’s already a part of it. And I’m incapable of denying her much of anything. She said we were in a fight because I hadn’t told her what was going on.

I nod.

“All right.” He waves an arm toward the office. “Max.” Ravil orders Maxim to follow, and the four of us troop into Ravil’s office, where he closes the door and takes a seat behind his desk. Maxim sinks into the chair in the corner. I yank a chair over beside mine for Story, but she drops into my lap instead. My arms band around her, pulling her in close as I adjust my wounded leg away from her weight. It’s a hot, throbbing point of pain at the moment, making it hard to stay focused.

Ravil considers me for a moment. “In the two years since you’ve been with me, you’ve never talked about your past.”

I don’t move.

“I know you spent twelve years in a Siberian prison on a drug charge. I believed you were with the bratva before that, and they had cut out your tongue, but now I’m not so sure. I do know that while on the inside, you acted as enforcer for bratva members. Timofey Gurin wrote your introduction to me.”