Caring for the Bratva (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

My blood turns cold and Kesha and I exchange a look.

The Cartel.

The motherfuckers who killed our parents.

I killed the men who broke into our house that night, found them, and executed them, and I’ll never apologize for it. But even after their deaths, the organization still provokes hot hate to writhe through me.

“Why would he borrow money from the fucking Cartel?” I snarl.

Luca sighs, moving his forefinger around the edge of his mug. “I need to know you’re not going to turn this shit on me. Whatever we discuss here, it stays between us.”

“Of course,” Kesha says at once, as thunder barrels through my body.

Luca turns to me.

I clench my jaw, glaring back at him.

I want to flip the table and backhand him across the jaw, roaring at him to hurry the hell up and get on with it.

Kesha glances at me, giving me one of his come-on-bro looks.

I sigh, nodding. “Yes, Luca. We’re professionals. Now tell us why that rat was borrowing money from the Cartel.”

“He was going to make a play on the Bratva. He thought he’d made some connections in Moscow, and he was going to use the Cartel’s money to buy weapons and bribe a few of your Russian comrades to come over to his side. But it turns out the people he was dealing with weren’t who they said they were… he got duped, the stupid fuck. So now he owes the Cartel money and he’s got no way to pay them.”

I let out a laugh, Kesha and I exchanging a look.

Kesha’s smirk is twisted to the side as he shakes his head.

I know we’re both thinking the same thing.

If somebody was making a play on us in Moscow, we’d know about it.

“Now the Cartel is threatening to come to the city unless the Mafia somehow finds the money to pay their debt… plus interest.”

I lean forward, laying my forearms on the table and staring hard at the younger man. He’s probably around thirty, and he reminds me of myself a little at that age, with the same hungry glint in his eyes, the same need for control. Sure, I’d already gained control at that age, but the intent is the same.

“Can you lead the Mafia?” I ask, voice firm.

He stares back at me, his jaw tense, his eyes hard. “I can. Better than Flavio ever did.”

I glance at my brother. “Kesha. What do you think?”

“Luca’s ten times the operator Flavio ever was. I say we help him to clean up this mess.”

I glance at Luca. “And then he’ll remember who his allies were, unlike his foolish boss.”

“Exactly,” Kesha says.

Luca nods. “I’m in this for the money, for things to move smoothly, not for all that ego shit like Flavio. I don’t want these streets turning bloody and drug-riddled.”

“Good,” I say. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to arrange for Flavio to be arrested by the Feds. And then, once you pay off the Cartel, you’ll be a hero in the Mafia’s eyes. You’re already second-in-command. Electing you as leader will be easy.”

“Pay off the Cartel?” Luca swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t understand—”

“Think of it as a gift,” Kesha cuts in. “A sign that we want things to continue… safely, cleanly, profitably in the years to come.”

What Kesha leaves unsaid is that by paying off the Cartel we’re saving far more in the long run, cutting out the cost of a war and all the expense – all the pain – that comes along with that.

I take a sip of my coffee, letting the caffeine swirl around me.

There might’ve been a time when I resented paying the Cartel.

But a debt is a debt, and I’ve got a family to think of now, a future to protect.

And the men who killed my parents are already in the dirt.

This is my city, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep it safe.

“Alright,” Kesha says, drumming his fingers on the table. “Let’s talk logistics.”

Chapter Sixteen

Daniella

I lie in bed with Lucky in my arms, the room dark as I loll in and out of sleep. I didn’t think I’d be able to fall into oblivion with Dom out there and no idea what’s happening, but today has been such a crazy whirlwind, speeding me from one crazy thing to the next. Sinking into Lucky’s fur is like drifting into the warmest sleeping bag in the world.

I stroke his head softly as he makes sleepy doggy noises.

“He’s going to be okay,” I whisper, as sleep tries to drag me into its depths. “Don’t worry, boy. Dom can take care of himself.”

I’m in that in-between state where dreams tickle at the edge of my consciousness, threatening to shatter through any moment, and sometimes they’re warm and cuddly but then they’ll switch, at a moment’s notice, to vicious and unfair.