Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
And I led her to the limo.
As we pulled up, I cursed under my breath. I’d known that Spartak Nazarov would put on a big event to remember his brother, but I hadn’t counted on how big. There were at least twenty limos pulling up: every mafia family in the city plus some from Milwaukee and Detroit. Everyone was gathering behind a funeral carriage pulled by white horses. Right at the front of the procession, I spied Spartak, followed by thirty of his men, all no doubt armed.
It was a mile to the cemetery and Spartak had picked a route that went right through all the neighborhoods that he controlled. Shopkeepers, bartenders, construction workers...they all stopped work to line the streets, too scared not to. It was a testament to how much the Nazarovs were feared...and how much trouble we were in if Spartak ever found out I killed his brother.
I glanced to my left. Bronwyn was walking next to me, hand in hand. She bit her lip as if in pain and I gave her a questioning look.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. My feet hurt. I shouldn’t have worn heels.”
The ceremony was short, and in Russian. As I watched Spartak toss soil on his brother’s coffin, I felt an unexpected tightness in my chest. I didn’t like Spartak, and I certainly hadn’t liked his brother but the man just looked broken, and I actually felt sorry for him. I couldn’t imagine losing Valentin or Gennadiy.
The wake was held in a dark, wood-paneled bar that I guessed was one of Spartak’s places. As we walked in, Bronwyn gazed around at the fifty or so people around us. “All of these people, they’re...they do what you do?” she whispered.
I nodded.
She shook her head in wonder. Like most civilians, she’d had no idea how big the Bratva is: and this was just the leadership. “Different families...so they’re all your enemies?”
“Some are enemies. Some are rivals. Some allies.” I frowned. “But I wouldn’t trust any of them not to put a bullet in my back.”
She blinked at me. “How do you live like that?”
I cocked my head to one side, thinking. This world was normal to me. “Family,” I said at last, nodding towards Valentin, Gennadiy and Mikhail. “You trust your family, because they’ll never betray you.”
I could see how scared she was, the lone civilian in a room full of criminals. She seemed to get smaller with each step, closing down and turning inward. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “None of them would dare lay a finger on you. Not when we’re engaged.”
Her head snapped up and she stared at me in shock: she’d forgotten, for a moment. I kept my face cold and impassive. But inside, a sudden, stupid rush of emotion had filled my chest. She’s mine!
As I led her deeper into the room, I could see her nervously glancing at the other wives. “Do they grow them all in a lab in Moscow?” she mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t exactly fit in,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “They’re all…”
I looked around. The other wives were the usual type: very thin, blonde, and Russian, sporting handbags that cost as much as cars, dresses straight from the catwalks and artful make-up that must take them hours. I frowned and drew Bronwyn closer. “They’re all what?”
“Perfect.” She flushed and looked away. And suddenly, I was mad. Not at her, at whatever man had made her doubt herself.
“Bronwyn.” She looked at the floor, so I put a finger under her chin and gently lifted it until she had to look at me. “You are the most beautiful woman here,” I told her firmly. “Do you understand?”
I saw her eyes flick away as if she didn’t believe me. But then she timidly looked at me again and this time she must have seen something in my eyes because her gaze locked on mine in shock. She swallowed...and nodded. And then she flushed again, but in a good way.
And now the problem was, I couldn’t look away. I’d meant what I’d said and the sight of her, those lush green eyes looking up at me, that copper hair all piled up tight and just waiting to be freed, those soft lips quirked in a shy little smile…
I knew it wasn’t appropriate at a funeral. But I just wanted to lean down and kiss my fiancée.
At that moment, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked round, scowling, the spell broken.
And looked right into the face of Spartak Nazarov. I’d been so focused on Bronwyn, I hadn’t noticed him walk up.
“Well,” said Spartak, looking right at Bronwyn. “Who have we here?”
21
BRONWYN
The guy was big. Not quite as tall as Radimir but wide, with a heavy build and enormous shoulders and arms. He sauntered forward, invading my personal space and my stomach flipped: I felt...fragile, next to this man, like he might just pick me up and snap me for fun. I wanted to shuffle backwards but it felt like everyone was watching me: these people didn’t show fear, and I couldn’t, either. I lifted my chin and looked up into his eyes.