Bratva Prince (Bratva Series Book 2)

I took a seat on the edge of the bed, trying and failing to not listen in on Aleksandr as he spoke to his sister. When he first answered the phone, the wave of affection that had washed over his face following that sweet, feminine voice on the other end made me stiffen, jealousy coursing through my bones.

I couldn’t hear what was being said but I could hear it was a woman, and the first thing I thought was that it was Leggy. That he’d answered a call from her while between my thighs.

I’d pushed away from him so fast, ready to fucking go off, when I realised he was actually talking to his sister.

God, I felt like such an idiot.

I was big on assuming the worst in people. Especially men. I didn’t trust easily. I never put my heart on the line because the last time I’d done that, it had been shattered. I was still trying to pick up the pieces.

Things with Aleksandr had gotten very physical, very quickly. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, we shared a connection. A deep, physical connection that was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

The attraction burning in my veins for him scared me. Actually, it terrified me. It was an all-consuming kind of attraction. The kind that flamed to life the moment we were in the same room, in each other’s orbit.

We were like magnets, drawn to one another despite not knowing a damn thing about each other on a personal level.

Why did that thought make me sad?

I studied Aleksandr intently. Curiosity sparked within me. Since Daniel, I hadn’t been even remotely interested in getting to know another man beyond the physical level.

For the first time in years, I wanted more. I wanted to know what made him tick, what he liked and disliked. Why he was the way he was, the scars of his past.

I wanted to know it all.

Aleksandr’s rough goodbye snapped me out of my thoughts. He blew out a breath, tucking his phone back away. He turned to face me, buttoning his pants back up.

Lines of frustration marred his face, a scowl etched onto his face. Veins pulsed in his forearms, his fists clenching with unleashed energy—the same energy he was about to use on me, before we were interrupted.

Fuck, I’d never been more disappointed in my life. What did a girl have to do to get laid around here?

Aleksandr huffed. “My sister always did have the worst timing.”

I laughed humourlessly. “I’d have to agree with you on that one.”

With a grunt, Aleksandr stepped towards the drink cart and poured himself another drink.

I’ll be honest, I was surprised he didn’t just leave. What reason could he have for sticking around? It was clear the mood was ruined. Nothing doused the fires of passion quicker than getting a call from a sibling.

Aleksandr slumped onto the couch, in the very seat where he’d just given me the best orgasm of my life. He tipped his head back and spread his legs wide, getting comfortable. He swirled his glass over the side of the couch, seemingly lost in thought as he stared at the ceiling.

“Is she the one who was kidnapped by Nero?” I asked, desperate to fill the silence. I wanted to hear his voice.

His head rolled lazily to the side and he stared at me. Want and need burned in his eyes, but there was also something else. “Yeah. Illayana.”

I nodded. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. She was calling to invite me to some surprise party she’s throwing for her husband.”

I could tell by the tone in his voice that going to this party was the last thing he wanted to do.

“You don’t want to go?”

“I do and I don’t.” He sat up a little straighter and brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip. “I want to see my sister, and even my shithead of a brother. But I don’t want to have to go to some big party to do it.”

A memory flashed in my mind of a tall, lean, long-haired man, his fingers waggling at me in greeting as he sat on the edge of that huge boxing ring.

He definitely seemed like he had a mischievous personality. One that I’m sure drove Aleksandr mad.

“You’re the oldest, aren’t you?”

He snorted. “That obvious?”

“Kind of,” I snickered lightly. “You’ve got that ‘older sibling’ vibe. The one that comes from years of having to deal with annoying younger siblings.”

“They’re not too bad,” he chuckled, affection in his tone. “After taking care of them for years, I barely notice it anymore.”

Taking care of them for years? What did that mean?

I didn’t have a whole lot of information on the Bratva. The only thing I did know was there was some guy called The Bratva Butcher who murdered the entire family line of those responsible for the death of his wife.

It was from that point on that my father warned us to stay away from them. That anyone capable of doing something like that was not someone we wanted to mess with.

Curiosity and my big mouth made me ask it. “You’re not…The Bratva Butcher, are you?”

Aleksandr cocked his head, letting the silence linger for a few tense seconds. “And if I was? Would that scare you?”

“Nothing scares me,” I answered honestly.

I tried to do the math in my head. The Voznesensky massacre happened ten or so years ago. I didn’t know Aleksandr’s age, but if I had to guess I’d say late twenties, early thirties. That meant he would have been old enough to do it. He certainly had the brutality for something like that.

“Yes, I suspect that’s true.” Aleksandr finished the rest of his drink, resting the empty glass on the armrest of the couch. He ran a finger over the rim of the glass in slow circles, staring off into space with a sad look in his eyes. “It’s my father. After my mother was raped and murdered, he became The Bratva Butcher.”

My breath hitched, my eyes widening not only from the shock of his statement, but also from the fact that he was opening up. He was telling me something personal about himself, something deeply private that no doubt caused him incredible pain to even think about, let alone put into words.

“Yekaterina Volkova was a beautiful woman. She had a warm soul and a smile brighter than the sun. She might have looked like a sweet, innocent angel, but she had more guts and more fierceness than my father and I put together.”

The way he spoke about her, with so much love and affection, made my heart ache for him.

“And it’s my fault she’s dead.”

I gasped softly. “I’m sure that’s not true, Aleksandr.”

“It is,” he stated firmly. He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes staring off into the distance as if he was seeing the moment right now in front of him, lost in the past.

“I’d been assigned to be her personal bodyguard since I was seventeen. Me and three others. It was my job to protect here, keep her safe. A job I failed.”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid,” I murmured sympathetically.

His gaze snapped to me. “I was never a kid. Not a normal one, anyway.”

I nodded in understanding. I wasn’t really a normal kid either. Most kids growing up worried about trivial things like who they were going to sit next to in class, or coming up with excuses as to why they didn’t complete their homework. They didn’t worry they were going to get shot in their own bed by their dad’s enemies.

“For most of my adolescent life, and the first few years of my adult one, I’d been her constant shadow, shielding her from anyone who’d do her harm. My responsibilities as my father’s heir took a back seat so I could focus on keeping her safe. But as time went on this overwhelming need to be more involved, to learn more about my birthright, consumed my every waking thought. My father valued no one more than his wife. He trained me himself the moment I could walk.” A nostalgic smile graced his lips. “I remember this one time when I was twelve, he’d just kicked my ass in the ring and given me bruises all over my face. My eye was swollen shut. My lips were cut and bleeding. He even hit my ear so hard he busted my eardrum.”

“Jesus Christ,” I blew out. “Sounds like child abuse to me.”

He chuckled, his shoulders shaking with amusement. “You’d think so, but no. When I was younger, he used to go easy on me. Never hit me too hard. Just hard enough to make it hurt without leaving any damage. I started working out when I was eleven. I’d gone through a growth spurt and grown, both in height and weight. Unfortunately, so had my ego. I was taller than my father at that point, so naturally I assumed I could finally beat him in a real fight. I told him I wanted everything he had. I believe my exact words were ‘show me what you can really do, old man’, and he knocked me out in less than thirty seconds,” he laughed humourlessly. “God, what an idiot I was. Anyway, my mother saw the damage he’d done to me, all the blood and bruises and..well,” he smirked fondly, “to this day I’ve never seen my father more terrified of someone than he was of my mother that day.”

I couldn’t help the smile spreading across my lips. The look on his face as he spoke about his family was one of complete adoration. It was the happiest I’d ever seen him.

Then it changed in the blink of an eye. His face morphed into one of pure darkness and despair. Anger and pain.

“I was twenty-four when it happened. My mother was meant to stay in, but a friend unexpectedly called and asked to meet her at The Arch, a casino we owned. I had an important meet to attend with my father that night. It was the first time he was letting me take the lead on a negotiation—with his supervision of course. My father is a bit of a control freak.”

“Ahh, so that’s where you get that from,” I joked, trying to lighten his mood a little.

The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly.

“I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to finally prove myself to him. My father was a difficult man to impress. I spent weeks studying everything I could on the Triad, hoping this would finally be the moment when he told me he was proud of me. So I didn’t tell him my mother was going out, even though I knew something wasn’t right, that something didn’t feel right. If I had, he would have made me skip the meet and go with her. She had her other guards, and I thought because she was going to a casino we owned, guarded by our men, she would be okay. That she wouldn’t be in any danger. But I was wrong.” His voice cracked with pain and my heart hurt for him. All that guilt he was carrying around would be so overwhelming. “If I’d been there, guarding her like I was supposed to—”

“Aleksandr, no,” I rushed, shaking my head. I got up and went to him, dropping to my knees between his spread thighs. “It’s not your fault. There was nothing you could have done.”

He blew out a hard breath. “That’s where you’re wrong. I saw the footage. I watched those men walk right into the casino and stalk my mother. They followed her from a distance and her guards didn’t even notice. But I would have. If I was there, I could have gotten her out. I know it.”

I ran my hands up and down his legs soothingly in an offer of comfort. “What happened?” I whispered softly.

My therapist used to go on and on about how talking about your trauma could help you process certain events in a way you may have been avoiding. That the only way to really deal with it and move on was to face the reality of it.

Aleksandr was a strong man. Prideful. The kind of man who wouldn’t burden those around him with his problems.

I wanted him to know that he could share whatever was going on inside his head with me, free of judgement or criticism.

Aleksandr studied me, intensity burning in his gaze. “The Voznesenskys coordinated their attack. With almost military-like precision, they hit all our major bases of operations. Our clubs, restaurants, casinos. Even our home. It was a takeover. We later found out that one of their main objectives was capturing us so they could make an example out of our family. My father, my mother, my siblings, me. The only one they managed to get a hold of, though, was my mother.” He went silent for a few moments. “We found her a few days later,” he murmured, so softly I struggled to hear him. “We’d received an anonymous text with nothing except the address to a warehouse. She was inside. Beaten. Naked. Almost unrecognisable. Autopsy results showed semen from twelve different men.”

My breath hitched, my hand flying to my chest in outrage and horror.

That poor woman.

Aleksandr’s voice was devoid of all emotion as he spoke, a haunted look in his eyes. “I was the one who found her body.”

“Oh, Aleksandr,” I whispered sadly.

The weight on his heart would be almost too much to bear. The guilt he felt would be enough to eat him alive, picking at his soul until there was nothing left.

I didn’t even realise I was moving until I was in his lap, my arms wrapping around his neck as I pulled him in for a hug.

He stiffened at first, as if he had no idea what I was doing, and then he relaxed, banding his arms around me to return the hug.