Forced to Marry the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #2)

Chapter 2 - Lev

Lev grabbed the bottle off the glass table before sitting cross-legged on one of the plush sofas in the private rooms. Konstantin occupied the sofa by his right while the rest of the men stood guard outside.

Keeping the others outside had been a deliberate action. Out of the army of strong, loyal men he had at his command in every part of the city, the only one he could trust with his life was the big guy with the buzz cut, snake eyes, and viper tattoo running down the length of his neck. No other outsider made it to his trust list.

A few strippers had already set to work, dancing at the center of the room, enticing them with slow strokes and rubs on their bodies. But his right-hand man looked bored as hell and watched them with a straight face. Lev, on the other hand, plastered on a smirk and played with the bottle cover the second he uncapped it. Many thoughts ran through his mind, some which were graver than others, but as the redhead dancer tiptoed her way to him and winded her slender hips in his face, who was he to reject a few minutes of fun?

He gripped her soft thigh and squeezed tight, fixing the bottle in his mouth and taking a mouthful of the content. His brows dipped between his forehead. Whatever they’d been served was definitely not vodka. The shit burned a hundred degrees hotter and tasted like actual flames. It took every ounce of self-control not to sputter and cough out the bloody thing like an old man would.

“Boss.”

Konstantin’s bass tone reeled his face away from the redhead’s skimpy thong, which looked like it could get wet any moment soon if he still kept his gaze between her thighs. That one call said everything: a firm reminder of the reason they’d entered the private room in the first place.

Lev fixed his fingers through his hair and relaxed on the sofa, a smug smirk sitting on his lips when the redhead followed him like a magnet, straddling him on the sofa. She was so fucking desperate, it amused him.

“Boss.”

He angled his head and raised his brow at the hint of annoyance in Konstantin’s tone. “Try and live a little, Kostya.”

“We can do that and die a second later,” he spread his arms, eagle style, over the rim of the sofa, and the corner of his lips crooked upwards. He seemed relaxed now, but Lev knew him like he knew his own name. Konstantin was on the very edge; he carried the issue like he had the responsibility to handle every fucking Bratva mess.

It was one of the reasons Lev liked him. He was diligent to a fault. Like now. When he just wanted to sit back and enjoy the view, the diligent one didn’t fail to remind him that they had work to attend to.

The redhead stuck her face between his neck, whined her hips more slowly, intentionally grinding his cock in tune to the beat, and moaned when she seized the opportunity to plant a kiss on his neck above the collar of his dress shirt.

Konstantin raised a brow and begrudgingly, Lev shared in his concern. The dancer was becoming a porn star rather too quickly. And that was going to defeat the purpose of the closed-door meeting. Lev leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “We’ll continue this session some other time, sweetheart. You can go now.”

Message passed loud and clear: I can’t fuck you right now.

It's a good thing she got it, even though so regrettably. She pulled back with a naughty pout, readjusted her thong and lacy bra, and dragged her feet on the soft carpet to the door. After the door clicked shut, Lev faced a poker-faced Kostya, who was trying so hard not to betray the stoic emotions on his face.

He motioned toward the door with one nod of his head. “That’s beginning to happen a lot more often, don’t you think?”

“I’d be blind if I say I haven’t noticed how frequently these girls keep throwing themselves at me. It must be that they talk amongst themselves. But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t enjoy it. I fucking do, thank you very much.”

Konstantin said nothing. Just a brief “hmm” and the gentle tap of his leather shoes muffled on the carpet. “With what’s going on now, anything can happen. Could be used as a weapon targeted at you, these girls.”

Lev snorted and took a swig from the bottle. He regretted it instantly. This time, he didn’t bother holding back. He sputtered and coughed out his lungs, teary-eyed and clutching his chest as he returned the bottle to the table. “Christ!” he wheezed and pointed. “What the fuck is that?”

Surprisingly, the big guy laughed and scratched his neck. “Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany.”

“What?” He coughed again. “That cannot even be a fucking real thing.”

“It sure is.” Konstantin nodded his head. “Contains ninety-six percent alcohol. It leaves you feeling like you got punched straight in the fucking gut.”

He laughed but Lev’s amusement had reduced drastically. He stared daggers at the bottle. “Should be taken out of the fucking market then. Jesus.” He patted his chest and rearranged his jacket behind him. “For the first time, I’ve considered diluting alcohol with water. Now, if that was to be used as a weapon against me, it could probably work. Probably. But the women? Fuck, no. I’m not dying a second later, Kostya. Neither of us are.”

Gone was the merry expression, now replaced with drawn brows and lips turned upside down. “Not now, Boss. But if we continue to procrastinate and ignore the warning signs, they are bound to have the upper hand. Cillian’s not sleeping, so neither should we. The weapon might not be the weapon, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t planning something devious, as always.”

Lev knew Konstantin was speaking fact. The more they delayed, the more advantage Cillian had.

Following the death of Dostoevsky, a new rival and ally of the late mafia boss swiftly rose in the Irish Mafia and had been threatening to wreak havoc on the Bratva ever since. The first point of action Lev should have taken would have been to alert his oldest brother, Mikhail. Mikhail would have known what to do and how to cut Cillian Moore from the roots.

But no.

Mikhail had made the decision to focus on taking care of his family and newly born twin babies and left him temporarily in charge of everything because he trusted him to handle matters when they arose. How, then, would it appear if Lev ran back to him, seeking help at the slightest mention of Cillian’s name?

No.

As much as he hated being in the spotlight, running things, he was no fucking pussy.

If Mikhail believed he could take care of things, then he could. End of discussion. He was going to deal with Cillian fucking Moore.

Lev stroked his beardless chin and shrugged. “So, what do you suggest we do?”

“What you said we would do from the beginning; involve the others. We need time on our side and more heads in on this. We have more geniuses than we could count and men pre-trained for war. A meeting with the others, from all the fractions we could possibly involve, would yield something useful.”

“That’s what you think?”

“It is what I know, Boss.” Konstantin had never sounded surer of anything else. He tilted closer and gesticulated while carrying on with the explanations. “I know there is no concrete proof yet, but I’ve heard the rumors. We’ve all heard the rumors; Cillian is planning something. That’s why we suspect that he’s out for the Bratva, even if there’s no excuse to start a war yet.”

Lev was thinking. He played with the ring on his finger and looked absentmindedly at the bottle on the table. “What if word gets to Mikhail in the process? You know, we will be involving others. So, what’s the guarantee that they will be discreet?”

“You.”

That caught his attention. He arched a brow, turning to Konstantin. “ Me? ”

“Yes.” The big guy leaned back on the sofa with a smile that screamed over-confidence. “Just like they do your brothers, the men equally fear and respect you. If you wish for this operation to be conducted discreetly, we’ll do that. And even if, or when word gets to your brothers, they’ll be pleased to know you’re taking charge really well.”

Lev smiled and felt the tension roll off his shoulders. He grinned and sat straight, looking Konstantin in the eyes. “Very well then. Keep an eye on Moore and tell the men to keep their distance. They should stay away from his path. We don’t want anyone blowing our cover.”

“Understood.”

A rapt knock came on the door, and our heads turned toward it. Lev eyed him, and Konstantin’s hand traveled below his belt before he commanded, “Enter.”

The knob went down, and the most beautiful creature walked inside. Blue eyes, brown curly hair, and a face unlike any other he’d seen. Her eyes assessed the room, traveling from a curious Konstantin and finally landing on Lev, who was no doubt impressed by her stun. She held his gaze for what seemed like it had dragged on to minutes before Konstantin’s thick Russian bass voice broke the spell.

“What do you want?”

She blinked, visibly taken aback, and swiped her pink tongue over her lips before parting them to speak. “Um, good evening, sirs.” She fumbled with the notebook, flipped a few pages, and looked up with a mask of confidence. But Lev saw right past it. He could almost see her shaking in her thigh-high boots.

“My name is Zia, and I’m the assistant manager at Darnell’s Planners. We’re the ones organizing Jax’s sixtieth birthday party here.”

“Okay.” Konstantin was intentionally making her nervous due to his ‘Women could be a weapon’ notion. “And?”

“Jesus, let the poor girl breathe, Kostya. She was obviously just doing her job and making sure everything was going smoothly,” Lev laughed and held her gaze once more. “Right?”

Her head bobbed up and down in appreciation, and she smiled. It immediately brightened up her face, and the sight of how perfect she looked went straight to his chest like a gut punch. The impact felt even worse than the Spirytus alcohol, and he couldn’t explain why there was a sudden need awakened in him to make the girl an offer.

He sat up, cross-legged with his fingers clasped over one knee, and she watched every movement like she didn’t want to miss the slightest detail. “You’re doing a good job, Zia.”

Normally, from his experience, whenever he called any girl by their name, they hid their face and blushed uncontrollably. But this one didn’t. She maintained her simple smile and didn’t so much as blink.

“Thank you. Please do enjoy the evening. I will take my leave now,” she was on her way out, but Lev suddenly found himself on his feet, walking toward her.

“Or maybe we could continue our conversation elsewhere? I have a pretty amazing view back at my place.”

She stopped and turned around, tilting her head backward with a look of shock.

“What?”

Lev stuck a hand into his pocket, wearing his signature smirk that he was sure the girls found charming. He was confident that it was only going to take a matter of seconds to bring this one down off her high horse. “You heard me.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.” She looked offended. “Did you just indirectly offer to take me to your house?”

He smiled even more. “So, you heard me, after all.”

She was about to say more, but a loud explosion from outside the room cut her words short.

After the first bang, everything else happened so fast. The pulsating music stopped; the lights flashed. Then, rapid gunfire.

Konstantin was on his feet in seconds, taking long glides toward them with his gun out. They shared a look, and that was when Zia spotted the gun in the big guy’s hand. She pointed at it and was about to let out a scream, but the explosion came again, rattling the building’s foundation. They all felt the floor shake beneath them, and her grip on the door tightened.

Before either of them could stop her, she pulled it open, eager to run and hide for protection.

But she didn’t make it.

The club was chaos—people running, screaming, and tripping over each other. And Lev watched her get sucked into the crowd. She screamed, and her arms flailed in the air. He tried to reach out to her but watched her get knocked to the ground.

She tried to stand, but a blast of heat and debris knocked her back down. As she struggled to get up, to his horror, a beam fell and trapped her beneath its weight.