Bratva Boss’ Baby by Winter Sloane

Chapter Twenty-Three

As Viktor drove to his potential execution site, a memory he’d almost forgotten came back to him. That of his mother taking Pavel and him aside. Both Viktor and his brother just had an argument. Viktor nursed a black eye. Boys will be boys. Fighting builds character. Those were the word his father had said. His mother had different advice.

“Once your father and I are gone, you two only have each other,” she had said. “Two of you against the world, and you still want to fight each other?”

Viktor didn’t know how he was able to conjure up that hazy memory. Maybe it was because he needed to hear those words. He entered a graffiti-scrawled neighborhood, drove to the end of the road, and parked his car in front of a former candle-making factory. Viktor’s personal hacker had done some research about the building. Abandoned in the 1980s by its original owner, the Mogilevich Bratva purchased it five years later. Today, Goran made it the center of his drug distribution business.

Two of Goran’s men watched Viktor with narrowed eyes as he exited his vehicle. One musclebound gangster approached, keeping his rifle trained on Viktor’s head.

“What are you doing?” Mr. Hotshot demanded.

“I’ve presents for Goran. Come see.” Viktor opened the trunk, revealing the duffel bags. Mr. Hotshot poked the barrel of his gun between his shoulder blades, annoying Viktor slightly.

“Open it,” the goon ordered.

Viktor didn’t take well to commands. He’d gotten used to issuing them, but he reeled in his flaring temper. Disarming this asshole and putting a bullet between his eyes wouldn’t help anyone, least of all his brother. He unzipped one of his bags and showed the goon the cocaine inside.

“See?” Viktor said. “You want to check the other bag?”

“Billy, come over here,” ordered the goon. “Check the bags, then take all his weapons.”

While Mr. Hotshot kept his gun trained on Viktor, his accomplice looked through Viktor’s bag.

“Damn, this is high-quality product,” Billy said, licking his lips. Billy held out one baggie to the light and whistled. “Not the shit our sellers peddle on the street but the stuff Goran and his lieutenants snort.”

“Don’t you fucking dare sample it,” Mr. Hotshot snapped.

“I wasn’t, Bernard. I swear.” Billy zipped the bag closed and raised his hands, a mocking gesture.

Bernard scowled. “Let’s just get on with this. Pat him down.”

Viktor patiently let Billy take his weapons. The bastard didn’t miss anything. He even took the slender blade Viktor had strapped to his ankle. Damn it. Viktor had hoped Billy would miss something. Bernard shoved his gun into his back and said, “Pick up your bags, then move. Billy, stand guard. I won’t be long. Dibs on his car.”

“His car?” Billy looked confused, then looked over at Viktor’s ride. He didn’t seem to be the brightest build in the shed.

“Viktor Kotov won’t be leaving here alive.” Bernard let out a chuckle.

Viktor clenched his jaw, tempted to snatch his gun and beat him bloody with it. Calm down, he reminded himself. It was a hard feat to do, considering these lowlifes were already deciding who would have his car.

“No fair,” Billy grumbled.

“Enough chitchat. I want to see my brother,” Viktor said coldly.

“Oh, you’ll join him soon.” Bernard led him inside the factory at gunpoint. Viktor walked where he was told. The factory floor was busy with activity. Product was weighed and repackaged with quick hands. Managers walked around the packaging areas, shouting orders.

“Downstairs,” Bernard said.

Viktor paused, looking at the concrete stairs that led to a basement. Another irritating shove from Bernard got him moving. He descended into the barely lit abyss. The door was opened. A scream slipped out, ragged and desperate. Viktor knew that voice. Bernard and Viktor entered the room where his brother was being tortured. Viktor mentally prepared himself for what he’d find.

“Ah, Viktor. Finally nice of you to join us,” Goran said.

When they last met, Goran had been wearing a tailored suit. Today, Goran was bare-chested, wearing only an old pair of jeans. Viktor didn’t miss the skinning knife he held in his left hand. He finally looked at Pavel. His brother’s wrists were chained to a hook on the wall. More chains secured his ankles to the oily floor. Pavel’s top was gone. Knife cuts crisscrossed his arms, chest, and face. Viktor avoided a grimace. It seemed Goran had one purpose in mind—keeping Pavel alive as long as he could. Viktor couldn’t see any stab marks, any critical injuries.

That gave him some measure of hope. Pavel would survive this, even if some scars would remain. Viktor’s father raised Pavel and him to be survivors.

Pavel raised his lowered head and stared at him in shock. “You bastard. Why did you come back for me? You should’ve left me here to die. I didn’t tell these assholes anything. I’ll take our secrets to the grave.”

Viktor had no doubt Pavel would keep his word. Despite their differences in personality, the Kotov Bratva was everything to them.

“I come bearing gifts,” Viktor said, ignoring his brother for a moment. He dropped the bags. Goran wiped his bloody knife with a handkerchief and looked at Bernard.

“High-grade cocaine,” Bernard confirmed. “Nothing suspicious inside.”

“You can return to your post,” Goran said.

Bernard left. Viktor silently counted the other men in the room. Four. Five, including Goran. Viktor didn’t have his weapons on him. Pavel was tied up and hurt. The odds didn’t look so good.

“Your brother’s right, you know,” Goran said, walking up to him. “You shouldn’t have come. Viktor, you should know better than anyone that I don’t make bargains with my enemies. I only deal with them one way.”

Goran closed his hand into a fist. He aimed it at Viktor’s ribs, but Viktor didn’t intend to take defeat lying down. He moved aside at the last second, then grabbed Goran’s face with both hands. Surprise registered on Goran’s face for a second, then Viktor shoved his head against Goran’s. Apparently, Viktor had a thick skull. He took advantage of Goran’s momentary disorientation to deliver a punch to his gut. Goran gasped. Viktor tackled Goran to the ground, grabbing the knife Goran dropped. Goran stilled, hatred burning in his eyes as Viktor pressed the sharp blade against his throat.

Viktor’s victory didn’t last long. Goran’s men ran forward, drawing their guns at him.

“You idiots, don’t shoot!” Goran yelled, furious. “One of you point your guns at his brother.”

Viktor didn’t take his gaze off Goran, but he knew one of Goran’s men had obeyed his order. Pavel let out a grunt of pain.

“What’s your next move, dickhead?” Goran sneered at him. “Give up. You and your brother will leave here as corpses. What did you imagine going down? You valiantly rescuing your brother and killing me off at the same time?”

“That’s the problem with you, Goran. You lack imagination,” Viktor said with a scoff. “And you’re weak. Without your men, I would have already gutted you like a fish.”

Goran laugh. “Go ahead, Viktor. Insult me some more. I think I’ll keep you alive for months. At the end of it all, you’ll be begging me for mercy.”

“I’m the one holding the knife to your throat,” Viktor reminded him.

“Hurt me and your brother dies,” Goran said with a sneer.

“So what? Like you said, Pavel and I are walking dead men. You seem to have the impression I came here to take him back. What I really want is your head. Doesn’t matter if Pavel and I both die.” Viktor delivered those words with a smile.

Viktor was lying his ass off, but Goran didn’t know that. He promised his brother he would live. Besides, Viktor now had plenty to lose. Ava. His unborn child. They were depending on him, but Goran knew none of those things. It helped Pavel let out a broken, humorless laugh.

Goran paled. The other Bratva boss started to sweat profusely. Viktor could practically smell his fear. He didn’t need to look at his surroundings to know Goran’s men started to grow uneasy. “You crazy suicidal bastard.”

“You underestimated me.” Viktor shook his head. “You should’ve ordered your men to hold me down while you beat me up. Look at you now, completely under my mercy.”

Goran’s breathing turned harsh. The bastard tried to land a kick at him, but Viktor only answered by kneeing Goran in the groan. Goran cried out pathetically. His men tensed, clearly unsure of what to do.

“There’s more of my men upstairs,” Goran told him with a sneer after he recovered from his shock. “They’ll come barging down here any moment. They’ll shoot you and your brother dead.”

“By that time, I would’ve managed to slit your throat,” Viktor said calmly. He pressed the blade further into Goran’s neck. Goran let out a stream of curses. When Viktor didn’t go any further, Goran suddenly looked contemplative. Shit. Had Goran finally seen through his bullshit?

“Then why haven’t you?” Goran asked. Knowledge filled Goran’s narrowed eyes. Viktor’s heart dropped. “You’re up to something. Buying time, maybe? I’m done with this. Shoot his fucking brother dead.”