Taken By the Bratva Boss by Sarina Hart
Chapter Eighteen
Leon
Idon’t spend the day mourning the man who died posing as me. I’m not upset I didn’t get to kill him, and I should be. I’m sitting in my office alone, blinds pulled, door locked, because I don’t want to be disturbed while I try to come to terms with Olivia leaving. Which she’ll do now that we have her answers.
The clock on the bureau behind my desk ticks and tocks, and I want to throw it across the room. I probably would if it hadn’t been my mother’s. Instead, I lean my head back against the chair and stare at the ceiling. I am not a man who lets anyone into his life. Certainly not a woman. But Olivia Hudson is in my every waking thought now. My dreams at night.
She’s beautiful and fearless. And there’s nothing sexier than the color in her cheeks when I talk dirty to her. When I tell her how much I want her. When I brush against her. Which I want to do right now. I want to storm into her shower and haul her against me, slide my cock home.
No matter how many times or different ways I fuck her, I can’t get her out of my system or convince my cock it doesn’t need to stay hard. To be frank, I’m not sure I want her out of my system. We fit together, and Anna loves her.
She knocks, calls through the door. “Leon, are we going?”
I pull my feet off the desk and stand, rake my hands through my hair and blow out a breath. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” Right now, I need another minute to pull my head together. I don’t want to want her or need her or… like her too much. But fuck if I can figure out what to do about it. Maybe I have to send her away. Maybe…
She’s waiting. Happily waiting for me to take her to a morgue where the story ends.
I should feel peace. It’s finally over. Even if we’re the only people in the free world who know for a fact it wasn’t me who hurt her friend, she can go home knowing it wasn’t me.
When I pull the door open, she’s standing, head leaned against the frame. And she’s smiling. But there’s something off, something that keeps her smile from reaching her eyes. But when I look again, I’ve imagined it, the smile, all of it. She’s wearing her determined face.
I don’t want her to get her hopes up. We don’t know anything about the person in the morgue or if we’ll get any real answers from a dead body.
I can’t voice it, though, because my throat is thick. Speaking at all will be a trial, so I don’t. Strong and silent is my usual game. I’ve perfected it to cover all manner of emotion. Now isn’t different even if I don’t want to identify what I’m currently going through.
Her hand slips into mine as we walk to the car, and when I take her around to her side, she tilts her chin up. She wants a kiss.
As much as I want to, I can’t. We’re inches from the finish line. I can’t kiss her. Can’t let her get her hopes up for more than I’m giving.
When it’s clear we’re not going to be kissing—I’ve looked everywhere but at her—she gives an almost quiet “humph” then turns and gets into the car.
The ride to the morgue—the Cook County Medical Examiner—is silent. Chilly. I’ve made her angry and I hate it, but it’s who I am. It’s what happens when Leon Krilov is ready to move on.
I don’t give thought to the part of myself who says I’m not ready. I ignore her like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t give a fuck.
When we walk in, I hand over the paperwork I filled out a couple hours ago, claiming the body of Leon Krilov. It’s odd to see my own name on the paperwork, odder still to hand over an ID with someone else’s name—Igor Krilov’s—on the front.
The superstitions and implications of using my dead brother’s name don’t escape me.
“Mr. Krilov.” A woman in a long white coat with a clipboard in her hands nods to me as she holds open a door to a long, sterile hallway. We follow her to another room with a window on each side. Through one of the windows on the front side of the room, a series of cabinets with metal doors and pull handles are visible. There is an examination table with a lighting system above it, a drain beneath it, and a hose attached to a coil spring above it. A tray of instruments sits on a rolling cabinet beside the table. On the other side, the curtain is closed.
Olivia stands so close to me her perfume almost covers the smell of chemicals and death. Almost.
Her skin is a pale shade of green, and she’s shaking her head, but she moves forward, separate from me.
“Are you okay?” I whisper the words, and she ignores them. Because I can’t call her on it right now, I let it go. She’s shaken, about to see a dead body. It isn’t easy for those who aren’t used to it. Sometimes, it isn’t easy for those of us who are.
The woman nods to a couple chairs and Olivia sits. “Doctor Sheldyn is getting the body ready. I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do to make this easier.” She sends Olivia a concerned glance then smiles up at me. “When she’s ready, the light will come on.” She motions behind her to a bulb beside the viewing window. “After you’ve prepared yourselves, you can push the button, the curtain will slide.”
“Thank you.” When we’re alone, I glance at Olivia. “Are you okay?” And to force the answer I need, I move in front of her, curl my finger under her chin and tilt her head up.
“I’m fine.” I expect her tone to bite, but her resignation is harder to take. Or maybe it’s disappointment. I don’t know. I have to deal with this moment and what we’re here to do before I can worry about how I’ve let her down.
I move to the window and stand, arms crossed, feet braced apart. I’m ready for battle. More, I’m ready to be finished with this battle. When the light comes on, I look at Olivia and wait for her nod before I push the button to open the curtain.
The curtain brushes against a sill on the other side and I watch until it stops because I need a second. The body in front of me is charred, blackened, dehydrated to a portion of the size it would’ve been in life. Olivia gasps and moans and I slide an arm around her. I need her touch as much as she needs mine.
When I nod, the curtain slides shut again, and we sit. She sobs into my shoulder for a second, then pulls herself together and sits up. By the time the woman comes back for us, Olivia is a picture of calm strength. Her chin is high. Her eyes are dry. Her courage is admirable.
“The doctor will see you now.”
As we walk down the hall, she stays on her side and I stay on mine, but I want to hold her hand. I want her touch. Even though I don’t reach, the need inside me is strong. I shove my hands into my pockets instead.
In the office, we each take a seat on the “guest” side of a desk littered with files and loose papers. I’m tired. We’ve spent two days in bed, and my head is all over the place because I let her get too close. I let this woman in when I should have been protecting myself from… whatever this is.
When the doctor walks in, she’s wearing hospital garb and my nose twitches with the smell of chemicals rolling off her. She’s around my age, with black hair and a pair of thick glasses that magnify the size of her gray eyes. The folder she’s carrying is marked with the state seal of Illinois on the cover and the name Krilov typed onto a tab at the side.
“Mr. Krilov.” She nods to me and glances at Olivia. “Your family has my deepest sympathy on the loss of your brother.”
I nod because her sympathy means shit but telling her won’t further my purposes. “Thank you.” I’ve lost people in my life before, but I don’t know how to act right now. I wish the person on that table hadn’t died so I could kill him for what he did. Instead, I fake emotion and clear my throat. “Was there an investigation?”
“Yes.” She opens the folder and reads a report. “The decedent wasn’t above the legal limit with alcohol, although there was a small amount detected in the blood sample we were able to draw.”
“Who identified Leon?” It is odd to say my own name.
“His identification was on his person. His body is charred from here”—she indicated mid stomach with a slicing motion across her body—“up. The damage is significant.” She rustled through the file and pulled out a photo and handed it to me. “Beneath the skin on his shoulder, we found a tattoo.”
I couldn’t make out shit until she handed me a second photo with the Krilov family insignia—the same tattoo we all get when we come of age—outlined on the photo in red marker. My father has it. My brother had it. Every cousin and uncle has it.
Since Igor is dead, this must be a cousin. We all have the same eyes—distinctive, memorable—but I can’t think of one who looks enough like me to pull this off. Dmitri maybe. Sergei. Nickolai. There’s a list of cousins my age. Each of my father’s brothers—seven, in all—has a son who is either twenty-nine or thirty. Some I haven’t seen in years. But who else could resemble me so much if not family? I’ve never been to the Monmoth before and everyone there knew me. My face.
The doctor is staring at me as if I might have an answer to a question she hasn’t asked. “This is your brother?”
Lying to those in authority has never been a particular problem for me. I nod and hand her a card for the family mortuary. My uncle Pavel runs it with my uncle Vladimir. And they will be the next stop I make today. If one of their sons is missing, I should fucking well know about it.
If not theirs, I’ll find the one who has failed to come forward and claim his child.
It isn’t until I stand that Olivia speaks. “Did you run a DNA profile on Mr. Krilov?” She looks up at me. “I was just thinking that if Denice and Sarah weren’t his only victims, maybe there is DNA floating around in some database somewhere that might match his on an open case.”
I can’t dash her hopes, but neither can I let that DNA hit the airwaves. The man is dead, and he’s my family. Dragging the Krilov name out now will serve no purpose.
I keep it to myself because I want to know the answer. On one hand, if there’s DNA, I want to know who it belongs to. But I want the information kept quiet. For my eyes only, so to speak.
The doctor looks at Olivia, her face a mask of professionalism. This is a woman who deals with the dead, and she has a little bit of that in her personality. “I ran a DNA sample through our database, and we forwarded the information to the police department.”
The police had my DNA already. They “collected” it when I was arrested for Denice Miller’s rape. “Did it match the DNA on file for Leon Krilov that was taken when he was arrested last year?” I wanted to prove once and for all that I wasn’t responsible.
The doctor glanced at me. Again, her face gave away nothing. “I’m afraid I can’t share that information.”
I’m not a man who is used to being told no. And I don’t fucking like it, but I tamp down the anger rolling through me and look at her. I have charm and good graces I can summon on demand. “Doctor, I’m sure you can understand what a difficult time this is for my family. I want to be able to go to my mother and tell her with definitive evidence that my brother was innocent and will go to God with a clear name, an honest heart and deserving of his place in heaven.” The doctor doesn’t so much as blink when I’m through with my impassioned plea. “Can I do that for her?”
She sighs like she wants to tell me but can’t. And it’s unfortunate, but she doesn’t impress me as the kind of woman who will be swayed by a slip of a few hundred dollars across her desk. I’m going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. And by that, I mean I’m going to put Adrian on this.
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Sheldyn. It brings great peace to know my brother was so well cared for.” When we walk out of the building, I lead Olivia to a bench in the small courtyard. We’ve reached the end of our journey together, but I need a few more minutes. More time, and I don’t want to examine why.
“Does finding the man who hurt Denice give you peace now?”
She is a woman with a million smiles and each one makes my heart a little lighter, but this one is not truly a smile. It’s laced with her sadness. It’s bittersweet and melancholy.
“Not the peace I thought I would have.”
I nod. I would have preferred to look at my cousin’s face. Would’ve wanted him to see what I planned to do to him and how his suffering would save the rest of his family from the shame I would’ve brought down on them had he not died. Their grief will handle what I couldn’t.
The sun is warm on my face when I sit back and stare into the distance. A bus is at the stop shelter at the edge of the sidewalk and a few people step on while the smell of exhaust and burning oil scents the air. I concentrate on it all because I can feel goodbye coming. It’s an ache in my bones. A churning in my gut.
She closes her eyes. “I can go back to the Millers now and tell them that the man who hurt Denice is dead. Undoubtedly burning in hell.” She scoffs out a short laugh. “I know it’s your family, but… I hope he’s burning in hell.”
I look at her. “How do you know it’s my family?”
“I saw the tattoo in the picture. Yours is here.” She touches my arm and static crawls along my skin to my heart. “A family thing?”
I nod. I should’ve known she’d recognize it. This is a woman who notices everything. “The Krilov family insignia.” I don’t tell her that it goes back at least five generations. It isn’t a detail she’ll care about. To her, my having it along with the man who raped her friend is what matters. Though I’m innocent now and she knows it, she will forever associate me with Denice’s death. It is kinder of me to let her go.
“Thank you for helping me.” And here it comes. The end.
I nod because I don’t want to speak. I want to crush her body against mine, love her once more before… once more. “I would do anything…” Oh shit. I almost told her I would do anything she asked of me. And I’m a man of my word. A man who doesn’t make a vow lightly. A man who would do anything she asks of me no matter the consequence. That power is too great to put into her hands. “To clear my name.” I finish strong because I need to send her away, and I need to do it like a man, not like some lovesick sissy.
“I’m glad we were able to do it.”
I grin at her, but I don’t touch her, even though I have to curl my fingers into a fist to stop myself. She’s a craving inside of me. Deep in my guts. I need to break myself. Need to stop this.
“We should get going.” I’m sure she can’t wait to get back home to her own life. “I have some work to do.” I’ve been ignoring it to play Hardy Boy to her Nancy Drew. Sherlock to her Watson.
She opens her mouth to speak, then snaps it shut. “Okay.”
There’s a finality I ignore because I don’t want to acknowledge it. I can’t yet.
So, I drive. Like a man with all the time ever created. The long way home. Through the city. Then the countryside that is a whole world from downtown. Trees and yards. Grass and fields.
I’m the one with the work to do, but I’m also the one who’s driven twenty minutes out of the way before I glance at her.
“I thought you have work.”
I sigh. “I do.” There are words I need to say to her. Things I think I could tell her that would make a difference if we were both different people. If there wasn’t a little girl involved. If life hadn’t brought us together this way. “I just wanted to tell you that you can wait a couple days if you want before you head back home.”
“Oh.” Then a higher pitched, “Oh.” And a, “Right.” She clears her throat. “I don’t…I don’t think I’ll be… I’ll probably pack up when we…” She shakes her head. “Today is fine.” Her breath whooshes out. “I have what I came for, right?”
Was it only a couple weeks ago?
“And not really any reason to stay, right?”
“Right.” My mouth says the words, but my gut isn’t with the program. Deep inside me, I want to tell her to stay. I want her in my life. In Anna’s life. But I can’t say it. My mouth won’t ask the things my heart is telling it to say.
I take the next left and drive like I’m chasing the checkered flag to home.
When we arrive, I don’t linger when I open her door. I walk into the house and bypass Anna straight to the office. I need the moment of solitude, the quiet. But Adrian is in the chair, his feet on the opposite side of my desk while he watches Netflix on his phone.
“What are you doing here?”
“Got some info. Some down low for you.” And his feet are still on my desk about to become paper weights. I shoot a pointed stare, and he pulls them down and shuts off his phone. The silence is glorious.
I’m not in the mood for his slang or his Americanness today. I turn a healthy dose of Russian on him. Ne trakhaysya so mnoy segodnya, zasranets.
He chuckles. “I’m the asshole? Pfft.”
“I’m warning you, Adrian.” This time I use English. “Give me the information, and I won’t kill you.”
He looks like our father, but more like his mother and sometimes it hurts me in my soul for my mother’s sake. But if my mother hadn’t died, my father wouldn’t have… No. I can’t think about it now.
“I checked into the car accident. Too many to count. But only four John Does at the morgue. You picked up ours.”
It’s a no-shit-Sherlock moment. “Yes.” I stare, waiting for the rest of the information. “He’s family.”
Adrian nods. “Dmitri Krilov was the passenger of the car.” He has a file folder on the chair opposite him, and he hands it to me. “Red light camera. Dmitri wasn’t driving that car. But his is the body you picked up.”
“Whose car?”
Adrian grins, folds his hands over his stomach. “Yours.”
I sigh. I’ve never owned anything with the Ford logo. Ever. “Bullshit.”
He nods. “Yes, I know. But there’s yet more footage.”
This time, he cues up a video and hands his phone over. It’s the car rolling through a mall parking lot. Flips to a guy—could be me but isn’t—walking into the Mall of America. “How did you get this?”
Adrian chuckles like he can’t believe it either. “The kid. He’s a fucking genius. A goddamned miracle child. He used some face recognition software and a tracking thing on the car. It took him about three minutes to give me the exact location of the car—junkyard, by the way—and find about a thousand or so traffic cams between here and Minnesota that caught footage of it.”
I nod. “And its Dmitri?”
“Until he picks up a driver in Minnesota.” He hands over another picture, and for a minute, I’m annoyed by his theatrics. “I’m still investigating.”
He snaps the folder closed, and I sigh. “Fine.” He takes his phone back. “Anything new on the Connor McGrath front?”
He smirks. “Connor is losing his shit. Jumping at shadows. Flinn is keeping him off balance. It’s beautiful.”
Connor McGrath is a dead man walking. “After what he did to Maxim, almost killed Anna”—and Olivia—“his days are numbered.”
The door opens and Timur walks in as if he’s invited. It means he has something I want. And I’ve been waiting years to know whatever it is he knows.
“Your new pet is quite useful, Leon.” His smile is wide, knowing. I like his confidence. “With my legwork and his computer skills…” He closes his eyes and kisses his fingertips.
My patience for the day is thin. “Timur.”
He chuckles. “Right.” With a quick ahem and slap on Adrian’s back, he grips my brother’s shoulders and his smile fades. Whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to be pleasant for someone in this room. And I don’t have to ask who. “It’s been twenty-three years since your mother died. The information is buried deep.”
“Then get the fuck back out there and find it.” I’m finished with this fucking day.
But Timur shakes his head. “What I mean to say is, I’ve found out many things.” I sit back in the chair and wait for him. “You were young and there was no war yet between Irish and Bratva, but a mistake was made by a young enforcer. He was sent to take a message to your father. But things went too far. Too out of hand.” He sighed. “Your mother was killed.”
No shit. I was there.
“The men wore masks. They were young. But one was in charge.” He looks down at his hands. “Flinn, your man on the inside, said one of the men who was there is dead. His name was Ian O’Herlihy. But the other man is alive. Well, even.”
I sigh, loud and long. As angry as if I was reliving the moment. “Who?”
“Connor McGrath. He was sixteen. New. They were breaking him in.”
I see red. Rage boils inside me. If I was one prone to emotion or outbursts, I would bellow my fury into the universe. I would’ve killed him quickly before, given him that small mercy. He hadn’t hurt Anna. Now, his death will drag over days, weeks, he will die slowly and painfully. His family, his sons, will know the tragedy of their father’s pain. And I will take one of them, so Connor knows his son dies along with him. His last words will be pleas for mercy.
There is too much inside me. Emotions I can’t even name that are like little offshoots to rage. I can’t speak. I walk out of the office and to the gym.
It isn’t until I’m dripping with sweat, hands mangled for my lack of protection against the bag, body aching with fatigue now that I have spent enough energy and anguish to be human again. And it’s then she finds me. Olivia. Beautiful Olivia, who deserves better than this life, the life that robbed me of my mother, the life responsible for my brother’s fall from grace, the life I’m going to use to exact my vengeance.
I’m panting and sweating, and she is fresh air and sunshine. She’s beauty to my beast. And she’s leaving.
“You okay, Leon?”
I run the towel over my head, dry my face, swipe back and forth over my hair. I haven’t shaved today and I’m sure I look like a monster. But she smiles, and it almost kills me.
“I’m fine.”
But I’m not. I’m still so angry and I need…
“I’ve said goodbye to Anna, and I’m…” She chuckles a little. “All packed.”
Now, on top of my anger and my rage, the round of grief that feels as if I’ve lost my mother all over again, watched it happen a second time, I have Olivia’s departure to add to my misery.
This isn’t love. Leon Krilov isn’t weak enough for love to have seeped in. But the heartache, the sadness, the loss are all symptoms of what I’ve heard is love.
My afflictions are not love. They are the byproducts of something else. Residuals from my rage.
“I can drive you.” I’ve never been in this situation. I don’t usually let hostages go or people I… care about leave. And I don’t want to let her go yet. “Let me clean up and we can go.”
“You really don’t have to.” But her protest is half-hearted.
“I’ll want to see you safe.” I walk out and straight to my room, my mood more fowl than even a moment earlier.
And it isn’t until after my shower, when I’m pulling a pair of socks from the drawer, that I see the hairpin. My mother’s hairpin.
My brother took it from her hair after that bastard killed her.
I take it out of the velvet box I’ve kept it in since Igor gave it to me. “Here. You keep.”
I have my mother’s wedding ring to pass onto Anna.
And though this is the only other thing I have of my mother’s, the only keepsake I’ve ever allowed myself except the one my father gave me just before he died, I want Olivia to have it even if it’s the last thing I ever give her.