The Score (The Russian Guns Book 3) Read online

  THE SCORE

  The Russian Guns, Book Three

  Bethany-Kris

  Copyright © 2014 by Bethany-Kris. All rights reserved.

  WARNING: The unauthorized distribution or reproduction of this copyrighted work is illegal. No parts of this work may be used, reproduced, or printed without expressed written consent by the author/publisher. Exceptions are made for small excerpts used in reviews.

  ISBN: 978-0-9937797-1-8

  Cover Art © Ollyy

  Editor: Elle Leigh

  This is work of fiction. Characters, names, places, corporations, organizations, institutions, locales, and so forth are all the product of the author’s imagination, or if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For A. Inspiration and obsession are fine lines walked by authors. Thank you for taking me through the journey of both.

  Chapter One

  “Mr. Avdonin?”

  Anton glanced up over the pictures he’d spread out over his desk. “Come in.”

  The new server at Seven Lights entered Anton’s spacious office with hesitance. It was her first time being allowed inside the space. Given the Bratva business that took place in the office, it wasn’t often, especially during the club’s business hours, that anyone but him or one of his men were permitted in.

  “Yes?” Anton asked, making the pictures of the new possible shipment of guns from Mexico scarce with a quick swipe of his hand. “What can I do for you, Natalie?”

  The young girl raised the serving tray in her hand as an explanation. A tumbler of vodka rested in the middle. “A friend wanted to send up his regards to the owner.”

  Anton sighed and rubbed his forehead. “What kind of friend?”

  “Huh?”

  “Old, or young? Russian, or English? What kind of friend, sweetheart?”

  Natalie just looked confused. Anton shouldn’t have been surprised. Even though her uncle was affiliated with the Russian mafia, she was sheltered from it growing up. Or at least, that’s what he understood. Even so, the girl should have understood what Anton meant.

  “Is the friend Bratva?” Anton asked pointedly.

  Finally, Natalie seemed to get it. “Oh! Um, no. I don’t think so. Maybe just someone you know from Brighton Beach or something, because when he asked if you were around, he didn’t ask about the office like the other guys do.”

  Well done, Anton thought. Perhaps Natalie would work out as a server for Seven Lights after all.

  “Thank you. Leave the drink, but refuse anymore, and I’m not interested in having guests. Is that clear?”

  Natalie nodded before plucking up the tumbler from the tray and placing it on a stand. “Also, your wife called about an hour ago. I guess she couldn’t get through to your office or—”

  What time was it, again?

  “Shit!”

  Anton was such an idiot. A couple of unexpected guys showed up earlier and out of respect, he hadn’t turn them away. Then, he got caught up dealing with the new shipment prospect. Everything on his desk that wasn’t needed was swiped into an opened drawer. A simple look at his watch told him he’d missed the late dinner Viviana wanted them to have together. It was her birthday, for Christ’s sake.

  “Vine’s gonna kill the fuck out of me,” Anton mumbled as he grabbed the suit jacket off the back of his chair.

  Natalie barely managed to move out of his way. “Should I have told you earlier?”

  Anton paused at the doorway, turning to give the girl a sharp stare. “If my wife calls this club looking for me because she can’t get through to me herself, then yes. I don’t care if the fucking mayor of New York is dancing on my goddamn toes. You come up here and get me. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Anton made it home in record time. The house was dark and quiet instead of filled with the usual loudness of his wife, son, and their live-in maid, Clarissa. Of course, it was a little after midnight. Everyone was likely asleep.

  Damn, that just made Anton’s guilt rise tenfold.

  Making his way through the bottom floor, the cleanliness of the kitchen happened to catch his eye. There wasn’t a thing out of place to say Viviana had cooked the dinner, let alone eaten it. Upstairs, light was seeping out from underneath the door to his son’s bedroom, leaving a streak of color through the dark hallway.

  Quietly, Anton slipped down the space to listen to the quiet murmurs coming from the bedroom.

  “Shh, it’s sleep time, Demyan,” he heard Viviana whisper.

  “But, Ma—”

  “Papa will be home soon, and then he’ll read you the train story. Sound good?”

  At least his wife didn’t sound too angry. That boded well for him.

  Anton pushed the door open with a grin, peeking in to wink at his instantly alert son. It never failed to surprise Anton how much Demyan looked like him. From the blue of his eyes to the black of his hair. Even the quirks and mannerisms of his child seemed to come directly from him.

  And he loved it.

  “Papa!”

  Their German shepherd Rocco barely reacted but for the quiet thumps of his tail hitting the wood floors.

  “The train story, huh?” Anton asked, stepping into the bedroom.

  “Please?” Demyan pleaded.

  With a sigh, Viviana moved from the bed. Anton couldn’t help but notice she was fully dressed and ready for bed herself.

  “He’s up a bit late,” Anton noted to his wife as she passed.

  “His father missed his bedtime. This usually happens, Anton.”

  Ouch. “I’m sorry, baby. Stuff came up and—”

  “Later,” Viviana said before leaving the room.

  Focusing his attention on his son instead of the bitter bite his wife’s tone held, Anton crawled into the small single bed. Instantly, Demyan seemed calmer, happier.

  “Were you giving Ma a hard time?” Anton asked as he grabbed the book off the small bed stand.

  Demyan shook his head with wide eyes. “No way, Papa. I is always good for Ma.”

  Anton held back the snort of disbelief that his young son wouldn’t understand. Always good was a bit of a stretch for Demyan. The child was a hell raiser in more ways than one. He gave his parents a run for their money, and that attitude of his made a daily appearance.

  “Demyan,” Anton warned. “If you’re lying to me …”

  Twinkling, tired blue eyes stared up at Anton with familiar mischief. It was clear he wasn’t going to get anything from his son tonight, but they’d definitely be having a chat about his nighttime behavior in the morning.

  “Let’s read your story, little man.”

  Demyan grinned into his blanket, satisfied. “Okay.”

  Forty minutes and a bit of bribery later, Anton left his sleeping boy to find his wife. In their bedroom, Viviana was hidden under blankets, the soft glow of a lamp giving her the needed light to read the novel in her hands.

  “What are you reading?” Anton asked as he began the process of removing his jacket and dress shirt. “Anything good?”

  Viviana smirked over the black cover of the book. “The Godfather.”

  “Seriously?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  “Is it accurate in the fact sense?” Anton climbed into his side of the bed, pushing away the blankets. The sight of naked, creamy skin resting against Egyptian cotton sheets had his breath catching hard in his throat. “Damn, baby … you look like … God, I don’t even know.”

  “Accurate enough,” Viviana replied. “I only know the ins and outs of some things regarding the Cosa Nostra, so I can’
t really say for sure. It’s mostly fictional, though the author did base a character or two on some real life organized crime figures.”

  Wait, were they still talking about her book? Screw that.

  “Viviana.”

  “Hmm?”

  Anton swallowed the saliva gathering in his mouth as his gaze roamed over pert breasts and the swell of her hips. Beauty in the purest form. That was his sweet wife. She was sexy without even needing to try and the only thing on earth that could make him hard enough to pound fucking concrete.

  “Are you angry with me for being late?” Anton asked, his tone husky.

  “When I called, the new girl did manage to tell me you were busy, so I chatted with Jen for a while. She mentioned you had a few visitors show up, so I knew you were probably distracted.”

  “I am sorry, Vine. I didn’t mean to miss dinner, and I really needed to give an okay for a shipment tonight.” Even though he hadn’t been able to give that go-ahead. It didn’t even matter. Viviana took precedence, as she always had. The rest could and would wait. “But you didn’t answer my question. Are you angry with me? I’d understand.”

  Viviana tossed him a coy glance through dark lashes. “No.”

  Just to be sure … “No?”

  “Oh, no. But I do think you owe me something special.”

  “Absolutely, birthday girl.”

  ***

  “Happy anniversary, Vine. I’ve been waiting to tell you that for days.”

  It’d been three years since Anton and Viviana Avdonin married. While the first year had definitely been the most difficult and dangerous for the Russian mafia boss and his pretty wife, the following two were filled with a quiet, loving happiness. The growth of their child, the beginning of their family, and the true start to their life.

  There was nothing to step in their way, now.

  Their actual anniversary was the day before Viviana’s birthday, but Anton always took the week leading up to her day to celebrate that. Then, after Viviana’s birthday, they celebrated the anniversary of their marriage. Sure, it was different, but they never were traditional. The emotional meaning was still there. It didn’t make a difference what day they celebrated it, really.

  It was also nearly Christmas, being the twenty-second of December, but it was one holiday Anton didn’t celebrate, so neither did Viviana. Anton was Jewish, but he didn’t celebrate his religious holidays, either. It just wasn’t his thing, and Christmas had never been celebrated in his home.

  “Mmm, happy anniversary to you, too,” Viviana said softly.

  The faint flutter of her lashes followed a relieved, contented sigh when Anton kissed a path along the smooth contour of her stomach. His wife wasn’t particularly athletic, but she worked damn hard to get her figure back to the perfect feminine form after their son Demyan was born almost two and a half years ago. Damn, Anton was happy with Viviana’s body the way it was, but he couldn’t deny how utterly fucking beautiful she was fit, trim, and toned, too.

  “Are you nearly ready for another?” Anton asked. “A little girl this time, maybe?”

  Viviana gave a breathy laugh in response, her hand coming down to run through her husband’s dark hair. When his teeth nipped lightly to her outer thigh, her fingers tightened their grip to an almost painful point, but it was still so fucking good.

  “Oh, don’t start with that again, Anton. It’s too early for your nonsense.”

  Anton grinned against her sweet smelling, silky skin. “It’s never too early if it gets me what I want, baby.”

  “To whose detriment?” she asked with a cock of her brow.

  Their gazes met over the comforter tangled around their bodies, each holding a challenge. Anton wasn’t ready to let his desire for another child go, and he knew Viviana was hesitant about having another while Demyan was still a toddler. He’d been trying to convince her to have another baby since their son’s first birthday.

  Yes, he knew she was exhausted. So was he, really. Demyan was a peculiar child. Their son seemed to keep at least one of them running from early morning to late at night. He didn’t give them a damned break. But, Anton was sure a sibling would help to settle his son, somehow.

  Sure, Viviana had her excuses. All were valid enough for a while. She wanted to wait until their son was off the bottle after he was weaned from breastfeeding. Then, it was after he was potty trained. Now, it was looking like they’d be waiting until Demyan was in elementary school.

  That was a no-go. Anton was not waiting that long for another child.

  “Come on, Vine.” He pleaded with soft pecks landing down to her hip before trailing up her side to punctuate his words and want. “Just be serious and consider it, please. If he had someone to play with—”

  “Daycare, playdates, and park time. He has more than enough interaction with children his age. Demyan has friends. Nice try, Anton.”

  Nope, Anton still couldn’t let it go. Using the tips of his fingers to trail up and down her sides, he kept her thin T-shirt bunched up around her breasts. Viviana shivered under his innocent touches. If Anton learned anything about his wife, it was that she loved to be touched. Anytime, all the time, whenever the hell he could … Yeah, Viviana wanted it.

  Anton was not above using that to get what he wanted from her. “He’s two. That’s the worst time, right? He’s already half way through it. You have to realize he’s smart, too, so he gets bored easily. He needs something new to keep his overactive mind distracted.”

  Leaning up, Anton loomed over Viviana’s form, thoroughly enjoying the view of her staring back through thick lashes and hooded eyes. Using one thumb, he traced a line over her plump lips, feeling her kiss the digit softly.

  “Please just think about it?”

  Viviana sighed. “You’re serious about this, huh?”

  Anton nodded. “More than serious. I want another child with you. Soon, preferably. You keep putting it off and I don’t understand why. It’s not like we don’t have the means. Your bookstore is doing fine, you have somebody to take care of it if needed, and everything business-wise on my side has been quiet. I mean, I know Demyan gives us a run for our money some days—”

  “And nights,” Viviana added, a yawn giving proper due to her point.

  Anton agreed, but after almost three years of this with their son, weren’t they used to no sleep by now? “Why not?”

  “You keep using Demyan like he’s the only reason I say no.”

  Anton’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t he?”

  “No. You just assumed.”

  “Well, what else am I supposed to think, Vine? You won’t even talk about it beyond telling me no and leaving it at that.”

  She huffed, refusing to meet his gaze. “I would love to have another child.”

  Happiness and triumph swelled in Anton. Despite the loudness, messiness, and crankiness of other children, he didn’t mind a bit when it came to his son. Really, he loved seeing Viviana growing, glowing, and ripe with pregnancy. Filled with his child, and so much more beautiful because of it.

  “But we had a tough time the first go-round,” Viviana continued quietly. “A lot was going on with Jersey and us. We were lucky to make it out of some of those situations alive. I’m not saying me being pregnant was the catalyst to it all, but I don’t want to go through it again. The diabetes is another matter. I have a better chance of getting it again. That was hard for me, Anton.”

  “I know it was,” he said reassuringly. “We know this time around, so it can be monitored and your sugars can be controlled from the start to prevent the use of insulin.”

  “You’re really, really serious.”

  Anton pushed himself away from Viviana’s form before sitting cross-legged in the messy sheets. Taking his time to think about what he wanted to say instead of just blurting it out like he usually would seemed like the better way to go about it all. Sitting up also gave him access to see their bedroom.

  A few of Demyan’s toys had managed to make their way insid
e, scattered in a haphazard circle in the corner where he played while watching his mother put away clothes. The master bath door was wide open, the towel Viviana used to dry off their son after his bedtime bath the night before still hanging off the hook on the door.

  Their son was everywhere in their home. There wasn’t a spot Demyan left untouched by something of his, physical or otherwise. He was so attached to his parents, rarely leaving their sides. Anton loved that; he didn’t want to give it up or intrude on his son’s time or claim he had, but he wanted to see more.

  Another baby, another little being to leave his or her marks on their life.

  “Yeah, Vine, I’m serious,” Anton finally said. “I’m thirty. I don’t want to wait another couple of years. We had to wait far too long as it was to start our life together. You’re—”

  “Twenty-eight and one day,” Viviana interrupted coolly, shooting him a look.

  There was nothing Viviana hated more than someone pointing out her age. It wasn’t how old she was that bothered her, but how close to thirty she getting. Anton knew that, but he wasn’t bringing up her age to irk her. Anton didn’t care if she was thirty or forty or eighty, so long as Viviana was beside him every morning.

  “Exactly. So, the way you’ve been putting it off, we’re looking at maybe when you’re thirty for another baby.” Anton shrugged, raking his fingers through his hair. “We both know after thirty, there comes a whole bunch of other issues with pregnancy. You’re concerned about diabetes, but what about the other stuff? The longer we wait, the more prevalent the rest becomes. Controlling your sugars could very well be the least of our problems.

  “Just meet me halfway here,” Anton said. “Anything.”

  “I did. I told you I would love to have another child.”

  “But that’s not a yes for sure, let alone a promise for anytime soon, Vine.”

  “You’re right.”

  Viviana fixed her shirt, ignoring her husband’s watchful gaze as she slipped out of their bed. If it was any other morning, Anton would have tugged her back into bed and kept her there with slow kisses and tantalizing touches until she was begging like only she could for his love and want. But it wasn’t any other morning and he’d brought up a touchy subject for them both.