The Life (The Russian Guns) Read online

  She was right, though. Anton couldn’t do anything about her appearances or unwanted presence unless she did something threatening. So far, she hadn’t. It was only two meetings, after all.

  Viviana would have a fit if Anton told her about Tatiana. Worrying his pregnant wife wasn’t the best idea. She had enough stress as it was.

  “Sir?”

  Anton blinked away his thoughts as his coffee was handed over the counter. “Thank you.”

  The young man nodded towards the front where Tatiana had disappeared. “Did she not want anything, sir?”

  Well, that was the question of the hour, wasn’t it?

  Tatiana hadn’t bought that coffee she supposedly came in for, either.

  *

  An envelope was passed over the tabletop with a stealth meant to hide the package from being seen by any other eyes in the diner. Anton made quick work of sliding the brigadier’s tribute into the inside pocket of his jacket as he resumed his meal like nothing had happened.

  “How’s the wife, Boss?” Boris asked as he slid into the booth.

  “Pregnant,” Anton answered.

  There were a dozen other things Anton could have said about Viviana that were just as true and a great deal more heartfelt. Unfortunately Anton knew he needed to keep a distance built up between his wife and his guys. He didn’t want them feeling as though they had some kind of connection to her that they didn’t. Safety wise, it was better for Viviana, too.

  “And the baby?”

  Anton didn’t bother to hide his forming smile as he said, “Getting there.”

  “I heard Sergei blew it,” Boris noted, not taking his attention away from the menu in his hands. “Goddamn moron.”

  “Like a pro.” He was still a little sore over the other Pakhan’s refusal of their arranged sit down. It certainly didn’t help that everyone was waiting on Anton to make some kind of move about it. With Tatiana adding into the equation, he wasn’t ready to strike without knowing more. “Unfortunately this isn’t the best time for me to let my Bratva honor and pride control the situation.”

  “True enough. I’m sure Vine wouldn’t appreciate being taken out of state while the issue was handled.”

  No, she certainly wouldn’t, Anton thought. With her being pregnant, it would probably only serve to worry her more. “Issues, I think.”

  Boris’s brow rose. “Come again?”

  “Issues meaning there are more than one.”

  Noticing the couple in the next booth were finally readying to leave, Anton waited until they paid for their meal and had left the table before deciding it was safe to continue on the topic.

  “All dealing with Sergei?” Boris twirled a butter knife between his fingers.

  It was funny how the simplest of things looked the most dangerous when the brigadier had a hold of it. Boris was one of Anton’s more brutal guys when it came to handling some of the violent aspects of their business.

  “Maybe,” Anton agreed quietly. “A little over a week ago I noticed a car behind my house. The driver was taking pictures.”

  “And?”

  “And I assumed it was FBI.”

  “But?”

  Anton shrugged as he took another bite of his meal, purposely wanting to keep his appearance as unbothered by the situation he was talking about. Frankly, he was horribly worried about it. The more time Anton had let pass by for him to consider the unknown photographer, the more unsettled it made him.

  “Why would the feds be taking pictures of Viviana in our backyard while she was doing nothing more than sitting out in the sun?” Anton asked rhetorically. “I thought maybe they were attempting to catch me doing something, but I’d just arrived home. They would have been following me from the other side, not waiting out back.”

  Boris leaned forward. “Whoever it was had been taking pictures before you even returned home, then.”

  “Yeah, that’s my thought. If it were the feds, we’d know. Someone is always blabbing about something concerning us. One of our insiders would have heard. There’s been nothing from the federal side. That tells me it’s not FBI.”

  Anton hated to even consider what that might mean for his wife. Who would be following her and why? Not to mention wanting pictures of her in situations that would show her without obvious protection. The bulls who kept a close watch while she was away from their home were instructed to close more of the gap Anton asked them to keep. He still hadn’t brought up the possible threat to Viviana.

  Unfortunately, Tatiana Belov raised a whole bunch of other questions. Anton despised the fact that she might be the answer to all the other ones, as well. Worse still was the fact there wasn’t any proof. That was what Anton needed, now.

  “And you believe this is Sergei?” Boris pursed his lips in contemplation. “That’d be an awfully stupid move if you found out. From his end, I mean.”

  “I know,” Anton replied. “I don’t want to risk thinking it is just the feds doing their usual nonsense if it isn’t. This isn’t exactly their deal, anyway. They’d be more adept to taking her picture when she was with me and we were in contact with someone connected to the Bratva. Not at home being happy and innocent. Not like that.”

  “Maybe you should get her out of state. Have you talked to Ivan or Erik about this, Boss?”

  “I want to know everything before I do anything.”

  Making hurried decisions that could lead to messy situations later wasn’t exactly Anton’s forte. Finishing up the last bit of his parmesan risotto, Anton flicked his hand up as the waitress passed by his table to signal he was ready for the bill. Anton wanted to catch up with Boris about his trip to Vegas and what had come of it business-wise, but he promised to pick up Viviana from her study group.

  “You have a good contact with a tracer. Is he worth his price, or what?”

  “She,” Boris corrected, his gaze meeting Anton’s. “And yes, I’d say so. She’s done great work for me. Who do you want checked up on?”

  “Tatiana.”

  Instantly, Boris was sitting ramrod straight in his seat. “Oh, hell. That’s a problem you don’t need. Were you messing around with the Jersey girl again?”

  Anton nearly choked on his tongue. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m just saying, Boss. We all know how pregnant women can be sometimes. Well, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary—”

  “For me it would,” the boss interrupted coolly. Rage washed through his insides fast and hard, raising his pulse to a racing speed. “I don’t fuck around on my wife.”

  The older man seemed struck speechless. Why was it that everyone seemed to find it hard to believe that Anton was faithful to his wife?

  “Ever?”

  “Never,” Anton hissed.

  “Well, why in the hell do you think Tati—”

  “Because she’s up to something,” Anton interjected sharply. “Twice in less than two weeks she’s cornered me at either a place I frequent, or a place she would have needed direct information about. She’s acting like an annoying puppy sniffing at my heels, and my wife is being photographed in positions that make me rather uncomfortable. Both are odd.”

  “And you think Tati’s involved.”

  “I don’t think anything. What I know is even less, and I don’t like that.”

  The brigadier looked uncomfortable. Anton could understand that. The Jersey Bratva family had always been good to their side of the brotherhood, minus the birthday incident. If Tatiana or Sergei were involved in something like trailing Viviana—a well-respected Pakhan’s wife—no matter the reason, there would be hell to pay.

  “Are you looking at this from her husband’s perspective, or the boss?” Boris asked, suddenly interested in the white crescents of his fingernails.

  Anton expected that question, especially since the person of interest just happened to be one of his old lovers. To others, it could look as if the Russian boss was simply trying to avoid issues with his wife by ridding the source of the problem under the gui
se of Tatiana being dangerous to Viviana.

  Of course, Anton wasn’t stupid, either.

  “Tati was seen in my club a half a year ago causing her usual problems. More than one person heard the things she said to Viviana and any one of them would have construed it the very same way I have,” Anton explained calmly. Drumming his fingernails to the tabletop, considering his next words carefully, he shrugged and added, “I’ve looked at every other option. Who would want to hurt her, why, and what would be gained from doing so. The Italians are out of the picture.”

  “Can you be sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Anton scoffed, almost offended that his opinion was being questioned. “She’s cut all ties with the Cosa Nostra. I thought about possible enemies from the Bratva side, but the girl doesn’t have any connections other than what she’s made through me. It all leads me to the same conclusion.”

  “That whoever is doing it means to hurt you,” Boris finished with a nod.

  Anton hadn’t once mentioned the baby boy Viviana was carrying, or her importance to him. In fact, he’d stuck to the facts he knew, the pertinent issues at hand that they needed to deal with for obvious reasons. He knew it wouldn’t be missed by his brigadier.

  “So,” Anton said with a smirk, “I suppose you can say you’re dealing with the boss.”

  “You really think it’s the fire bug?”

  Exhaling harshly, Anton stood from the table. He tossed a hundred dollar bill down. It would more than take care of his meal, whatever Boris would choose from the menu, and still have quite a generous tip left over for the waitress.

  “Like I said, I want all the facts before I make any rash decisions. You can get the info the tracer needs, yeah?”

  “Sure, but I don’t know if it will get you your answers.”

  “No, but it’ll get me one step closer to whoever, or whatever, it is if it isn’t the Jersey scum,” Anton said with the cold indifference of a Bratva boss. “I need to know if it’s her, Sergei, or someone else following my wife. And I needed to know it yesterday. So get on it.”

  *

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Viviana turned away from Anton’s voice, not wanting him to see the tears gathering and fighting to fall. He’d found her sitting on the steps of the Long Island University’s library, waiting for him. The saddened, ruffled appearance she sported was enough for her husband to figure out something had gone wrong at her study group.

  And did it ever.

  A new girl had been invited into the group, Vanessa. She was smart and opinionated, but Viviana didn’t mind that. It was someone else who was willing to have discussions worth having on the topics they were currently studying. Viviana liked to be challenged. She didn’t think anything of the girl’s uncomfortable stares or veiled comments, until they weren’t so veiled anymore and the stares turned to accusatory, hateful glares.

  “Vine.” Anton leaned between their seats, his hand caressing the arm of her sweater. “I need to know if something happened so I can take care of it.”

  “You can’t fix everything, Anton!”

  His hand snapped away from her side as if he’d been burned. Even Viviana was surprised at her outburst. Anton could fix just about anything if he really wanted to. In one way or another, the issue would disappear. She didn’t even want to consider what that might mean if she told him of her recently acquired enemy.

  “Okay, so obviously something did happen,” Anton said coldly. “Your bulls won’t have anything to say because they were on the other side of the library out of earshot. I can send them around Brooklyn just as fast to find and question every single person who I know you were with until I do find out what happened. They will find out, Vine, and I don’t care how they extract the information so long as I get it.”

  A lump formed in her throat, stopping the bubbling sob catching painfully in her chest. “But—”

  “What?” her husband interrupted, canting his head to the side. “Did you think I wouldn’t know who was in your study group? I absolutely fucking do. You’re my wife—I wouldn’t risk putting you in a situation with people I can’t trust. Now, what happened?”

  An aching rhythm kick started Viviana’s heart. Something akin to embarrassment and anger swelled inside her stomach. This was exactly why she didn’t want to tell him what had happened in her study group; his overprotectiveness would immediately send him into worry mode, not to mention prickle at his fury.

  “No, Anton.” Turning sharply, Viviana leveled him with a glare. “Shit happens, okay? If it was something for you to be worried about, I would tell you. That’s not what this is.”

  “Viviana, do not make me—”

  Viviana was out of their Mercedes-Benz M-Class before Anton could finish his sentence. It was a fight she didn’t want to have with him. When she was acting like the normal woman she was, not the Russian mob boss’s wife she sometimes needed to be, he didn’t get to pull his Bratva cards and throw threats.

  Threats she knew he would follow through with, unfortunately.

  Viviana knew Anton had a lot going on behind the scenes that he wasn’t informing her about. She understood he was grieving for his sick father, that he was frightened about the changes in his life, like being a new husband and a soon to be new father. In the midst of all that, he was keeping it to himself, dealing with it how he saw fit. Viviana didn’t think it was the best way for him to go about it, but she knew he would come to her when he was ready.

  Well, this wasn’t any different. It was something Viviana needed to deal with alone.

  Leaving Anton stunned, she let the slam of their SUV’s door say what she wouldn’t. The sound of his fists hitting the steering wheel and a Russian curse answered her back. Viviana didn’t turn around. She kept walking until she disappeared behind the front door.

  A hot bath called to Viviana. In a dazed state, and with the heaviest heart, she moved silently through their home until she found herself in the master bath. Closing the door, she found it was exactly what she needed. To shut out the world and its judgment so she could pretend they didn’t live a life no one else could possibly understand.

  Sinking most of her body below hot water, Viviana finally let her tears fall. They rushed heavy and hot down her cheeks, undisturbed by her hands that itched to wipe the wetness away and hide proof of her fears and weaknesses.

  When Vanessa had brought up the topic of organized crime in New York, something that certainly wasn’t on their study group’s agenda, Viviana knew she was in trouble. Most of the people who Viviana studied with knew who she was, or at least, they knew of her family. Most even knew her husband, despite the fact that she didn’t wear her wedding and engagement rings during her classes or study group. The obvious extravagance of the pieces would cause distraction.

  When the girl pointed out her earlier studies had been law, Viviana had closed her books and laptop, ready to leave the library and find her bulls. What she didn’t want or need was to fight with someone whose opinions could only be based on the things they heard or read.

  Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well. The four other students had been much too shocked to step in and stop Vanessa’s verbal attack. Sure, Viviana was able to deflect enough, stood her ground and kept her mouth shut when she needed to. Viviana refused to let the girl see even an ounce of the anger, awkwardness, or pain she caused by her spiteful words.

  But when Vanessa’s words had turned from Viviana’s dead family to her current life, she had taken all she could. Vanessa had spewed on about Viviana’s husband and unborn child, about how privileged they lived in their beautiful home, with an abundance of wealth that was smeared with the dishonor of greed and death.

  No one had the right to judge Viviana. Certainly not Vanessa or anyone else.

  For once, Viviana didn’t want to be who she needed to be. She only wanted to act like what she was feeling. And she was feeling absolutely horrible—heartbroken and ashamed.

  Maybe she should have expec
ted it. Anton and Viviana weren’t low profile in New York. People knew who she was, and Viviana should have had her guard up. It just hadn’t been an issue before today.

  An hour passed Viviana by in silence, other than the quiet noise of her hiccupping sobs. Long after the water had turned cool and most of the steam in the bathroom disappeared, she finally felt calm enough to get out of the tub.

  The softest knock on the bathroom door stopped her. “Yeah?”

  “Can I come in?” At least Anton sounded calmer.

  Sighing, Viviana knew it was useless to refuse him. Whether she liked it or not, she needed to talk to him and have him closer. “Sure.”

  Less than a second later, her husband’s presence in the bathroom soothed away a little of the sadness and remaining anxiety Viviana felt. Without a word, Anton crossed the bathroom and sticking a hand in the water, he unplugged the tub’s drain before resting his arms to smooth porcelain. Reaching out, she traced the tribal tattoos on his arm that led down to his elbow. Anton’s eyes fluttered closed, his lashes fanning over his cheeks at her silent apology.

  Viviana pulled herself up, deciding to give him a verbal one as well. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he replied. “But I wish you would have told me what happened. You left your purse in the car, your phone was in it. Your friend—George—he called to apologize for inviting Vanessa to the study group and to say she wouldn’t be returning. When I asked, he explained some. It was enough for me to figure out the rest.”

  “I handled it.”

  “I know you did,” Anton said, finally turning to look at her. Instead of the anger she expected to see, his blue gaze only held sadness and a sympathetic understanding. “You’re the twenty-five-year-old wife of a mob boss, Vine. You’re allowed to stick up for yourself when some suka hurts you, no matter how she’s doing it. Did you think I was going to be pissed off because you told her to shove her opinion up her ass, or what?”

  Reaching out with one hand, Viviana uncurled Anton’s fingers that had tightened to the edge of the tub in a death grip. She rolled her thumb along his knuckles. Anton sighed and rested his head to her arm. Slowly, he intertwined their fingers and they stayed silent for a moment longer before Viviana felt okay with speaking again.