Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance

At the far end of the wide-open space, Maxim steps out from behind a large pillar.

He’s dressed similarly to me, which means I can’t tell if he’s concealing a weapon underneath his clothes. I take a few steps forward to gauge his reaction.

He tenses and I can’t help but smile. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of me, cousin?”

My voice echoes in the emptied factory. Maxim’s eyes narrow. I notice he’s bulked up considerably since I’ve last seen him. He was always a scrawny kid, so the extra muscles make him look like a blow-up doll that’s been inflated a little too much.

“I’ve never been scared of you,” Maxim hisses.

I laugh. “Really? Last time you tried to start a fight with me, you ended up hiding underneath your bed when I came to settle the score.”

“I was eight.”

“So was I.”

He grinds his teeth together. His eyes flare with resentment. “Those days are over, cousin,” he snarls. “I’m not eight anymore and I’m definitely not scared of you.”

“Does that mean you’ve come without a weapon?” I ask, cornering him.

He controls his body this time, but not his eyes. He gives himself away with a single fucking blink. “Of course.”

I pretend to believe the lie. I know the inevitable conclusion of this meeting, but I don’t want to speed the process up. Not before we’ve had a chance to talk.

“How’s Bogdan?” Maxim asks.

I smile. “We can do away with the pleasantries.”

“Fine,” Maxim snaps.

We circle closer and closer to each other, winding between the row of steel pillars that runs down the dead center of the warehouse floor.

He doesn’t just look bulkier—he looks taller than I remember, too. Then I glance at this designer Armani shoes, only to realize he’s got a half-inch wedge at the heel.

“Nice shoes,” I chuckle. “I bet those are great for reaching the top shelf.” I know I’m goading him, but fuck it—it’s worth it to see the enraged twitch on his face.

“How is she?” he asks, deftly changing the topic.

“Well-looked after.”

Maxim slowly retreats towards the bank of windows. I follow, matching him step for step and maintaining the distance between us. I wonder where he has his backup hiding. Somehow, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t told them to keep a mile’s radius.

“What the hell does that mean?”

I shrug. “Let’s just say that no woman likes being lied to.”

“Then why would she stay with you?”

I laugh. “I never lied to her. Right from the beginning, she knew my real name. And if we’d had more time that night, she would have known what I did, too.”

“That right there is a fucking lie. You were involved with her long before that night. Why claim otherwise?”

“Because it’s the truth. That night was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her.”

“So you just walked about to a random woman, sight unseen, and decided to protect her with your life? I call bullshit. Why?”

“She was an itch I needed to scratch.”

He shakes his head like I’m pitiful. “Then give her back to me.”

I scoff. “Not likely.”

“Why?”

“Because you want her back,” I say simply. “And I’m not about to give you anything you want. Not after what you did.”

“Vitaly killed my father. Did you think I would just let that go? Bow and scrape and give him the respect owed to a don when I knew what he did to become one?”

Guilt—it’s a fucking inconvenient feeling. And it makes this meeting more complicated than it needs to be. But as Bogdan said, it changes nothing.

“Very well,” I say. “My father killed yours. And you killed mine. That would make us even.”

Maxim raises his eyebrows. “Even?” he balks. “How the hell do you figure that?”

“You are still my cousin, Maxim. We are family, if nothing else. I’m prepared to end this feud between us now.”

He looks stunned. Understandable, given my reputation. I’m not one for ending feuds with peace. My answer has always been strength and blood. In this instance, though, I’m willing to explore an alternative route.

“You… you’ll give me back the Bratva?”

Perhaps not.

I stare at my cousin, wondering how a man as thick as he is could share the same blood as me.

“Give you back the Bratva?” I repeat. “I’m not offering you anything of the sort. The only thing I’m offering you is an end to the war between us. You get to keep your life and your breakaway little empire.”

“Convenient,” Maxim snarls, his upper lips curling over his teeth. “For you.”

“It’s a generous offer. And you’re receiving it only because of your last name.”

“All this talk of receiving, when the only thing you do is take, take, take. You took my father’s—”

“Don’t play the fucking fool,” I hiss.

I don’t raise my voice, but the icy tone is enough to shut him up. I take a threatening step forward. I don’t miss the way his hand twitches towards the right side of his coat.

“Your father nearly burned the Bratva to the ground. He wasn’t interested in leading. He had no fucking ambition. The empire our grandfather built was broken apart and sold off like scrap metal. He would have finished us completely if my father hadn’t stepped in. I’m continuing his work. The Vorobev Bratva is mine. And it always will be. So if you’re looking for me to hand over the keys and walk away, then you’re even more fucked in the head than I initially thought.”

He’s silent, still, impassive. His eyes give nothing away.

“I am offering you a chance to preserve what you have,” I tell him. “I’m offering you the chance to live your own life and build your own world—provided you stay out of mine.”

His expression turns hard. “You’re offering me scraps and telling me to be grateful.”

“That’s just fucking it, isn’t it?” I snarl. “I shouldn’t be offering you anything. We are Bratva, Maxim. We don’t wait to be offered. We don’t wait to be given. We take what we want.”

He nods slowly. “Then I will take it. I will take everything you’ve stolen from me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You are nothing but a spoiled little brat, whining about all the things you didn’t get. Come at me in any way you choose. But remember, you’re going to lose. And I will make it hurt.”

We’re finished here. I’m about to turn away when he speaks, his tone thick with pent-up bitterness.

“Have you fucked her?”

I turn back around slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I asked if you fucked the whore.”

His hands ball into fists. Mine do the same.

And I hear my father’s voice echoing in my head from the distant past. Instinctively, I glance down at my arm. It’s covered now, but I know the exact placement of the scar I received for failing to learn one of his most important lessons.

Never show emotion in the presence of an enemy. Never lose control.

A man who can’t suppress his emotions can be goaded, manipulated, and used.

A man who can’t suppress his emotions can’t read his enemy because he’s too lost in his own head.

It’s not surprising that Maxim and I ended up here today. All we have to do is look at our teachers to understand the legacy that gave us each life.

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