Diamond Days (Born Bratva 6)(19)

 

She had deliberately avoided this conversation in the past because the few times she had brought it up he had given her a vague answer. She'd become adept at pushing the envelope with Glazov right to the fucking edge, but she knew better than to push too hard.

 

But why had Glazov gone to such obvious lengths to keep his father's name out of the press? Her natural curiosity, which had gotten her in trouble with her husband more than once, got the better of her and so she pushed on, typing his name in the search bar before she could change her mind-

 

Mikhael Kirill Glazov.

 

The point of no return … 

 

When the image appeared on the screen, she studied the man responsible for setting her husband's Bratva destiny. He looked more like Novak than Glazov, his hair a darker blonde than either of them. It wasn't spiked like Novak's, more of a traditional businessman's layered look. His eyes were deep-set and a darker blue, but she would know that chiseled jaw, regal nose and those full lips anywhere.

 

There was nothing elegant or extravagant about his clothes or his demeanor  –  so unlike her Glazov. The man in the photograph was smoking a cigarette as he handed a gun to someone. His face was the kind of cold and brutal that you can't muster up or fake.

 

Unlike Glazov, this man had tattoos on his hand. On his forefinger, there was a tattoo of a ring. The caption below the photo read: The ring tattoo means 'Rely on no one.'

 

On his hand was a skull and crossbones tattoo, as well as a gun, a knife, and the letter K off to the side. The caption for that one said it denoted 'murderer'. Well, duh. I haven't met a fucking Glazov yet who hasn't done their share of killing.

 

 

 

        

          

        

         

 

Kathleen was getting the impression that this whole Born Bratva thing had started in the streets. It wasn't glamourous with men walking around in five-thousand dollar suits and diamond rings, with stylish gun holsters and Glocks. This was a grassroots organization that started in the brutal streets and back alleyways of Russia-men who endured austere lives.

 

She yawned as she clicked from one article to the next, until she came across something that made her sit up straight in her chair.

 

Son of a bitch!

 

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She quickly erased the search history and grabbed her purse, hurrying from the library.

 

 

 

 

 

I never tire of watching my wife. Even in a fucking library. She is like a beautiful, voluptuous siren, calling to me. She's smarter than me, it's one of the reasons I love her so much. Hell, who am I kidding? I love everything about her, except how she lets him dirty bird her. That … I don't like!

 

Dirty bird, dirty bird, dirty bird. You're a bad, dirty bird, but I will teach you how to be a good girl.

 

The stranger forced the voices from his mind. He had to keep a clear head and keep his priorities straight.

 

It's not her fault. The bad man is the reason she does it. He has her mind messed up and she just needs me to fix it-so I'm gonna fix it for her. Her head-I'm gonna fix the way he fucked up her thinking. He's brainwashed her. It isn't her fault he put a hex on her. He does it to everybody.

 

The Pakhan, the Pakhan, the mighty fucking Pakhan. He has somehow convinced his men that they'll be cursed if they even think bad thoughts about him. But not me. I'm the only one who can withstand his powers of persuasion. I guess that makes me a superhero. I'll be able to fix her. Of course, I'll have to use my own powers of persuasion, but I plan on being very thorough and enjoying every second of it.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

"Seriously, you know I love you, man, and I never push you--" He paused at Glazov's skeptical expression. "Fine. Not on things you feel strongly about. But this … this is different. The adage 'drastic times call for drastic measures' works in this situation." There was almost a pleading tone in Novak's voice as he tried to reason with Glazov.

 

Glazov breathed in deeply and slowly exhaled, rolling his neck to relieve the stress that was knotting his shoulder muscles. "Why don't you just say what you mean? You want me to call Bazarnik in."

 

Yes, a massage would do him good, he thought, as he made a mental note for later. A nude, full-body massage, provided by his Ptichka … 

 

"Maybe all that shit they say about the Pakhan being psychic is true. Pleeeeze don't put a hex on me, pleeeze fucking don't." Novak  –  the smartass -- waggled his fingers in the air and followed his words with an exaggerated, ghostly wail. In the next instant, he was roaring with laughter at his own joke. Typical.