The Life

THE LIFE

The Russian Guns, Book Two

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: 978-0-9937797-0-1

Cover Art © istockphoto.com/Casarsa

Editor: Elle Leigh

This is work of fictions. 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.

Interior format by The Killion Group

http://thekilliongroupinc.com

Dedication

For anyone who believed in this. You’re why I continued, and why it’s here. Thank you.

Chapter One

“I’ve narrowed it down to three, Mr.
Avdonin.”

Anton glanced up from the case displaying watches at the
jeweler’s voice. Richard, his usual jeweler, sent him to this particular place of business for the piece he was looking for.

After all, pearls were a speciality for some. For others, they were only a fancy.

“And?” Anton asked.

The
jeweler produced three black velvet cases from under the counter. The first held a two stranded, white pearl design. A bit too simplistic for what Anton desired. He waved off the necklace, his gaze travelling to the second. Larger pearls with a pink sheen rested on a white gold strand of thin chain, each globe separated by a good inch of space. It was intended to hang low on the chest of the person wearing it.

“This is a bit long,” Anton said.

“It’s meant to draw attention to the clothes being worn, and not so much the pearls.”

“I want to show off the woman, not her clothes.”

“Ah, point taken.” With a faint smirk, the jeweler waved at the third. “This may be more to your liking, then.”

Anton went back to surveying the final piece with little interest. Much like the first one, it was a simple white design, only instead of two strands, there were four. Even with the simplicity of it, the jewelry still screamed flashy. It wasn’t long enough to be called a necklace, in his opinion, as it looked short enough to be more of a choker.

Anton wasn’t trying to brand his wife with a collar.

“No.
None of these.”

The
jeweler seemed struck speechless. “None?”

“They’re not to my wife’s tastes or style. She wears the jewelry, not the other way around.” With a sigh, Anton asked, “What about grey pearls?”

“Grey?”

Anton shrugged.
“Why not? If you have them, I’d like to see them.”

“I do, but they’re very …”

“Expensive? I don’t care, show me.”

Money was the least of his concerns. People usually assum
ed the more expensive the jewelry, the flashier it was. That wasn’t always the case. Sometimes the most costly pieces came in modest designs. It was about the quality, not the quantity.

As Anton said, his wife wore the jewelry, the jewelry didn’t wear her.
Viviana Avdonin didn’t need accessories to class her up, she did that all on her own.

The
jeweler wasn’t gone but five seconds before a feminine form saddled up beside Anton at the counter. Slender fingers reached down to caress the rows of pearls left resting in their precious velvet. Each digit was adorned with rings that glittered off the lighting in the shop.

One of those rings in particular, Anton recognized.

The hackles on the back of his neck raised in his disgust and anger. “Tatiana.”

“Anton.” Tatiana purred his name, leaning on the counter with one arm. The low cut dress she wore showcased her cleavage, opening further as she stretched over the counter to snag the third case of pearls, dragging them towards her.
“Funny meeting you here.”

Anton beat back his scowl. “Yes, funny.”

Tatiana Belov was the devil in a pretty package. Slender, tall, and curvaceous in all the places that mattered, she didn’t lack male attention. Her blue eyes stung like steel, her blonde hair perfectly managed in waves, and an attitude that said she’d take all or nothing. Less than two years before, after Anton rejected her, she’d attempted to burn his club to the ground. Less than one year ago, the vile woman cornered his soon-to-be wife and verbally attacked her.

Being an old lover of his, Tatiana was due her jealousies. Anton didn’t deny her that, but he had thought he made it clear as to his lack of interest or desire to have her again.
Especially now that he and Viviana were married.

“What are you doing here, Tatiana?”

“Visiting a friend,” she said vaguely. “These are beautiful.”

Anton rolled his eyes. She would think they were something, if the jewelry she wore was any indication. Beyond that, Anton knew Tatiana enjoyed the expensive things that came along with living in the mafia lifestyle. Clothes that were on the runway only weeks ago, gems the size of large marbles, and vehicles that were drool-worthy … No, the girl didn’t lack in her tastes.

Unfortunately, her father indulged her far too much. Spoiled, beautiful, and rich, Tatiana was every man’s worst nightmare. She wasn’t wife material, she spread her legs to get what she wanted, and her mean streak couldn’t be contained. Anton didn’t trust her in the least.

Speaking of which … “I have a sit down with your father later today. Is that why you’re here?”

“Do you?” Tatiana at least had the decency to look surprised. “I didn’t know. Should I call—”

“Cut the shit,” Anton interrupted coldly. “What do you want,
Tati?”

“Nothing.
I told you, I’m visiting a
friend
.”

The way she cooed the word twisted something in Anton’s gut. Instincts or nerves, whatever someone wanted to call it, he had it in the gallons. When they acted up, Anton tended to take notice.

“I told you the last time we met up that you were not to come back here, Tati.”

Tatiana tapped her manicured nail to the glass counter. “No, you told me to stay out of your territory. I’ve not been in Brighton Beach since. You don’t own Brooklyn as a whole, Anton.”

Fuck, he hated that was true.

“Why do I doubt this is just a random meeting?”

“Well, it is,” Tatiana said, unbothered. “I noticed your car outside when I was leaving a shop across the street and came to say hello. Surely we can be friends, can’t we?”

No
, Anton thought.

Before he could respond, the jeweler was making his way towards them from the back of the shop. Only one case rested in his hands. The man didn’t even acknowledge the girl now standing at his counter, as he seemed wholly focused on the velvet he held so carefully.

“Mr. Avdonin, these may be just what you’re looking for. Three strands, grey pearls ranging from small to large going from the top of the strand to the bottom with a diamond studded clasp at the back. They stay in my vault, as they were purchased for a specific customer who changed his mind last minute. They are much too expensive to be out here with the others. I only bring them out on request. Please do not touch unless wearing gloves.”

Anton liked this man. He was straightforward and blunt. There was something to be said for those qualities.

“The price?” Anton asked.

The pearls were laid to the glass in their case, and Anton knew instantly they were the ones.

“Eight,” the jeweler answered.

“Thousand?” Tatiana asked.

The man across the counter snorted, causing Anton to smirk. “No, my dear. Eight-hundred thousand. Imported, specially designed, and meant for the proper woman.”

With those words, the jeweler tossed Tatiana a baleful look. She was not the kind of woman he would expect to see toting pearls of
these calibre. She couldn’t hold the weight of them, so to speak.

“These will fit Viviana just fine, don’t you think, Tatiana?” Anton asked, stating her name for the benefit of the jeweler.

Tatiana didn’t bother to hide her glower. “Perfect, I’m sure.”

Satisfied, Anton turned back to the counter. “My wife will be pleased, thank you. Ready them for me.”

Again, the man seemed thunderstruck. “Just like that?”

“I like them. I think it’s an appropriate gift for my wife for the birth of our child.
Why not?”

At the word birth, Tatiana took an entire step back. The expression she sported could only be described as slapped. “Pregnant?”

“Mmhmm,” Anton hummed, turning on his heel to face her. “Very pregnant, actually. We’re having a little boy.”

Tatiana swallowed a gulp of nothing. “Congratulations are in order, then.”

Were they? The last thing this female seemed like she wanted to do was congratulate him or Viviana. Even so, Anton sincerely hoped whatever fancy Tatiana might have previously held for him disappeared with the knowledge that his wife was carrying his child, and he had no interest in her, now.

“I should go,” Tatiana said softy, her brow furrowing. “My friend …”

Anton waved her off. “Sure. I do have a meeting to get to, after all.”

“Tell Viviana I said hello, Anton.”

Absolutely not.

*

“Vine?”

When Anton’s wife didn’t immediately answer his yell, he knew where he’d find her.

Wife
.

Goddamn, he loved calling her that.

Anton quickly made his way to the back of the house. Passing the maid’s room, he noticed Clarissa wasn’t in her usual spot reading. The house didn’t smell like food, either. That was the most unusual.

Viviana attended school three days a week, but they didn’t miss an evening meal together. While Clarissa did most of the cooking in their home, his wife nearly always had her hands in the pot when it came to supper.

“Viviana?” Anton called out her name again when he came up to the sliding glass doors. The main door was opened, but the screen was shut tight. “You out there, baby?”

Sure enough, as he pushed open the door he found everyone lounging in the backyard. Clarissa, perched up on one of the benches, had a book in her hands. Rocco slept on his plush pillow. Viviana, the one Anton searched for first, was out in the middle of the backyard soaking up sunshine on a blanket.

Anton grinned at the sight. It was unusually warm for late April. A muggy heat was sweeping New York. Viviana, nearly seven months pregnant, couldn’t stand the weather half of the time and then the other half she downright loved it. He couldn’t keep up with his pregnant wife’s moods. Not that he complained. There was no way in hell Anton would ever be able to understand the changes her body was going through for his child.

But he adored every fucking minute of it.

“Hey, baby.”

Viviana’s head turned to the side at his quiet greeting, her dark hair spilling to green grass as she smiled. “Hey.”

The cellphone in his pocket buzzed with a gentle tune. Anton ignored it. Like hell was he about to take calls for the Bratva. Give him an hour with his wife. That was all he asked of his guys. Unfortunately, his job as a mafia boss never really ended. There was always some issue or opinion needing immediate attention. When the phone buzzed with its call again, Anton slipped his hand inside his slacks and silenced the offending device.

Nothing on earth was more important than the brown-eyed beauty resting on the lawn with her hand perched at the top of her rounded stomach. Viviana was life to Anton. She breathed it into him every moment of the day. Somehow, she managed to remind him that despite his occupation, he could still be him.

“How did the sit down go?” Viviana asked.

She attempted to prop herself up, struggling in the cutest way. Anton quickly crossed the porch and then the back lawn to help her. Standing upright, she offered him a sheepish smile.

Anton wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his lips to her forehead. “It didn’t happen.”

“No?”

“Nope,” he replied with a shrug. “Clearly Sergei still hasn’t forgiven me for breaking his face, not that I give a fuck.”

Sergei
Belov was a man, much like Anton, who ran his Bratva in his territory of New Jersey. Seven or so months earlier, the two men ended up in a disagreement of sorts when the Jersey boss slandered Viviana and Anton retaliated physically. It was only recently that they had attempted making peace again. Unfortunately, Sergei’s tactic of setting up the sit down and then not following through was as good as a shunning to Anton. It was, for all purposes, a signed death warrant.

“What’s going to happen now?” Viviana asked.

Anton decided to evade the question. He wasn’t entirely sure how he wanted to handle the situation with Sergei. And he certainly didn’t want to bring up Tatiana’s unexpected, unwanted presence and concern his wife.

“How was your day?”

“Long.” Viviana frowned unhappily. “The air conditioner in the lecture hall was broken all morning. I managed to forget where the bathroom was in the third wing and nearly peed myself. Your son thinks my bladder is his personal soccer ball.”

“He doesn’t mean it.”

Seemingly at the sound of his father’s voice, the baby boy pressed some appendage against the heel of Anton’s palm. By rolling his thumb over the spot, the baby finally relaxed inside his mother’s womb. Viviana huffed a breath of relief. Every time he kicked or stretched that hard, she swore the child was trying to put her into early labor.

“Yeah, Papa’s home, little man,” Anton said, smiling.

“Still going with Papa, huh?”

“It’s what I called my father, and what he called
Nicoli. Call me whatever you want to him, but he’s going to know me as Papa, Vine. Mark my words.”