Page 5 of Bratva Wolf

A voice calls to me, and I see our neighbor, Mrs. Abashin, waving. I shift my direction and walk to her porch. Her hair is white like snow, though she’s probably not seventy yet. She’s been a widow for decades, having moved here after her husbanddied. Young men stop by every once in a while, and she calls them grandsons, but she doesn’t have any children of her own. It’s always made me curious. I kiss her cheeks as an old Russian greeting, something she insisted when I first met her. “Good evening.”

“When you get done with dinner, swing over and grab two pieces of pie. I made two apple pies. One for my pseudo-grandson and the other for us women to eat.”

I smile. “That was very kind. Thank you.” I glance around her porch. It’s been recently painted and the windows look like they’re new. I point. “New windows?”

She grins. “My grandson.”

“That’s great. If he’s got the time, he can do ours next.” I step off the porch and walk next door. Entering our home, my nose flares at the smell of Solyanka, my favorite stew. “You should be resting.”

My grandmother stands at the stove with her back to me, waving the wooden spoon as some kind of answer to my comment. “Shh.”

I roll my eyes. My grandmother raised me after the death of my parents two decades ago. I don’t remember them as I was only a baby when they died. “The doctor said you needed to stay off your feet.”

“Standing in the kitchen isn’t running up and down stairs or doing a marathon.”

I set the two bags of groceries on the counter and kiss her cheek. The aroma from the pot makes my stomach rumble.

She giggles. “You’re hungry.”

“I am. I didn’t eat before my shift at the hospital and that was nine hours ago. Who wouldn’t be hungry smelling that divine dish?” I kiss her cheek. “Mrs. Abashin has pie for later.”

“Bless her.” She shoos me out of the kitchen. “Go wash up. Lord knows what industrial bugs you came into contact with on your shift.”

I place my bag on the bench by the door, reminding myself of Thane the night before. My core warms remembering being tied to his bed while he took me to highs I could never have imagined. It’s amazing that a month ago I was sexually inexperienced, only having had sex twice, and now I feel like a real slut. A happy slut. Walking out of the bathroom, the calendar catches my attention. I have to sign up for two more classes for spring. I sigh. At this rate it’ll take me two more years to finish my nursing degree.

THANE

Arriving at my brother’s penthouse, I take a deep breath as I walk into the foyer. He had stuff to do, so he pushed me off until today. I glance around his foyer. His decorator learned her craft in prison design. The condo is all grays, blacks, and white. Cold and sterile, rather than my father’s ornate and plush style. The breath-taking view of the Manhattan skyline out the living room floor to ceiling windows captures my attention. “Shit. I forgot that view.”

A dark-haired woman strolls into the foyer and crosses her arms. Mrs. Belova has been my brother’s housekeeper since he moved into his own place. “Good evening, Mr. Bravikov.”

She has never liked me, and I have no idea why. I nod. “Is my brother around?”

Her head flicks to the plain white steel door at the end of the hall. “He’s here.”

The door opens as though she spoke a spell, and my brother’s voice comes over the intercom. “Get back here, Thane.”

I walk down the hall and through the first steel door. The next door opens, and I find my brother running on the treadmill. “Papa sent me.”

“Yeah. He called. He mentioned something about Aguilar.”

“He was at Biggie T’s. He’s got some scheme.”

My brother slows the machine and steps off. “He’s always got some new venture.” He walks into his office and throws an envelope at me. “You need to go see Mrs. Abashin.”

“I haven’t seen her in years. Why am I going to see her?” She’s the wife of my father’s mentor. The man that taught him everything before he disgraced himself and his bratva helping out an enemy.

My brother flicks his head at the envelope in my hand. “She had some trouble with some people trying to rip her off or something she saw. I don’t know what’s going on. Roric took care of her house, but I need you to make sure she’s fine and those people are taken care of.”

I rip open the envelope and stare at photos of three men I don’t recognize. “Who are they?”

Cynric sighs. “Fingers is trying to figure that out.”

Fingers is my father’s hacker. A god on the computer. I flick the envelope in the air. “I’ll head over there.”

“Great. When you get back, I have a job for you.”

“What?”

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