Tarnished Reign: A Dark Bratva Romance, page 1
TARNISHED REIGN
BRATVA BORN DUET
BOOK 1
SR JONES
CONTENTS
1. Dimitri
2. Dimitri
3. Dimitri
4. Adriana
5. Adriana
6. Dimitri
7. Adriana
8. Dimitri
9. Adriana
10. Dimitri
11. Dimitri
12. Adriana
13. Dimitri
14. Adriana
15. Dimitri
16. Adriana
17. Dimitri
18. Adriana
19. Dimitri
20. Adriana
21. Dimitri
22. Adriana
Copyright Skye Jones writing as SR Jones – 2024
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to people real or imagined is entirely coincidental.
This work contains adult themes and is only suitable for people aged eighteen and over.
The series does contain dark themes, and therefore warnings apply.
For a full list of content warnings please visit my website.
Cover Design, Interior Formatting, and Editing by Silla Webb, Masque of the Red Pen
Thank you to everyone who reads this.
Dedicated to all the dark romance girlies who liked the beast better than the prince.
You rock!
1
DIMITRI
The light dances off the crystalware in the cabinet. I glance disinterestedly at the patterns it throws around the room. A few dust motes drift through the air. I tap my foot against the parquet flooring. It shines more than the crystal. The scent of cleaner hangs faintly in the air, lemon mixed with wood. The blood stain on my shirt and my busted knuckles seems like an offense against this beautiful interior. I pull my jacket closed.
The windows leading out to the balcony are slightly ajar and a breeze flutters the long, gauze curtains. The sounds of the city float into the room, faint, as if we’re miles away from the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, not right in amongst it.
The murmur of voices and tap of footsteps approaching has me straightening my spine and facing the door, hands on the back of a chair. It opens and ten men file in. The majority are guards working to protect the family, but two of them, Alexis and Yuri, are my right-hand men. The privileged priests who don’t need my confession because they’re right there, sinning with me.
We do a lot of sinning against those who would harm us.
I might be the heir to my stepfather, the Pakhan’s throne, but I’m also his Pitbull. His enforcer. The one tasked with making shit right. Jacob Yudenko has asked one thing of me today. Bring his brigadier’s daughter, Mila, home.
I’ll bring her back unharmed, or I’ve failed.
I won’t fail. My stepfather needs me, and I will do as he asks.
My eyes drift again to the cabinet as the men take their places in the room. Some of my military medals are displayed there. Ironic that I’ve become something that decries the oath I took. An enforcer for the Bratva. A darker, angrier, and more dangerous version of the man who received those medals.
I try to tell myself I had no choice. I was too badly injured to serve again after some kid blew himself and half my team to smithereens. I was far too fucked up afterward to fit into civilian life So here I am.
All I want is some internal peace. A break from the ringing in my ears and the screaming in my soul.
Looks like I won’t be getting it just yet.
The men don’t speak but they all look to me, expectant, waiting. Some are young, most are in their thirties and forties. All of them are hardened.
One sits, crosses his ankle over his other leg and lights a cigarette. I shake my head, and he immediately puts it out. Mamma hates the smell of cigarette smoke in the house, and we only smoke cigars when we’re in certain rooms, and never in her beloved dining room.
A maid enters the room and leaves a tray on the table bearing glasses and two large jugs of iced water.
“Thank you, Mel.”
She gives a dip of her head and scurries from the room.
I pour some of the water, take a sip and focus my thoughts, trying to ignore any ringing and whooshing in my ears.
A blast injury will do that to you. Who knew it wouldn’t be the shrapnel, or the mangled leg that would haunt me for life, but the damage caused to my ears by the overpressure of the explosion.
Not that my leg is entirely pain free.
I shift my weight from one leg to the other, more aware of it now that I’ve zoned in on it.
Shaking my head, focusing myself in the here and now, I turn to face the men.
They watch me, faces expectant, waiting to hear the plan. And oh, do I have plans for the men on the yacht, who are holding our brigadier’s daughter. Fucking idiots, taking her, and keeping her on a yacht. It will be so easy for us to board and take them out, compared to if they had her somewhere more defensible.
“This is how it is going down.” Every eye in the room is on me. As I meet the men’s gazes in return, some look down, studying their shoes. Others hold my gaze, a few confidently, some anxiously. “As you all know, a few years ago we faced a similar situation. My sister Nataliya was taken.”
“Motherfuckers,” Riley mutters.
He came with us to extract Nataliya, so he knows what a terrified state we found her in. “Motherfuckers, indeed,” I say. “We got her back unharmed. It was an extraction mission, not a revenge mission. We killed every single person in the warehouse where she was being held, but only secondary to saving her. This is going to go down the same way. We save Mila at all costs, that is our primary goal. After we have her safe though, then we can make sure we send a fucking message.”
“Who are the people who have Mila?” a younger man asks. “Is it the same group?”
“Not exactly. That group broke apart, but it is apparent that some of them remained active, under the radar, and it seems like these fuckers might have some of the same DNA as that earlier collective. They’re what started out as a mix of Albanian, Turkish, and some Greek, street level gang. They’re not at the streel level now. They traffic people, and you need connections for that, so they must be plugged in, but with who? We don’t know. Yet.”
“So, are they dangerous?” The same kid asks.
I stare at him, pissed with his stupid question. His gaze lowers and he shuffles his feet. I guess that’s what I get when my reputation as a crazy fucker precedes me. People don’t like to challenge me.
“Yes, they are fucking dangerous, but they’re also stupid, as evidenced by the fact they kidnapped Mila and are holding her on a boat, in the goddamn bay, like sitting ducks.” I look at each face in turn, taking my time. “Anyone who is scared, leave the room right now. I don’t mean the normal trepidation and anxiety we all feel before something like this. That’s natural and good. But anyone who is scared of these guys, please fuck off. I don’t want you on this.”
I stare at them, but no one moves.
“Good. We get on the yacht here.” I point to the floorplan of the yacht, which is taking up much of the dining table surface. “Except for four of you, who will board here, distracting Dorian’s men.” I point to a ladder leading to the main deck.
“The decoy boat will do a close run on the other side of the yacht to distract them while we approach from here.” I tap the far side of the vessel.
“We will be in a dinghy, silent, small, and no engine,” says Alexis.
“You can all swim, right?” I check.
They all nod.
“Once on board, any male in your direct line of fire is a target. Fire at them, but keep it controlled. Keep Dorian alive if possible because I’d really like some alone time with that fucker.” He is the piece of shit leader of the gang who took Mila. “We need Mila found first and foremost. Never forget, this is an extraction operation. Any revenge comes second to that. We bring Mila back alive. She’s one of our own.”
There is a murmur of agreement, which ripples around the room. These men aren’t soldiers. They aren’t trained in the same precise way I was in the Marines, but they are trained. My stepfather, Jacob, runs a tight ship as the Pakhan. He has strict rules. Hence, we don’t have beef with the local cops, and we don’t generally run into trouble with other groups. This is only the second time someone has come for us, and I am determined to make every one of them pay—but only after we have Mila safe.
After I got my stepsister to safety the last time someone dared to mess with us, Jacob asked me to be his enforcer.
I was unsure at first, scared that the angry beast inside me that had been channeled into a controlled machine by the military would become something dangerous without that structure. I needn’t have worried. The beast finally has an outlet now, and I get the pleasure of knowing the only people I hurt are scum, or enemies of my family.
In this raid, the men we will kill are not the priority, they are collateral. Unimportant meat sacks who we will execute for daring to cross us. Few will mourn the passing of people traffickers.
The men are talking amongst themselves. I glance at the sideboard. A picture of Mila, taken two years or so ago, beams out at me. She might not be a blood relative of Jacob’s but she’s family, nonetheless. Which means, she’s my family, too. You never abandon family. Not for anything. My first stepfather, Anton, taught me that lesson at a young age in Italy when he abandoned his vows to my mother.
Then I discovered my own father, the man I’d hero worshipped the idea of had also abandoned us, and worse. Jacob never has. He stepped up and I owe my adoptive father everything. Including this opulent life in California.
“So you think there are some fuckers in this gang who were in the original group who took Nataliya?” Riley sidles up to me, speaking low, so the others can’t here. He came with me on the previous extraction, and he is a good man to have on side.
“It looks like there might be a few who were in that gang.”
“Should have taken every single one of them out. Hunted them down like rats until none were left alive in our city.” He grinds his molars.
He’s not wrong. San Francisco is our city, and I do believe Jacob was too lenient not killing every single person even loosely affiliated with the gang who took Nataliya. At the time, he thought that by getting her back, and killing everyone directly involved in taking her, painfully in many cases; a strong enough warning had been sent.
He made a mistake when he didn’t cleanse the entire city of the trash.
Now, here we are again, another woman of ours targeted.
“Boss, what do we do about the other women, the ones on the yacht with the men? There are rumors we’re supposed to take them.” The kid asking is young, dumb, and full of cum as the saying goes. He is a damn good shot though and has a nice propensity for violence that can be useful.
There’s an edge of hopefulness to his voice. I sigh.
This is where Jacob has gone off script. He’s so angry at what has been done that he’s letting his rage cloud his judgement. He’s demanded we free Mila, and let the trafficked and kidnapped women go, but he wants us to keep a couple of the girls on the yacht, and use them to make a statement.
It’s a very shitty plan and I’ve tried to talk him out of it.
He insists we take the yacht, raid and take their homes, and take some of the leaders’ women. Then use it all for show to say don’t fuck with us.
It’s a plan. Except … I’m not going to screw some cast-off girlfriend of a drug runner.
I am most certainly not going to be posting #yachtlife pictures on Instagram.
I suppose we could hold a party on the yacht, and get our contacts to do the catering, invite a few of the city’s underground elites, along with a sprinkling of the lowlife street bangers, and let them spread the word about what we’ve done. A girl or two of Dorian’s on my knee for the duration would be enough. We’d have the yacht, after all. The victors amongst their spoils.
It would be whispered amongst the criminal groups, don’t mess with the California Bratva or they’ll murder you, take your houses and yachts, and keep your women.
“No one takes any of the women, except for Alexis and me, and that’s for show only.” I trust Alexis not to touch any of the girls. The line in the sand for me is sexual assault. I’ll do almost anything for my stepfather, but I won’t do that. “The rest of you can take your mind out of the gutter and off the pussy, because you only have one job. Rescue Mila, and as for the other girls, make sure they are safe. The word is many of them are trafficked, so we let them go. There’s a local charity which works with trafficked women and they’re ready for them once we have them freed. Intel says there are around five trafficked women on board.”
“There are some working girls, too. Make sure they get back to land safely,” Alexis says. “No fucking asking for freebies. If I find out any of you have, I’ll cut your balls off.”
“There are supposedly three girlfriends who belong to the leaders. The intel is shaky, but we can see when we are there.” I tap my finger on the table. “Alexis and myself will be keeping them onboard for a while. Making that statement to let others know if you come for what is ours, we will take what is yours and end you in the process.”
“Making a statement with your dicks,” Young, Dumb, and Full of Cum shouts, with a thrust of his hips as he winks at Alexis.
I stroll over to him. His laughter drips from his face as I approach. My slap is hard enough to make his head snap back.
Grabbing his chin between my fingers, I bring his face close to mine, his cheeks squeezed into a hollow. “Did you not just hear me talk about what happened to Nataliya a couple of years back? When she was taken by a rival group?”
He nods, his eyes wide.
“Well, when those men took my sister, my fear was always dudes like you.”
I shake my head. “Stupid. Young. Full of false bravado.” I squeeze tighter and a whimper of pain escapes his lips. “Those women on that yacht are someone’s daughters. No one is going to be defiling them. We let them go, and the ones we do keep are only there for show. To do as Jacob asks. We make a point, and after a few weeks we let them go. If I find out anyone here has touched those women, I’ll personally cut their dicks off and Alexis has already said he’s having your balls, so unless you want to make like a Ken doll, shut the fuck up.” I squeeze again before pushing his head back and looking at the other men in the room. “Understood?”
I let my stare sweep slowly around the room. Heads dip and the men who do hold my gaze lick their lips or swallow hard.
“This is serious and if anyone in this room has the mental age of a fifteen-year-old, you need to leave the fuck now.”
The men nod, moving in tandem, a sea of bobbing faces.
Discipline is everything, as I learned in the military. This whole shitshow started because Virgil, Mila’s father, and our senior brigadier, had to hire in temporary security after his guards got food poisoning and the hires were useless and unfocused.
I can’t abide a lack of focus, which reminds me.
“Alexis, open the box.” I point to the floor where the heavy, dark container is resting.
Alexis brings it forward and hauls it onto the table. He glances at me as if to say, are you sure about this? I narrow my eyes and he sighs, but flicks open the two locks on either side.
The lid is pulled back and the men peer inside. Some of them look away, covering their mouths. Others stare, their eyes widening. One retches and swallows hard.
Two pairs of hands sit inside the box, resplendent upon their final velvet resting place.
“Holy fuck,” Seb mutters. He’s one of our best foot soldiers, and he’s used to seeing bad shit but his face has turned a sickly yellow.
“These are the hands of the two men who were guarding Mila.” I gesture at the container. “They fucked up. They let her be taken. They were watching porn in the guard room at the brigadier’s house instead of watching Mila and her mother. It meant they missed the men who took her before it was too late. They were unfocused. Uncaring. They lacked discipline and you can’t be part of this organization and act that way.”
“Still, boss. Fuck me.” Seb has turned paler than the linen tablecloth.
“I can’t abide incompetence,” I say. “You’re all highly trained. Jacob and myself have put fucking hours of our lives into training you, and we’ve paid good money to have you sent away to learn shooting, tracking, and other skills. We’ve invested in you. We pay you extremely well. We expect that investment to be repaid with the basic competence we demand. Let us down, and we won’t be sending you a 1099”
“Are they dead?” Young, Dumb, and Full of Cum asks.
Alexis lets out a soft, mirthless laugh. “Yes, but not until they had suffered for many hours before Dimitri put them out of their misery with a bullet to the head.”
“Jesus fuck.” Seb bends over and sucks in some air.
“None of you need worry if you do your jobs. We don’t do this to anyone who makes a genuine mistake. However, steal from us, disregard orders, jack off to fucking porn when you’re guarding a very important asset … and we will punish you in a manner we see fit.”
They all nod. Alexis was worried doing this to Mila’s guards would be going too far. That instead of instilling healthy fear and compliance in the men it might provoke a revolution of sorts in the ranks. I was willing to take the risk because discipline was getting a little too slack for my liking.
Judging from the looks on the faces around me, it seems my somewhat extreme form of on-the-job punishment may have worked.
