Her Ruthless Russian (Karev Brothers Book 1) Read online

It wasn't a comeback worthy of a punch, but Vlad wasn't feeling especially judicious. He flew at Dmitry, and his brother took a step out from behind his desk to meet him. Vlad's fist cracked against the hardback cover of the book Dmitry had been pouring over, rebounding off the improvised shield. He barely registered the pain in his knuckles. He drew his fist back and gave it a shake, and Dmitry dropped the book.

  His brother was on him the next instant, and Vlad's blood sang as he found himself thrown violently back against the shelves, a shower of rare volumes raining down around him. This was the Dmitry he remembered growing up with, the one who wouldn't hesitate to put the youngest Karev in place should he step out of line. He just hoped his brother was prepared to redecorate in red.

  "Boys!" a familiar voice thundered from the front of the store.

  The two brothers froze and blinked at one another. Their response to the voice was instinctive, and they halted their fight immediately, although Dmitry still had his fist clenched over Vlad's shirt collar. Vlad raised his hands in reluctant ceasefire, and they broke apart as Igor Ivankov strode into the bookstore.

  "Uncle," Dmitry said in surprise. He took a step back from Vlad and released him. Vlad bent to retrieve the brutalized book as their uncle joined them.

  Igor Ivankov was a sharply-dressed man in his middle age, brown-haired and brown-eyed, unremarkable in appearance save for an eclectic collection of pocket squares he rotated out every day. He was the more relatable, more reserved foil to their recently deceased father, although that didn't make the man himself any less dangerous; if anything, Vlad admired his uncle's easy, understated approach. He was the last of the family that Vlad felt true kinship to.

  "Dmitry!" Igor raised his broad, scarred hands in approval of his nephew, championing the name as it was meant to be said—colored by a thick Russian accent. "Please, boys, let us hold off on the fighting. This family has been through enough already. Your father would be ashamed to see the two of you reduced to this."

  Vlad observed the flush of shame creep across his older brother's face. Unlike Dmitry, Vlad had no qualms with making their quarrels physical, but he let his brother feel responsible for the escalation all the same. He handed Dmitry the book he had recovered, and his brother nodded in thanks, before returning to stand behind his desk.

  "Vlad," Igor greeted him with a tone of respect shared between professionals. Vlad returned his uncle's nod. "I am surprised to find you here."

  "You caught me on my way out, Uncle. I was just leaving."

  "He has a date tonight," Dmitry volunteered.

  Vlad silently cursed his brother. It was either deny the other's claim and prove Dmitry right, or risk coming across as distracted to his uncle. "I am following a lead," he said, darting a cold look toward his brother. "I suspect I might hear something new over dinner. I'll report back with what I learn if I think it will serve the investigation."

  He fingered the note to Sergey hidden in his pocket. He had yet to divulge its existence to anyone, and he wondered if he should now. No… better to track the note from O’Connor to its source, or at least as close to the source as he could get.

  He watched his uncle's quizzical expression fold into one of sympathy. There it was, the familial feeling that came so much more easily to him than it ever had to Sergey. Vlad wasn't sure he welcomed its appearance now. He was not the malchik, the boy that his uncle still referred to in the heat of a moment.

  "You should go on this date," Igor instructed. He lifted his hands again, this time in acknowledgement of the man Vlad had become. "Go have fun! Have drinks and have women if you must!"

  "My father is dead," Vlad said. "I'll not rest easy until I know why."

  "Believe me, Vladimir, I have not forgotten." Igor's face darkened like a summer storm, and Vlad felt some reassurance in seeing the man's enduring feelings about his brother's murder appear out in the open. "But I need you to stay focused. Now, more than ever. There is only one Karev left in the Bratva." Vlad didn't need to look to Dmitry in that moment to know his brother's discomfort, but facts were facts. Of the three brothers, he was the only one who still remained in the family business. "I need you to focus on your obligations. Should a beautiful woman divert you on occasion… eh." Igor shrugged his shoulders. "But something like murder? No. I would prefer that you leave the investigation to me." Igor's eyes hardened. "These things take time. For justice to be served, my associates and I need more time."

  "It's taken too much time already." Vlad didn't care if he came across as disrespectful. He’d had about as much of his fractured family as he could take for one day. They had been much reduced since Maxim's defection, and even more so since Sergey’s death. He appreciated that his uncle was doing everything within his power to see that revenge for the family was served, but Vlad was impatient to find and personally deal with his father's executioner.

  "Trust me, Vladimir," Igor continued as he settled a hand on Vlad's shoulder. "You and I both want the same things."

  An image of Madison O’Connor flashed unbidden across Vlad's mind's eye an image he was quick to suppress. He would see her again in only a few hours' time.

  And then, he was certain, he would get exactly what he wanted.

  Madison O’Connor met Vlad at Mari Vanna exactly on time, drawing much more than Vlad's attention when she entered. She strolled through the front door with confidence and purpose, even though he had the impression that morning that she had never been there before. She spotted him almost instantly and bypassed the hostess, allowing her long, shapely legs to carry her in measured strides across the room toward him.

  He was standing before he knew what he was doing. His nostrils flared derisively at his own eagerness, but he didn't budge an inch to correct the instinct. He felt certain that it was a gentleman, and not the mafioso, who stood a chance of extracting information from Madison O’Connor.

  She looked taken aback by his physical appearance, and he tried to suppress some of the same feelings as they threatened to overcome him. If he greeted her like a queen, it was the least she deserved. She was a vision in red, her luxurious long hair styled in pin curls that draped her bare—and yes, freckled—shoulders; her candy apple-red dress sheathed her body as well as if she had been sewn into it. It may as well have been the long lost Grand Duchess Anastasia gliding into Mari Vanna for all the reaction she was getting. Vlad doubted it was his patriotic feelings that made his cock twitch at the sight of her.

  There was no denying she looked beautiful, but there was also one glaring problem.

  "Where is the dress I sent over?" Vlad inquired. It did not occur to him that those were the first words exchanged between them since that morning, and what passed for his greeting. "Don't tell me it wasn't to your liking?"

  "I… didn't have time to stop by the gallery," Madison said hastily.

  Vlad carried himself around the table in one smooth movement, drawing the woman's chair out for her. The gesture appeared to surprise her as much as seeing him in a suit had. She flushed, tipping her head down in a failed attempt to prevent him seeing, and settled herself into the offered seat.

  "You're lying." He let his faint amusement at the fact override his condemnation. Madison O’Connor's flush deepened all along her pretty freckled nose, and Vlad knew he was correct. "You're a terrible liar."

  "If you must know, it was to my liking," she confessed. "But it was very short. Extremely short.” Her blush began working its way down her neck as he watched with interest. “I didn't think they'd let me in here wearing something like that. They'd have to knock a star off, at least."

  "You did your research," Vlad noticed. He signaled a passing waiter with a vague stroke of two fingers; the waiter scurried off to place the wordless order at the bar. Vlad's family was known at Mari Vanna, and it went without saying that they were always treated well here.

  "So did you. How did you know my measurements, anyway?" Madison cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you knew just by looking at me?"

&n
bsp; "I can tell a lot just by looking at you," Vlad said, simply to watch her blush again. It was amazing the responses, the signals; the woman gave off without knowing what she was giving away. He doubted if she would last a day in his world.

  Yet here they were: two worlds on a collision course, neither willing to back down or correct their cataclysmic trajectory.

  The waiter returned with a flight of expensive vodka samples. Madison's eyes snapped to the board as it was placed before them, and Vlad felt an unexpected flare of pride at her clear approval of his choice. He had hoped to discover a different woman outside of the office, and he was not disappointed. She was like a ruby slowly baring new facets of herself for his appraisal.

  "May I call you Madison?" He surprised himself with the question.

  "You may," she acquiesced. "Shall we toast?"

  Vlad tipped a shot glass to her. "To our continuing business partnership."

  "To Sergey Karev," Madison returned.

  Something in his chest clenched at her words, a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. He wouldn't go so far as to say it was his heart that responded to her words, but it was something, an emotion he had thought long dead and buried.

  He narrowed his eyes, not to glare, but to study. He detected no trace of irony in her words, not even a veiled derision at the mention of his father. It was no secret to him that Madison O’Connor resented his family's involvement in her business; she had made it as clear as the distilled liquid placed in front of them that she thought her life was better off without members of the Bratva circling her territory like encroaching wolves.

  So why was she here with him now? Surely it wasn't to take advantage of an expensive dinner, paid for with the very money she so resented. Vlad watched her over the top of his glass, forgetting to join her as she raised the vodka to her plump, pillowy lips and swallowed it down without so much as a flinch. He imagined how the alcohol must burn that luscious mouth and the delicate throat beneath, but she never once betrayed the discomfort that had been on full display when she drank his coffee that morning. She never broke eye contact with him, either.

  Interesting. Maybe Madison O’Connor wasn't an effective liar, but she was still able to keep things hidden from the outside observer. His drink forgotten, Vlad found himself leaning across the table without thinking.

  "Vladimir!" a familiar, bell-like voice rang out across the restaurant. "They told me you were here! And you didn't even drop by the back to say hello? Naughty boy."

  Vlad eased back in his chair once more, as if to make additional room for the enormous personality now mincing toward them. Madison started slightly as a tall, gorgeous woman strode from the back of the restaurant and appeared beside their table. The blonde paused just short of pulling up a chair and seating herself down beside them. Instead, she lorded over their private meeting with one hip cocked, and an expensively-manicured hand posted up on her waist as if to accentuate what she considered to be one of her best assets.

  The woman was exotic in a European way, and it wasn't just her accent that betrayed her Russian roots. Her eyes were a twinkling blue, almond-shaped and wideset; her nose was perfectly symmetrical and economic, leaving plenty of room for her expansive high cheekbones and easy, dimpled smile.

  "Katya," Vlad acknowledged. His eyes scarcely strayed from the face of the redhead still seated across from him. Madison's dark eyes flickered between him and their intruder searchingly. It occurred to him that she might instinctively detect the history between him and the proprietress of Mari Vanna; a history decidedly less innocent than the present cool relationship on display. Katya was certainly making it appear like they were on much closer terms than they actually were, and Vlad had little doubt that Madison was the intended audience for her show.

  "You never call me!" Katya pouted lips just as large, but far less visually magnetic, than Madison’s. "You know I will get you in any night. Special. Why not your usual booth?" she demanded, sweeping her free hand toward the back of the room. "You don't feel like getting comfy this evening?"

  "My plans are wide open," Vlad replied, still looking at Madison. "To an extent."

  He wanted to make it clear that Katya did not in any way factor into his newfound willingness to improvise. The intensity of his gaze finally succeeded in drawing his date back to him, and he was rewarded with a hesitant, appreciative smile. Madison certainly dressed the part of the effortless siren, but her experience with this sort of entanglement was observably lacking. It didn't make her any less appealing to him; if anything, her indecision of whether she should feel jealous of his history with Katya only made her more charming, somehow elevating her further above the primitive, physical world he inhabited.

  Katya, he knew, had experience with many entanglements of various types. The owner of Mari Vanna cast a look between them, studying the situation with a new understanding. She appeared to be paying special attention to Vlad's face, and to the fact that he was decidedly not paying equal attention to her.

  "All drinks on me this evening," she granted them generously as she backed away in retreat. "You You need anything else; you know how to be in touch, Vladimir." Katya plucked his hand from the table in parting, threading her fingers between his and allowing them to slip away in tantalizing promise. She turned on her heel and left the two of them alone once more, her rear end working overtime to deliver her out of reach. Vlad didn't allow himself to look and was surprised that his abstinence didn't even require that much effort.

  "Who was that?" Madison inquired when they were alone once more. She reached toward the sampler between them, before clearly thinking better of it. She then allowed herself to overreach instead, lifting his untasted shot and acquiring it as her own. Vlad supposed it was the revenge she deserved.

  "The owner," he replied seamlessly, knowing full well that he withheld the information she ultimately wanted.

  "What does she own?" Madison asked offhand. She broke off from her questioning to tip back her second shot with equal ease to the first.

  Vlad smiled at the question in spite of himself. "Less than she thinks," he replied.

  "You know, I've already given you a hard time for being Russian," Madison mentioned, thankfully segueing into another subject. "But you haven't remarked at all on my Irish ancestry. That takes a lot of self-control, let me assure you." She lifted another glass from where it nested in the flight, letting it dangle casually between her fingers. In contrast to Katya, Madison's nails were real, shorter, certainly, but he had no doubt that they could leave their mark on a man. Just imagining them clawing desperately along the bunched muscles of his back made him stiffen once more beneath the table.

  "Usually dates think they're being really clever when they comment on my lineage," Madison continued. "I'm not used to waiting. So come on, I can take it."

  "I have no doubt that you can take many things," Vlad returned as he finally helped himself to his first drink.

  Madison laughed but her blush made it evident it was for show. She shifted in her chair, clearly at the mercy of whatever mental image his comment had inspired. Vlad would have given anything in that moment to know what she was thinking; he would have given more to make it a reality.

  Deciding to take pity on her, at least for now, "Let's just say I was referring to your business savvy," he volunteered. "Clearly you are as much a professional used to getting what you want as I am. On the subject of lineage, I would like to know more about your family."

  Your father, specifically.

  But he couldn't say as much, not without betraying the note relegated to a secret pocket on the inside of his dinner jacket, nestled between his heart and the Makarov pistol he always carried on him.

  Madison shook her head, red curls bouncing around her beautiful face. "You know enough already," she said. "We O’Connors may have what you call business savvy, but I sincerely doubt we have enough of it to last against a family like yours."

  "You make the mistake of thinking we're at odds," Vlad
observed, "despite what is obviously a mutually beneficial partnership. The O’Connor Fine Arts Gallery doesn't survive on the collective dreams of its artists and art benefactors. Not even on the ambitions of a beautiful woman such as yourself."

  Madison gave a delighted little laugh at this. "If you think I'm ambitious when it comes to the art we showcase, you're both right and wrong, Mr. Karev."

  "Vlad," he said.

  "Vlad," she repeated. Gazing into her eyes, he had an idea that the familiarity would stick this time.

  "The fact remains, Vlad, that I'm not comfortable with your family's involvement in the… I'm not comfortable with your family's chosen business," she corrected herself quickly.

  "You have nothing to fear from saying the words out loud, Madison. The patrons of Mari Vanna are all too familiar with who I am and what I do for a living."

  "That's probably true," Madison admitted, "but I still find it hard to discuss. Maybe if you told me a little more about yourself…about your family, I would start to feel a little more comfortable with all this."

  She had just deflected his probe with an identical one of her own. Vlad helped himself to another shot before sitting back in his chair, fingering his lower lip, relishing the sting that lingered there. He considered her in silence. Beneath the heat of his gaze, Madison began to react to him once more; she dropped her thickly-lashed eyes after a moment and preoccupied herself with straightening her utensils.

  Dinner was served to them without an official order being placed. Madison assessed the plate curiously as it was placed in front of her. An appetite looked good on her. It made Vlad wonder what other appetites she might be harboring.

  "Shashlik," he said, introducing the steaming dish, unleashing his Russian accent in a sensuous growl. Madison shifted in her chair again, leading him to believe that parts of her besides her ears were receptive to the foreignness of the language. "Like a kebab."

  "I can see that."

  They tucked into their meal, finishing the flight between breaks in conversation. Despite attempts on both sides of the table, nothing of further substance was revealed by the end of dinner. Not to say that Vlad didn't enjoy the verbal sparring. In fact, he was afraid he was starting to enjoy Madison O’Connor's company a little too much.