Pakhan's Salvation (Pakhan Duet Book 2) Read online

  PAKHAN'S SALVATION

  PAKHAN BOOK TWO

  V.F. MASON

  Copyright © 2017 by V.F. MASON

  All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Photographer: Lindee Robinson

  Formatting and Design: L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover Models: Andrew Kruczynski and Julianne Gentile

  To the power of hope.

  Still.

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Related Titles

  Contact Me

  My love… you are gone and life is not the same without you. Days, nights, they’ve all turned into one long nightmare that has no end. I used to believe I lived in hell on earth, and in a way, I did. But the pain I experienced during my years of captivity can never equal that which aches inside my heart so fiercely that sometimes I struggle to breathe.

  Memories of you surround me everywhere I go or look. The pillow still holds your smell, although I can no longer bury my nose in it and pretend you lie next to me. I tried sprinkling your perfume on it, but it isn't the same.

  Nothing is the same without you.

  Every day I have to make choices that send me deeper and deeper into a spiral of darkness from which there is no exit. My soul, tarnished to begin with, is shredded and nothing can bring it back together.

  Last night, I destroyed all your clothes and all the paintings that remind me of you… not because I want to forget you, my love… but because I cannot stand having them instead of you.

  I write this letter now, sitting in my office while another name popped up on my screen. Yes, I know you wouldn't want me to follow the path of revenge. But it’s the only path I know.

  I truly believed I could live without happiness. I didn't need it, but as the saying goes, you don’t cry over something you never had.

  But I did.

  I had your love, and he took it away from me.

  Forgive me for writing this to you, for expressing all my emotions and exposing my black heart. But these letters, the ability to talk with you as you are probably watching me from Heaven with a disapproving look, is the only thing that keeps me sane enough to function.

  Sometimes I wish we hadn't met, because then I wouldn't have to learn to live in this world where you no longer exist. And yes, it feels almost like cheating, because you were the best part of my world.

  My heart and body forever belong to you, Rosa. No woman will ever have what you did. The only regret I have? Not telling you how much I love you. Not whisking you away sooner so we could have more time. And not having your baby… maybe if I had a little bundle to take care of that reminded me you, I wouldn't slip into the oblivion of craziness.

  But as I learned a long time ago, happiness is a privilege not everyone has.

  I love you, krasavica.

  I will always love you.

  How could I not? My heart is forever buried with you.

  Yours,

  Dominic

  Closing my eyes, I arched my back to give him better access to my neck as he nipped on the skin, leaving a burning, unfamiliar sensation all over me. My hands desperately tried to bring him closer, even though he already had me squashed between the door and his chest. His erection pressed into my core, and I whimpered in need, craving him deep inside me, although it was so wrong.

  So, so wrong.

  Lacing my hands through his hair, I tugged so he would lift his head and give me his expressive amber eyes that held so many secrets and a desire I could drown in. “What are you doing to me?”

  Without answering, he captured my lips, demanding entrance. With a moan, I allowed it, his tongue seeking mine as we collided in a kiss so passionate and possessive my lungs hurt from lack of oxygen.

  My hands trailed lower to his chest, where I felt the rapid beating of his heart. My fingers unbuttoned his shirt slowly, while he wrapped my legs around his waist, hiking my pink dress in the process so nothing separated us but my lacy underwear and his dress pants. He pushed forward, right against my clit, and I gasped into his mouth. My head fell back against the door, and I breathed in much needed air while he ripped my panties and unzipped his pants.

  Biting my neck harshly, he murmured, “Mine.”

  Not wanting to speak, because what we were doing was unacceptable on so many levels, I kissed him again as he entered me in one smooth move. I cried out as euphoric feelings spread through me. Thrusting to the hilt, he latched onto my nipple, sucking it harshly through the thin material of my dress while I hugged him closer, closer, as freaking close as I could.

  “Dominic.” My raspy whisper stopped his movement as he tugged on my earlobe.

  He whispered, “That’s how it feels to be owned by a man, krasavica.”

  Lifting my hand to cup his cheek, my eyes registered the diamond engagement ring on my finger, and I froze as the cold reminder of reality slipped into our moment and shattered it into tiny little pieces.

  Why?

  Because Dominic Konstantinov wasn't the man I had to marry in two days.

  But before I’m judged for cheating on my fiancé, I need to start from the very beginning and explain the events that led us here.

  New Bern, North Carolina

  September 2016

  Gulping from the bottle of whiskey in my left hand, my right pressed the repeat button on the computer to start playing the video again.

  Rosa lay down on the floor as Alfonso’s men punched her in the face. Their knuckles made a familiar cracking, breaking sound, while their laughter echoed in the room. One of them took off his belt and slapped her hard on the cheek with the metal buckle. “Such a beautiful girl. Too bad we have to destroy her.” Another man kicked her legs harder as she cried out in pain. “Beg us to stop,” he asked, then paused. But when no reply came from her, he leaned down, grabbed her hair painfully, lifted her face up, and squeezed her face between his fingers, the pressure leaving red bruises on her beautiful, tan-kissed skin. “You’ll die with your pride.” He leaned back, almost ready to spit on her face, when he was interrupted by an excited voice.

  “Enough, Bob,” Alfonso said, emerging from the dark corner and finally allowing the camera to capture him. “I need to be inside her.” He palmed his dick and licked his lips. “Waited long enough.” Rosa placed her palms on the floor, rose up on them, but immediately collapsed from weakness. She rested her back against the wall, her eyes huge with fear and disgust, but she still held her chin high. Blood dripped from her nose, and she bit her lips, not wanting to make a sound.

  “A Cosa Nostra’s princess and the pakhan’s wom
an,” Alfonso proclaimed greedily. “Never thought I’d fuck one of those.” He licked his knuckles, tasting her blood, while groaning in pleasure. His constantly shifting eyes scanned her body and clothes, or rather, what was left of them. The fuckers ripped them off, leaving her in panties and a stained white cloth, which used to be her dress. She did her best to cover her breasts with it, even in this situation keeping her modesty. “I’ll enjoy tasting their little Rose.” Slowly, he started to take his clothes off, piece by piece, and his disgusting skin covered in various scars, which looked like nail scratches, came to light. He had a huge dragon tattoo located right in the middle of his chest. With their guns retrieved from the nearby table pointed at her and a hint of lust in their gazes for Rosa, his two men chuckled.

  “You will regret touching me,” she warned with a shaky voice, trying one more time to jerk the chains off her hands, but they wouldn't budge. “Dominic will kill you for laying a hand on me.”

  Alfonso smirked, inhaled his cigarette one more time, and threw it on the floor. “Doubtful, but by the time the precious daddy and boyfriend come, you’ll already be acquainted with my dick a few times.” He palmed his appendage and moaned in pleasure. “Yes, it will be exquisite torture for both of them. Serves them right. I became collateral damage in their war for you. Now, I’ll get the spoils.” With those words, he lunged for her, her scream of terror echoing through the basement.

  The video cut off, leaving my reflection staring back at me from the pitch-black screen.

  My index finger pressed the enter button, so I could watch it again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Until the two bottles of whiskey by my side were finished. With a roar, I threw them at the wall while hitting the machine with my fists.

  Dominic will kill you.

  Dominic will save me.

  Dominic.

  I didn't save my girl. I failed to come in time and stop this one man’s madness.

  She became collateral damage in the war I had no idea who had started and why!

  Once my palms and knuckles bled, at least stirring some emotion inside me, I got up, stepping on all the broken glass, welcoming the sting it provided to my bruised skin. I scanned Alfonso’s basement for the millionth time, searching for any clue so I could inflict unbearable pain on everyone involved in the organization operating behind this madman.

  No fucker could do this on his own, and he wasn't a bright one to begin with.

  The FBI found everything they could: videos, various torture devices, fingerprints, and bodily fluids with ultraviolet lights. Clothes, lube, condoms, and even some fucked-up child porn, which gave me flashbacks to my time in the cell. They took it all away, including his notes, folders, boards with all the mafia members of both houses, and his huge-ass PC.

  What escaped their notice was his laptop that Vitya sneaked outside under my order, and I spent weeks in this fucking place, trying to find a clue in the stupid files, but I only had the videos from the USB drive.

  The loud beep snapped me out of my thoughts, as a small disc appeared from the disk drive in the side of the computer. Didn't those die out in recent years? Who the fuck used them nowadays? Picking it up, I read the text, which consisted of a nine-digit code and signed, For her.

  Closing the lid, I turned the thing off, but some gut feeling insisted I open the battery compartment and sure as fuck, there was a small key.

  And just like that, the picture became clear.

  A safety deposit box.

  Two Days Later

  I sat on a chair near a white table in the bank’s private room. My hands rested on the silver box, which hopefully held answers to all my prayers. Getting inside was no hardship; the code and key matched their existing box, so all I had to do was fake the identity Honey provided for me. She was also the one who got the information for the major banks and surveyed their cameras so we could find his bank, as no names were given. While her focus was on the United States, she decided without telling me to check out Italy’s too.

  And how right she was. His was located in a small city in Tuscany in some family-related bank.

  Smart girl.

  Removing the lid, the folders came into the view, and I started to read them.

  By the time I finished, the chair and the table were destroyed.

  But I had names.

  All the names, but one.

  But I would make it my mission to find out who held all the cards to begin with, because Alfonso was just a pawn on the chessboard.

  I would find a King and punish him for taking away my Queen.

  Let the game begin.

  New York, New York

  October 2016

  Not bothering to knock on the door, I walked inside while Melissa drank her coffee and scrolled something on her phone. Without raising her head, she said, “I’m not in the mood for another apology, Connor. Can you drop it?” her voice sounded exhausted. I noticed various candy wrappers scattered around with folders on the table where she was busy.

  Her office was a round room with a square wooden desk that held a desktop computer and various paper organizers, along with pens and a tissue box. The spinning leather chair was too big for the tiny woman, and the bookshelf behind her was dusty and full of law books she probably used as references for her cases. Her working space seemed as dull and uninteresting as I found Melissa to be. Harsh, but true. I didn’t find anything interesting in her private file or during the few interactions we had shared.

  “I’m afraid you will have to make time for me.” My harsh, loud voice startled her.

  With a deer-caught-in-headlights look, she jumped in her seat, straightened, and adjusted the glasses on her nose. “Dominic, hi,” she greeted, and then motioned to the seat opposite her. “Please sit.” She moved a strand of her hair behind her ear. And I wondered when this whole situation with Connor would resolve.

  Based on the information I had on them, he slept with her about two years ago and then never bothered to call back. He was the love-them and leave-them type, and Melissa was dumb enough to fall in love with him. Shortly after, he fell for Honey and it created tension between them.

  Melissa had brown hair, blue eyes, and a fit body. Not that I paid attention to females around me, but she hid herself in all those masculine suits, which didn't do her justice. Harsh as it might sound, I honestly wondered why the hell Connor even had sex with her. It was clear as fucking day she wasn't a one-night-stand kind of woman.

  Without much explanation, I threw the folders on the table, and she picked them up. The minute she started reading, she frowned while her jaw almost hit the floor from the shock. “How did you get this?”

  Shrugging, I replied, “It doesn’t matter.”

  Her eyes narrowed, displeasure written all over her face. “Illegally?”

  I chuckled and leaned forward. “I’m the pakhan of the Bratva. Be thankful I allowed you to hold it in your hands.”

  Folding her arms, she studied me for a second, and finally asked, “What do you want, Dominic?”

  “Your help. You will have the case, but I will have my fun with them first.”

  “As in kill them first, you mean?”

  Shaking my head, I concluded the woman might have led her department in the FBI, but she wasn't as smart as I assumed. “Torture more like it. I need to reach the final link in the chain. You will help me get access and leave no trails. When the time comes, I want justice for my woman.” A beat passed, while I gave her the time to think, and then I extended my hand to her. “Do we have a deal?”

  She laughed, even though it lacked humor. “With no clue what you intend to do with it, it would be stupid for me to make a deal with you.” This conversation bored me, and I had no time for stupid chitchat when the clock was ticking. Those traces wouldn't be fresh for long, so I had to track them down right away.

  I stood up, resting my palms on the corner of the desk, and stated, “There will be no second chan
ce for this proposition, Melissa.”

  She huffed in annoyance, while her eyes kept sending daggers my way, but she nodded. “Fine.”

  “I knew you’d make a good choice.”

  “You gave me no choice,” she spat, but I was already out of her office. I had important calls to make.

  Confucius once said that if you are set on the path of revenge, dig two graves.

  He wasn't wrong.

  I suspected nothing would be left of the pakhan of the Bratva, or Dominic Konstantinov for that matter.

  New York, New York

  November 2016

  “Mercy,” the man begged, while he choked on his own blood spilling from his mouth onto the white-as-snow cold, shiny, marble floor. He desperately tried to stand up, but his broken legs didn't allow him to.

  His hands, tied with a rope, rested on his back, while sweat dripped on his open wounds, making him cry out in pain.

  Chuckling, I grabbed his hair and slammed him against a corner of the iron table. When his agonized cry echoed through the room, I enjoyed the sounds.

  Who needed music? What a shame I couldn't record it, so I could listen to it later in my apartment or the car.

  Ah, I lived for those moments. “What did I do? Please tell me. Is it about the money? I’ll pay you double.” Picking up a steel hammer along with a few nails, I held the knife between my teeth as I kneeled behind him, straddling his back as he plunged onto the cold, concrete floor with a thud. “This is insane. Please let me go!” he demanded, using the last bit of bravery he had.

  A sinister smile spread across my face as I wrote the name of my beloved on his back, making sure every cut hurt as much as my heart did. Then I hammered a nail into the wound to permanently brand him with it.

  He whimpered, cried out, and then begged again.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  On the second letter, he shut up.

  On the third letter, the smell of his urine filled the space.