Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)

Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)

London Miller




To H,

You know why…





Only until this cigarette is ended, A little moment at the end of all,

While on the floor the quiet ashes fall, And in the firelight to a lance extended, Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended, The broken shadow dances on the wall, I will permit my memory to recall

The vision of you, by all my dreams attended.

And then adieu,—farewell!—the dream is done.

Yours is a face of which I can forget The color and the features, every one, The words not ever, and the smiles not yet; But in your day this moment is the sun Upon a hill, after the sun has set.





“Only until this cigarette is ended”

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Second April, 1921





PART ONE





And it hurts that I can’t be

What everyone wants

Or what anyone needs

-a.d.r.





Prologue

__________





7 months ago…

Outside the dive bar in the heart of Brooklyn, three men stared down at the mutilated body that was no more than a shell of the person it had once been. The man’s tongue had been cut out and each of his fingers was gone just below the second knuckle, but these injuries were nothing compared to the state of the man’s back.

There were long gouges cut so deep and ragged that if one were to look at it for what it might have been, they might have thought it was an animal attack. It was abundantly clear that whoever had taken the time to cut him up this way either enjoyed it immensely or hated the man viciously.

The Albanian in the well-fitted black suit knew that it was a combination of the two.

He almost smiled, proud of the craftsmanship that had gone into cutting up the body. Just from the wounds alone, he could tell that the man had been alive for most of it. With only a cursory glance, he’d been able to discern who had done this—the others could guess—but the reason behind these particular markings was a fact known only to himself. He knew firsthand that each stroke of the knife was a story being told. One born of fury and bloodshed.

It had been because of him, after all.

More than that, he knew that this particular calling card was that of Valon Ahmeti. Only he possessed this particular skill set and had the patience—and the stomach—to see it through.

Valon had merely been an orphan when he’d walked into Bastian’s, a former associate of the Organization—and the unfortunate soul to be on the ground at their feet—home years ago, hoping for a kind heart and a place to stay. What he had gotten in return…no one would ever ask for that.

Whether he was just fearless, or he was hoping that one day he would die for his sins, Valon had fought in the Pit for weeks on end, honing his skills until he was practically a walking weapon. That was the reason Jetmir had come to him for a job that no one else would have wanted.

Well, him and Valon that was…

Like his friend, he didn’t scare easily.

He still didn’t know why Valon had chosen to walk away from everything they had built, aligning himself with f*cking Russians, of all people. The bodies he’d buried that day… The others had wanted to kill him, slowly and painfully, but Jetmir had called them off for reasons only he knew. There had been rumors, of course. Rumors that the boy they had taken wasn’t the right target, but because of Valon, no one knew the truth.

And now that Jetmir was dead, there was no one left to tell the tale.

And with his death, Valon was no longer safe from the rest of the Organization who wanted him dead.

“You think it was those f*cking Russians?” Tasirov asked from his position just behind the leader of these pack of men. “Trying to send a message?”

There was a message here, yes, but not the one they suspected. “One of their associates, actually,” the leader said as he got to his feet, brushing off his suit jacket. “I’m sure you remember Valon Ahmeti.”

“That’s who…” The man paled as he looked back to the body, his earlier bravado gone now that he knew the real culprit behind this.

It was still amazing, the effect Valon’s name had on some of them.

“I think it’s time we brought Ahmeti home,”

He loved nothing more than gruesome acts performed just because they were beautiful to see. But for what he had planned for Valon…no, that would be epic.

“Fatos.”

The leader turned as his name was called, looking to one of the men who couldn’t handle the sight of Bastian.

“When do we start?”

He’d waited a long time to find and go after Valon, even longer for no one to stand in the way of what he had planned.

This was going to be special. He would make sure that Valon learned his place once and for all, and before he was through with him…

Fatos would make sure there was nothing left.





1

____





Lost





There was an art to faking happiness—carefully concealing truths behind tight smiles, quick glances instead of vacant expressions, and false cheer hidden in crass jokes. It might have been less taxing to just share the pain instead of burying it, but that wasn’t who Aleksandra Volkov was.