The King: Bratva Blood: (A dark mafia romance) by SR Jones

Author:SR Jones [Jones, SR]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-24T16:00:00+00:00

PART TWO

War is the trade of kings.

John Dryden

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Konstantin

I stalk back into the courtyard, where I’m not surprised to find Vasily leaning against the wall still eye-fucking Zoey, who seems to be either unaware of him or studiously ignoring him.

“Denis,” I say, making the blond jump. “Go back to the house, but on the way go to the vault and pick up some essentials.” My voice is super low. Not that it matters if anyone does hear; essentials could mean anything. Only Denis knows it means weapons. “A good selection as we might be having guests.”

“Guests?” Vasily says. “That’s unexpected.”

“Yes it is, but these things happen. We simply have to be prepared to give our Russian cousins a very warm welcome.”

In a few words, that would mean nothing to anyone eavesdropping. You never know when the authorities might have eyes or ears on you. I’ve just let my men know trouble is headed our way, and it’s Bratva.

“Make sure the new staff are very aware of our guests and their particular needs,” I tell Denis.

“On it, boss.”

Yeah, he might not be the brightest, but Denis gets shit done. He’ll be back at my house within a couple of hours armed to the gills, and he’ll make sure the new security I’ve hired is on top of things too.

Derek might be in his early sixties now, but he knows how to handle himself in a fight and is a dab hand with a weapon or two.

What with the new hires, Derek, me, Denis, and Vasily, I’m not too concerned about any attack aimed at me on my property. It’s highly defended, fencing all around the perimeter that can be electrified if needs be. Add in security cameras everywhere, flood lights, and a few local police who are in my pocket and will arrest anyone within a few feet of my grounds without my permission, and I’m not too worried. Still, this is fucking Popeye we’re talking about, the nickname Popov goes by. He’s not subtle.

“Vasily, you stay with me, okay. I might need you.”

I don’t tell him he’s about to aid me in a kidnapping. He won’t give a shit anyway, so long as he doesn’t get into legal trouble, and if he does, I’ll get him right back out of it. The real power in a nation doesn’t rest with the head of state. No, it rests with departments such as the Foreign Office and other such places, along with high level civil servants, spooks, and the agencies they work for. I have enough of those in my pocket here to ensure neither me, or my men, come to any harm while we’re on British soil. Funnily enough, we’re in more danger in Mother Russia than we are here. There, the power is more centralized and more unpredictable.

As Denis ambles off to do my bidding, I take out my phone and place a call to an ex-police officer. “Hey, Winston.”

“Konstantin, you fucker. Not heard from you in ages.”

“Been busy. Listen,

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