Mobster’s Fake Wife

  Mobster’s Fake Wife

  Published by Raven Rivers, 2018

  Book Two of the Russian Mobster Series

  © 2018 Raven Rivers

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Also from Raven Rivers:

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Professional Courtesy

  ~ Bethany ~

  Bethany knew better than to get involved with someone like Timur Chensnokov. The man was a menace. His thick Russian accent proved the perfect accompaniment to the suave gangster persona he spared no effort in cultivating. Strange Cyrillic tattoos crept up the side of his neck, peeking out of the collar of his expensive suit. They were jailhouse tattoos, she realized. Each drizzle of ink told the story of his sordid past better than a neatly penned memoire, if one knew how to read them. She didn’t.

  His snow-white hair was worn slicked neatly back into a style that truly defied the laws of gravity. He was seriously in danger of growing a unibrow in the same snowy white color. Pinioned by his dark gaze, black soulless eyes that held no hint of emotion, she couldn’t seem to look away. Bethany decided they were beady as well. He was the type of man who screamed danger without ever saying a word. She could clearly see him in her mind’s eye sitting in an evil lair, stroking a cat as he plotted the destruction of the free world. Okay, maybe that was a bit of overkill. Strange what flitted through a person’s mind when they were about to die.

  The problem wasn’t the old man, it was her. The very first time she saw him, warning bells immediately began chirping like a half-crazed robotic protector. “Danger, Bethany Robinson, danger.” It played on a never-ending feedback loop inside her head. Did she listen? Oh, hell no. Like a brainless horror movie victim, she just kept running right up those stairs. To call it poor decision making on her part would be a mild understatement.

  That’s the story of how she found herself face down on the pavement with bullets flying in every direction. Bethany pushed herself up with both palms, only to find Chensnokov standing over her with one hand outstretched. He appeared totally unfazed as his lieutenants stood at his back, trading fire with an up-and-coming young street gang. He looked at her intently as Arnold’s most famous line tumbled from his lips.

  She immediately grabbed his hand, muttering under her breath, “Hell yeah, I want to live.” At the moment, it was her highest-ranking priority.

  Chensnokov pulled her swiftly to her feet and tucked her protectively into his side. She could have sworn she heard him mumble something about how he always wanted to say that line. Being as most of her attention was riveted upon staying alive, she couldn’t be quite sure what her favorite client was saying. The pop of gunfire sounded from behind. It was louder than she imagined from watching gun battles on TV.

  Timur’s men began pressing them back towards his limo, using their bodies to shield her and their boss. She looked to one side and saw two young males wearing gang symbols go down. They were just babies, much too young to be shooting at Timur’s thugs. His men were muscle bound giants next to these poor scrawny kids.

  Blood was quickly being splattered everywhere. It had an odd, coppery smell about it. Then again, that could be the weapons fire for all she knew. Bethany felt someone jerk on the other side of her. She glanced over to see one of his men take a bullet. Damn, it was the good-looking one. She reached out for him, but Chensnokov grabbed her hand and wrestled her into his limo. The injured man was shoved in after them. Bethany flew to his side of the vehicle and began pulling open his jacket. Though it was bleeding profusely, it seemed like a grazing type injury. She tore off a piece of his shirt, pressed it over the wound, and brought his hand up to hold it. She brought her blood smeared hands up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Startled by the sight of so much blood, she wiped her hands on her neatly tailored skirt, leaving an ugly smear. God, would this horrible day never end?

  Chensnokov grabbed her hand and pressed a tiny shot of vodka into it. Bethany quickly tipped it into her mouth and tossed the shot glass back to him.

  Chensnokov’s amused voice filled the limo. “Miss Bethany, I know it’s been a stressful day for you, but that was for Valisy.”

  She glanced up and found the bodyguard’s ice blue eyes dancing with amusement.

  “Sorry, I…I wasn’t thinking clearly.” She swallowed down her fear and told herself repeatedly, You’re safe. The danger is over. Calm the fuck down and breathe.

  The older man passed her another shot. Though she felt stupid, she brought it to the injured man’s lips. Who in their right mind would feed an injured man alcohol? These men were so far removed from her nice middle-class life that she didn’t even question it. Smile and just get through this, she chided herself. Her slim brown hand shook uncontrollably as she lifted the glass to his lips.

  The bodyguard covered her hand with his, brought the glass down to his side, and dumped it over the wound. He whispered in a raspy voice. “Flesh wound. The alcohol kills all the germs.” A quick toss of his hand, and the glass was getting refilled.

  Chensnokov stated smoothly, “Also vodka brings good luck. This one is cold. Be a good little wife and help Valisy drink it up.”

  Bethany didn’t appreciate the old man’s sense of humor one little bit. She barely knew his body guard by sight, and they had never really spoken before today. Chensnokov liked to play this particular game. It was similar to how young girls played dolls. He was always matching Barbies and Kens based on how the individuals looked together. She had seen him do it to others. It was his way of saying they both looked good together. Perhaps in Russia that was a compliment of some sort; but in America, not so much. Chensnokov had to be one hundred if he was a day. Maybe it was some old-fashioned game, more related to being old and senile than being Russian.

  Peering down at the bodyguard’s hand pressing against his side, she felt a small stab of guilt. The idea popped into her head that pouring vodka on small battle wounds must be some type of gangster superstition. She thought of how football players wore lucky jerseys. Suddenly, a long list of common superstitions and old wives’ tales began drifting through her mind. The analytical part of her brain kicked in. Superstitions were the result of causality being assigned to events that randomly happened in close temporal proximity to one another. They were closely held beliefs, not based in sound logic.

  Bethany was pulled f
rom her musing by Chensnokov’s curious voice. “What are you thinking so deeply about, Miss Bethany?”

  Just when she needed it the most, her instinct for self-preservation finally clawed its way to the surface. Pointing out illogical thinking to a mob boss didn’t seem like a particularly smart move at the moment. She got up off her knees murmuring, “You really don’t want to know.” She flopped down on the seat beside the injured man and huffed out a sigh of relief.

  “Well, as long as you are not entertaining the idea of leaving my employ, I will leave you to your thoughts.”

  “Honestly, I think of that all the time. I know you are paying me a small fortune to keep your books, but I can’t spend it if I’m dead, sir.”

  “It’s your own fault, dear. You should not have accepted employment in that particular area of town. It’s off limits to our crew. You are lucky we were nearby.”

  “Well, here’s the thing. I’m not part of your crew. Multiple businesses utilize my services.”

  “There are many unscrupulous people in the world, Bethany. They would use you to get to my assets.”

  “I’m not sure what they hope to get from me. My accounting firm is responsible for keeping records of your legitimate businesses only. Everything I do is above board. As a CPA, I’d have my license pulled for any shady stuff. Just so you know, I have the right to work wherever I want.”

  “Ah, I see how you might be confused. You work for me. It’s true your personal accounting business only handles the books for my companies with tax ID numbers. However, I am well known in my field. I can’t be held responsible for the assumptions other people make.”

  “How in God’s name am I supposed to know where I can go and where I can’t in this godforsaken town?” She looked into his dark eyes pleadingly. “Timur, I need to feel safe.”

  Bethany saw a flicker of warmth and understanding for a brief moment. Before she could figure out what it meant, his normal mask of indifference slipped into place once again. The only indication that her situation bothered him at all was his normally smooth voice faltering slightly. “I…will consider your request, Miss Bethany.”

  Her brows drew together in confusion. He will consider my request? Funny, I don’t remember making one.

  Chapter 2

  Poison in Small Doses

  ~ Bethany ~

  “Another Day, Another Dollar.”

  “A Day in the Life of an Accountant for the Russian Mob.”

  “Cooking the Books for a Russian Mob Boss.”

  “Caught in the Crossfire Between DEA Agents and the Russian Mob.”

  Bethany amused herself by thinking up catchy titles for the memoirs she would never write. It passed the time as she waited for Chensnokov. Scanning the empty bar, she wondered what the place looked like in full swing. A huge horseshoe-shaped bar jutted out the back like one barren breast. Her lips quirked at the thought. Maybe the image came to mind because she was waiting for Chensnokov in a topless bar. Then again, it could have been a design flaw.

  Several metal poles running floor to ceiling decorated a huge stage. It was a little cliché, but whatever. Customers probably expected it. Other than that, the bar was actually modern and quite beautiful. Chensnokov didn’t cut corners on his legitimate businesses. He was particular and detail oriented in all his business affairs. In fact, he was up at the crack of dawn and worked a long, hard day. As far as she could see, he was just like any other hardworking businessman. She honestly didn’t know where he got the time to worry about illegal pursuits.

  A loud clanging noise erupted in the back room. It was the sound of glassware being loaded and then an industrial dish washer kicked on. She had been around enough to know it was the day crew. They were responsible for cleaning, ordering supplies, stocking, and a limited amount of food prep. She not only knew how much they all earned but what their duties were. She had helped devise their job descriptions. Her unique skill set was what made her more valuable to Chensnokov than a regular accountant. She assisted him in managing his various business enterprises.

  Suddenly, the door flew open, sending a flood of sunlight into the dimly lit bar. Bethany wrapped her hands around her cup of coffee and squinted her eyes. Instead of Chensnokov and his crew, a curvy blonde with stringy hair stepped over the threshold. As she door shut, the woman snapped into focus. Her disheveled clothing didn’t match for season or color. Her chipped nail polish gave the appearance that she had been trying to claw her way through something. The huge purse hanging off her shoulder was heavy with God only knew what. The woman was homeless. She didn’t know exactly how she knew, but Bethany was certain she was living on the streets. Bethany’s shocked gaze traveled from her dirty feet covered by worn sandals, back up to her makeup-streaked face. Cleaned up, the woman would have been breathtakingly beautiful.

  “They replaced me with you?” Blue eyes flashed with fire and her voice held an accusing edge.

  “Not unless you were Chensnokov’s last accountant.”

  The woman strutted over to the bar, slid onto a barstool, and lit a cigarette. Pinning Bethany with a critical stare, her chin lifted defiantly. “You play with numbers. I play with men. Which do you think pays better?”

  “Depends on the man.” Bethany knew she was playing with fire, but what the hell. It had been a slow week.

  “What would you know of men? Of Chensnokov’s men?”

  Bethany smiled slightly. “Not a lot. I never really talk with them.”

  “They are not a talkative bunch.”

  Bethany laughed. “You got that right, sister. They are a stoic lot. They all wear that same blank expression. Makes me wonder what’s going on inside their little noggins.”

  She could see the other woman relax a little. “Probably more than you realize.”

  Bethany continued chattering away. “I have nicknames for them all. Let’s see…there is the one with the swimmer’s build. I call him Sharkey in my head.”

  “Ha, I bet that one is Unar. He is lean and has fish eyes.”

  Bethany bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Then there is the one with scar over his right eye. I just call him Scar.”

  The woman nodded knowingly. “Like in the children’s movie. He looks just like the lion with the scar over his eye. His name is Viktor. He got it in a knife fight, I’ll bet. Go on, Miss Accountant. I am enjoying this game.”

  Bethany flashed her a smile. “My name’s Bethany.”

  The woman dipped her head. “Dina.”

  “Well, let’s see, Dina…there is the one with light hair. I never could come with a good name for him so I just think of him as Blondie.”

  “That pretty boy is Draj.”

  Bethany giggled. “I always think of the one with all the muscles as the pretty one. Well, not pretty necessarily. More like handsome.”

  “The one with the little scar on the side of his temple? That is Valisy. All the women find him attractive.”

  “What about the one with the diamond cufflinks? I call him Knuckles.”

  “Because he has the scarring on his knuckles? His name is Dimitri. I think you need more inventive names.”

  “I agree. After I named my fish Swimy and my dog Barkley, I realized that I pretty much suck at naming. What would you call them?”

  The woman responded with a throaty laugh. “In the order you have listed them, Unar is the krusjas. He protects C’s business from interlopers. Viktor is the brigadier who oversees the muscle in C’s organization. Draj is the shestyorka. He gets coffee and does as he’s told. Then there is Valisy. He is byki…bodyguard. Dimitri is the most dangerous. He is sovietnik…C’s right-hand man. You have not mentioned Steiv. He is obshchak. The bookmaker is a money middle man, and much like you, he handles money and ensures people get paid.”

  “You’d think I would have noticed him. What does he look like?”

  “He looks like me.” Bethany looked up to see a man she barely recognized. He had dark copper hair, which was neatly trimmed into a nondescript st
yle, and glasses. His eyes narrowed on the blonde. “What are you doing here, Dina?”

  The woman looked uncomfortable. “I need my job back. I came to talk to C.”

  “Since you are knowledgeable enough to give Miss Bethany an accounting of our entire organization in casual conversation, you must know he will not speak with you. You must see your bratvahe. I believe that is Gustov.”

  “He will not listen.”

  “I’m certain he has good reason.”

  She looked down and acknowledged that. “He does. I admit to making a bad decision for myself, but you can’t freeze me out. I have nowhere to go. Please speak to him for me.”

  He tossed her a key. “Against my better judgment, you can stay at my place for a day or two. Don’t get too comfortable. It’s only temporary. You take the guest room and don’t even think of messing up the only good thing I have going in my life right now.”

  She nodded. “Sylvika. I will steer clear of her and make sure she does not get the wrong idea.”

  “If you mess with her at all, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  “I understand. Thank you, Steiv. I won’t forget this.”

  “Go, before I change my mind.” She made a hasty exit, giving Bethany a brief nod on her way past.

  Steiv glanced at Bethany with a wary look. He rubbed one hand over his face before speaking. “You would do well to forget everything Dina just told you about Chensnokov’s men. No good can come of knowing such things.”

  Bethany took a sip of her coffee before speaking. “Don’t care about all that, as evidenced by the fact that I’ve forgotten most of it already. That was all kinds of awkward by the way. What did Dina do to get herself iced out?”

  “Stay away from her. She is poison.”

  Bethany quirked a brow.

  “You know how some people rely upon their good looks to get by in life? They are so used to getting chance after chance that they don’t even try to make good on any of the opportunities they are given. That is Dina. No matter how many chances we give her, she just screws it up. She was caught stealing money from a safe in one of Chensnokov’s establishments. Thought we wouldn’t put it together because it wasn’t the establishment she worked at. Getting iced out was a courtesy. Normally, the penalty for such a crime by an insider is much harsher.”