The Fixer (Chicago Bratva #2) - Renee Rose Page 0,2

are worth at least sixty million. And his colleagues are unsavory, at best. We are the brotherhood of thieves, after all. So I have to presume at least thirty men will have their eyes on stealing that fortune in whatever way they can—killing Sasha, killing me, or even taking out the entire Chicago cell.

But I’m the fixer. Like Ravil, a master strategist, I have a reputation for outthinking my opponents. Igor knows his friends and enemies alike will think twice before they try to steal his fortune if it’s in my care.

I take a good look at my unwilling, manipulative bride. She’s even more beautiful than she was at seventeen, when I found her naked in my bed, set on seducing me.

She’s drop-dead gorgeous, like her mother. Long, thick red hair. High cheekbones, porcelain skin. She has bright blue eyes and Cupid’s bow lips. Her narrowed gaze is filled with hurt and rage.

Blyat. I will have my hands full with her.

Vladimir returns with the papers and a nervous-looking government official—I presume a clerk from the Department of Public Services. Someone probably paid or threatened him into making this a house-call instead of us going there.

If it were anyone besides Igor, I would demand to review his will to make sure the agreement is really as he states. But it’s Igor, the man who literally saved my life, took me under his wing, and made me the man I am today. I’m not going to insult him. If his dying demand is that I marry his daughter, I’ll do it.

Then again, Vladimir could be trying to fuck my bride out of her money, which is exactly the reason Igor inserted me into this mess. I keep my voice low and respectful. “Do you wish me to review it first, Papa?”

He considers me for a moment, then nods, so I take the sheaf of papers and skim through as quickly as I can. There are provisions for Galina, but all through Vladimir. Other than the oil interest, Igor’s only legitimate business holdings, everything else goes to Vladimir, with strict provisions that he provides monthly allowance and protection to Galina.

The oil interest goes in a trust to Sasha, with me as trustee. We must remain married, or we forfeit the wells, and they go to Vladimir, or in his absence, Galina. If she dies first, Vladimir becomes the trustee. If I die first, Ravil. I nod and hand the papers to Igor to sign.

The clerk clears his throat and shifts on his feet.

“We’re ready,” I tell him.

Galina propels an angry Sasha forward to stand beside me. “This isn’t happening,” she complains in English, perhaps so her father won’t understand. She’s lucky she speaks it, or her new life would be even harder.

“Do you have rings to exchange?” the sweating clerk asks me.

“No.” I shake my head.

Igor takes a platinum ring from his pinky finger. He’s worn it for as long as I’ve known him. I remember him saying things to me like, “I, too, started with nothing, Maxim, and now I wear platinum rings.”

His hand shakes when he hands it to me. His breathing is labored.

Galina notices and dashes to his side. “Are you all right, my love? Do you need more morphine?”

“Go on.” Igor gives an impatient wave to the clerk. “Marry them.”

The clerk swallows and launches into a brief ring exchange. I put Igor’s ring on Sasha’s finger and tell the clerk to skip it when he comes to her ring for me.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

I face Sasha, but she turns away, so I drop a kiss on her cheek. “It is done,” I say to Igor.

“A-after you sign the certificate,” the clerk stammers.

I snatch the pen from his hand and scrawl a quick semblance of my signature on the paper then hand the pen to Sasha.

Her fingers won’t form around the pen. She looks up at me, rebellion swirling in those ocean blue eyes. As if either of us could stop this ball that’s clearly been rolling long before we stepped in this room today.

“Sign it,” Igor snaps. Or attempts to snap. It comes out as more of an angry wheeze.

Galina’s mouth tightens. “Do it, Sasha.”

Sasha grips the elegant fountain pen, the muscles around her jaw tightening as she signs the certificate.

The clerk signs it and nods at Vladimir. “It’s complete. I’ll have it filed in an hour.” His hands tremble as he puts the certificate back in a folder, which he