When a Bratva boy & Cosa Nostra girl meet... #Teaser
Well, there will be sparks, of course...

But, there's also guns and blood.

There's always blood in the mob.

Occasionally, I have tweeted out tiny snippets for my manuscript The Arrangement. For the most part, I have kept it mostly to myself, and my girl, Elle. In fact, she read this story through Gchat, piece by tiny piece as I wrote it. Yep, that means she read nearly 100k of works through a tiny little window. Haha, give her some props. We both hold it a little dear, and our love for Anton, the hero, is immeasurable. Ain't that right, Elle? ;)

Writing a hero that is an honest to earth bad guy...because let's face it, he didn't become a Russian mob boss by kissing puppies here...can sometimes be a double edged sword. People want to see that this bad side of a person can be repented. That he feels badly for his life and choices. That, perhaps at some point, he/she may make appropriate changes in their lifestyle to become a better person.

My hero isn't like that.

He's unapologetic. At times, he is an asshole. He is magnetic and charismatic and carries a gun in his waistband every moment of the day. He is also incredibly endearing, keeps his word, and would give his girl the world on the platter of her choice. Because of this, he is dangerous. He wears the masks he needs to and he is proud of the black roses on his chest and stars on his shoulders that he earned. Shooting a gun and taking a life in his world is second nature and protecting what he loves the very most is the easiest thing he'll ever do next to breathing.

Would I want to meet a man like him in real life? Sure...but I'd be very careful about turning my back on him.

Anton doesn't play games.

I so loved writing him.

Here's a taste of him in his boss element:


At least five men were inside the room, each clothed differently and while four stood, the one who had hit Viviana at the dorm—Viktor—was lying prone on the floor. With his head bent at an awkward angle, the barrel of a gun pressing to his right temple, the man only gritted his teeth and continued to say the same phrase over and over in Russian.

“Boss, let it go,” one man said quietly. “He’s apologized, he’s never skimmed off his boys or done you wrong in the past. Your grandfather would have done the same.”

It wasn’t his face Vine’s eyes were drawn to, or even the voice that spoke in a language she could finally understand, but instead the hand holding the gun down with a force she knew must have hurt. That hand didn’t shake, there was no hesitance in the action. She had the distinct feeling if those fingers that had once touched her skin so softly in the past pulled the trigger back, they wouldn’t for one second find regret in that choice.

Eta ruka?”

Anton’s once cheery voice that resided in the back of Vine’s memories sounded darker than she had ever heard it. Hardened and cold, like sharp shards of ice to her soul. Wearing only dark wash jeans that sat low around his hips, the waistband of boxer-briefs were visible. The black hair, now kept a little longer than she had last seen him with, was wet and hanging over blue eyes. She could help but wonder if those eyes blazed a dark blue in his rage like they did when he fucked and loved.

Every muscle tensed and shuddered as anger rolled over his broad shoulders, the six-pack of abs clenching like the white teeth he bared when he growled out once more, “Eta ruka?”

Viktor nodded, raising the hand his boss had tapped with a boot. Full lips sneered, the chiseled line of Anton’s jaw growing impossibly harder as he breathed heavily through his nose. Something unknown washed through Viviana’s insides, sending her desire ramped right up to a fever pitch while fear prickled elsewhere.

“Do you think it is appropriate I let this go, Viktor?” he asked, his tone holding a clear warning. The slight Russian accent in his dialect wasn’t nearly as thick as some of the men around him, but the more irritated his voice became, the more prominent it sounded. “Do you agree with your brothers that your actions should simply be overlooked because of your lack of past transgressions? Would that be to your liking?”

“I—”

“It is a yes or no question!” The barrel of the gun pressed harder against the older man’s temple. Vine’s heart stuttered. “I don’t wish to hear your excuses, or apologies. I want a fucking answer!”

Viviana’s fingers tightened around the doorknob as Viktor’s voice turned quieter and he said, “Yes, I was wrong.”

Anton’s hand gripped the gun, and he tapped the piece three short times to the man’s head before it was moved. “This hand,” he stated, a foot kicking out to tap against clenched fingers once more. “You hit her with this one, so open it up against the floor. Now.”

“Boss!”

“Would you like to be next, Boris? I should take a pound from you, too, considering you didn’t step in until after he’d smacked her around a little. I was very clear on my instructions as to her and her person. Neither of you idiots managed to follow them properly.”

Anton stood straight, turning to face Boris, and giving Vine a view of the wide plains of his back and shoulders. Stretched with bands of muscles, his shoulders were strong, wide, and still shuddering with barely contained fury. Black ink crisscrossed his skin in a tribal design that flexed with his movements, while a black star resided on both of his shoulders between the inky licks of color.

“The orders were clear, and you allowed him to break my protocol. At the very least you could have used that sedative before you took her from the dorm, and he did not have to end that bull inside the complex. Those are issues I have to fix, now. Too sloppy for a Brigadier of your age and knowledge. Both of you are losing the thirty percent share from your boys tributes this month, and maybe next, too. I haven’t decided, yet.”

“Yes, Boss,” Boris replied quietly. 

Anton turned back on Viktor, the gun in his grip aimed and ready. Vine choked knowing what he was about to do, but still unable to turn away from the sight. “Hand out,” he ordered again. With a shaky exhale, Viktor unclenched his fingers and laid his palm flat to the floor. Closing his eyes, he apologized once more in his mother tongue as Anton kneeled down to thrust the gun against the back of the man’s hand. “You will apologize to her when you are able. You are not to speak to her directly, or indirectly, without my immediate presence and permission. I do not want to see your face before I request it, and I suggest you stay away from my clubs and homes until this has blown over. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Anton barked.

“Yes, Boss.”
The Arrangement WIP Blurb:
 
Nothing will stop the Bratva mob boss from taking back what’s his and once he has her, he’ll do anything to keep her…
Viviana “Vine” Carducci’s and Anton Avdonin’s marriage was decided over two decades ago. The deal between leading mafia families had more on the line than anyone knew, even if the Bratva and Cosa Nostra shouldn’t have mixed. When Vine’s family is murdered and she’s left with nothing more than her grief to survive the mob world alone, she believes the arrangement won’t see the light of day.
Anton can’t allow the one woman he was supposed to love get away. At the possibility of her life coming to a quick end, he steps in with guns blazing knowing exactly what it might cost him: everything. But it’s been nearly a decade since their last meeting, and he can’t help but wonder if the woman he took back is the same girl he fell for all those years before.
Under his protection and love, Vine is unable to forget their shared moments a lifetime ago, or the future she knows they’re owed. When an old flame of Anton’s shows up to rip the veil off the carefully constructed secrets he’d been hiding, past lies surface, and Vine might just learn that nothing about her life was as it seemed. But, that’s nothing compared to the bomb about to blow. Can she see beyond the pain and blood it to take what she always wanted? And just how far will the mob prince go to keep her safe?
In a world where violence, deceit, and greed reign, your life is not your own, and sometimes, love has to be arranged.
--Kris
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