The Russian Guns, book 3
Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romantic Suspense,
Mafia
Blurb:In the mess of love and life, nothing and no one is left untouched.
After everything the Russian mob boss Anton Avdonin has done to keep his family safe from the dangers of the world surrounding them, he never thought it would come down to this. The officials are knocking, the charges are piling, his wife is hurting, and they’re facing a fate he never thought to consider. He didn’t just make one mistake … no, he made many. It’s time to answer for them all.
Viviana “Vine” Avdonin is stuck watching the life she adores crumble around her. Bad decisions have led to terrible consequences in more ways than one. She doesn’t have time to recover from one devastating tragedy that leaves her shattered before the next one is crushing down, too. Saving her husband from a life sentence might be the easiest thing she has to do when her own misdeeds are staring her in the face.
Together, Anton and Viviana have survived more than once, but this path will be by far, the hardest they’ve ever walked. Sometimes they have to walk it alone … because forgiveness isn’t always black and white and love can be blurred by pain. With the blissful ignorance gone and the blinders removed, how much of themselves will they have to sacrifice to come out on top one last time?
When everyone has a score to settle, it’s hard to notice the person causing the most heartache is the one staring back in the mirror.
Final installment to The Russian Guns
Sequel to The Life
*Please Note: The Score is not a standalone title. The first books in the Russian Guns series (The Arrangement, followed by The Life) should be read first*
Anton flinched, disgust filling him to the brim. This whole situation
was horrible, and he felt dirty with ten grimy fingers pointing straight at his
guilty chest.
“Well, aside from firing her, there’s not much I can—”
Anton didn’t get to finish his sentence. A loud bang and shouted orders
rang out in the downstairs of the club. The tinkling sounds of canisters
popping along the empty floor echoed up to their spot. There was no denying
what was happening downstairs.
“Fuck,” Ivan muttered.
Instantly, Anton was off his office chair, ignoring the gun he knew was
in the desk, and the information of a shipment, never mind the laptop he should
have tried to somehow destroy. No, instead, the only thing he could think of
was the little boy on the floor with wide blue eyes and terrified, reaching for
his father.
“Papa?” Demyan cried.
“Shhh, little man,” Anton whispered.
In his arms, he held his son tighter and turned his back to the door of
the office. It seemed like only milliseconds, but his mind was running a
million miles a minute. Anton couldn’t begin to understand why the officials
would be raiding his club. His guys certainly hadn’t been given any indication
and they’d all been pretty quiet.
Demyan’s shaking increased as the shouts down below became louder. “It’s
okay, Demyan, it’s okay. Papa’s here.”
The sounds of a dozen or more pairs of boots pounding up the metal
staircase ratcheted up Anton’s nerves to a breaking point.
“Anton …” Ivan started to say. “Anton, give me your son!”
The hardest thing Anton ever had to do, next to walking out of his house
that morning knowing his wife’s heart was breaking, was hand his trembling,
scared, and crying son off to another man. It was safer for Demyan, though.
No doubt, they weren’t there for Ivan.
Anton watched Ivan curl a fighting Demyan into his chest as he got to
his knees on the floor and automatically put his hands behind his head. The
less threatening he seemed at their entrance, the less likely they were to
cause him harm, never mind his son seeing it.
“Demyan, it’s okay,” Anton repeated when the first kick to the door
landed with a solid thump. The second and third only followed louder, harder.
“Hide his face, Ivan!”
When the door finally broke, it wasn’t a second before Anton found
himself face down on the floor, his son’s cries overtaking all other sounds.
Cuffs tightened around his wrists to an almost painful point, but Anton refused
to show it. A boot landed hard between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned
to the floor even though he wasn’t fighting.
“Papa!”
“Anton Daniil Avdonin, you’re under arrest for the murder of Sonny
Carducci, Tatiana Belov, Sergei Belov …”
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