Obsession With The Bratva Hitman

I heaved out after puffing on the tobacco smoke. Just then; the filthy asshole blood splashed on my face. Clenching my jaw tightly, I tilted my head down at the man I had just blown his skull gasps for air with chucks of blood oozing out from his mouth.

“What the fuck!” I cussed, swiping the blood off my face with the back of my palm.

The reek of blood is always so irritating. Too bad, It's a smell I got to inhale every fucking day. Not like I love too but it's my job— my fucking responsibility as the adopted son of Viktor Kovalchuk Don. Can I even call myself his adopted son? Does an adopted son not get the privilege to be known and treated as one, perhaps it was just a Stockholm Syndrome curled up in my brain that I am one since Viktor Kovalchuk has always been my father figure.

My name is Aleksandr, a poor seven years old boy saved by the Bratva while on the verge of dying from starvation in the dirty street of the ‘Moscow orphan’ neighborhood. It won't be absurd to say I must live all my life serving the Bratva and the whole of the Kovalchuk clan; he was my savior, after all.

Taught and trained to be ruthless and fierce, I grew up on the cruel turf of the notorious Russian Moscow Mafia. We all fought for one goal— ‘Survival’. Laying our lives in line for victory. If you lose, you die. However, not to go too far in the dangerous cub of my life. You'd have imagined how cruel and ruthless I’ve turned out to be after a hoarse spent of twenty-two years fighting against the guns and hefty men called Mafians.

“Please… Please… Let me live. Lord Aleksandr, please,” the man begged, clamping his hands together as he knelt in front of me.

I tilted my head down to look at him when I felt a stronghold hindering me from moving further— he actually held onto my legs. He has the guts to stain my white trousers with his blood-stained hands. I clenched my fists in anger and tightened my forefinger on the trigger, and without wasting further seconds, I blew up his skull —the sound from my 9mm thundered as it echoed through the room.

“Lo..r…” he fell beside the other corpse, gasping for breath with blood oozing out of his mouth and his damaged skull.

“In your next life, you won't mess with the Kovalchuk's” I muttered and yanked his hands off my legs before heading to the door.

“Boss,” Ivan called, making me abruptly stop on my track. “What do we do with the little kiddo?” he pointed to the three years old boy sobbing as he clutched onto the man’s clothes. “Dad..dy! Da..ddy!” the little boy cried.

“A rebel son is also a rebel.”

I strained my eyes, my brow arching up in a frown. What do I do with the little boy? All tracks must be cleaned, and clear, or else I'll face Viktor Don's wrath and end up in jail. That's what I would never allow to happen, not after spending twenty-two years of torture in the Kovalchuk clan, but all for it to end in jail. Moreover, Russian jail is never fun. Only God knows the murder charges that would be hanging on my neck - hundreds? I guess

“A three years old boy speaks, you know,” I said and walked out of the room, with the clear mind that he got my message - ‘To kill him off’.

Nothing must point to us as the killer. Also, as it's the Bratva rule on any mission to ‘clear off anytime that speaks,’ I guess not even a feeble soul like the little boy can change that.

I heard a loud gunshot just as I stepped out of the house. Briskly puffing on a long streak of tobacco smoke, I smirked and presumed Ivan had done the job without stress. I guess he is slowly turning into a real bratva, as I've taught him, just as I'm also known in the whole clan that responsibility comes before any feelings, and all my actions shall be ignited only by Viktor Kovalchuk Don's words.

Moreover, Ivan is a young boy I personally loved while training some young boys we rampage from the other rebel clans. I love his thirst for survival and his strained gaze. He always reminds me of my little self with that naive but bold eye. Also, I once heard from Don himself that the look he saw in my eyes that day made him bring me in.

“Boss” Ivan emerged behind me, his right hand dripping with blood. He got hurt earlier while struggling for the chest key with the rebel boss, the man I just blew his skull.

“You look awful. Make sure to get some treats when we get home” I mumbled, just then a loud sound blared up from my jacket.

“Geez! Whom the fuck is disturbing the sacred hour of the dead” I muttered, tugging the jacket buttons open before drawing the phone out.

My heart pounds and my eyes grew wider as I saw the caller ID- Viktor Don? He rarely calls. What could be the reason for this sudden call? And, was he not at Malta- I guess for some reckless fucking as usual. After the sudden demise of his wife, all he does is goes on a long travel to fuck all the different pussies of tight girls.

“Don,” I mumbled, leaning the phone toward my ear.

“The key?” He growled.

“It was secured” I responded, bowing to his imaginary image. Fearing him has been embedded in me already. His ferocious face and voice always send shivers down my spine whenever it thundered into my ears.

FLASHBACK

“You can't do any better than that!” He glowered hoarsely, clenching his fist and before the little seven years old me would realize, he pounced a hefty punch on my jaw.

I'm sure my jaw was dislocated that day.

“I…I..” I stuttered, crawling towards his feet. “I will do it. I will sho.ot... Please just don't chase me out” I clamped my trembling hands together with my head bowed at his feet.

He smiled. “Good boy.”

FLASHBACK ENDS*

“Clean off and head to the mansion with the boys. You're all meeting the new lady of the house today,” he said and hung up immediately before I could say any other words.

New lady of the house? Is he kidding?

Obviously, that's him saying he's bringing in a new wife. But who? From where? All of a sudden without prior notice or any talk of her.

Wow! My heart greatly anticipated this new lady who has hypnotized the ruthless Viktor Kovalchuk into making her his sudden wife. I hope she doesn't let my shoulders down upon meeting her. I'd really love to see her as soon as possible. The face which I suppose will be pretty. Her curves. Who exactly she is. “To Big House,” I said.

Ivan ran to my front and opened the car door before I approached it. So respectful of him- it actually feels good seeing someone tends to me just like I do to the Don. I felt like a boss in my own little world with the title ‘Lord Aleksandr’ that I do hear wherever I go.

We entered the car, and without wasting any minute; he zoomed off, splashing the dirt and mud on any sluggish dickhead alongside the roadside. Who dares talk or glower at a car with the Kovalchuk clan logo of a roaring lion head image?

“Why the Big House?” Ivan asked, keeping his gaze on the wheel.

“To welcome the new Madame” I replied, looking down on my bloodstained white pants. “Fuck that old geezer. Now, I have an extra to pay for dry cleaning” I gritted, brushing the stain off - like it'd be cleaned off.

“New Madame?” Ivan snapped, jerking his head backward to where I was seated.

“Don't fucking get us killed and face the wheel!” I gritted, slapping his face.

“Don is bringing in a new wife?” he murmured, tilting his head back. “Wow! I bet she'll be curvy. You know Don has the knack for hot girls,” he exclaimed excitedly.

“I guess she would be,” I mumbled with a soft smile.

Ivan is right. My boss loves hot, curvy girls. Well, who doesn't? All men does, especially one that crazily controls that tiny pelvis on the dick.