Animosity Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Animosity

  Number XVIII of Alfonzo

  Frank, S. W.

  S.W.Frank (2015)

  * * *

  Rating: ★★★★☆

  Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Multicultural & Interracial, Organized Crime, (BW/WM) Black Woman/ White Man

  Romancettt Contemporaryttt Multicultural & Interracialttt Organized Crimettt (BW/WM) Black Woman/ White Manttt

  Animosity: Alfonzo Volume XVIII, By S.W. Frank

  Also Available in Paperback

  ISBN-13: 978-1517151157

  ISBN-10: 1517151155

  There isn't a blast of gunfire, a war over turf, cash or honor. But, there's an explosion and the shrapnel has hit a family man in the heart. The field of debris has taken an emotional toll on the people that have taken a young Matriarch for granted.

  Selange, is diagnosed with cancer. To her husband and those that love her, it's as scorching as a bullet boring into flesh and bone.

  There's other troubles and oh they're coming hard on a family accustomed to difficulty. Giuseppe learns first-hand, what he hates the most, might be destiny calling. When he stands before a Russian Mafiya, he's forced to consider family at the point of a gun.

  Read the saga to discover how the drama ends...

  "Crime isn't pretty; it's only fashionably dressed."

  (The Alfonzo Crime Series, Volumes I-XVIII)

  Read More

  ANIMOSITY

  Alfonzo

  Volume XVIII

  Copyright © 2015 S.W. Frank

  All Rights Reserved

  Paperback Edition

  First Printing

  Printed by Createspace, USA

  S.W. Frank Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1517151157

  ISBN-10: 1517151155

  This book or no parts thereof may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system in any form without prior written permission of the author. Piracy of the book is a crime. Any sites and or persons distributing unauthorized copies are subject to legal action in accordance with Copyright infringement and Piracy laws. Alfonzo detests thieves, he also believes in Karma. Laws, cannot govern a person’s character, self-governance or lack thereof is the soul’s moral reflection.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  • • • • • •

  Images on the cover are for illustrative purposes only.

  “What one does not wish for oneself,

  One ought not to do to anyone else,

  What one recognizes as desirable for oneself,

  One ought to be willing to grant to others.”

  –Confucius

  THE ALFONZO SERIES

  • • • • • •

  ALFONZO: Volume I

  ASCENSION: Alfonzo Volume II

  ANARCHY: Alfonzo Volume III

  ATONEMENT: Alfonzo Volume IV

  AWAKENING: Alfonzo Volume V

  ANNIHILATION: Alfonzo Volume VI

  AFTERMATH: Alfonzo Volume VII

  AFFIRMATION: Alfonzo Volume VIII

  ASSOCIATES: Alfonzo Volume IX

  ANIMUS: Alfonzo Volume X

  ADVERSARY: Alfonzo Volume XI

  AVARICE: Alfonzo Volume XII

  AFFLICTION: Alfonzo Volume XIII

  ARMORED: Alfonzo Volume XIV

  ATAVUS: Alfonzo Volume XV

  AMOROSO: Alfonzo Volume XVI

  ARSENAL: Alfonzo Volume XVII

  Preface

  Alfonzo has traveled quite a distance from that first volume. He has matured, settled into his role as head of the Giacanti family and continues to shoulder huge responsibilities. Steadfast and wiser, is his right hand woman, Selange. Together they are determined to keep the bonds of family strong, which is always a formidable task when there is discourse, underhanded, duplicitous scoundrels that are intent on making drama in their solid union. Sometimes the drama derives from unseen forces that remind the couple of the sanctity of life.

  I suppose, those that continue to follow along have discovered the hidden message is simply cherish family, respect friendships and forego pettiness, for life is too short.

  Loving people are as beautiful as art. Kind and supportive persons are pleasures demonstrative of a humane society.

  The crimes in the real world are far more egregious than that in a work of fiction. A book will not harm you.

  Perhaps, Alfonzo and Selange’s unconditional love can give hope to the cynical, peace to the distressed and inspiration that the greatest love story begins within the heart.

  True love is never-ending.

  May peace and good health be your wealth blessings Fantastic Readers!

  • • • • • •

  -S.W. Frank

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  ANIMOSITY

  “I sought to erect the highest blockade,

  To quell the animosity that had raised.”

  –Alfonzo

  PROLOGUE

  “Man is the only animal that can remain on friendly terms with the victims he intends to eat, until he eats them.”

  –Samuel Butler

  The heavy etching in blue ink of a bull stood out boldly on Trev Sidorov’s pink flesh. The head on the human canvass glanced down and then up at the high-ranking officer of the Red Bratva. The animal symbolized cruelty and rage. As an executioner for the Vor V Zakone, Trev earned the honor to wear the depiction upon his chest as a member of the elite faction of the Red Bratva.

  Gorgei Viyachov was the most feared in the organization. His fits of anger cost him allies, notably Boris
Romanov of the Vor V Zakone, who was influential and respected.

  Gorgei Viyachov stared at Trev as he sat in his briefs, admiring the realism as the Artist collected his tools. Trev was a trusted soldier that returned to the fold after a forced absence in one of Russia’s worst prisons.

  The lower portion of Trev’s torso had other carved images of copulas clustered together, that to a layperson might only depict domed buildings in Russia, but to an insider of the Bratva, they represented the terms of Trev’s incarceration.

  There were seven.

  Someone unaware of the Mafiya may be surprised to learn the swastika on Trev’s arm did not suggest he sympathized with Nazism; it represented an unequivocal oath to never cooperate with officers or snitch on brethren.

  Further images on Trev’s body were stories that Gorgei knew all too well. His eyes descended to the stars on Trev’s kneecaps. Authorization by the criminal society ranked officers is required for the specialty tattoos. Any person to have such markings without the Red Bratva’s permission finds the scalpel a painful tool when it peels off their skin without use of a numbing agent. Gorgei heard men’s blood-curling screams along with bubbles of snot and tears during the process.

  The stars on Trev’s knees were rather contradictory, Gorgei deliberated. They signified a refusal to bow to authority. Yet, Trev had genuflected to the brotherhood many times.

  An onset of fatigue occurred precipitously. Sixty years of harsh weather had finally withered his bones. Age lades the body and dictates when to retire, although he liked to pretend otherwise.

  He planned to marry a young Russian and fuck her until she gave him a son. Otherwise, he’d die with two daughters when he admittedly longed for a boy with a penis to carry on his name.

  Gorgei remained seated as a henchman escorted the Artist from the room to reward him with a generous compensation for his inconvenience for traveling after midnight. He arrived promptly at Gorgei’s forest home outside of Moscow without complaint and to Gorgei, honored his oath.

  There are people that voluntarily pledge fealty to others or causes, but when there is difficulty, break vows too easily. It is the nature of people. The stringent selection process, weeds out undesirables.

  Along with other high-ranking members of the Bratva Trev’s worthiness was assessed before the markings could commence.

  They were home in their beds now, and Gorgei ensured the final phase of the indoctrination was complete.

  From his comfortable seat, Gorgei watched the artist’s German car speed between the clearing, transitioning to a dot and then nil.

  Gorgei inhaled.

  He looked at Trev whom he considered a son.

  Trev’s brother Fedrik Sidorov had been a high earner in the organization. He managed the smuggling and prostitution rings in Moscow until his murder in St. Petersburg years ago. The killing remained unsolved, which hinted that the staged robbery was likely a professional hit. Nonetheless, Gorgei believed the killer would surface, if he were not dead.

  Gorgei expelled a breath, refusing to dwell on such things. In time, leads often emerge, just as the criminal fellowship had from the shadows after the fall of the Soviet Union.

  Unsmiling, Gorgei rose, his mature shoulders sagged but his eyes were brilliantly clear. He sought to groom Trev to run the businesses, unless his future wife bore him a son. His daughters were never a consideration, old-fashioned, misogynist views, the modernists might say. However, his eldest Katia did possess a limited role as the family accountant and investor.

  He trusted her explicitly.

  He frowned, thinking of his youngest daughter, Kenya. She was twenty-two, fourteen years Katia’s junior. He worried that the vivacious girl would not understand the importance of his arrangement with Boris Romanov. She was young and pretty like her Mamochka, with a similarly pleasant disposition. She was also untouched, which Romanov would appreciate. He would have chosen the eldest; however, Katia preferred sexual relations with women. Besides, he relied on her business acumen, thus he had plans for his smart daughter.

  Katia’s meeting with the surly Guido from Sicily proved her feminine charms were beneficial. In light of the Sicilian’s generous offer, he would use his influence to convince the others to allow a revision to an antiquated contract. Of course, he would never reveal that Giuseppe Dichenzo provided an incentive by dangling a piece of Imperial history as a carrot. A jewel belonging to the last Russian czar was a valuable commodity to have in his possession.

  “Welcome Brat. Take serious your ascension in the Red Bratva. You will be held in high regard.” Gorgei stated to Trev. “You may sleep in the guest room tonight.”

  Trev imparted his gratitude. “Bolshoe spasibo.”

  Gorgei retired and Trev gathered his shoes and clothing to follow his lead.

  He had been a guest many times in the Viyachov home since his release, six months to the day. The larch floors, geometrically shaped bookshelves, curved balustrade with the staircase, connecting the top and bottom floors to the mezzanine above the sublevel kitchen to the guest room, he knew familiarly.

  He entered the suite and used the moonlight passing through clerestory windows as his lamp. The functional furnishings were unchanged; nothing lavish existed except an expensive bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.

  Trev did not drink, unless in ceremonial salutations.

  He tossed his clothes on the low bureau. The belt buckle slapped the edge and it clanged like a dull bell. When he sank to the bed and removed his socks, he sighed appreciatively for the soft cushion on his ass.

  Trev had reclined, tucked his hands behind his head and waited.

  His eyelids began to close after a while, but they retracted at the faint sound of footsteps.

  The door opened, and then clicked closed before his visitor spoke. “I have missed you.”

  She hurried to the bed, raven hair and milky skin that brought a smile to the guest.

  “I have missed you also,” he replied to the young woman, reaching to untie the sash on her robe to view what he craved to make official.

  “Did you ask Papa?” she whispered as he released her from the garment.

  His eyes went to the stars on her shoulders, thinking her brave for the unsanctioned act. He caressed her arms as she lowered his shorts and straddled him familiarly. He flexed to kiss her mouth, drinking her saliva as if it were heaven’s rain.

  Trev considered Kenya Viyachov a Russian goddess. She was fifteen when they met. He’d come with his brother Fedrik who had business with Gorgei on a winter afternoon. He had waited outside to keep an eye on the vehicle, when she had skid close to the door with her flashy sports car and then emerged without bodyguards. She clutched schoolbooks, brandishing a mischievous grin, gazing curiously from beneath heavy mascara lashes to stare in his eyes. A vehicle suddenly roared into the yard, screeching to a halt a pen length from the bumper of her car.

  A burly man leaped out, shouting that she defied his order.

  “Aye, Ivan you are only angry because I have beaten you here!”

  She had laughed and Trev’s grin stretched wider as his chest boomed at the imperfect beauty. Her canines were too sharp, and one tooth was slightly crooked, but that was natural and she was unashamed. Those were minor flaws, if one could find any; everything else about the girl bespoke what she would become in the future –an exciting woman.

  She strut to the entry, right to Trev, who was then twenty-six, asked his name and then told him he was cute and they would one day marry.

  He had blushed and the color deepened when she whispered her number before the bodyguard lumbered over, shouting with displeasure about her reckless driving and threatening to tell her parents. She had shrugged, winked at Trev and the entered the house tossing Ivan the finger.

  That is how it began.

  Seven years in prison, she is what kept him alive and dreaming.

  “Tomorrow,” he grunted, gripping her tightly, ensuring she experienced the force of his desire. “He
will know.”

  His mouth lowered to her nipple and he lovingly nibbled the tip, elated she had remained loyal. Upon his release, is when they secretly met to consummate. By then she was of age, and not a flighty teen.

  She whimpered. “Do you like my tattoos? They are my allegiance to us.”

  “Hmmm, keep them covered and only unveil them to me.” He advised.

  She bit her lip and bent forward to claim him with vigorous clenches.

  “Chert voz mi!” He cursed in Russian at the friction and the burst of semen from his engorged skin.

  He thrust heartily forcing her to suction his cum with her greedy lips, experiencing the potent intensity of loving a powerful Bratva’s daughter.

  She stretched, ah, his Russian goddess, oiled his rod with firm lips, forcing him to pump ferociously before he peaked in a series of violent liquid explosions. His palms ascended to clutch her breasts to lathe her neck with his thick tongue until the powerful feeling subsided.

  He grumbled in frustration that he must wait until morning to request Gorgei’s permission to marry his daughter. She had wanted to be present; because she said her Papa was not as cranky immediately following a hearty breakfast.

  Thus, he obliged, although, he disliked artifice.

  She kissed his petulant mouth. “Do not worry. If he does not give his blessing we will elope.”

  Trev scoffed at her naiveté. “Hopefully, he will agree to our union.”

  “We do not need his permission.” She stuck her tongue in his mouth, swirling around, making him chuckle until he heard the faintest sound.

  He bolted forward, putting his finger to his mouth.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Trev’s eyes lost their luster as she slid to the mattress, leaving a trail of melted sugar from their union along his balls and thigh.

  “Yes?” Trev shouted, aware of the penalty for his deception. Guests were relieved of their weapons. His gun was in a lockbox in the front parlor.

  “Open the door, I must speak with you.” Gorgei commanded.

  Trev glanced over his shoulder at Kenya and scoffed aloud. Sadly, he placed his mouth to hers for a farewell kiss. Their foreheads touched. He slowly stood, advising her not to speak. Then he shouted, “One moment!” Hurriedly, donned his trousers, and then padded to the door after, glancing at Kenya to ensure she was proper.