Arian: The Guzun Family Trilogy, #3

By Linzi Basset

Arian, named the Godfather of the EU Bratvas, believed in equality… of power and responsibility. Arian, Vadim, and Vanya, leaders of the Guzun Bratva, ruled Moldova as a team.

 

Arian Guzun

I don't live with regrets, no matter how many scatter the road I have walked. Shit happens, I accept it and move on. Except when it comes to the Family. For my mother and siblings I will kill, and as the Pakhan of the Guzun Bratva, I am the devil incarnate. 

 

Now, I stand at a crossroad. The woman who broke my heart ten years ago needs my help. Let me set the record straight. I don't love her, nor do I hate her, so don't expect a happily ever after once I find her. The conundrum I am facing is whether I want to help her, no matter that I feel obligated to do so. 

 

Izolda Sidorov

The choices you make in life define the person you are. Whoever said that should come talk to me. For the past ten years I lived in a prison of my own making—because the choices I was given forced me to make a decision I have regretted ever since. 

Now prison has become my reality. God knows, I don't want to die in this shithole. There is only one man who can save me… but he hates me, so I'm doomed—death is lurking at every corner, waiting…. 

Amidst a battle to retain their position as one of the most feared and successful Bratva Groups in the EU, Arian is forced to face the biggest challenge yet. 

 

Trust… and the thin line that is stretching it to snap between a man he loved like a brother and survival in a bloodied Mafia war about to erupt. 

 

Will he come to live with regret after all?

 

PLEASE NOTE: Although the blurb is in first person, the book is written in third person.  This series should be read in order. 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Linzi Basset
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201033866

Linzi Basset

“Isn’t it a universal truth that it’s our singular experiences and passion, for whatever thing or things, which molds us all into the individuals we become? Whether it's hidden in the depths of our soul or exposed for all to see?” Linzi Basset is a South African born animal rights supporter with a poet’s heart, and she is also a bestselling fiction writer of suspense filled romance erotica books; who as the latter, refuses to be bound to any one sub-genre. She prefers instead to stretch herself as a storyteller which has resulted in her researching and writing historical and even paranormal themed works. Her initial offering: Club Alpha Cove, a BDSM club suspense series released back in 2015, reached Amazon’s Bestseller list, and she has been on those lists ever since. Labelling her as prolific is a gross understatement as just a few short years later she has now been published forty-one times; a total which fails to take into account the three other published works of her alter ego: Isabel James who co-authors—nor does it include the five additional new works marked for imminent release. “I write from the inside out. My stories are both inside me and a part of me so it can be either pleasurable to release them or painful to carve them out. I live every moment of every story I write. So, if you're looking for spicy and suspenseful, I'm your girl... woman... writer... you know what I mean!" Linzi believes that by telling stories in her own voice, she can better share with her readers the essence of her being: her passionate nature; her motivations; and her wildest fantasies. She feels every touch as she writes, every kiss, every harsh word uttered, and this to her is the key to a never-ending love of writing. Ultimately, all books by Linzi Basset are about passion. To her, passion is the driving force of all emotion; whether it be lust, desire, hate, trust, or love. This is the underlying message contained in her books. Her advice: “Believe in the passions driving your desires; live them; enjoy them; and allow them to bring you happiness.” Follow Linzi everywhere: https://linktr.ee/LinziBasset

Book preview

Chapter One

IK-14 prison for women in Russia’s central region of Mordovia...

I don’t appreciate your attention wandering elsewhere while we fuck, or is this your attempt to get out of our arrangement?

Of course not. I just... Izolda Sidorov exhaled slowly, a sigh signaling the switch from reaction to reflection, to process, to arrive at a satisfactory response that wouldn’t piss off the woman watching her like a hawk. One of the young inmates came into the infirmary today. She was beaten up so badly, I don’t think she’s going to make it.

Fedora Laskin ran her hands through the dull, cropped length of Izolda’s hair. She leaned into the caress, not because she had any feelings for the woman but because it offered her some kind of solace—of being wanted, sexually, at least. One thing she had learned while incarcerated in the FKU SIZO-1 Detention Facility in the Kirov Region before she was sent here, was to do whatever was necessary to survive. In a hellhole such as this, she had no other choice but to become what she now was—Fedora’s bitch.

Fedora was the one inmate in this prison with control. Everyone feared her—she had a life sentence with no chance at parole, so if anyone angered her, she wouldn’t hesitate to off her tormentor since she knew she would never get out. This was the end of the line. There was nothing else for her.

That she was in with the warden and the guards, made her presence invaluable—to Izolda at least. Besides, as long as she played the perverted games of the undisputed inmate captain, she stayed alive. No one would dare touch her.

"Da, I heard the west wing inmates beat her up because she went to ARV therapy and was unable to sew what was demanded of her by the shop leader. Fedora turned onto her back. You know the entire brigade gets punished if they don’t make their quota for the day."

It’s not Yana’s fault she has HIV.

So, is she too sick to work?

"Nyet, she’s young, strong, and with continued treatment she will most probably live a long life, if she survives the next thirty days."

What happens then?

Her sentence will be considered served out. She’ll be going home.

Izolda heard the longing in her own voice. Not to be able to go home to where she had once lived before her bastard ex-husband had her locked-up, but to go home to her parents in Moscow—if they were still alive. It was all a daydream though. Boris had framed her for a murder she didn’t commit because he feared she might let slip information about his role as one of the biggest Bratva criminals in Russia. She wasn’t getting out of here anytime soon. If at all.

During the ten years as Boris Sidorov’s wife, she had become segregated from every person in her past, even her family. Sometimes, when she was honest with herself, even this prison was less restrictive than her life had been during her entire marriage.

Now, she had been doomed to an ignominious end in this hellhole, transferred here two days before her trial was due to start. There had been no chance to prove her innocence, no guilty verdict had been issued. No sentence at all! The trial just never happened and yet, here she was, locked up with no way out. She had been here for ten months with no word from the outside, which confirmed her fears that no one knew where she was. Not even Tomasso Ricci, the lawyer who Andrei Balan, who used to be a very old and beloved friend from way back, had been able to secure for her without Boris finding out the association he had with the Guzuns. Every attempt she made to reason with the warden to allow her to make contact was denied, thus proving Boris Sidorov’s power and control spread far, even to this prison. He had the money to pay, not only to keep her locked up in this death trap of a prison, but also to have her conveniently killed off.

Four attempts had been made within the first two months of her arrival. If not for Fedora’s interference the last time, she would’ve died. Personally, Izolda believed Fedora had her own agenda, since protecting her was glaringly in opposition to what the warden’s orders were. Proof in that was that the death threats and attempted killings hadn’t stopped.

She closed her eyes briefly. There was one person who feared no one. Not even Boris. If only she could get word to him.

Who the hell am I fooling? Arian Guzun hates me with every fiber of his body. He would never come here to save me. Not even if Boris was dead.

Are you sure that’s the only thing worrying you? Fedora’s voice yanked her back to the present.

I’m tired, Dora. Izolda’s voice quivered. Don’t get me wrong. I am forever grateful that you got me transferred to the infirmary, but watching all those women, beaten half-dead by the guards, arriving every day, is taking its toll. The hours in the sewing room were brutal but at least there we all suffered the same fate. Now, I feel like I copped out and took the coward’s way.

"Yet, you’re the one who has been saving many of them. Face it, kukla, you have skills as a surgeon those deadbeat physicians at the infirmary will never have, not even in their dreams. She leaned in to place a lingering kiss on the nape of Izolda’s neck. Why do you think I made sure that you work there? The day someone is brave enough to shank me, I know you’d be able to keep me alive."

Izolda wailed inside her mind at the memory of the accolades she had received as a young plastic surgeon. How she had become one of the most revered surgeons not only in Russia, but renowned internationally. All that arduous work had come to nothing the day she had married Boris Sidorov. He had promised she would continue to run her practice.

That had been the first lie, not the biggest, but the first.

The fucktard deserves to die. One way or the other, I’m going to get out of here and kill him. Make him suffer, for every dream he stole from me.

She forced her attention back to Fedora. Don’t talk like that. I hope to never see you stumble into the infirmary with a bleeding wound.

"I walk a tightrope here, kukla. Da, I’m feared, and no one dares challenge me but it’s only because I learned situational awareness when I was in the army. I’m not naive. It goes without saying that there will always be those stupid enough to challenge me. I have beaten and killed enough inmates in here to know how hated I am. My day will come. I won’t die of old age in this hellhole, that much I know."

Yeah, neither will I.

Izolda knew she should stop dreaming of Arian coming to save her, much like the knight in shining armor, galloping in on his white steed. She smiled wryly at the picture in her mind—the damsel in distress saved by her mighty prince—fairy tales she used to love as a child.

If only that could come true... just this once.

Doc! Come quick! Yana is coding and I can’t find any of the prison physicians.

Lazy bastards must’ve gone home, Izolda sneered as she quickly got dressed in the prison orange overalls and sneakers. Within minutes, she followed the inmate nurse down the dark hallways to the infirmary with two grumbling guards on their heels. Her heart hammered in her chest as she played out the scenarios in her mind of what procedures to follow to save Yana’s life—that is, if any were needed. If she had been coding when the nurse came to call her, she might already be dead.

What she saw upon entering the infirmary, shocked her. The nurses had strapped Yana down to keep her shuddering body from falling off the narrow bed.

We managed to revive her by doing chest compression but then the convulsions started, one of the nurses explained as Izolda unstrapped her.

Get an oxygen mask on her, stat! Izolda quickly checked the vitals notations on Yana’s chart, a practice she had implemented when she started working there. The prison physicians never bothered since most inmates didn’t survive through the night.

I was afraid of this, Izolda murmured. Help me turn her on her side. I suspect she has brain damage, but we’re not equipped to do the proper scans. Keep her airway open. I don’t want her suffocating, she ordered as she quickly examined her. We need to get her temperature down. Her eye caught the color of Yana’s urine in the catheter bag. Jesus! Didn’t anyone pick up the hematuria?

I changed the bag earlier this evening and it was normal. It must’ve started recently.

She’s bleeding internally, Izolda said as she examined her stomach and found one of the bruises had turned very dark and was swollen with the skin drawn taut over her torso, a sign that blood from damaged blood vessels leaked into the surrounding skin. Tell the guards to get hold of one of the physicians and he better get here fast. We need to operate.

Never before had she felt so helpless. She was allowed to work in the infirmary as a doctor, but they always made sure she had no access to scalpels or any sharp objects. The times she had been able to assist on operations, her hands were cuffed to the operating table with only enough leeway to reach the wound on which she was working.

Yana could die because of the continued disregard for life the warden, administrators, and the physicians had for the inmates.

What the fuck is going on here? The high-pitched voice sounding from the doorway was the sweetest sound Izolda had heard in a long time.

Doctor Aslanov, thank God you’re here. Izolda quickly explained Yana’s condition.

I just went for dinner with my family, but I came right back, since I’ve been concerned about her. Scrub in, Inmate. Let’s save this young woman’s life.

Izolda didn’t need a second invitation. Aslanov was one of the new physicians and had only been there for a couple of weeks. He appeared to care more for his patients than those who had been working there for years. There might be hope for the inmates yet.

Two grueling hours later, Izolda finally stitched up the wound. Yana had a ruptured spleen, and since she had lost so much blood, they were forced to perform a splenectomy. Since Aslanov wasn’t a surgeon and didn’t have the skills to do the operation, she had been forced to take the lead.

What’s your prognosis? Doctor Aslanov asked a while later as he joined her where she sat next to Yana’s bed, holding her hand.

The operation was a success, but she lost too much blood. To be honest, I don’t know if she’ll survive the night. Tears formed in her eyes. All of this could’ve been so easily avoided if only the warden... She swallowed the words. It would serve no purpose to voice her complaints other than to be punished. She didn’t trust any of the guards to keep their mouths shut. Although she liked Aslanov, she wasn’t fool enough to believe his loyalty was with anyone other than Warden Pavel Levitsky.

We’ve done all we can. Go back to your cell. The nurses and I will keep an eye on her.

I prefer to stay.

It’s not a request, Inmate 44821. You know you’re not allowed in here except during daytime hours.

Of course, she said stiffly.

With one final look at Yana, she walked out of the infirmary, dragging her feet all the way back to the prison block to find Fedora still in her cell when she walked in. The guards allowed her the freedom to move around since they were shit scared of her.

Not for the first time since her arrival, Izolda was glad she had someone on whom she could lean. The big, muscled woman might put the fear of God in the inmates but at this moment, she showed a side of her no one had ever seen before.

"Come here, kukla," Fedora said as she opened her arms. Izolda fell into her embrace, tears of tiredness and concern running down her cheeks as Fedora offered compassion and understanding that she so desperately needed.

I’m glad I have you, she whispered as she finally managed to calm down.

"Prove it, kukla."

Fedora never beat around the bush. Even in this situation, her own wants and needs came first. To her, she had offered a service to Izolda. Now it was her duty to pay the price.

Izolda didn’t hesitate. Yana’s condition was a cogent reminder of how fragile they all were in this hellhole. One misstep was all it took, and your life was over. Fucking this woman was a small price to pay to stay alive.

With quick, economic movements, she undressed and crawled back into the narrow bunk, pressing her lips against Fedora’s for a deep, passionate kiss.

Fedora immediately took charge. She didn’t have the patience or the need for foreplay, proving once again why the inmates whispered about her as the rough rider under the guise of spattering water in the bathroom.

Yes, Dora. Give it to me. Fuck me, she muttered the words she knew her lover always demanded from her. With her eyes closed and lips pressed in a painful pinch, she succumbed to the fist forcing its way deep inside her pussy.

"You like this, don’t you, moya malenʹkaya shlyukha? Fedora taunted her. Show me how much, suka. Ride my hand while you suck my cunt."

Like every time before, Izolda complied, her eyes closed as she did what she had done for ten years as Boris Sidorov’s wife—envisioning Arian Guzun as her lover.

The only man she had ever loved. No matter the reason for the choices she had made at the time, she still regretted walking away from him every day since.

It was a relief to wake up the next morning to find herself alone. With her body feeling battered, she walked to the bathroom where they were sheep-herded for their morning hygiene. The pain between her legs was testimony of the rough pleasures Fedora had taken from her throughout the night.

The first to leave the bathroom, she headed straight for the infirmary, ignoring the furious shout of the guard who chased after her.

"Inmate 44821! Blyad’! Get back to the mess hall."

Izolda ignored the furious call and ran faster, only skidding to a halt inside the infirmary.

NO! Please no!

Body crumbling, she fell to her knees, staring with empty eyes at the body covered from head to toe in a sheet on the bed where she had left Yana the previous night.

I’m sorry. She died two hours ago. The only consolation I can offer is that we did everything we could for her. Doctor Aslanov’s voice was gentle as he laid a hand on her shoulder. She had brain damage as well, bleeding we didn't pick up because we don’t have the equipment to run the necessary scans. Her ears and nose started bleeding but by then—

It was too late, she said in a dull voice.

Izolda didn’t bother railing at him that had they done what she had told them to do when Yana came in, she would still be alive. Of course, she was naive to believe they would transfer an inmate to a state hospital. The risk of being exposed for the cruelty harbored at the prison was too great.

Get to the mess hall, Inmate 44821, before you get into trouble, Doctor Aslanov said as the guard finally caught up with her. He squared his shoulders. I sent for her. I apologize for not following protocol.

See that it doesn’t happen again, the guard huffed as he prodded Izolda to her feet. Get going. The cooks aren’t going to wait for you. Personally, I don’t give a fuck if you go hungry.

Izolda suppressed the snort threatening to burst from her lips with difficulty. The hint of annoyance in the guard’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. Many of them resented the power Fedora had over them but they feared her too much to oppose her or challenge her. They had all been warned what the consequences would be should they mistreat her lover.

For that at least, Izolda was eternally grateful, but that didn’t solve the bigger problem she faced. A way to escape this hellhole before someone, who feared Boris Sidorov even more, got to her.

Although she had no appetite, with the loss of Yana at the forefront of her mind, she forced a large breakfast down. She needed to build up her strength to be ready when Arian came for her, to keep up with him during her escape.

She knew he would come for her. He just had to.

Chapter Two

AVV Airpro, chartered cargo service, based at Chișinău International Airport, Moldova...

Where the fuck have you been? Vadim snapped as Arian walked into his office, over an hour late for a meeting.

I had business to attend to.

What business?

I don’t need to explain to you what I do with my time, Vadim, so back the fuck off.

"Like hell I will. In case you’ve forgotten, this is our business. Yours, mine, and Vanya’s, who took off to cope with her grief over Andrei’s death in Sicily... and you? You’re just never here. I can’t take care of Vanya’s responsibility and yours, Arian. Not to mention the Guzun Organization you suddenly don’t give a rat’s ass about either." Vadim’s fist landed so hard on the desk that the coffee cups nearly danced off the edge.

"Blyad’! I didn’t mind having to juggle everyone’s jobs for a couple of weeks but I’m not going to do it indefinitely. You seem to forget that I, too, mourn Andrei’s death but yet, here I am, fulfilling my duty to AVV and the Guzun Bratva every damn day!"

Arian bit back a retort against the angry provocation of his brother’s words. The temperament of everyone at both entities was at a razor’s edge. Andre had been loved by everyone. It was plain to see that Vadim was struggling with his loss as much as he was.

You’re right, and I apologize. I should never have allowed it to go this far. Arian sat down and accepted the lit cigar Vadim offered. He dragged the vapors into his lungs before exhaling it in the form of a wooly ring. The aromatic tincture of rich tobacco lingered in his nostrils, inviting old memories of himself, Vadim, and Andrei relaxing in front of the fireplace and reminiscing about college days. He blinked as his eyes began to burn. The once sepia-colored reverie faded to slowly regain the bright colors of the present day.

I’ve known you all my life. Pardon me for stating the obvious, but this isn’t you. You didn’t even react like this to our father’s death. What’s really bothering you, Arian?

Everybody confesses at some point in their lives, don’t they, little brother? Arian appeared to be thinking aloud to himself as he stared vacantly at the smoke swirling above his head. Our worst crimes and fears will always bubble up to the surface no matter what language we speak. A smile of recognition soothed the angst that tormented his face. "And having found the power and redemption that forgiveness eventually brings, a fundamentally good person can free themself to find something greater than their own self. It was Socrates that said, the unexamined life is not worth living."

Transcendence? What are you going on about? Vadim straightened in his chair to gaze at him darkly.

Arian continued as if he hadn’t heard, Dad used to say that once regret has done its job, you have to move on and put the lessons you learned, during the process, to good use.

The hand he ran through the tousled length of his hair trembled slightly. The dull eyes and sickly pallor attested to the exhaustion that was so deep it was ravaging his mind and body. A tiredness so deep, it was scratching at his bones, threatening collapse. Lack of sleep and emotionally whiplashing himself didn’t make good bed partners.

Still in the dark here, Vadim said bluntly.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Come on, big brother. I might not be able to help but at least I can listen.

Arian’s humanity was teetering on the edge of flatlining. It was there in the gaze looking back at him in the reflection of the mirror every morning.

He knew it, could feel it and there was nothing he wanted to do to prevent it from happening. More than anyone, he deserved the disintegration of his soul—the little that was left—to compensate for what he had allowed to happen. This time, he didn’t want to fight the devil for control. To the contrary, he embraced the feeling of malevolence in his heart and with it the volcanic anger ready to erupt.

Except, he