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The Book Junkie Reads . . . Review of . . . GLAZOV'S LEGACY (Bratva, #2) . . . Crime family on a level of high. The grit and grime dealt out could only be realized by the details given. Raw. Intense. Emotional (at times). Intriguing. This was my introduction to the Bratva. I was pleased with the characters Kathleen, Glazov, Novak, Katrina, Kodiak, Nikita, Roksana, and so many more. There was family, friends, famillia bonds, a legacy. This was more than just a few moments in time. There was depth. There are some layers here that are not easily grasped in just one listen. 
The
Born Bratva legacy continues.
Glazov
remains obsessed with his Ptichka in this dark, twisted romance of
unconventional love. His children have only served to bring out his dangerous
nature as he continues to fight to remain on top as the feared Pakhan.
"Daddy!
Daddy!" I have faced every terror known to man. Every blood-curdling
scream for mercy only sent me deeper into my dark state of being. Their
agonized screams never moved me to feel pity, nor have they ever struck fear in
my heart. This, though... this was different. The cry of a child, terrified and
begging for a father who could no longer help him, raised my hackles for the
first time in my screwed-up life.
Somehow,
I know that breaking through the barriers of fire and smoke and saving this boy
will avenge me, and I will finally find the redemption I so desperately need.
As if
they have been summoned from the very portals of hell, flames are licking at us
from every angle, but I will never forgive myself if I leave this boy to be
swallowed up by the inferno.
A
wooden beam crashes down beside me and pulls me back into the moment. Quickly,
I bend over and lift the child from a pile of soot-blackened debris to heave
him over my shoulder.
Once
the boy is secure in my arms, I turn and immediately run toward the door. With
every step, my lungs scream for the life-giving fresh air that looks so close,
yet feels so far away. The boy's tiny fingers grip me tightly; one hand is
hanging onto my leather gun holster, and the other is wrapped in the fabric of
my shirt. When I dressed this morning, I certainly never anticipated this could
be the day I die.
The
fire has burned through the walls in places, and sunlight beckons me through
the cracks. The entire building threatens to cave in on us before we have the
opportunity to crash through the door separating life from death.
I will
not die today. I plow through the wooden door, instinctively knowing the handle
is far too hot to be touched.
Yafon
waits just outside the door, and I toss the child into his outstretched arms
right before I fall to my knees, struggling to gulp down the fresh air that now
surrounds me.
I
gained a son today, and though he was not born of my loins, he will be raised
Bratva with my last name. I now have three children, two sons and a daughter,
to carry on the legacy of their father, Glazov.
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