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Arranged To The Bravta King 117
MikhailMy bloodstained hands are a grim reminder of another wedding turned into a murder scene. My fists clench at my sides as rage and guilt swirl within me like a storm, threatening to break loose. I should be a married man, but instead, I'm planning how I can contain the blowback from my own wedding massacre.The casualties were few, but one is too many. I let my guard down when I shouldn't have.I barge into my office, and the penthouse is once again my haven from a madman's vendetta. I saved Maria from her father, but today, I lost Anton. A good man who sacrificed his own life like my brother did eighteen years ago.My men have gone over every inch of the building, checking for anything that could signal another attempt on our lives, especially bombs. The tension is palpable enough to make its presence known, and every man is on edge after the attack, waiting for the other shoe to drop.The elevator chimes and sharp screams of obscenities replace the uneasy quiet. I turn my atte
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MikhailA solemn Maria looks past them toward the spiral stairs. Then, she turns and walks toward the window, staring at the reflection of her ruined gown. Beautiful, but at the same time melancholic ... like a dream destroyed."Maria." I speak gently as I close the office door. "Mercy must stay here."She turns to face me. "I agree, Mikhail. And probably for the same reasons. The Bratvas will blame the Lanzzare, even though they weren't involved. And the only way to keep things from escalating will depend on my cousin being here. I'm not the naïve girl you saved all those months ago, remember?"I glance over at Pavel, who shoots me a surprised look. I conceal my emotions behind an indifferent mask. I had expected an argument—Maria pleading for her cousin's release and using herself as an example of what could go wrong. But she's right.She's not the naïve girl I saved all those months ago.I'm about to dismiss Pavel when Maria speaks first. "I'm going to check on Mercy. And someone n
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MariaA tear streams down my face as I stare at Anton's coffin, surrounded by white fragrant lilies at the front of the church. He was treasured, and his passing will be remembered by neither anonymous burial nor a quick disposal of his body.The old priest gives the eulogy in an ancient church tucked away on a side street in Manhattan. The attendees are few. People like Zhanna will not come to a funeral for a guard, no matter his loyalty and devotion.But Anton meant the world to me and everyone here in attendance.The pain is raw and leaves a wound that will be hard to heal. My heart aches with the hole of his absence, our friendship stolen by my father's insane vendetta. I choke back a sob, forcing myself to breathe and focus on what will happen next. For Anton, for the Bratva, and for myself.Mikhail holds my hand firmly as the priest leads us in prayer.I wipe away my tears and stand to leave, feeling a sense of purpose. It's time to put an end to this senseless feud. And to do t
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Maria"The night I was shot, I sent a text to my father. I thought I could help by talking to him, but then I changed my mind. I dropped my phone, and when I picked it up ..." I stare into Mikhail's steady gaze. "It's how I knew you were in trouble. I made an awful mistake. And if anything had happened to you ..."My voice trails off, and he turns his back to me. Be strong, Maria. I stirred the pot, and now, I have to clean up the mess. I concentrate on my breathing to keep myself from breaking down.Mikhail faces the window. "So that's why you were there that night."I clench my teeth to silence a sound threatening to escape my throat, wondering if I've lost Mikhail by sneaking around behind his back. I stare at the tension in his broad shoulders as he stares at the city out the window. My body wants to run to him, but my heart fears what he must think about me. He won't even look at me.I can't take it. "Mikhail, please ..."He turns around, but distress is in his gaze instead of an
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MariaDominika descends the spiral staircase, holding a silver tray filled with breakfast food—French toast, strawberries, yogurt parfait, scrambled eggs, and bacon. But nothing is touched."She's not eating?" I ask, staring at the heavy tray.Dominika's expression betrays not a single emotion. "She says she doesn't want it."I pick up the bowl of strawberries and yogurt parfait and make my way up the stairs. "She has to eat something."A corner of Dominika's lips twitches ever so slightly as she calls out after me, "Wielding authority may seem easy at first, koshka, but using it is hard—especially when you realize there are consequences for every action you take."The Kuzma Fedorov painting, stacks of art books, and plush high-end furniture clash in a conflicting environment—one with tension and luxury intertwined as I enter my old room. Dressed in my jeans, Mercy sits in a chair by the window, her face set inan expression of anger and hurt. Her hostile glare overpowers the room's la
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Maria"All right," I tell her. "I'll talk to Mikhail and see if I can arrange a meeting.""Good luck with that," she pops a strawberry in her mouth. "You're going to need it. You're engaged to a pakhan, not the boy next door.""And he's still my fiancé," I remind her. "Not the boy next door."As I leave the bedroom, my mind races, thinking about what could happen if this meeting goes wrong. Has loving Mikhail clouded my judgment? I never thought I'd use a family member to get what I want. I glance over my shoulder before I descend the stairs and think about Mercy in my old bedroom—a houseguest against her will, like I once was.One thing is clear—this feud has gone far beyond rescuing me or stopping a wedding. Now, it's about survival.Without knocking, I enter Mikhail's office and ignore the startled looks as I enter. Gunsyn and Alexander stand in front of the desk as Mikhail stands behind it. Gunsyn has a burner phone in his hand and places it on the desk as if it means nothing. I r
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MariaThe relaxed, jovial feel of the place is absent tonight, and I scan the room for trouble, spotting Vito Genovesi and Luigi Bianchi sitting at a table far away from the bar.Pavel approaches the bar and nods to the bulky bald man behind it. Vince, I think that's his name. They size each other up with a glance and then nod that they understand each other. They won't give grief unless they get it. Pavel sits at the bar as Vince slowly wipes water spots off a clean glass and pours him a beer from the tap."Showtime," I say under my breath, guiding Maria toward the table."Ivanov," Vito greets with an insincere smile. "And Maria, dear, thank you for bringing him along."Bianchi's gaze lingers on me with a hint of disdain as Vito gives Maria a quick peck on the cheek."Genovesi," I extend my hand to him, but not Bianchi, and we shake. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us."Vito nods to the empty seats across from him and Bianchi. He waits until we've settled and gestures to Vince,
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MikhailUnder the table, I grip Maria's hand, and she closes her mouth. She was on the verge of speaking. And I know what she wants, but she has to let me handle this."Zakhar has made it clear that he would rather kill me than speak to me." I relent a little for Maria's sake. "But now that you've seen Maria, you can tell him that she wants to be with me, something that he isn't convinced of."Vito nods. "I can extend the olive branch, that's all. We don't need any more chaos than we already have between us. Despite Zakhar's antics, we aren't willing to enter a full-blown war." Vito's gaze shifts from me to Maria, and his eyes narrow. "I had hoped my daughter would be with you."Maria speaks up quickly. "She's safe, Uncle Vito. The Bratvas won't dare touch her while she's under Mikhail's protection. We were concerned the guests might take their revenge on her after what happened ..." her voice catches, "at our wedding."Vito sternly watches Maria and smiles, but the warmth is missing.
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Arranged To The Bravta King 175
MariaThe scent of blooming lilacs fills the air as I stand on the terrace at the Barinov Estate. Their home is the perfect backdrop for me and Mikhail to exchange our vows. Spring has arrived, and with it, a sense of rebirth. The rose garden is in bloom with lavender and pink roses that scent the misty air as I hurry across the lawn and enter an opulent ballroom.The chandeliers cast circles of light on the polished floor, and the sheer drapes billow over the casement windows. I smile at the murals of angels painted on the ceiling above my head and soak in the joy that being here gives me. The staff starts to hurry in to set the room up for our nuptials, and maybe I should go upstairs to change.Dad stands in the main hall dressed in a tux. The tiredness has left his expression, and he looks younger now that we have no secrets. I hurry over to him and hug him tight. He holds me, but his smile is tinged with sadness. "Maria, I spoke to Mikhail. I'll be announcing my retirement from th
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MikhailTHREE MONTHS LATER"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask Maria. Though it had nothing to do with me, I feel responsible. It was my Bratva that murdered Maria's mother. Men that my father trusted."Yes," she replies, staring straight ahead. "I have to have closure."We've traveled to the area where Aria was killed behind a safe house. Zakhar leads the way, searching for the spot. The tall maple trees surround the isolated house with boarded-up windows. Behind it, a faint path winds its way deeper into the woods, and overgrown bushes make it a challenge not to get lost. Eventually, the path leads to a small clearing containing a rotting tree stump.There's an eerie silence hanging over the area, as if nature was holding its breath. I take a deep breath in and stare at the tangled branches high over our heads. Maria stands beside me, her hand trembling in mine."We separated here." Zakhar stops beside the unassuming tree stump. It doesn't look like it should be anyone's final
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MariaThe delivery room is a battleground, and I'm the one fighting for a life. Sweat beads on my forehead as another contraction rips through me. My fingers grip Mikhail's hand tightly, seeking comfort in the strength of his grip. I feel his concern like an electric current crackling between us as he says words of encouragement, urging me on."Push, Maria. You're almost there," he says. His voice is strong and steady, even though worry is etched into his handsome features. Those intense eyes have seen so much violence and bloodshed, and now they're fixed on me. Mikhail has been by my side every step of the way, our relationship forged in danger. And now, we're about to create something beautiful out of it all."Maria, you're doing great," Dr. Galano chimes in, her tone professional but warm. "One more big push and you'll meet your daughter."My body tenses with the effort, and I think back to how we got here. Nights spent tangled in each other's arms, trying to forget the chaos of th
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MikhailThe room is silent as Zakhar reveals the pain he has felt for decades while hiding himself and Maria away. He sits down heavily, and I place a hand on his shoulder, understanding his desperation for his daughter and accepting the honor of his blessing.Sorokin slams the gavel down again and says, "I'm glad to know that you will willingly accept your fate, Zakhar Sergeyevich." He looks at Maria and me, his lip set in a scowl. But then Sorokin glances away and hesitates, almost as if he regrets what he has to say. "The oath has been broken, and our original judgment stands ..."Maria stiffens and reaches for my hand. "No," she whispers, "I can't lose everything I love. I won't." She looks at me, her eyes wide and desperate for reassurance. "Mikhail ... no."Behind us the doors burst open, and Zhanna strides in, flanked by several women of the Bratva. Paige Barinov, Natasha Chuikov, Sonia Karamazov, and my own sister, Larissa. The men fall silent as the women make their way towar
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MikhailWe agreed to meet on neutral territory, and the Poconos was mentioned briefly, but the Barinov Estate was chosen instead.The drive through the woods reminds me too much of driving to Sorokin's castle, but I'm relieved when two large gates open, revealing a red brick mansion. Yes, the sprawling structure is formidable, but the house is trimmed in holiday lights, and the remnants of a snowman guard the front door.The mansion has a lightness to it, which brings hope. Bright light floods the hall, bouquets decorate every table I pass, and the white marble floors are cleaned to a high gloss. Views of the gardens covered in snow are visible from the window, and a few children play outside, bundled up against the cold.I'm led by a guard to the furthest wing of the house, where I find a set of double doors. I feel hopeful until I'm shown into the dining room. My heart sinks as if it were tied to a boulder and thrown into the ocean. Contrary to my expectation of a bright and open sp
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MariaThe dark road seems familiar to me, but I'm not sure why I have this feeling of déjà vu. "Where are we going?" I ask my father as his truck navigates through traffic past the dirty piles of snow."Back to the inn," replies Dad. "We've been requested to come to a meeting." Dad's mouth is tight as he concentrates on the route.My heart skips a beat, but I keep my warring emotions inside."You don't look happy about it," I reply softly."Sorokin knows how Gunsyn died," he replies. "Mikhail and I are oath breakers. Sorokin has every right to kill us both. But we're getting a hearing instead.""That's good, isn't it?" I ask, confused."Yes and no." Dad sighs loudly as he slows down for the exit. "Maria, you have to accept that things might not end in our favor. If something happens to me, you're to go live with your uncle Vito. The feud is over, so you'll both be safe.""Nothing bad will happen." I lower my voice and grip the seat to steady my nerves. "You and Mikhail did what you sa
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MariaCHRISTMAS NIGHTIt's only eight thirty on Christmas night, and all day I haven't been in the mood for presents or holiday cheer. I finally give up and go upstairs to sit by my bedroom window. I don't have the energy or desire to do more than watch the snowflakes fall gently to the ground below. I glance over at the closed door and feel a little guilty for not being downstairs. But I can't imagine Dad is too eager to keep celebrating either. The last time I saw him he was sitting in the kitchen listening to a true crime podcast.I take a look around at the hot pink walls, the neatly arranged art books, and the plush stuffed animals on my twin bed.Nothing's changed in my pretty cage, except for me.Soon, I'll have a little girl of my own. I stare at the latest sonogram pictures again and that's the only thing that makes me smile.The world outside is cold and unforgiving, but it's warm and safe in here. In Holtsville, my father will keep me safely tucked away from what's out ther
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MikhailThe penthouse is a mausoleum of her memories, taunting me wherever I look. I stare at the spiral staircase, waiting for Maria to come down. I wait, hoping I'm wrong, but I know she'll never appear. I wander aimlessly up the stairs into her old bedroom, and my gaze falls on the Kuzma Fedorov painting I gave her. I remember that day and how proud Maria was to tell me it was hanging upside down.I, the art expert, was being schooled by a woman who had only seen art in books.But Maria spotted the hidden image of the face in the brushstrokes so clearly. The same way she spotted the light imprints in my father's journals. The same way that she still spotted a glimpse of the man I could have been.I close my eyes, dreaming that when I open them, she'll still be next to me. But I turn and the fantasy gives way to harsh reality.Many of the paintings I owned were destroyed during the attack. And I haven't stepped into my office since she left. I haven't touched a pencil, a pen, or a b
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MariaCHRISTMAS EVEA few cards sit on the mantel among a twisty wire of bright lights. The Christmas tree stands in one corner, its branches covered in twinkling lights and ornaments from the attic. For the first time in a long while, the living room furniture is draped in cozy red-and-green throws, and a plush white rug adds to the holiday style. The scent of cinnamon and cloves fills the air downstairs, but none of this is enough to put me in the mood.The only thing that makes me smile is a sonogram of my baby propped up on the mantelpiece.Dad sits in the kitchen wrapping gifts. The sound of paper folding and the cut and the hiss of tape being pulled off the spool is calming, like white noise. I stare at the colorful presents crowded under the tree with big loopy bows.I want to care that Christmas is tomorrow, but I just don't.It's hard to care when I can only think about Mikhail."You don't mind that they're coming over?" Dad enters the room, picking at a roll of tape, trying
