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Arranged To The Bravta King 124
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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MikhailThe elevator doors open, and we arrive back at the penthouse intact. Not what I expected from meeting with a Lanzzare, but life has been unpredictable since Maria arrived. We step off the elevator, holding hands, ready to spend time alone in our bedroom after the uneasy meeting. But our delusion of a peaceful home ends quickly as Mercy's muffled shouts pierce through the door of a staff closet, a string of shouted obscenities that would make a sailor blush.Pavel sits in a folding chair, blocking the door, and his stern gaze focuses on me. "She tried to make off with your laptop, but I caught her," he explains. "This one is good with locks."Maria's gaze flicks to the closet, then back to me. Her expression is unreadable, but she doesn't object, silently agreeing with Pavel's actions. The wheels turn in her head as she processes everything that has happened—her thoughts challenge what she thinks is right and wrong."Ask Dominika to take her back to her room," she says, and I n
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MikhailAt the end of a winding drive, the tall iron gates creak open despite the lack of rust on the painted hinges. I drive onto the grounds of the Long Island mansion where Maria was born while she sits quietly beside me in the Mercedes with her hands folded in her lap. I decided we would come here alone, assuming neither of us could have anticipated the sight looming over us. In a neighborhood filled with sheltered clapboard houses close to the ocean, the imposing mansion looks like a gothic misfit.Momentarily, the wind off the ocean fills the silence with an eerie rustle before it rushes through the trees."Can you believe it?" she says, her eyes wide.It's too bizarre to comment. I nod, unable to tear my gaze away from the towers that rise above the roofline like devil's horns. "It's like looking at a twisted reflection of my late father's home."The silhouette is strikingly similar to the Ivanov mansion, and it's precisely the kind of thing Gennady would use to overtly remind
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MariaDoubt slows my feet as the wide door creaks open, revealing the house that used to be my home. The dull wooden floor in the hall groans under our footsteps as Mikhail and I venture into the empty house. Several corners of the floral wallpaper peel from the wall, and cobwebs float above our heads just out of reach. This place is a shell of what it used to be as hints of a happier past materialize."It looks like no one's been inside for years," I say quietly.Faded pictures hang on the walls, and my heart clenches in my chest as I stop to look at my family frozen in the frames.Mikhail grabs hold of my arm. "Maria, you don't have to do this."Gently, I take his hand away. "I'm okay now." I straighten my spine. "I want to see it, Mikhail. I need to know, even if it guts me." I pick up a dusty photo frame from a small hall table.My fingers trace the outlines of the smiling faces in the picture—my parents embracing each other, their love forever on display. I've never seen a photo
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MariaSeeing the old house takes a toll I didn't anticipate. My emotions are twisted and pulled in every direction until I am a mess, on the verge of tears. Instead of ruminating, I force myself to sleep on the car ride back to Manhattan. And when I wake up, someone has placed me in my bed. We were gone the entire day, and I was not expecting to see Mikhail sitting beside me in the bed. His hair is tousled over his forehead as if he's been pulling at it. Shirtless, with his tattoos showing, he's deep in thought as he studies a book. Instead of glossy photos of art, the pages are handwritten."What time is it?" I ask, stretching. Then I notice someone removed my dress before putting me in bed.He looks up abruptly, startled that I'm awake. "It's almost one in the morning."The nap makes me feel restored, and I move a little closer to Mikhail. I stretch again, feeling the silky sheet against my toes. It feels like all the destructive emotions between us were left behind. Our confessions
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MikhailThe morning passes as I sit at my desk, scrutinizing the pages of my father's journals, searching for secrets hidden between lines of text about deals and threats. "Dammit," I mutter under my breath. I keep returning to the journal with the missing pages, as if they'll reappear. My fingertips run over the torn edges as my frustration grows out of control. I push away from the desk and pace the floor again.Two weeks before Desmier's death, Gennady notes a brief disagreement between himself and Zakhar. That's not a big deal, but the name mentioned is—Raymond D'Artello. A member of the Lanzzare, he was picked to be my first kill.10 a.m.—Zakhar opposes target choice. He insists it's not the right move.Was there a reason for Zakhar disagreeing with my father? I thumb through the pages again, hoping something will make sense. Maybe a written line will leap out at me from a page I've stared at before. If Zakhar was against killing D'Artello, then there had to be a reason. Was he a
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MikhailWe return to the couch and immerse ourselves in the search, reading every word written on each page as the hours slowly pass.Maria's keen eyes catch something I've missed. The pages in the lead-up to my father's death have also been torn out. She runs her fingertips over the page and suddenly holds it up against the light as if seeing something that isn't there.I join her side, and that's when I see it.When she tilts the journal in just the right direction, a series of light indentations can be seen.Ghosts of pen marks from the prior pages that have been torn out. The marks are so light that they might not have been noticed were it not for Maria's eye for detail."I can't read it," she says, squinting at the page. "Can you?""I know a way," I tell her, taking the journal out of her hands. "Hand me a sketching pencil."Maria's face lights up instantly, and she hurries to the desk drawer. "Here." She hands me what I'm asking for.Gently, I brush the pencil over the raised ma
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MariaThe sun is elusive this morning, and grayness dominates the light in our bedroom. I'm tangled in the soft sheets, feeling the warmth from Mikhail's body beside me. I close my eyes again, attempting to hold onto the peace of the moment, but it's shattered by the sound of Mikhail's phone."Shit." His face turns grim as he listens to the voice on the other end. Mikhail bolts upright, throwing off the sheets and leaping out of our bed. He quickly dresses, the muscles in his back flexing as he pulls on his button-down shirt.Sitting up, I clutch the sheet against my chest. "What is it?" I ask, dreading the answer."Pavel," he replies rapidly. "Larissa's home is under attack. We suspect the Lanzzare are behind it because of Mercy." He pauses, dressing long enough to meet my gaze. "It's legit, Maria."The pounding on the bedroom door startles me, and Mikhail swings it open. From the hallway, Pavel's voice is urgent, borderline panicked, sending alarm through me. "Rurik is on ajob," he
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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
