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Arranged To The Bravta King 153
MariaI'm not sure if my cousin Christian will let me leave, but he doesn't seem to want me here on my own. After Mikhail leaves with Dad and Uncle Vito, I am escorted back to my room. I don't complain. It's after midnight, so I go to bed, and in the morning, I am given clean clothes and breakfast and practically pushed out the door.The driver is polite but barely speaks to me the entire time. When I see Rurik sitting in one of our SUVs, waiting in a parking lot by the George Washington Bridge, I practically jump out of the vehicle and run to him."Thank you," I smile sweetly as I fasten my seat belt."Maria Zakharovna." Rurik's voice is icy as he greets me.As we pull up to their Long Island mansion, the gates open, and Rurik's men stand at attention as the vehicle goes down the drive. Their eyes never leave me as I approach the front door. I've grown accustomed to Rurik's frigid personality, but it sends a shiver down my spine to feel the same coldness from his men.I nod curtly an
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MikhailI glance at my watch—seven hours and thirty-seven minutes left. Time's running out. Rurik, Pavel, and Zakhar take off to look for Alexander, and their determination is evident in every stride. As I search through his abandoned house in Maryland, my heart pounds in my chest as I kick down the front door. The stench of sweat and fear assaults my senses, making me hold my breath in disgust."Mercy?" I call out, my voice betraying the urgency I want to suppress. And then I see her.She's tied to a chair, face bruised and battered, but otherwise very much alive."Get away from her!" I shout at the man towering over her, his hand raised, ready to deliver another blow."Who the hell are you?" he snarls, turning towards me. I don't hesitate. I pull the trigger and watch as the life drains from his eyes. His body collapses to the floor, and blood pools around his head.Mercy looks up, defiance still strong in her eyes. When she speaks, her sarcastic voice is shaky yet defiant. "Took yo
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Mikhail"Ippolit shot the girl to wound her," Alexander starts, his voice weak but steady. "You know how he liked toying with his victims. And Gunsyn." He winces. "Gunsyn wanted to rape her. I was the only thing that saved her last bit of dignity when I sent him away to comb the grounds for you instead."A cold sweat appears on Zakhar's forehead, and the memory of running from Gunsyn that night must be flashing through his mind."Once that pig was gone," Alexander continues, "I looked into Aria's eyes and saw a woman who deserved better than the fate that awaited her. And she was dying anyway. So, I gave her a dignified end. I shot her in the head."My chest tightens at the revelation. Yes, he gave Maria's mother a merciful end, but he still played a part in her death. I feel a possessive anger flare up within me, demanding justice for her.But it's not justice for me to dispense."Should I thank you or condemn you?" Zakhar asks, his rage surpassing his bitterness. "You were my sworn
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MariaThe wrought iron gates loom in front of the SUV, casting long shadows across the cobblestone driveway. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I mentally prepare myself for what comes next. I step out of the SUV and gaze up at Sorokin's castle. My knees shake the closer my feet carry me to the oak door.The imposing door swings open, and an old servant greets me. "Welcome, Maria Zakharovna,"I nod politely and enter. The door shuts behind me, and the lock clicks in place, echoing through the mansion. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in response. The ancient tapestries and impressive paintings I gawked at on my first visit leave me cold as I walk further into the melancholy.I'm shown into the dining room, where Sorokin waits."Maria Zakharovna," he says with an air of surprise as he rises from his seat at the head of the table. "You've come alone. How brave.""Thank you," I reply evenly, though my stomach churns at the thought of what lies before me. "I'm a woma
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MikhailThe garage doors block out the sunlight that tries to intrude on my self-imposed isolation. I need to be alone to think, and Rurik's garage offers me a twisted sanctuary. The two-car garage looks benign to the uninitiated, but it feeds my anger. Heavy ropes hang off hooks from the ceiling, and neat racks of tools hang on a corkboard in order of size. Everything is mundane until Rurik handles it. The cement floor is cracked in places where a great weight has slammed against it.Muscles shaking, I stride through a connecting door into the second garage where a vintage Mustang is stored. It's amusing to actually see a car in here, knowing what this building was originally intended for. I lift back the protective cover from the front of the muscle car and stare at the black surface that shines, even in this dim light. Closing my eyes, I lean my hands against it and allow the feeling of guilt and love to agitate my insides.My eyes open, and I lift my gaze to the locked gun cabinet
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MariaI'm led through the hallways of Sorokin's mansion by his elderly butler. I've discovered his home isn't an actual castle made of blocks of carved stone piled sky-high. Only the exterior mimics an ancient stone structure pictured in a history book. The modern interior is constructed of plaster walls and wood floors to look old. But nonetheless, the enormous interior is a maze of rooms and difficult to navigate without help.I brace myself for whatever waits behind the large double doors we're quickly approaching. The doors open to reveal a surprisingly cheerful conservatory, and I hear laughter before I see Sorokin's guests. The man himself is nowhere in sight, and my shoulders relax. Natasha Chuikov smiles when she spots me and stands, revealing her sleek figure in a navy suit tailored like a man's.I nod at her, but my gaze goes straight to the woman sitting beside her, who turns to look at me."Maria Zakharovna Budanov," Natasha introduces us in a direct manner. "This is Paige
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MariaWe step out into the long hallway. Paige walks in the direction of the front hall as I follow Natasha to a back door that is heavily guarded. We step outside into the crisp autumn air and the scent of fallen leaves mingling with the distant sound of birds. The estate sprawls before me, and Natasha guides me toward a secluded building."The estate is well-guarded," Natasha says as we approach the range. "You won't get anywhere on foot."We step into the building—the ceiling is low, but the length of the building is long. Individual stalls are set up with dividers in between. At the end of the stall is a target. "First lesson: firearms are not accessories," says Natasha. "They're tools and demand respect, so don't aim unless you intend to shoot." She hands me a sleek handgun, surprisingly heavy in my grip. "This is a Glock 19. It's reliable, accurate, and easy to use."I turn the gun over in my hands, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement I make. "Okay." I steady my hands. "What
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MikhailThe crack of gunfire reverberates off the walls of an abandoned mall, drowning out the frantic shouting inside. Shattered glass and debris litter the floor as men stomp through storefronts with bare shelves. Flashes of gunfire light up the darkness, casting eerie shadows on graffiti-covered walls. A blast punctuates the panicked screams of those caught in the crossfire.On an upper level, I stand beside Zakhar, watching as my trustworthy men, fueled by the Lanzzare's additional firepower, carry out our war against Gunsyn with ruthless efficiency. The scene is frenzied yet calculated among the mildewed building debris. Calmly, I watch a clash of destruction orchestrated by an expert plan.Tense, I observe from a distance like a general not allowed to race into the fray. I clutch my hands around night-vision binoculars and force my feet to stay planted where they are. Apparently, Gunsyn has also chosen to stay out of the line of fire. But if I see him, I will run into the madnes
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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
