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Forty-Seven
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Arranged To The Bravta King Forty-Eight
MikhailI walk across the floor of the warehouse, and the hollow sound of my footsteps reverberates throughout the space. The walls were torn down during a renovation that was started years ago but never finished. Gunsyn claimed the space and decided not to put them back up except for where he built a private office in a far corner.As I walk past, fresh recruits stand stiffly at attention, guarding boxes of forged invoices and receipts that could land all of us in jail. I don't like having dirt so concentrated in one place, but this arrangement is necessary.I make my way to the office, ignoring the dried blood on the floor and the sickly smell of vomit. As I approach the open metal door, the stink of cigars camouflages the rude smell. If Alexander bought the damn things, they're probably expensive.I hate it here. But it's necessary.My eyes adjust to the sunlight as I enter the small cube built of sheetrock and studs. The three brigadiers sit around a steel desk with key locks on e
Arranged To The Bravta King Forty-Nine
Mikhail"Maria Rostova is mine to deal with," I say firmly. "Not yours.""Very well," Alexander says, a hint of skepticism in his posh voice. "I'm glad that everything has been laid on the table."My head spins, and shadows appear in the corners of the room. Desmier, Father, and Mother—their voices seem to call out to me in unintelligible whispers. I struggle with clouded thoughts, and the vodka rushes down my tightening throat. Gasping, I need to know more before I can clear my mind. Turning my attention to the brigadiers, I press them for something, anything that might help me untangle this confusion.Eyeing each one coldly, I ask them, "What proof do you have of her involvement?""Ah, yes." Ippolit glances away. His manner is stiller than water and just as deep. He pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and slides it to me.A redhead woman working behind a bar is on the phone. But it's not anyone that I recognize."This is the daughter of Vito Genovesi," Ippolit explains. "A caporeg
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty
MariaSomething about Mikhail has changed.There's something different in the way he looks—no, glares—at me. He seems to go out of his way not to be around, like I'm chasing him out of his own home. Ironic since I'm not allowed to leave. I feel him drifting away from me, and I don't know why. His reluctance to share what's happening in his head is frustrating, and it scares me.Mikhail sits across from me in the living room, and his eyes focus on something outside the window. It's late afternoon, and he hasn't been out. He looks good in just a button-down shirt with no tie and gray pants. I stare at him until he looks, and then I quickly look away."Hey." My voice squeaks with doubt. "Is everything okay?"Mikhail hesitates for a moment before turning to face me. His icy stare sends a nasty shock through my system, and I lean back hard against the couch. "Yes," he replies coolly."Are you sure?" I ask impatiently."Maria, it's fine," he insists, though I see blankness in his eyes.One
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-One
MariaI look past Mikhail's head, and Mercy has positioned herself out of his line of sight. She holds a small pink smartphone to her ear, making sure I notice it, and then she walks off to the bathroom."I have to pee," I blurt out.Mikhail eyes me oddly as if I'm unwell. He nods as if I need his permission to go. I get up slowly, carefully making my way to the dim hallway that leads to the bathrooms. My knees threaten to buckle, but I make it inside the ladies' room.Oh God, why aren't I running out of here screaming?"What. The. Fuck," Mercy whispers as she pulls me inside. "Do you have any idea who that is?"I nod. "I already told you ..."She cuts me off. "Why did you bring him here? Y'know what? Never mind. Take this."Mercy tries to hand me the phone, but I don't take it. Right now, getting caught is more frightening than anything else. I've seen how Mikhail handles a knife."I can't ..." I whisper."Michael is freaking the fuck out all over the effing town," Mercy pants and pa
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Two
MariaWe ride the elevator to the penthouse like strangers who haven't been introduced. Mikhail stands in one corner while I lean into the other. I don't dare look at him, but I can sense him glaring at me periodically.I could've introduced Mikhail to Mercy. But I sat there like a terrified lump and said nothing. The last time I saw Mercy, I told her I was in trouble. Now she finally saw why.Mercy is always fearless, with a sassy mouth. But not tonight.She looked scared out of her mind. But behind the fear, there was unmistakable hate. She kept glancing over at Mikhail the rest of the evening, but he ignored her.Like a coward without a spine, I kept the peace by staying silent. Why? I should've said something. I should've stood up for her. Why didn't I?I keep my eyes on the floor as the elevator continues moving.The truth is, I know if I had done anything other than staying quiet, Mikhail would've shot the bar to pieces to get me back. Mercy knew who Mikhail was. I remember her
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Three
MariaThe warmth near the windows grows unbearably hot in the late afternoon, even with the central air blasting, when I descend the spiral staircase. The heavy drapes are pulled across the windows to block out the sun.I know that two people on staff—their routine dictated by the sun—are tasked with monitoring the indoor climate to preserve Mikhail's collection. I know that Mikhail won't be home for hours based on the position of the drapes in the living room. A creature of habit, he leaves at midday and doesn't return until dark when the drapes are pulled back again.But the warmth isn't why my palms are sweaty.I wipe them down the front of my T-shirt before opening the office door. I know what Mikhail will think if he catches me, but I have no intention of sitting around and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not anymore.While he's out causing chaos, I will find a phone to call my father.Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply to keep my hands from trembling when I grasp the doorknob.
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Four
MariaMy father stands beside a young Mikhail, and another man is beside him. From the looks of the photograph, they're out in the country somewhere. But unlike the familiar dour face I grew up with, my father is smiling here, practically laughing. His arm is slung around the other man like they're old friends."What the fuck?" I whisper. "Is this a sick joke?"It has to be a joke. A fake created with AI. It has to be! I turn it over, and the only word written on it is Poconos. What does that even mean? My father doesn't go to the Poconos. He doesn't camp. He despises sleeping outdoors. When I asked to go camping in the sixth grade, he set up a tent in the living room instead of letting me sleep outside in the backyard.And just who else is in the picture with him? Could it be Mikhail's dad? But how? How does my father know them? There has to be a logical explanation. I look at the photo one last time, ignore my pounding heart, and shove it away with the rest.The simplest explanation
Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Five
MikhailWhen I return home, Maria lies across the couch on her stomach, reading a book on Matisse. Her bare feet stick up in the air from a ridiculous peacock-green dress.She doesn't wear dresses like that—dresses that make her look this sexy.It stops me from demanding to know why she's here, waiting for me again. She glances over at me but says nothing. Her chin is balanced on one hand as she turns another page. I loosen my tie, feeling the heat dissipate from my body. This time I didn't do the dirty work, letting Rurik dole out the lessons in his stoic, efficient style instead."What are you doing up?" I toss my tie onto the coffee table.Maria keeps her eyes on the book. "I lost track of time.""You should be asleep," I say severely.She ignores me and flips another page. Her delicate fingers glide over the glossy surface as she takes more interest in the colorful illustration than in me.I know she's still angry with me, and I'm glad we have nothing to say to one another. I don'
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Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Nine
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Arranged To The Bravta King Fifty-Seven
