All Chapters of Arranged To The Bravta King: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

MariaThe soft murmur of their voices lulls me to sleep as the SUV heads to New Jersey. I try to focus on the conversation between Dad and Mikhail but slowly find myself drifting off in the back seat. I'm not quite sure when I finally fall asleep, but when I wake up, the SUV has stopped on a long driveway in an upscale neighborhood. Blinking my eyes, I sit up and stare at a brick colonial mansion with white columns, which looks cozy compared to Sorokin's creepy castle."What time is it?" I ask, stretching as I yawn."Almost ten o'clock. Have you been here before?" Mikhail asks as he opens the car door for me."No, never," I reply, stepping out of the SUV. "I don't know this side of my family.""But you know Mercy?" Mikhail questions."That's different." I stare at the size of the immaculate house. "I couldn't picture myself or Mercy growing up here."Uncle Vito answers the door and welcomes us in as if we're dear friends and not estranged family members. He ushers us inside with open

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

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

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

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