Page 1 of The Lazarov Bratva

KINGDOM HEIR

1

ALENA

“Alena, it’s your eighteenth birthday. Even the daughter of the Pakhan can’t get away with just wearing a towel.”

My best friend and maid, Katja Dmitrov, stands before me, holding two gorgeous dresses in either hand. Her striking blue eyes narrow at me, and when she tosses her head, her black curls threaten to escape the maid’s cap nestled atop her head.

“My mother would kill me,” I groan in agreement. With a soft huff, I sit up fully and clutch the edge of my towel.

Your eighteenth birthday party is supposed to be the best one yet. The one where you finally become an adult and step out into a whole world of possibilities, but not for me. As the only daughter of Pakhan Aleksander Orlova, and thus the only heir, my celebrations are limited to the confines of the gilded cage I’ve grown up in. There’s a reason my best friend is the only maid in this entire household who’s the same age as me.

“Exactly,” Katja replies, shaking the dresses again. “Now, which one screams I’m eighteen and you can only tell me what to do on weekdays?”

I’m constantly drawn to the red silk ruffle bodycon dress. It’s shorter than the black chiffon dress in Katja’s other hand, and I can only imagine what she had to do in order to get a dress like that past my mother.

“I like the red.” Crossing my arms, I run my fingers over skin still dewy from my bath. “No, I love the red, but I can already picture the look on my Mom’s face. She’ll go insane.”

“Well, she can’t do anything about it with a house full of guests downstairs.” Katja smirks as she holds out the red one. “You’re only eighteen once.”

“You’re a terrible influence,” I mutter as if she’s the bigger influence of the two of us. For years, I’ve tested the strength of my mother’s ire, climbing the walls of this mansion in desperate attempts just to taste the outside world. But the cage runs high, and its bars are iron.

Every second of my life, from my education to my studies in the family business, has been spent in this mansion. My glimpses of the outside world were snatches from car windows on the way to my father’s private jet or important parties where I was shown off like a prize mule. The danger is too high, she would tell me. You’re too valuable to be unguarded.

How I prayed long into the night as a child for my parents to have another baby purely for the drop of freedom it would give me.

No such luck.

“Here, let me help.” Katja offers her shoulder for balance as I step into the more sinful dress.

It caresses my skin as it slides up my body, and a shiver of anticipation sweeps down my spine when Katja pulls the zipper closed. The ruffled material near my hip pulls the dress up at an angle and gives an eyeful of my tanned thigh. Light silk sleeves brush across my upper arms, and Katja moves around me, ensuring every inch of the dress fits perfectly.

“I’m sure this will impress your godfather too.”

“Katja!” A pulse of alarm rushes through me, and my cheeks flare. “I don’t want to impress him!”

A beat of silence passes between us, and then we collapse into a fit of giggles while clutching at one another to try and keep our balance.

My Godfather, Kristof Lazarov, is the only person I’ve ever wanted to impress. He’s tall and ruggedly handsome with grey eyes that I swear sparkle silver every time he looks at me. That might be wishful thinking. He’s a treat that visits every few months, only because of business with my father. As I understand it, he’s the underboss who keeps everything running smoothly and mops up the messes my father can’t anticipate.

He’s also drop-dead sexy, which I’ve noticed ever since I was old enough. He’s everything my mother hates about the world. He’s constantly traveling, covered in tattoos, and he’s never been afraid to stand up to her. I’m pretty sure that’s why I really became enamored with him.

He defended me once at some important party my mother was hosting. I was fourteen and absolutely exhausted from my studies and life. I’d spilled a glass of red wine on the Persian rug in the study. I’d thought she would end me there and then until Kristof had come to see what all the yelling was about and used some colorful words to get my mother to shut up.

Ever since then, I’d been obsessed.

My knight in a leather jacket.

“Okay,” Katja says, cutting through my thoughts. “Which do you think he’d like best, the black or the silver?” She holds up two pairs of shoes, black pumps and strappy silver heels. Another giggle escapes me.

“Silver. Like his eyes.”

Katja rolls hers with a smile, then crouches to help me into them.

“Do you think he’s coming tonight?” I ask, glancing down at her. As a maid, she moves around this mansion like a ghost and is sometimes privy to more information than me.

“He wasn’t on the list,” Katja replies, and my heart sinks. “But when has he ever needed an invite?”

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