Page 2 of The Lazarov Bratva

“God.” I groan, and when Katja is finished, I drop onto the satin-covered stool at my large dressing table and stare at myself in the mirror. “Just a glimpse of him and tonight would be perfect.”

“I don’t think he would miss your eighteenth,” Katja says, stroking her hands through my long, platinum-blonde hair. “He’s always here for the important things.”

“He’s so handsome.” I splay my hands out on the smooth surface as Katja begins to scoop my hair up on top of my head. “I wonder if he’ll notice me. I’m eighteen now. Men always notice, right?”

“In that dress, he’d be a fool not to.” Katja chuckles. “Although he always seems so…”

“Cold?”

“You said it, not me.” She gently begins to pin my hair in place, brushing long sections and then coiling them up at the crest of my head.

“It’s because he’s older,” I decide. “And he’s important. Being in the Mafia isn’t for the soft-hearted. I bet he’s seen so much and done so much that being so cold is the only way he gets by.”

“Careful, or you’ll give me a crush on him too.” Katja chuckles.

“Like you have eyes for anyone but Petar,” I remark.

“Oi!” Katja pokes my shoulder with the end of my brush. “I do not!”

The slight flare of color in her cheeks tells me all I need to know about her quiet feelings for one of the house guards.

“If you say so. I’d give anything to see how far those tattoos go on his arms, the one with the swirls?” Sighing dreamily, Kristoff floats into my mind, and butterflies flutter through my stomach.

“I bet he’s covered in tattoos,” Katja murmurs, and she leans close to my ear, her eyes locking on mine in the mirror. “One for every kill.”

I spin to face her, and a few curls escape her fingers. “Do you think so? It’s so exciting to think about, isn’t it?”

“It’s what they do, isn’t it? Commemorate with ink.” Katja grasps my shoulders and turns me back to the mirror.

“Mm, true. God. I really hope he notices me tonight.”

“Just be careful,” Katja warns softly. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”

“It’s my birthday,” I reply. “I deserve at least one amazing present, and if I could just get him to… to…” Trailing off, I groan. “I don’t know. Anyway, what is my mother going to do to punish me, ground me? They barely let me go anywhere as it is.”

“Bars on your windows.” Katja laughs.

“No pudding.”

“Limited hot water.”

“The chef forgetting all my favorite foods.”

Katja chooses to leave the escaped curls loose, and a second later, I’m engulfed in a cloud of hairspray as we laugh.

Closing my eyes, I hold my breath, and Kristof floods my thoughts once more. Years ago, my favorite fantasy was being kidnapped away from the family and Kristof coming to rescue me. Seeing bad guys fall one by one at his hands and then being scooped into his strong arms was thrilling. Soaked in blood and sweat, he’d ask me if I was okay, and I’d try to answer, but being too scared, no sound would escape. Then he’d kiss?—

“Alena!”

A sharp rap of knuckles on my bedroom door abruptly ends that fantasy, and my eyes snap open.

“Alena!” My mother’s bitter voice is followed by another loud knock.

“Yes, Mara?” I call, rolling my eyes at Katja, who grimaces and then cups my chin with red lipstick in hand.

“Stop primping and get down those stairs immediately. The important guests are arriving, and I don’t need you showing us up!”

“I was just?—”

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