Page 6 of Used By the Bratva

“Now that he’s back, the attacks are becoming more frequent.” Sergey sits down again and relaxes in the plush upholstered chair. “Not only are we stronger than him, but we're also smarter.”

Maxim smirks, finishing his cigar. “Mancini and his men have been living the good life for too long. We need to finish those assholes.”

I puff on the cigar and blow out the smoke in a circle. “This is the beginning of the war, but it will not be won with bloodshed this time.”

We cannot afford to lose men. Not if we want to remain as strong an organization as we are now. Our other enemies are everywhere, and they will be lurking for signs of weakness. Dwindling numbers would be a potential point of attack for them.

Ivan wants to get rid of the Mancinis in a way that sends a message to anyone who dares to mess with the Orlovs. If any of them survive, there will be no safe place in New York.

“Looks like we all agree with your idea.” Maxim shifts closer to me, and the conversation at the table is interrupted when Ivan speaks briefly to Sergey. “It doesn’t seem as bloodthirsty a plan as you usually have.”

“I’ve been in the business long enough. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, the best way to decapitate an organization is to deprive it of the revenue streams that fund it. And then we kill them. But only after they’ve lost everything they have.”

“That doesn’t seem quite your style, cousin. You were the man who slaughtered an entire family, and now you want to be cold and calculating?”

I shrug. “Perhaps I’m becoming more like you.”

“I doubt that.” Maxim pours himself another glass of whiskey. “You haven’t changed that much over the years, Leon. Don’t let age soften you.” He chuckles.

“The last few weeks have proven that none of us can go into battle like we used to. There is no point in losing our men when we can smash their organization in other ways. Then, when they are weakened, we will strike.”

Sergey stands upright again and looks around. “We will begin our plan at the lowest levels. People, the Mancinis won’t miss at first.”

He gives the impression of being relaxed but stands there like a coiled snake, ready to strike.

Sergey nods at Ivan. “We've discussed our plan at great length over the last few days. Killing the Italian bastards may be satisfying, but it's not the path we will take. We’ll start small and hide under their radar for now.”

Ivan stands up and nods toward the door. “Speak to no one about this plan. You will be notified when I need you. You are all dismissed.”

Most men filter out the room, take their drinks, and disperse to the rest of the restaurant.

The door to our private room closes, and Sergey turns to me. “Your plan is now being put into action, little brother. You better hope it doesn’t fail.”

Chapter 4 - Natalie

As I exit the elevator and enter the restaurant on the top floor of one of the skyscrapers near Rockefeller Tower, I take a deep breath, overwhelmed by the ambiance. The city spreads out before me like a glittering tapestry, and the air is charged with anticipation. I can feel the pulse of Manhattan resonating through my veins. I have never been to such a stylish and elegant restaurant. Soft jazz music plays from a hidden corner, and crystal chandeliers illuminate the room in a gentle light.

Waiting for the Matre’d, my gaze is drawn to the ceiling–a fascinating mosaic of glass tiles. Each reflects the soft light and creates a kaleidoscope of colors as if the essence of elegance has been captured in these delicate, shimmering fragments.

I pull out my cell phone and take a quick photo, wishing to send it to Marina. If I did, she would only be angry with me. It's all captured in this photo–a clandestine rebellion against Marina’s wishes and proof of my audacity. Her disapproval lingers like a shadow over my defiance, but the thrill, the fear, and my unyielding determination are my promise of a new beginning.

Only time will tell whether the wounds will heal.

I follow the Matre’d as she shows me the way to Tyler’s table. I run my clammy hands over the dark purple satin dress. The dress was created by an up-and-coming Russian designer, a friend from college, and it’s perfect for this venue. Its elegant design hugs my figure and accentuates my every curve. The delicate side slit reveals a hint of skin as I move through the room. My high heels clack softly on the parquet floor as I spot Tyler near the floor-to-ceiling window at one of the tables.

With every step, my stomach becomes a tighter ball of knots.

Tyler stands up as I move closer to the table, a crooked smile on his face. “You look beautiful tonight. That shade of purple looks stunning on you.”

He pulls out a chair for me, and I sit down. “Thank you. You’ve cleaned up well, too.”

His attire stands in stark contrast to the restaurant’s formality. While servers glide past in black pants, crisp white shirts, and vests, he wears a light gray polo shirt and dark pants. Does he think that because he is rich, he can do what he wants, or is that a rebellion against convention?

I bite the inside of my cheek and let the gold chain of my handbag slide down my arm as I tuck it between my leg and the arm of my chair. “This restaurant is beautiful.”

He nods and hands me one of the menus. “I wanted to book the private room for us so we could get to know each other better, but someone else has booked it for tonight.”

Relax, boy, you don't have to show off like that.

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