Page 60 of The Bratva's Secret Twins

“I assure you, you’ll love this place,” he said while in the car.

“I’m sure that I will,” I replied, though Vlad must have seen through my facade.

Frowning, he asked, “What is it?”

I feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

He studied me for a few seconds, his brows furrowing. “I don’t know. But there’s something off about you.”

Andrei and I exchanged discreet glances, and I replied with a chuckle, “Brother, there’s nothing off about me.”

He was quiet, obviously not believing my reply, but I wouldn’t budge.

After a beat of silence, he sighed. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

I smirked, falling back into my persona. “I am Daniil Wolkov; nothing moves me. Don’t forget that.”

His face lit up with a wicked grin. “There he is. There’s the man I know.”

The vehicle pulled over outside a building, and I could hear the muffled sounds of the loud music seeping out from inside.

We stepped out into the cold, where distant stars twinkled up on the celestial canvas above.

“Every time I come to Valencia, I always visit this club,” Vlad said to me, smoking his cigar. He released a puff of smoke. “Come. Let’s go blow off some steam. You sure look like you need it.”

As we stepped into the club, the pulsating beat of the music enveloped us, a rhythmic reverberation that seemed to match the very cadence of our heartbeats. Vlad was subtly nodding to the rhythm of the music, both hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. His demeanor commanded respect and fear as we followed up behind him.

The air was alive with the electricity of revelry, the scent of champagne and perfume hanging heavy over the crowd.

“This is what you need to distract yourself,” Andrei said in almost a whisper despite the loudness of the music and the voices of those singing along.

I looked at him and didn’t reply. I was unmoved by the activities going on in that place; my mind was focused on the deal to be sealed, and that was a way to distance myself from what was supposed to keep my mind distracted. Usually, parties and clubbing were never really my thing. I found such gatherings to be highly unnecessary and a complete waste of my time. But I was around Vlad, and with him, such events were impossible to miss out on.

We made our way through the sea of bodies, the throng of dancers parting like the Red Sea as we approached a designated domain. The VIP section, reserved for the likes of us, Bratva bosses, was a sanctuary of luxury, a velvet-roped enclave of opulence.

The music grew louder, the bass thumping like a primal heartbeat as we settled into our plush seats. The lights danced across the ceiling, a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to pulse in time with the rhythm. The crowd was a blur of movement, a complex pattern of faces, each one lost in the moment.

You might as well relax. You might be here for a while.

There was no point in holding back; I was here already.

Before us, the dancers writhed and twisted, their bodies glistening with sweat as they surrendered to the beat. The women were a vision of loveliness, their curves and lines a testament to the beauty of the female form. They moved with a fluid grace. Their eyes locked onto us, their smiles inviting, but I couldn’t feign interest in any of them.

They were all beautiful and hot, sexy and enticing; however, my heart was already taken. It was funny that I felt that way, but I did. I even had to fight the thoughts of Vivian that were attempting to invade my mind after I caught a glimpse of a woman that resembled my milaya. I had to massage my eyes and look again before realizing that it wasn’t her.

I sighed softly.

The spot Vlad had taken us to was a haven of exclusivity, a domain where we reigned supreme. The bottles were chilled, the glasses were full, and the music was our own personal soundtrack. We sat back, surveying our kingdom, our eyes scanning the room with a practiced air of superiority.

Vlad crossed his legs, looking right at me. “You like this, yes?”

I couldn’t deny that the place was catchy, and I felt a wind of relief and satisfaction blow across me.

That night, we were the kings: the Bratva bosses—the ones who ruled with an iron fist but also knew how to indulge in the finer things in life.

Vlad poured himself some vodka and took a sip.

“So, Vlad,” I began, leaning forward, “how well do you know Petrov?” I asked, referring to the man with whom we were supposed to close the deal.

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