Page 34 of Caught By the Bratva Beast

I press my fingers to my temples, trying to hold off the headache building there. It feels like a million tiny men are going at my brain with jackhammers. “You've got to be kidding me. We don't know what's going on and you're upset because you couldn't gossip. Why do I pay you?”

“Right now, to be honest, I'm not sure.” Yegor gives a nervous chuckle, as if he's not sure how the joke is going to land.

Sighing, I stand up. “You're lucky there's nobody else that can do your job as well as you can. If there was, you might not still be on my payroll. Hell, you could end up like Boris.”

Without another word, I brush by him, rounding the desk and heading for the door. Yegor jogs to keep up with me as I storm through the halls entering the main casino and stalking through the front doors to the valet where my car is already waiting.

I leave Yegor standing on the sidewalk as I get into the car, slamming the door shut and looking down at the phone where Pearl’s last message is still sitting.

It was sent a few hours after we landed. Nothing more than a brief and icy thank you for taking her to Russia.

The car zips through the streets of New York, winding through the traffic before coming to a stop at one of the restaurants Ivan likes to use for his business dealings.

The host nods to me as I get out of the car and walk through the doors, not bothering to speak to anyone before heading up the stairs and into the private room.

Ivan leans against the dark paneling on the wall, staring out the window at the city below.

“I heard you want to talk to me,” I say, crossing the room and clasping his hand, pulling him into a hug and slapping him on the back. “It couldn’t have waited until I came back from Russia when I had planned to.”

“No Maxim. I heard that you had taken off on some adventure with an escort. And while I agree that you should take some time to settle down soon, it's now become imperative that you do.”

I drag out one of the velvet-coated chairs, dropping down into it and kicking my heels up on the table in front of me. “What do you mean it's become imperative? I have no interest in getting married. Not yet anyway.”

“You seem to have enough interest in that woman you carted around the world. I need you to turn that interest to somebody else though.”

I don't like the direction the conversation is taking, especially as Ivan sits down beside me. He’s the Pakhan of the Bratva and I would have to listen to whatever he said. He could order me to do whatever he wanted and if I even thought about arguing against his decision, he could have me killed.

Not that he would. He's my cousin and there comes a respect with that that's not extended to other members of the Bratva.

Sighing, I dig out a bottle of painkillers from my jacket pocket and pop one hoping it takes care of the headache and whatever other pain Ivan is going to put on my shoulders.

“All right, what is it you want me to do? Who's going to be my ball and chain for the rest of their life? Or mine.”

“You can't go around calling her a ball and chain.”

“If she's a woman that's going to tie me down and prevent me from doing what I like. From being with whom I like, then that is exactly what I would call her.”

“Not a chance. Irina Pavelov is not the kind of woman who's going to allow you to pull that shit with her.”

“Irina. As in the daughter of Gleb? You want me to get married to that bastard's daughter?”

Ivan nods, removing a cigar from his pocket, clipping the end off, and lighting it. Smoke swirls toward the ceiling and a thin ribbon as he inhales before blowing it out. “You're right. I do want you to marry her. Gleb has come to us with a business proposal. An alliance, if you will. We need his money; we need his weapons. You need to marry his daughter and keep her happy. You’re getting old, time to settle down and start a family, and while you refuse to find a bride of your own, I’m going to push you to marry the woman of my choosing.”

She's a very plain girl. I've met her before. Honestly, talking to a piece of toasted white bread would have been more entertaining than talking to her. She doesn't have a single thought of her own that isn't a regurgitation of what her father thinks.

Irina is everything that Pearl isn’t, in the worst kind of way.

I grit my teeth as the comparison springs to mind immediately. Ever since the day I met Pearl, I’ve compared every woman I've come across to her. Their looks, the way they speak, how ready they are to taunt me. If they rise to the challenge with the people around them.

None of them compare to her.

“She may be a plain girl. But she's good for an alliance. You're going to marry her. This isn't a question. This isn't asking for your opinion. I need her father under my finger, which means that you're going to have to walk down the aisle, plaster on a happy face, and then the two of you will have to come to some agreement on what your marriage is going to look like behind closed doors.”

I want to argue with him and tell him that I won't marry. Not her, at least.

I can't argue with him though. It would be a sign of disrespect and for that I would pay dearly. However, there is the hope that he will hear the answer in my silence, the resounding no that I want to scream.

There is no way I can spend the rest of my life tied to a woman who can't even match me in wits.

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