Page 3 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

Roman looks up, raising an eyebrow at me.

“You’re going to kill the guy’s daughter?” he asks, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Seems a bit overkill, even for you. Not like she’s the one who stole the guns—probably a Mafia princess, like Elena. Not like she’s going to know anything about stealing the guns. I’m looking through her Instagram right now, and it’s a lot of partying. Lots of dresses. She may not even have any idea what her dad is up to.”

“Oh, I’m not getting her for intel or killing her,” I say, stalking across the room and grabbing my bag. This is an operation I can complete all on my own. “I’m going to torture that asshole by taking the one thing he cares about most.”

“So, what,” Anya says, shaking her head. “You’re just going to abduct her and keep her here? Forever?”

“I’m not just going to abduct her,” I say, “I’m going to change her last name. Bind her to this family permanently, by law, so he will know that she’s property of the Milovs from now on.”

Roman’s eyebrows shoot into his hair and Anton sets his tablet down on the table.

“Now, brother,” Anya says, shaking her head. “Forcing someone to marry you? I’m not sure that’s—”

“I didn’t ask for your counsel on this, sister,” I said, shouldering my bag and nearing the door. I can feel it in my bones—this is the right way to move forward.

I think of Kervyn again and remember how he and his brothers found their wives. They each brought a good woman into the family through a method like this. Perhaps kidnapping a Mafia princess would even gain us some intel. And a woman who already knows what it’s like to live in a mafia family would eliminate the awkward need to explain what I do for a living and how she would need to get comfortable with violence, pain, and torture.

Before I leave, I turn in the doorway and say, “And would the three of you get off your lazy asses? There’s still the matter of how Allard’s guys managed to get those guns from us in the first place. I want an answer by the time I get back.”

“Which will be…?” Anton says, his tablet up in front of his face again.

“I don’t know,” I say, grinning at them villainously. “I guess you’d better get straight to it if you want to keep your place in this Bratva.”

“This power is going straight to your fucking head,” Roman mutters, setting his nail file on the table and stretching languidly. “Good luck with your marriage plan, brother.”

“Oh, you’ll be there for it,” I say, watching as they all turn, their shocked faces only firming up my desire to see this plan through. “I’m bringing her back here to the chapel, just like Mom would have wanted.”

“I hardly think, Mom—” Anya starts to say, but I’m out the door before she can get another word in.

Chapter 2 - Fiona

With my headphones on, I type in another sequence of commands and sigh when it doesn’t go through. I don’t know why I can’t get it to work. I have lo-fi blaring and looked up the commands three times, but I can’t find a single bug in the line of code.

If I can’t get this stupid thing to work, I will have to go through and rename every file in the folder, which will actually take me the rest of the night. I already know Olive isn’t going to help me at all.

“Bitch!” someone yells right as the song on my headphones changes, and I jump, looking up to see Olive standing there, laughing so hard that there are tears rolling down her face. I take my headphones off and roll my eyes at her.

“Keep doing that,” I say, swinging my feet up onto the desk. “And you’ll fuck up that makeup.”

And, I think, my hand still relaxing from how my body launched into fighting mode, I might accidentally knock you out.

“Yeah right,” she says, glancing at herself in her phone’s reflection. “This setting spray was made by the fucking astronauts, okay? Not a single thing on my face is moving.”

“Speaking of your makeup,” I say, raising my eyebrows, “why do you look that?”

“Like what?”

“You look like you’re going to a rave, but we have—” I stop when I see the look on her face, dropping my feet down from the desk and sliding my desk around the side. From this vantage point, I can see her sparkling, skin-tight dress. “Oh, no, Olive! You promised. You can’t go to a fucking rave tonight, dude.”

“Babes, the party waits for nobody. Especially not me.”

“Olive, there are 849 files in this folder that have to be renamed. That’s going to take me all night.”

“I thought you waved your magic wand and fixed it all at once?” she asks, popping her gum and tapping out something quickly on her phone. “That little typing thing you do.”

“The code isn’t being kind to me tonight,” I say, flinching when I realize I sound like a complete nerd. “But that’s not the point—you said you were going to work tonight! So I could go home early.”

“Fiona, my sweet, sexy best friend,” Olive says, when she realizes I’m not kidding. She looks me up and down, and I cross my arms, not willing to budge on this one. Not a chance. She drops the smile, quirking an eyebrow. “Four bags of Twizzlers.”

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