Page 1 of Arranged to Marry the Bratva

Chapter 1 - Nikolai

Natalia and Artyom just left after trying to unsuccessfully persuade me to pay for a no-expense barred weekend getaway to Aspen. The city, it seems to my youngest siblings, is too ‘stifling’ for their creative juices. They asked to take the private jet.

I reminded them of the fact that creativity is often born from struggle, many times financial, and offered to put them on a monthly budget. I chuckle to myself as Natalia’s horrified face crosses my mind.

Both of them are our youngest and the most spoilt. I sit in my study, sipping a glass of whiskey and brooding over my youngest sibling's latest request and how denying it went against my desire to give them the world when my phone buzzes with an incoming message. I squint when I see Boris Zolotov's name on the screen.

"Meet us at the office tomorrow, 8 AM sharp," the message reads.

Again?

This can’t keep happening. We’ve had six meetings this month, and something tells me tomorrow would yet again be filled with some criticism or complaint. I’m not against working hard, but it’s becoming clear to me that these meetings are held for reasons other than the reason of productivity.

I grit my teeth as I realize I’ll have to forego tomorrow’s golf game again. I type back a simple "Understood" before setting the phone down on the table. Tomorrow, I’m going to have to establish some ground rules.

***

I stride into the formal meeting room, my footsteps echoing off the polished marble floor. The Zolotov brothers—Boris, Damien, and Lev—are already seated at the long mahogany table, speaking in hushed tones. The moment they register my presence, they pull back, maintaining a stoic silence, their expressions guarded and distrustful.

Clearly, they don’t feel comfortable speaking in my presence, the mistrust evident in their steely gazes.

Without a word, I take a seat at the bottom of the table, the only seat they ever reserve for me. I lean back in my leather chair, steepling my fingers as I meet each of their eyes in turn.

"Let's get straight to the point," Boris says, his steely eyes locked on mine. “One of our trucks deployed to smuggle foreign trade liquor at undercut prices for your clubs was caught by the police. It cost us far more than a pretty penny to get the truck and its goods back.”

I lean back in my seat, keeping my expression neutral despite the sinking feeling in my gut. "I assure you, Boris, it was an unfortunate incident. But we can't let one setback derail our entire operation."

Damien shakes his head, his voice laced with skepticism. "This isn't just one setback, Nikolai. It's a pattern. Every time we try to work together, something goes wrong."

“Doesn’t something always go wrong in our line of work?” I ask, my voice louder than I want it to be.

"We've been running our businesses separately for years, and they've thrived that way. I don't see any reason why we shouldn’t go back to the way things were," Boris says, matching my tone.

I nod, giving him the respect he deserves as the patriarch of his family, even though I’m annoyed by the same old excuses. The Zolotov shipments have been captured dozens of times. This time, it happened to be one they were running for me. I know it’s not about the shipment at all, but that they want out of our alliance. "I understand your concerns, Boris. But times are changing, and so are our enemies. By joining forces, we had decided we’d be stronger, more formidable."

“We had to join forces,” Damien states. “You bent our arm!”

“Bent your arm?” I frown, leaning forward. “I saved your sister,” I make eye contact with each man. “And your wife!” I say pointedly, staring down Lev, reminding them of the time when the women had been kidnapped by Lenny and his cronies.

My jaw tightens at their lack of trust. I've come here with an olive branch, and it seems they're determined to question every inch of it. Still, I maintain my composure. "It's true that there are hiccups along the way, but that doesn't mean that together, we can’t adapt and grow stronger."

"Perhaps," Boris grudgingly concedes. "But you must understand, Nikolai, that we need to protect our legacy. Our family name means everything to us."

“And you think mine means nothing to me?” I counter back. “Historically, your name, Zolotov, might have been the most powerful in the Bratva world. Hell, I heard it a million times in fear, with reverence, from hate. My family hated yours! I was raised to be just that—your enemy. But times changed, gentlemen. I realized that while there are dozens of families out there, plotting and waiting to see you to your downfall, I didn’t have to join them. Together, we can be stronger. Can’t you see that?”

Damien leans forward, his shrewd eyes narrowing. "And what exactly are your motives here, Nikolai? You seem awfully eager to forge this partnership. One might wonder if you have ulterior motives at play. I refuse to believe you’re so very altruistic as to join forces to help make us stronger against Zolotov enemies. While that’s the narrative you push, I see you using us to make an extra buck or two from the most powerful Bratva in the United States."

A humorless smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. So, they think they can intimidate me? Cute. "I assure you, my intentions are purely strategic and not altruistic as you claim," I counter, my voice laced with a subtle warning. "I am not some shady outsider looking to take advantage. I am offering you an opportunity to strengthen both our positions. I expect to be treated as an equal partner in this venture. With you, I become stronger too."

Lev's temper flares, his fist slamming against the table. "Equal partner? Don't make me laugh! You could never be an equal!”

Herein is the problem. As long as the Zolotovs and Orlovs aren’t family, I’d never be considered as one of their own. And suddenly, an idea I’d been toying with in my personal fantasies but never really considered takes real, concrete form. Perhaps the only way to get what I want is to truly get who I want.

I remain unfazed, staring Lev down with an icy calm. They have no idea who they're dealing with. But they will soon enough. "Gentlemen, I didn't come here to play games," I say quietly, my words laced with steel. "I have a proposal that will cement our alliance and secure our families' future for generations to come. But first, you must be willing to listen and consider it with open minds. Can you do that?"

Damien scoffs. “So there it is,” he scoffs.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to tell me what I already know he’s thinking.

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