Page 32 of Hating the Bratva

Xavier sits next to Mikhail at the table. Sergey, Maksim, and Dima are spread out in different spots. Mikhail’s laughter quiets down.

“What’d I miss?” I ask him.

“Nothing much. We’ve been waiting for you to start.”

“Good.” I run through the few things I have on my mind that I think everyone should know. I then go around the table, getting updates on everyone’s assignments and dishing out more work where needed. Keeping on top of information isn’t an easy job. It involves frequent meetings with not only different parts of our own brotherhood—which includes drugs, guns, prostitutes, and heists, as needed—but also meeting with other brotherhoods. We try to build strong relationships with other brotherhoods, though some are better than others.

“I’m assuming everything’s settled with Motown?” I ask Xavier.

He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that—”

“Why the fuck not?” I ask, trying hard to keep my anger under control, but my hand instantly starts to shake.

“I’m working on it.”

All my self-control goes flying out the window. “Why the fuck is this so goddamn hard for you to understand? We don’t leave witnesses, you mudak! I should hang you by the balls. It’s been over a week. You’re thinking with your dick!”

I wait for him to deny it, but he doesn’t. Un-fucking-believeable.

I slam my fist down on the table, making the glasses shake. One falls to the floor with a crash. “How about this? If you don’t kill that bitch, I’ll kill you.”

All the warmth is sucked out of the air as I stare Xavier down. My threats aren’t to be taken lightly. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed. I’m not Pakhan yet, but I rank high enough that men know to respect me. At least everyone except for Xavier, apparently.

I wave my hand up in the air. “Everyone out. Meeting over.”

My men can’t get out of the room fast enough. I need a minute to calm down. Xavier is my best man. He’s basically a skilled hitman, and he’s damn good at what he does. That’s why I can’t understand what is taking so long.

I run a hand over my face before pouring myself a glass of vodka. It’s not the best, but it will do. I miss the vodka back home. I have a few bottles I keep in my house, but getting it into the club and distributing it is a whole different ball game, one that we don’t have time for. The clubs are here to clean money, and that’s it. One specific person doesn’t own them; they’re owned under a corporation created by the Bratva. That way, we can assign someone to manage the club and the money that comes into it as a job. It isn’t an easy job, but those in the position usually enjoy it. I get out of the chair and tuck my hands in my pants pockets. I walk over to the balcony and look down at the dance floor below. The colorful club lights vibrate with the music. The DJ in the corner is the best in town, and he pumps the crowd up. I’ve never been a huge fan of clubs, even when I was younger. Now that I’m damn near thirty, my desire to be in one is nearly nonexistent.

A flash of dark hair catches my eye. I shouldn’t be able to make her out in the crowd of people, but it’s like my eyes are drawn to her. In the middle of the dance floor, I watch as Delaney holds a drink up in the air and moves her hips to the music. What the hell is she doing? Then I spot the culprit. Jessica dances beside her with a matching pink drink in her hand as well. Jessica is married to Sergey, and from what I’ve heard, they have an understanding. She does what she wants, and he does what he wants. Their entire marriage is for show. He doesn’t give a damn that she spends most weekends at the club getting drunk, shaking her ass, and taking men to the apartment she lives at separately from him.

This is the kind of shit that happens when arranged marriages are forced upon people. They end up living their own separate lives anyway. They look like the perfect couple at charity events or public appearances, but everyone in the Bratva knows the truth. Rumor has it that she’s even hooked up with other Bratva men, a sin that would typically be punished by death. I watch Delaney dance for a while. I should have known she’d find a way to get drunk. Everyone who comes in has been ID’d by the bouncer, so there’s no reason for them to check IDs again inside. She rebels every chance she gets, and I get the feeling it’s because of the strict Bratva rules she’s had to follow her whole life.

Ivan will take that flame inside her and kill it. Marrying someone like him will end the Delaney that I know, and I can’t let that happen. I have to figure something out. I continue to watch until a man approaches them. His hands land on her hips, and the anger that I just managed to get under control comes roaring back. I leave the room and rush down the two flights of steps. I push through the crowd of people, but when I get to the spot she was just at, she’s nowhere to be found.

What the fuck? If that guy she was dancing with put his hands on her…I head toward the bar on the outskirts of the dance floor to try to get a better look out at the crowd. That’s when I see her leaning against the bar next to Jessica. They both have newly refilled drinks in their hands, and the guy who just had his hand on Delaney’s hip hovers close by. I’m relieved that she’s not paying him any attention. What the hell does she think she’s doing? She is an engaged Bratva woman in a club full of Vory who will probably be too happy to report her behavior back to Ivan. I’m not sure if Ivan cares, nor should I, but it’s the principle of it.

Jessica lightly shoves Delaney’s shoulder as I walk toward them. Delaney turns to look at me, her features relaxed and happy, but as she gets a look at my angry expression, her face falls.

“Hey, Alek,” Jessica says in a high pitched voice that sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

I nod. “Jessica. Where’s Sergey?”

She shoots me a glare, and I can tell she’s holding back whatever she wants to say to me. She wouldn’t dare insult a Bratva man, especially not here. Her hair whips the air as she turns on her heels and walks away.

“Really? Now, who am I supposed to hang out with while you’re off doing business?” Delaney whines.

“This guy bothering you?” the douchebag next to her asks as if I’m not even there. Is everyone intent on pissing me off tonight? Delaney must see the murderous look in my eyes because she quickly steps between the guy who’s about to get his throat ripped out and me.

“I’m fine. You should probably go away.”

The guy looks back and forth between us before making the smart decision to head back out to the dance floor, probably to try to pick up another woman that doesn’t belong to him.

“What is your problem? I’m not allowed to have fun? I’ve been cooped up in your house—”

“You’re being watched,” I snap.

She scrunches up her nose. “What?”

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