Page 7 of Hating the Bratva

Delaney: Just got home.

I throw my bookbag on the bed and fling open my closet doors. I'm ridiculous. This is not a date. Alek just wants to get my opinion on some stuff for his house. I pick out a pair of blue jeans and a tank top. Casual. My phone vibrates again, and I check the screen.

Alek: Give me an hour, and I'll be there.

I put the phone back down and walk into my en suite bathroom. Damn. I should taken a shower. I probably smell like cigarettes and the chemicals from my chemistry class. Striping off my clothes, I jump in the shower. I wash up quickly and put on the clothes I picked out, but now my hair is wet. I check the time. I have just enough to blow-dry and straighten my hair. I pause and look in the mirror. Why the hell do I care how I look? What's wrong with me? It's not like it matters. When my father tells me I'll be marrying Alek—it will happen. It won't matter how I look when I go to his house to help pick out cabinets or whatever the fuck else he wants my opinion on. Maybe a small part of me is scared that the Bratva might pick someone else to marry Alek. It's stupid for me to worry about that. I'm the only woman who is of age and unmarried. Who else would they pick? I'm overthinking this. I grab my blow dryer and get to work.

*****

I watch out my upstairs window as Alek's sleek black BMW pulls up in front of the house. I expect him just to send me a text to come down, so I'm surprised when he steps out of the car. He's dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a T-shirt that stretches across his muscular arms. All his tattoos are on full display. I've seen them up close before. He has his mother and sisters' names on his left arm. They're still back in Russia, and from what he's told me, they have no desire to move here. He runs a hand through his short, blond hair, and I wonder if he's nervous like I am. That's silly. A man like Alek wouldn't be worried about something so trivial. I'm sure he's dealt with a lot worse things today than picking me up. The doorbell rings, and I grab a light jacket from my desk chair before walking down the steps. I meet my mom coming down the hallway. She must have come home while I was blow-drying my hair.

“I got it,” I exclaim, cutting her off and opening the door. Alek stands there with one side of his lip twisted up in one of those half-grins.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

I don't miss the way his eyes drop to my cleavage before coming back to meet my eyes.

“Hello, Alek,” my mom says, coming around me. “I didn't know we were expecting company.”

“I was just coming to pick up Delaney. I talked with Denis earlier this week.”

My mom looks hesitant. If she hadn't pumped her face with so much Botox, she might have even frowned. Bratva women don't date. We don't go places alone with men. We get married and spend the rest of our lives being good mothers and housekeepers. The thought nearly makes me vomit.

“I'll be back,” I say, ready to end the awkwardness. If I didn't feel like a child before, I feel like one now. Alek is thirty years old, and he has to get permission from my dad so that I can see his new house. I walk past him and over to his car. I hear him say something to my mom before he joins me.

“Ready?”

I nod, and he unlocks the car. I slide into the black leather seat.

“Is this new?” I ask. The new car smell lingers in the air.

He presses a button, and the car comes to life. “Yeah, I thought I could use an upgrade.”

I let out a laugh. “You barely used your last car.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, yeah.”

He uses one hand to steer and the other one to shift gears. We turn onto the busy street heading further away from the city.

“So, where is this big fancy house?” I ask.

“It's further out than I'm used to, but I like the privacy.”

Privacy could be dangerous in the Bratva; sometimes, it's better to be closer to the other men.

“What about when you become Pakhan? What are you going to do with the house?”

His eyes flicker to me before moving back to the road. “You're pretty confident I'll be the next Pakhan, huh?”

I shrug. “Well, who else?”

“A lot of people want that spot.”

“But most people aren't qualified.”

He nods in agreement. “You eavesdrop too much, Bunny.”

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