Page 31 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

The words hit deep because we’re all on the same wavelength here. Lyric stumbled into our lives and everything changed—our objectives, our limits, our willingness to compromise in aspects of our business and in personal matters.

I don’t know if she’ll stick around but I do know that I want her, and so do Max and Ivan. That much became clear tonight.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Max chuckles softly, a warm twinkle lingering in his eyes.

“I did some research,” I confess. “As much as the Internet would allow anyway. Apparently, Lyric is quite the computer whiz with a major in computer science and a minor in finance. I am officially curious as to what her doctorate’s thesis is about, considering she was supposed to meet with Bowman.”

“Pretty sure she mentioned something about geopolitical repercussions,” Max says. “Yeah, she’s brighter than most, that’s for sure.”

“A bit of a homebody,” I add. “She doesn’t waste nights and weekends at clubs and house parties like many others in her social circle. Generally speaking, girls with political heads for fathers tend to act out.”

Ivan smiles subtly. “Pretty sure her way of acting out was cutting most ties with her father. Moved out on her own, refuses to work for him, keeps to herself, and makes her own money. That makes her even brighter, especially given what an asshole her father is.”

“And that makes her all the more precious,” I reiterate. “This whole thing with Polina tonight is going to get worse. We need to talk to Lyric about it. We need to tell her the truth so she’s aware of our history, at least.”

“And we need to keep Polina away from her,” Ivan replies.

At the same time, we also need to watch our fucking backs, because everybody seems hell bent on gunning for us. I wonder what Piotr Sokolov would have to say about this. Max and Ivan’s father ruled over the Bratva with an iron fist, but when we came back from active service and proposed all of these business changes, he was the first to say yes.

It was as if a weight had been lifted from his weary shoulders after decades of playing the same dirty games and getting the same payoffs. He did warn us, though. I remember that conversation all too well.

“Be careful,” old man Sokolov told his sons and me. “It won’t just be the Bratva families that you’ll have to sway in your favor. You will also have to deal with the parasites who have been leeching off us for years and years, and those leeches have grown big and fat. They’ll be angry.”

Especially the leeches within the FBI’s field office in Chicago. I had no idea how deep their corruption went until we started looking into it. Until we started shifting gears, changing business strategies, and stirring the pot at a time when everyone expected us to simply carry on like the others before us.

It will cost us to go legit.

I just hope the price we have to pay isn’t too steep.

10

Lyric

Amonth passes in relative silence. Then another.

I keep my head down, focusing on my thesis research and my job at the library. Many nights are spent in Max, Ivan, and Artur’s strong arms. They either come to my place, or we book a hotel suite somewhere uptown and private. I understand why they’re keeping me away from their turf. It’s for my own safety, but I have begun to wonder what it would be like if we could just be together, if we could enjoy one another without having to look over our shoulders all the time.

There are permanent shadows lurking over us—the FBI and my father’s campaign. Then there are the unseen enemies, the other Russian families who could take advantage of our relationship to turn the tide in their favor, to keep the Bratva where it is. And, of course, there are also the rival mobs, the Italians, the Irish. The Sokolov’s have built quite the empire in Chicago, and now everybody wants a piece of the pie.

“Your dad’s having another rally this weekend,” Shelby says one late afternoon, having stopped by my library desk on her way home with another box of pistachio macarons. For the first time ever, I glance at them and feel a tight nausea building up in the back of my throat. “You should come. I know he’d be happy to have your support.”

“He doesn’t really have it though,” I mutter, my eyes settling on the iced latte she brought along with dessert. “He’s well aware. You don’t have to try so hard to bring us back together, Shelby. I mean, I appreciate it, I really do. But ours is a more complicated relationship.”

“Yeah, I get it. It’s a shame though. He’s trying to do so much good in this world.”

“Careful not to idealize him,” I kindly warn her. “He’s still a mortal man with flaws and weaknesses. I know he’s got a good heart, but I also know what kind of people he aligns himself with in order to get what he wants. My father bends the line of morality, Shelby. A little too much for my taste. Then he walks around claiming the moral high ground. I can’t support that kind of hypocrisy, even if he is my dad. I’m sorry.”

“He does what he has to do,” Shelby concedes with a light shrug. “Politics is dirty, we all know that. It’s not for the faint of heart. But your father gets results, and that’s why he’s already a favorite for that senate seat.”

“Oh, I’m not too sure about that. Local councils are one thing. But the state senate? Different bucket of fish, Shelby. He’s running up against some massive barracudas. The rival party is coming in hard on conservative policies, and with the way things are going across the entire state, my father’s petty feud with the mafia families might be his undoing.”

She gives me a confused look. “Your father is determined to clean the streets of Chicago once and for all. How is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not a bad thing. It just goes against the interests of a lot of powerful people, many of them way above my father on the food chain. That’s the hard truth.” I take a deep breath and try my hand at one of the pistachio macarons, determined to enjoy a bite. I’ve been feeling sickly and lightheaded almost every day for the past week. Constantly tired, somewhat bloated. Suddenly ravenous, then five minutes later, close to puking. “Like I said, I’m sure my father means well, but I don’t think he’ll get too far in the current political climate. Enough about him, though. I want to know about you. How’ve you been?”

Shelby smiles softly and leans against my desk with a bright look in her eyes. “I think I’m in love.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m listening,” I giggle. “Tell me all about it.”

---