Page 34 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

Max

It’s been strange. Beautifully strange.

Lyric is becoming an essential part of our lives, and none of us were ready for it. We thought it would be a one-time only fling. She seemed curious and eager enough, but then we delved deeper, and now we find ourselves enthralled, entranced, and unable to pull away from her, even knowing it’s the reasonable thing to do.

Every time we tell ourselves that this is it, this is where we draw a line and put some kind of distance between us, we find ourselves getting even closer. One day we’re talking about doing everything in our power to protect her and keep her close, the next we’re coming up with ways to push her away because the sharks are circling closer.

“We know where this conversation will go,” Ivan warns me as he comes into my office.

Artur is already helping himself to a second cup of coffee. My secretary made sure we were fully stocked for this so-called business meeting with Polina Larionova. “Where is Polina?” Artur asks, then takes a sip of his coffee. “She’s already five minutes late.”

“She’s on her way up. I beat her to the elevator,” Ivan scoffs. “She didn’t see me, though.”

“Is she alone?” I ask.

He nods once. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“I never have good feelings about anything pertaining to Polina, but we need to have this conversation with her. We asked her to speak to her father, and she did. We owe her this courtesy,” I reply.

Lyric has been dodging our calls and messages for the past few days, blaming the thesis research. I’m starting to think there’s something else going on, but with everything we’re trying to manage and keep away from her, I figure if she needs a bit of space, we can give her that.

“I miss her,” Artur mutters, as if reading my mind.

“I know. We haven’t seen her in a week,” I reply.

“Which is way longer than what we’re used to,” he insists.

Ivan sighs heavily, pouring a coffee for himself. “What we’re used to. Would you listen to us? Head over heels with a twenty-something, who also happens to be the daughter of one of our enemies.”

“One of our enemies,” I repeat after him with a bitter smile. “The fact that we have multiple enemies is a huge red flag in itself, don’t you think?”

“We’re screwed either way,” Ivan shoots back.

The office door opens, and in walks Polina, looking quite modest in her cool grey pantsuit, her platinum blonde hair pulled into a perfect bun, gold loops hanging from her ears. “Good morning, gentlemen,” she says, taking a seat in the armchair across from my desk. As soon as she’s settled, I’m bombarded by a whiff of her perfume. It’s almost sickening, an overload of sandalwood that makes me somewhat anxious. “We need to talk,” Polina says, looking at each of us.

“I presume it’s why you’re here,” I bluntly reply.

“How have you been?” she asks with a pleasant smile. Years ago, she would’ve had me at hello. Now I can barely stomach her presence.

“As well as can be, given the circumstances,” I say. “But we’re sticking to the plan, working on our strategies, and forging ahead. We’re seeing a growth in support from the other families, so we’re optimistic.”

“And the Feds?”

“Still as obnoxious as always,” Artur sighs. “But we’re clean. Our books are clean. They have nothing on us, nor will they find anything.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“What about your father?” I ask, eager to get straight to the point. The longer Polina sticks around, the more uncomfortable we all seem to get. “I understand you spoke to him about our bid for White Plains.”

She gives me a long, curious look. She has thoughts she’d like to voice, but she decides to keep them to herself, choosing to follow my line, instead. “Yes, we talked about White Plains. And I come bearing both good, and bad news.”

“You don’t say,” Artur mutters, and I give him a warning look.

Out of the three of us, he is the least receptive to Polina’s charms. The most inclined to put a bullet in her head if he has to. The most determined to keep her out of our lives forever, and therefore, the least comfortable whenever we have to entertain her.

“You see, my father’s anything but a fool,” Polina says. “He recognizes the value of your proposal, and he agrees that the price you offered is well above the market value for White Plains.”

“Okay,” I reply, with a tone that urges her to continue.

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