Page 43 of Paid for By the Bratva

The scent of cigars and the sound of clinking glasses fills the air as we settle down. The dim, moody lighting casts shadows across their faces, making it difficult for me to read their expressions. I can't shake the feeling that tonight's random game of cards is merely a cover for something far more intentional.

"Alright, gentlemen," I say after ordering a bottle of scotch for the table, "what are we playing?"

"Texas hold 'em," Vladimir announces, shuffling the deck with practiced ease. He's got the reputation to be the most aggressive and ambitious of the siblings, his temper and fondness for hedonistic pleasures notorious in equal measure within our circles. "You're familiar with the rules, I assume?"

"Of course," I reply, leaning back in my chair. As the cards are dealt, I take a moment to observe each brother. Their eyes are sharp, focused—like predators sizing up their prey.

Little do they know that I’m sizing them up just the same.

"Raise," Mark says with a wry grin, tossing in a handful of chips. “Unless business isn’t going too well?” he gives me a sly grin. He's the youngest and the most unpredictable, his humor often accompanied by a cruel edge.

“Business is good so far, better than you’d think,” I say, pushing all my chips in. “All in.”

"Reckless, aren’t you, Dima?" he drawls, showing me a flush. "Is it that difficult being married to our sister that you’d chase any high for a chance at a win?"

He’s trash-talking me, thinking he won. Typical. Mark is young, and his inexperience shows, at least in poker with the big boys, if nothing else.

"Straight flush, Ace high," I answer, refusing to take the bait as I throw my cards down. I watch his grin turn to a frown as I pull the chips toward me.

“Good game,” Denis glances in my direction in acknowledgment. I bow my head in return before turning back to Mark.

"And since you’re keen to know, Lara and I are very happy together." I put in a blind raise as the next hand is dealt, my fingers tapping on the table in a steady rhythm, betraying none of the anxiety coursing through me.

"Is that so?" Vladimir smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Well, good for you. Lara deserves someone who can keep her happy."

"Indeed she does," I agree, meeting his intense gaze without flinching. My mind races, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his words.

"Did she even have a choice?" Mark asks with a casual shrug, his eyes locked on the cards in his hand. "Or did you just decide that she was going to be your wife because, like yourbrother, becoming family with the Zolotovs seemed to be therightchoice? A good opportunity? After all, our sister could have hadanyonein the world with the name she holds."

I feel my jaw clench at what he insinuates—that I’m not good enough for Lara—but I manage to keep my cool. "Lara is an intelligent woman," I say firmly. "She understands her own mind and made her decision. Besides, we Orlovs can stand on the might of our own name."

As the game continues, I maintain a calm exterior, even as the brothers' probing questions and thinly veiled threats keep coming. Every time my patience threatens to snap, I remind myself of Lara—her strength, her resilience, and the life we're building together. I don’t wish to uproot it.

"Of course, she's intelligent," Abram shoots Mark a warning glance. "But she's also very young. You must admit, Dima—there's quite an age gap between you two. How can you be sure she wasn't swayed into this decision without truly understanding what marriage means? She’s only 22, for god’s sake."

"Fold," Vladimir says, breaking the tense silence. His face remains impassive, but there's a hint of disapproval in his voice. "Dima, we’re upset because we've always been there for Lara. We never raised her to run off and get married."

“Exactly,” Mark also throws a handful of chips on the table in mild anger. “We were too busy with work, and maybe she felt lonely and fell for the first sign of attention she got. Confused it for love.”

"Call," Denis says quietly, his eyes darting between me and his siblings. He seems to be trying to diffuse the situation, but I can sense his own doubts lurking beneath the surface.

I ignore Denis’s attempt to continue the game, pushing aside my cards. I lean forward, glaring at Mark. “What exactly do you mean by that?” I ask, the fury barely contained in my words.

“What I mean is,” Mark leans forward too, his eyes red with near rage. “That my sister is stupid and naive. For all we know, she was coerced into this marriage.”

I clench my fists under the table. He—they—are not wrong here in one particular aspect. In some ways, one could say she was coerced. But the nature of that coercion is not what they think. I had nothing to gain from this marriage.

But the anger I feel is not for I’ve been offended. It’s for how they offendher.

I feel something snap inside me. My patience has worn thin, and I can't stand their opinion of Lara any longer. I slam my fist down onto the table, startling everyone in the room.

"Enough," I growl, glaring at each of them in turn. "Lara is a grown woman who made her choice, and I won't tolerate anyone questioning her decision. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She loves me, and I love her, and we married one another. If you can't accept that, then maybe you should take a long look at yourselves."

Silence falls over the table, thick and suffocating. The brothers exchange uneasy glances, clearly taken aback by my sudden outburst. But I refuse to back down. If they want to challenge me, I'll give them a fight they won't forget.

"Besides," I add with a hint of venom in my voice, "if you truly cared about Lara's happiness, you wouldn't be here trying to undermine our marriage. If you truly knew your sister, you’d know well enough that her intelligence and common sense know no bounds. She’s not so naive and stupid as you believe to go andmarry a man ill-intentioned toward her. By disrespecting our marriage, you disrespect her!"

I hear voices of protest from around the table, but I raise my hand, quietening them down. My hand trembles with anger as I look each of them in the eyes, my voice firm and unyielding. "You're all banned from this club until you learn to respect Lara and our marriage," I declare, my chest heaving with barely contained fury.

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