Page 56 of Paid for By the Bratva

"Oh well, it still feels like an eternity," he says, stepping back from our hug. "You should visit us at home sometime. Abram keeps talking about how your room is still a mess."

"Really?" I ask, laughing. "Well, we better let him keep that problem. Where is he anyway?”

Denis points to my far right, and I notice Abram and Vladimir engaged in deep conversation with Ivan and Mikhail.

With a nod, Denis moves on to find Mark, leaving me alone with Dima once again. I turn to him, beaming. "Did you see that? At least one of my brothers is warming up to us again!"

Dima grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It seems so. Let's just enjoy the evening and hope this is a sign of better things to come."

A familiar laugh catches my attention—Pippa and Genevieve, dressed in gorgeous gowns with vodka glasses in hand. My heart leaps at the sight of them. It's been months.

“Lara!” They greet me with wide smiles and crushing hugs. “We've missed you. How’s married life?”

“I've missed you too,” I say, realizing I haven’t seen the girls in ages. We chat for a while, and Natalia joins in. Somewhere in the conversation, Pippa suggests we take a pottery class in the coming month.

“Oh!” I squeal. “That sounds insane.”

Dima, beside me, rolls his eyes. “I just don’t know how she gets the time. She’s the busiest person I know, and now she wants to do pottery?” he teases.

We all laugh, and the girls excuse themselves. Pippa and Genevieve head out to find Vanya, and Natalia says Artyom’s asking her to join him and Sofia for shots at the bar. When she asks if we’d like to join, Dima and I dart glances at one another before saying a vehementNo!in unison.

“I knew he was old,” Natalia shoves her brother with her shoulder before walking away. “But you, Laraaa?” she sings before running off to the bar.

There’s a sweet joy and a deep sense of belonging as I immerse myself in the revelry around me. Laughter and music fill the air, and everywhere, family and friends are chatting,drinking, and dancing. Dima steers us from group to group, his hand a steady presence on my lower back, proudly displaying me on his arm like a prize.

Despite everything, I can't help the blossom of warmth in my chest. Here, surrounded by the Orlovs and Zolotovs, I feel like I belong. I know I'm home.

Just then, a sight near the entrance catches my eye. Sergei and Abram are speaking in hushed, angry tones, brows furrowed as they glance around the room. Their gazes land on me for a split second before skittering away. A tendril of unease unfurls in my stomach.

Dima notices my distraction and follows my line of sight. His expression darkens.

Abram gives Sergei a parting slap on the back, and I watch him walk toward my other brothers. And then, the worst of my nightmares threatens to unfold before me as Abram, Vladimir, Denis, and Mark walk purposely toward Dima and me, their faces red with rage.

I step away from Dima's grasp, halting in my tracks. “No way,” I whisper. “They know.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face and reaching out to grip my hand. “Let them come,” he says boldly. “You did nothing wrong, and they have no right to be upset.”

My heart drops like a stone. I know exactly how angry my brothers are capable of being.

Suddenly, they’re here. Abram strides forward and slams a phone on Dima’s chest.

"Have you seen this?" he asks Dima, passing the phone over to him. Dima’s expression hardens as well, and I know something is wrong.

“If Sergei hadn’t told us,” he continues.

“Sergei had no right!” I exclaim, even though I know my cousin probably thought my brothers were aware. It must have been a genuine mistake, and besides, in this city? News spreads.

"He had every right to imagine we didn’t know all this time," Vladimir seethes, glaring at Dima, who casually passes the phone back to Abram.

"Care to explain why there's a video of Lara sneaking around Philadelphia and partying like a wild teenager circulating online? I thought you were supposed to be taking care of her," Mark accuses Dima.

I, on the other hand, step in front of Dima. “If it’s related to me,” I hiss at my brother. “Then you ought to bring it up with me.”

Dima's face remains stoic, but I can sense the tension in his grip as he replies. "I am doing my best to keep her safe, but I have no right to control what she does."

I turn back to my husband, surprised at how calm he is, how defensive of me. He could have come right out and told them these videos were from before we ever got married, and yet, he stands tall and defends me.

"Seems like you're not trying hard enough," Abram snaps, his anger palpable. “How can you let her act so despicably?”

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