Page 46 of Mafia King's Bride

I cut him off, my voice cold. “What about Freya?”

Igor sputters, caught off guard. “W-we could just drink. Hang out, nothing more.”

I stare at him, unblinking. It’s fascinating how quickly they forget what matters. Igor, Alexey, and the rest—they’re older, used to thinking their years somehow give them an edge. But in this world, age doesn’t mean anything. Power does. Control does. Rank and loyalty are the currency here, and they’re sorely lacking.

“I’ll be there,” I say, deciding to play along for now. “Might come a little late. Things to attend to.”

He stands, adjusting his jacket, looking relieved like he’s just escaped a firing squad. He reaches for the file, but I’m faster.

“Why don’t I hold onto this?” I suggest, my tone sharp. “For safekeeping. You know as well as I do there’s no replacing that document if something happens to it.”

He pulls his hand back slowly, nodding. “Right. But you’ll keep me updated, yeah?”

I flash him a smile, the kind that makes men like him uneasy. “Of course.”

As he turns to leave, he throws me a grin, thinking he’s still in the game. “You’re the man, Dmitri. I’ll save you a seat and a bottle.”

I watch him go, the file safe in my hands. He has no idea that he’s already lost. By the time he realizes it, I’ll have what I need, and he’ll have nothing.

This is how it’s always been. Control. Power. They never see it coming until it’s too late.

I arriveat the Gentleman’s Club, already regretting my decision. The hostess leads me to the VIP room where Igor andBianchi are deep in conversation, along with some guy I barely know. Alexey’s absence is obvious, but no surprise. He’s always been more selective about these gatherings.

Igor, already drunk, attempts to stand when he sees me. “My good man!” he slurs, wobbling as he clutches a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.

“You’re going to break someone’s head,” Bianchi says, laughing as he takes the bottle from Igor, his gaze shifting to me. “Dmitri, I didn’t think you were the type to drink at night. Formal parties, sure, but this? It’s a surprise.”

I sit down, already regretting my presence. I don’t do things like this unless I have a reason, and tonight’s no different. Igor’s drunk, the man next to him is distracted with a blonde, and soon enough, I’ll have Bianchi to myself. He’s next on my list.

I raise my glass toward Bianchi. “Pour me a glass.”

He looks me in the eye, filling my glass. “Something’s going on with you.”

I don’t bother denying it. Bianchi’s not stupid and playing coy won’t get me anywhere. “Yeah, there is. But I can handle it. I hear there’s trouble on your end. Need help? I could step in. You’ll owe me, but who doesn’t?”

Bianchi shakes his head, laughing as he takes a sip from his drink. “You know, Lucia’s not backing down.”

“Backing down from what?” I ask though I already know.

“She wants you, Dmitri. For all of Lucia’s games, she’s never been with a married man. But now? She’s dead set on you. I’ve tried to stop her, but if you know my daughter—and I think you do—you know better. She’s not giving up.”

The man sounds stressed, and I don’t blame him. He’s never been able to control Lucia. He just enables her, covering her mistakes when things go sideways.

I place my glass on the table and face him squarely. “She’s going to have to learn, Bianchi. I’m married. I’m committed to my wife. I’m not bringing anyone else into our relationship.”

Bianchi shrugs, a tired acceptance in his expression. “I understand.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the tension palpable. Then, as expected, he leans back, folding his arms. “Can I ask you something? You like her? Your wife, I mean. Because, let’s be honest, most Bratva heads don’t stay faithful. Hell, Pavlov over there,” he nods toward a passed-out Igor, “doesn’t even pretend. Loyalty to the men is one thing. But marriage? That’s different.”

Do IlikeAnastasia? “Like” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Every time I look at her, something shifts inside me. There’s a pull, a need that I’ve never felt with anyone else. When I kiss her, it’s like a surge of adrenaline, something deeper than just desire. It confuses me, this feeling. I didn’t expect it, didn’t want it. I married her for reasons that had nothing to do with affection. Yet, here I am.

“I’m a faithful man, Bianchi,” I say, not fully answering his question. “I protect what’s mine. That includes my marriage.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “Then I’d better warn Lucia about the heartbreak to come. She told me she met your wife while shopping, said Anastasia was cold and rude. Though, I’m guessing Lucia wasn’t exactly friendly herself.”

My mind spins at his words. Ana met Lucia? Why didn’t she tell me? Did Lucia mention that we’d been together before? What does Ana think of me now? Does she think I’m a man who sleeps with every woman that crosses his path?

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