Page 62 of Mafia King's Bride

I give him an OK sign that probably looks more like I’m trying to catch a fly. “Like a champ!” I announce proudly. “How ‘bout you, Mr. Orlov?”

He smiles—still weird—and pulls me close. “I’m fine. You can sleep if you want.”

“Nope!” I declare, popping the “P” like it’s bubble wrap. “I wanna talk. Hey,” I poke his lips with my finger, because apparently that’s a thing I do now, “why’d you bring me? You coulda gone stag. I wouldn’t have minded.”

He looks at me all serious-like. “I wanted you by my side. To show you off.”

I blink owlishly. “Show me off? Like a trophy?”

He chuckles, guiding my head to his shoulder. “Sleep,kotyonok. I’ll wake you when we’re home.”

I try to argue, but then he kisses me, and suddenly, my brain goes all fuzzy and warm. What was I saying? Oh well, doesn’t matter. Sleep sounds good.

And just like that, I’m out like a light, dreaming of saffron rivers and Dmitri.

What a night.

TWENTY-TWO

DMITRI

I find Igor Pavlov waiting in my office like an uninvited pest. His attempt at a disarming smile only serves to fuel my irritation. The audacity of this man never ceases to amaze me.

“What are you doing here, Igor?” I ask, my voice a cold blade.

He stammers out some excuse about the casino project. How quaint. I let him squirm for a full minute before acknowledging him, savoring his discomfort like a fine wine.

Igor launches into his concerns about profits and timelines. Little does he know, those casinos were never his to begin with. The fool signed away his empire without even realizing it. It would almost be pitiful if it weren’t so satisfying.

“Everything takes time,” I say, feeding him just enough truth to keep him complacent. “There were...complications with the previous owners.”

I watch realization dawns on his face. He truly had no idea what he was getting into. It’s almost too easy.

The conversation shifts to the sultan’s party. Igor’s curiosity is palpable, tinged with envy. He thinks he’s being clever, probing for information, trying to catch me in some sort of betrayal to the Bratva.

“Isn’t that what everyone says about us?” I respond smoothly to his jab about thieves. “That we have the Thieves’ Code?”

I can see the wheels turning in his head, trying to decide whether I’ve given him ammunition or not. He’s so focused on the small game that he can’t see the larger trap.

I redirect, asking him what he’d do if someone tried to steal his father’s territory. It’s a test, of course. One he fails spectacularly.

“I’d do worse,” he boasts, not realizing he’s digging his own grave deeper with every word.

When he mentions calling a meeting about the Italian families, I have to stifle a laugh. He thinks he’s making moves, playing the game. In reality, he’s just a pawn on my chessboard, and I’m about to capture his king.

“Fine,” I agree, already planning three steps ahead. “If there’s going to be an issue, we should deal with it now.”

I can’t wait to watch his world crumble around him. After all, in this game, there can only be one winner. And I’ve never been one for participation trophies.

Two hoursof my life wasted on Igor’s paranoid ramblings. He claims it’s about New York, but I see through his pitiful attempt at misdirection. His problems in New Jersey are of no concern to me, unless they become useful leverage.

“Are you sure you don’t need my help with the casino?” he asks, trailing after me like a lost puppy.

“Opening night will be in a month,” I reply, my tone flat and final. “Give me till then.”

He reaches out, as if to pat my shoulder, but thinks better of it when he sees my expression. Smart move. The last man who touched me without permission lost three fingers.

As Igor slinks away, I shake my head. Pathetic. Jakob approaches, informing me that my sister is waiting in my office.

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