Page 3 of Knocked Up by the Bratva

I nod, her words sinking in. She’s right. Our final semester has just started, and with only a handful of classes left, it’s the perfect time to do something spontaneous, to celebrate this new chapter in my life. “You know what,” I say, grinning. “You’re right. I’m in. Let’s go all out on Friday.”

Maeve practically squeals in excitement, raising her slice of pizza like a toast. “That’s the spirit! We’re going to have so much fun.”

As we finish our pizza and talk about the details of the night, I start to feel a growing sense of anticipation. For once, I’m allowing myself to let go of the constant pressure and perfection I put on myself. This weekend will be different—a chance to unwind, to celebrate, and maybe even to see a different side of New York.

I have no idea what the party will be like, who I’ll meet, or how the night will go, but for the first time in a long time, I’m okay with the uncertainty.

I take a deep breath, excitement bubbling up in my chest. This weekend is going to be fun.

Chapter Two - Timur

The pulsing bass from inside the club rattles the pavement beneath my feet as I step out of the car, my jaw clenched tight. I’ve never liked parties. Never liked the chaos or the way people lose control of themselves in these places. I’m not here for fun. I’m here to get Serge and drag his ass back home before he causes any more damage.

Oleg steps out of the car next to me, glancing at his phone. “You’ve seen the video, right?” he asks, holding up his screen, the faint glow of the footage flickering in the dark. It’s the video that surfaced last night—Serge, in this very club, getting into a brawl with some random guy. The man was lucky to walk away without worse injuries. He was bloodied up pretty bad, and the only reason the police didn’t get involved was because of our family’s influence.

“I’ve seen it,” I mutter, my voice low. The fact that Serge made a scene like that in public pisses me off more than anything. We’re supposed to keep things quiet, handle our business without dragging our family’s name into the mud. Serge… he’s spiraling, and if he doesn’t stop, he’ll drag us all down with him.

We move toward the entrance of the club. It’s a private party, and I wasn’t invited, but that doesn’t matter. I own the damn place.

The bouncer takes one look at me and steps aside, letting us in without a word. Inside, the place is packed, bodies swaying under neon lights, drinks in hand, the scent of alcohol and sweat thick in the air. Oleg walks beside me as we make our way through the crowd, his eyes scanning the room.

“He’s here somewhere,” Oleg says, his tone gruff. “No way he’s keeping his head down. Not after the stunt he pulled.”

I nod, my jaw clenched even tighter. Serge has been missing from his duties for over a week now, and this isn’t the first time he’s pulled something like this. Partying, drugs, random women clinging to his arm—he’s been spiraling ever since Anthony’s death. While I’ve tried to give him space to grieve, he’s crossed a line. We can’t afford any more slip-ups. Not when the public’s watching.

We spot him near the back, surrounded by a group of models. He’s lounging in a booth, eyes glazed over, clearly high on something. His shirt is half undone, a lazy grin on his face as one of the girls leans in, whispering something in his ear.

I stop a few feet away, crossing my arms over my chest. “Serge,” I bark, my voice cutting through the noise.

He looks up, blinking slowly as if it takes him a second to register who I am. When he does, his grin fades, replaced by a look of annoyance.

“Timur… what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to drag your sorry ass out of this mess,” I growl, stepping closer. “You’ve been dodging your responsibilities for over a week. Now this?” I motion to Oleg, who’s still holding up the video on his phone. “You’re endangering our family, Serge.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in the booth like he couldn’t care less. “Oh, come on. It’s not that serious. The guy’s fine. Just a little scrap.”

I narrow my eyes, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet. “You call that a scrap? You’re making everything public. We don’t operate like that. We handle our business quietly, behind closed doors.”

Serge tries to pull his arm free, but I tighten my grip, dragging him out of the booth and toward the side of the clubwhere it’s quieter. The girls he was with are watching us, wide-eyed, but I ignore them. This is between me and my brother.

“What the hell, Timur?” Serge snaps, finally wrenching his arm free. “What’s the point of all this power if I can’t even find Anthony’s murderer? Huh?”

I freeze, staring at him. So this is what it’s about. Anthony.

Anthony was Serge’s childhood best friend. His death, ruled as a suicide, has been a sore spot for Serge ever since. He refuses to believe it, claims that something more sinister is at play. I’ve looked into it myself, and all the evidence points to suicide. Serge won’t accept that. He’s convinced someone killed him, and that obsession is driving him into a dark place.

“Serge,” I say, my voice softer now, but still firm. “I get that you’re hurting. I do. This… this isn’t the way. You’re making everything worse for yourself. For us.”

He stares at me, his eyes bloodshot and filled with frustration. “You don’t get it, Timur. I’m supposed to protect him. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve stopped it.”

“You couldn’t have known,” I say, my tone sharper. “You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“Maybe,” he mutters, looking away. “Maybe not, but I’m not going to let it go. I’m not.”

I sigh, running a hand over my face. “Look, we’ll talk more about this later. Right now, you need to pull yourself together. You’re not doing anyone any favors by getting wasted and beating people up in nightclubs.”

Serge doesn’t respond, his gaze distant. I know he’s still thinking about Anthony, still blaming himself. As much as I want to help him, I don’t know how. He’s my brother, and it’s myresponsibility to pull him out of this, but I’m not sure he’ll ever let go of his guilt.

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