Page 1 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

Chapter 1 - Roman

My back fucking hurts.

Whiskey burns the back of my throat as I knock back the rest of what is in my glass before I promptly pour myself another finger or two. I stare blankly at my computer screen in front of me, my middle finger aggressively flicking my mouse's scroll wheel as I mindlessly flip through hundreds of emails.

It’s been two weeks since I moved from Moscow to Las Vegas, Nevada. I was born and raised in Moscow and grew up under the care of the Bratva. I became a businessman just like the rest of the men in my family unit while also doing my duties as a trusted Bratva enforcer. Moscow was more than just my home; it was my history, my family’s history, and Bratva history. Moscow is where I intended to live out the rest of my days.

That is until my cousin Luka came to me with a request.

I wasn’t particularly close to Luka, which was neither of our faults. Our fathers, the Milovs, didn’t see themselves as ordinary brothers but more as business partners. They were both high-ranked, respected members of our crime family and successful businessmen with decorated military backgrounds. Thus, they raised their sons to be the same way.

Our relationship was further tainted not too long ago when a business deal went wrong, resulting in one of his men pinning the blame on me to avoid getting into trouble. This incident put another wedge between Luka and me and fractured his trust further. I can’t say I was too bothered about Luka's loss of trust, but the incident did put a stain on my reputation that I’ve since been working hard to clean up.

Nevertheless, all of this was why I was confused when Luka approached me earlier this month and told me that hewanted me to take care of his casino down in Las Vegas while he took a long, well-deserved vacation.

It didn’t make sense to me. Luka doesn’t trust others easily and trusts me even less than most. He also likes to handle his business all on his own. He keeps his professional circles small and keeps his most important dealings to himself. It doesn’t make sense why someone like him would put me in charge of easily one of his top three most successful businesses.

I’m certain this is all a test of some sort. Whether it is a test to see if I can earn back his trust or to see if I’m truly capable in my role as an enforcer, it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t have anything to prove to anyone, nor do I care to—however, I have a reputation to repair, and this gives me the chance to do so.

My track record speaks for itself. I’m a highly respected businessman just as much as I am an enforcer. I am capable, and time and time again, I prove that statement to be true. You give me a job, and I do it better than you asked. Simple as that.

I’m a fucking Milov. Failure is not an option for us.

One thing about me is that I am fiercely loyal. Even to family members like Luka, who make it especially hard to get along with. If it’s trust he’s after, I’ll gladly show him he can count on me without doubt.

Adjusting my personal life and business to new territory was more difficult than I expected. A heavy groan escapes my lips, and as I roll my tired shoulders backward, I realize now that it probably wasn’t the best idea to give my personal assistant, Oksana, a few weeks of paid vacation. I’m an incredibly busy man, always have been and always preferred to be, but, frankly, there are far more important matters to attend to, like figuring out where in the city I’ll be moving my business to, instead of reading hundreds offuckingemails.

As I scroll, an email from a company called ‘Nova Security’ catches my eye, and I click on the email to reveal an invoice. I’d recently sought their services to install new security systems and cameras in the Diamond Casino. Luka had given me a long list of things he was in the process of working on, and giving his security systems an update was one of the top five. His old ones don’t even need updating, but Luka believes in always being steps ahead of everyone else, which includes updating to the newest technology the second it becomes available.

I tangled my fingers in my dark hair, lifting my arm to check the time on my watch, a white-gold Patek with a sapphire case back and navy leather strap. Unlike my cousin and many associates, I don’t insist on flaunting every dollar I have. I prefer to keep it low-key. I like to call it quiet luxury. I still shop at the same luxury, high-quality brands as they do, but I opt for more simple choices instead of sinking my claws into everything flashy.

The time reads nearly eight p.m. I take a quick glance out at the large windows behind me, admiring the tapestry of copper and pink hues, with bright orange sunlight filtering through gray clouds and the outlines of skyscrapers decorating the lovely horizon. The view in my new place, a 68th-floor penthouse hovering along the edges of the city, is far more appealing than my old one back home.

I gaze back down at my monitor, scanning the invoice in front of me. It inspires me to click out of my inbox and load up the messaging software where I communicate with the technicians at Nova Security. I reread our earlier messages, where they explained that they would dedicate today to camera installations across the casino, and then half the day tomorrow was all they needed to program each and every one of the cameras into their software. I’d also purchased alarms for eachof the entrances and exits, which they would take care of tomorrow as well.

My eyes fell to the time in the corner of the screen, rereading the time once more. I had to be up early tomorrow to browse different commercial properties across the Upper West Side for my business, but part of me wanted to check out the work that Nova Security had done so far, just to make sure everything was going smoothly. I was a perfectionist in that way, both a blessing and a curse instilled into me by my father from a very young age, who wanted to raise a future heir to his business rather than a son, and thus was more of a boss or mentor to me than he was a father.

I kept staring at the time, but eventually, I pushed myself out of my leather seat and grabbed the black suit jacket on the back of my chair. A quick trip to check on things wouldn’t hurt, I suppose. And I desperately needed to get out of the fucking office.

***

Neon lights flicker overhead, and blaring music assaults my ears the second I push through the glass doors. Two men in burgundy suits greet me with a friendly nod as I enter the casino, already wanting to leave. I am highly introverted and a lone wolf, always preferring to keep to myself rather than be in the company of others, so big crowds in places like these always irk me. And was this placepacked.

It was supposed to be a luxury casino, but it seemed like every millionaire, billionaire, and socialite in the city decided to show up this Friday night. I practically shove through a sea of bodies, narrowly dodging a half-naked waitress carrying a trayfull of champagne, and annoyingly graze my hip on the edge of a poker table, cringing in disgust at the smell of body odor as I pass by a man who looked like he never left the place.

I pass by the obnoxiously loud rows of slot machines and make way for the restaurant called ‘The Flame’ at the end of the hallway. I swiftly pull out my ID to show the hostess, who welcomes me in with a great smile and a seemingly promiscuous gaze in her eyes as I pass her, making my way toward the bar and slipping onto a red leather stool.

“Whiskey, neat,” I flag down the bartender, who nods enthusiastically as she turns to make my drink, a look in her eye similar to the one that the hostess gave me. I’m not a stranger to those kinds of looks.

While I wait for my drink, I take the opportunity to glance at my surroundings.

I consider myself to be very observant, able to pick up the smallest details that most people would easily miss. Being observant is more than just a skill in my line of work—it's a necessity for survival.

In the Bratva, every detail matters. A misplaced glance, a subtle change in body language, or an out-of-place object could mean the difference between life and death.

I scan the room methodically, taking in every nuance. The way the light glints off the polished surfaces of the bar, casting shadows that could conceal a hidden weapon. The positioning of the security cameras, their lenses like watchful eyes tracking every movement. I note the exits and mentally map escape routes should the need arise.

Amongst the lively chatter, the sweet sound of laughter suddenly fills the air. My gaze shifts, landing on two women who enter the bar area. They laugh, engrossed in animatedconversation, as they make their way to a small table with two seats. I'm about to look away, my interest fleeting as it usually is with strangers, when something catches my eye.

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