Page 34 of Married to the Bratva

“This is where you live?” I blurt out before I can stop myself, my voice flat with disbelief. “It looks like Dracula’s Airbnb.”

A mansion looms ahead, a hulking mass of stone and shadow, towers stabbing into the overcast sky. Ivy crawls along the walls like it’s trying to escape. If this house had a face, it’d be scowling at me.

Maxim’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look at me. “It’s functional,” he says, like that’s supposed to explain why his house looks like the set of a Tim Burton movie.

“Functional,” I echo, leaning closer to the car window. “What function, exactly? Scaring people away?”

“Out of the city, safe place for you to work.”

“And the Munsters are working in the kitchens, I presume?”

“I hired the Addams Family,” he replies quick as a flash. “They were cheaper.”

The car rolls forward. My stomach tightens with every inch closer we get. The mansion is beautiful in the way a thunderstorm is beautiful—stunning, sure, but you don’t really want to get caught in it.

We pull up in front of the massive double doors, and there’s a knot in my chest that I can’t seem to shake. The doors swing open as if on cue, and there he is. Nikolai.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Abramov,” Nikolai says as I climb out of the car. “Hope you like bats.”

“Bats I can handle,” I shoot back before Maxim can say anything. “It’s the grumpy Russian men with guns I’m worried about.”

Nikolai’s grin widens, and he glances at Maxim. “She’s still got a sharp tongue. Thought you’d get her under control now she’s got your ring on her finger.”

Maxim steps out of the car, his expression unreadable, but the air around him practically crackles. “Careful, Nikolai,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something darker. “Keep talking, and you’ll be hanging with the bats soon enough.”

Nikolai ignores him. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

The interior is exactly what I expect: dark wood, towering ceilings, and chandeliers that probably cost more than my college tuition. The smell of old books and polished stone lingers in the air, and the faint echo of our footsteps makes the space feel even larger.

Nikolai leads me through the house, his tone half tour guide, half comedian. “Library’s that way, dining room’s here, and if you’re feeling brave, we’ve got a wine cellar that doubles as a dungeon.”

I arch a brow. “You’re joking, right?”

He pauses just long enough to make me uncomfortable before grinning. “Mostly.”

Maxim, walking just ahead of us, doesn’t even look back. “Ignore him.”

Nikolai shrugs, unfazed. “I’m just trying to make the bride feel at home.”

Bride. The word makes my stomach flip, and I glance at Maxim’s broad back, wondering—not for the first time—what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

Finally, Nikolai pushes open a heavy door, revealing what I assume is supposed to be my room. It’s huge—bigger than any apartment I’ve lived in—with a massive canopy bed, velvet curtains, and a view of the sprawling gardens outside. Everything is lush, expensive, and intimidating. Just like Maxim.

“Fit for a queen,” Nikolai says with a mock bow. “Or a prisoner, depending on your perspective.”

I glance at Maxim. “And I’m guessing the locks are on the outside of the door?”

“Only if you give me a reason to use them,” he replies, his tone so casual it takes me a second to register the warning beneath it.

I square my shoulders, refusing to let him see the tiny flicker of unease that runs through me. “Don’t worry,” I say sweetly. “I’ll be the perfect little houseguest.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he straightens and nods toward Nikolai. “Leave us.”

Nikolai steps out of the room, muttering something under his breath. Maxim lingers a moment longer, his gaze locked on mine. It’s not hostile, exactly, but it’s not warm, either.

“Wander where you like,” he says. “I want you back at work in an hour.

I wander through the endless halls. It’s like walking through a museum where everything screams,Don’t Touch.

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