Page 42 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

Fucking stupid.

I dragged my hand away from her face, running it down mine.

There was no denying that the Italian princess was special. Enzo knew it. Fucking Marco knew it. Her entire clan knew it.

I didn’t know how or why, but she was. There was that loud strength in her that fascinated me, a fire that burned just beneath the surface. And yet, here she was, clinging to me like she needed me, with her guard completely down. It was almost fucking disarming.

My chest tightened, and it surfaced, a strange mix of protectiveness and something softer that I’d probably never admit.

We weren’t supposed to have each other. A collision like ours was barred and bound to cause a train wreck. Our lives couldn’t mix. We were both headstrong, stubborn, and ambitious. But maybe that was why it felt so different with her—so new.

My phone buzzed beside the bed, and I frowned when I saw the contact on the screen.

Carefully, I shifted, not wanting to wake her, but her fingers tightened slightly on my arm as if, even in her sleep, she didn’t want to let go. I let out a quiet breath, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. Maybe—just maybe—I didn’t want to let go either.

But this was one call that couldn’t be ignored.

“Privyet.”

Andrei was a man of few words, and his calls were as rare as they were deliberate, only for moments of necessity. All my life, I’d never once caught him bothered with small talk or idle chatter. So, I knew instinctively that something was amiss.

I slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the balcony attached to the room. When I leaned against the railing, the metal creaked softly beneath my weight, and I looked over my shoulder to be sure Leonora was still asleep.

“Bad news or good news?”

“None,” he clipped back. I imagined the look on his face, hard and gloomy as always, with his signature scowl pasted across.

I had many cousins, but Ivan and Andrei stuck closer, both cut from the same Yezhov cloth, but that’s where the similarities ended.

Andrei was the real deal—smarter, a razor-sharp field operator with a roughneck attitude and both feet planted firmly on the ground. He was the one who kept his wits about him, always thinking two moves ahead of the game. Ivan, on the other hand, was the wild card—unpredictable and prone to flying off the handle. But Andrei? He was the one you wanted watching your back.

I dragged a hand down my face, staring out at the estate and a troop of my men laughing by the fountain. “You have a problem?”

“Rafa.” He cursed under his breath. “The men are talking.”

“They’re laughing right now, from where I’m standing.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Honestly, I have no fucking clue. Maybe, if you stopped being so fucking cryptic, I’d understand.”

We both knew I understood his unspoken words clearly, and Iknewthe men were talking. Playing ignorant was just one of those things I intentionally did to waste time and rile him up.

“I heard about you and Leonora.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. When the men weren’t working, they were gossiping like idle maids in scrubs.

“I heard about you and that dancer, Mikala. How did things turn out, by the way?”

He huffed. “Rafayel, this is serious.”

“Of course, it is.” I clenched my jaw. “We’re finalizing an alliance.”

It felt childish dodging Andrei’s bullets, but that part of me that wanted more mornings with Leonora didn’t want him raining logical shit on my parade.

“I heard about that, too, the alliance with the Italians. Word also has it that you took her home. To your fucking house, Rafayel?”

The irritation in his voice was clear. But I sure as hell was going to make mine clearer. “Now sniffing around my pants, Andrei? I thought you preferred keeping your nose in your business. Who I fuck is, frankly, none of your concern.”

---