Page 72 of The Bratva's Sold Bride

She was just as bloodthirsty as me when it came to the Kuzmins. Olivia was sheltered, no matter what she thought she’d experienced, and this was the first time someone she trusted had truly betrayed her. It broke my heart a little that she’d never been able to trust her father enough to have all the horrible things he’d done to her make a dent in her optimistic attitude toward life.

What the Kuzmin woman did to her struck deep into her tender soul. While Rurik was definitely going to have to pay for his crimes against Olivia, it seemed like the pain of losing someone she thought was a friend was affecting her worse than all of Rurik’s threats.

As soon as she was fast asleep in the closet of a room we were staying in until I could arrange something else, I slipped out of bed and crept outside.

Calling Ivan, I planned to have him meet up with me somewhere with our captives to work out a plan. We’d need them as leverage if we were going to bring down the entire group, and that was what I meant to do. I was done with them buzzing in my ear like annoying gnats, always trying to gain power. Now that they were an active threat to Olivia, they all had to go, not just the head of the snake, but the whole damn body.

Ivan didn’t answer, so I left a message, telling him we didn’t have time to mess around. Whatever he was doing, he needed to drop it and get those two to me right away.

It was late, but I sat out by the small, kidney-shaped pool in the fenced-in courtyard, letting the early morning breeze cool off some of my anger. A lot of it stemmed from that deep-rooted guilt I had never been able to let go of. It warmed my heart that Olivia was on my side even after hearing Rurik’s version of events, and one day, I’d share how deep my feelings were about it.

Right now, I had to let it go and finish this, no matter how conflicted I was.

Olivia’s life depended on it, because one thing I did somewhat admire about Rurik Kuzmin was the fact the little rat did not give up. He’d been brought low and humiliated so many times by us, with each of his uprisings against us squashed with barely any effort on our part, and yet, he still kept trying.

He’d never stop until he had what was mine and thought he’d finally won something against me. And he couldn’t have Olivia.

She was mine.

Well and truly mine.

I tried calling Ivan again, impatient now. Where the fuck was he, and why wasn’t he answering his phone?

It rang through to voicemail, and this time, I didn’t bother leaving a message, instead sending a text demanding to know what was going on.

A few minutes later, he messaged back.

I’m taking care of this one. You’ll have to trust me on this, so don’t try to find me.

I stared at the message, about to call and give him hell. Then, I realized this was just as personal to him as it was to me. Daria Kuzmin had fooled him too, spending the last few weeks flirting, and God knew what else with him. Leading him to believe she was that sweet teacher from the Midwest and wrapping him around her lying little finger. I don’t think I had ever seen him so shocked as when we learned who Zoey really was.

Or so pissed off.

But could I trust him to end this properly? With a sigh, I texted back.

Don’t let me down.

The answer came back within seconds.I never have, and I won’t start now.

Epilogue - Olivia

Two weeks later

We were back in San Diego, in the best suite of the highest-rated hotel in town. Dima wanted to look at real estate, but I didn’t see a reason when we’d hardly be in town once our house was rebuilt. We’d be spending all of our time in Mexico soon anyway, because the construction was just about to start on the first phase of Dima’s resort.

Our resort.

Our house.

Our life.

Right now, I was neck deep in planning our wedding, which was going to put any royal family to shame. It all seemed kind of silly, and there had been a couple of times I almost gave up when I realized what planning something like that entailed. But Dima’s younger sister Mila had come down to help me, and had been a true lifesaver.

She had set up camp a floor below us, and half her suite was taken over by “command central,” as we started calling it. Every day, a new designer came with a small army of assistants laden down with dresses for me to try on. I was swathed in satin, silk, and lace for hours, standing on the makeshift platform while we tried to decide on what was the best style to suit me. The one that made my heart sing and would make Dima’s eyes pop out when I walked down the aisle for the second time.

Mila was much closer to my age than Dima’s since she had been a surprise addition to the family, and while Dima and the rest of his brothers adored and doted on her, it was easy tosee he was getting annoyed about my wedding dress woes every night.

Mila wanted me to look like the princess my mother had dreamed me to be, and had hoped to be able to watch me walk down the aisle herself one day. My new sister-in-law took that very seriously and I appreciated it, as well as her expertise with style and fabrics. But we clashed on every single dress.

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