Page 12 of Bratva Baby

Part of me can’t stand her arrogance. Another part respects her for daring to stand up to men like us. And then there’s something else—an odd urge to shield her from that bastard father who treats her like an object. If not me, she’ll end up being forced to marry someone else eventually. Of that, I have no doubt.

My silence stretches. Aleksei lifts a brow. “Are you sure you want this woman, Grigor? You barely know her.”

I scowl. “I know enough. She’s defiant. She’s stuck under Evan’s thumb. He’d use her until there’s nothing left. I’ll take her away from that. And if it benefits the Bratva, that’s a bonus.”

He nods once. “So you’ve made up your mind?”

“Yeah.” I square my shoulders. “If I can protect her, and the alliance remains ours, that’s the path I’m taking. It’s best for everyone.”

Aleksei drums his fingers on the table, thinking. “Is it what’s best for you, brother? Marriage is a commitment. For better or worse, you and Seraphina will be bound together.”

I shrug. “I’m willing to make the sacrifice. This is necessary.”

Aleksei sighs, then pushes his chair back. “Fine. But don’t expect her to make it easy. Evan’s daughter is known for her stubborn streak. You’re sure you can handle that?”

I give a dry smile. “I’ll handle it.”

***

The next day, I pick Seraphina up in one of our black SUVs. She’s dressed in tight jeans and a fitted turtleneck, an outfit that shows off her figure in ways that are distracting—though I suspect she absolutely knows this. She slips into the passenger seat without a word, keeping her gaze fixed out the window as if she’d rather look at anything but me.

I start the engine, resisting the urge to comment on the silence. If she wants to brood, that’s fine. For now, I plan on taking her to the upscale district for some wedding errands we’re expected to complete. Her father insisted on it. He wants this ceremony to be flashy, something to parade beforepotential associates. But I’m not above using the day for my own purposes: flaunting my new catch in front of the whole damn city.

As we pull up to a boutique known for high-end wedding attire, Seraphina finally decides to talk. “Is this your idea or my father’s?”

“He told me to escort you to find a suitable dress,” I reply. “I’m just facilitating.”

She snorts. “So I can’t even pick out the attire for my forced wedding with my sister or friends. You know, like a bride is supposed to do.” She pops open the door, stepping out before I can respond.

I follow her inside, stepping around a few gawking salespeople who recognize me. I give them a silent glare that has them all backing off. Good. I don’t need them crowding her or making this any more uncomfortable than it already is. We reach the main floor, which is lined with pristine gowns in glossy cases.

The manager, a woman with a professional smile, approaches. “Welcome, Mr. Barkov. We’ve been expecting you. Shall we show your fiancée to a fitting room?”

Seraphina opens her mouth, probably to argue about the wordfiancée. I give a small nod, ignoring the tension vibrating off her. “Yes, do that. Make sure she has the best selection.”

The manager ushers Seraphina away, leaving me to wait on a plush sofa. I settle there, letting my mind wander. Aleksei’s offer to back out lingers in my thoughts. This is my choice now. I could make a call, end it. But the memory of Seraphina’s father sneering at her, treating her like a disposable asset, plays on repeat in my head. No. I’m not abandoning her to that fate.

My phone buzzes. It’s one of my men, reporting that Evan’s men are sniffing around nearby, spying on us. Typical. He wants to keep tabs on every detail. To be fair, my men are lurking in the background, too. I shoot back a curt text telling them to keep an eye on any developments.

When I look up, Seraphina is walking toward me, and for a moment, everything else fades. The gown she’s chosen molds to her figure like a second skin, hugging every curve. The fabric is smooth and shimmering, catching the light with each step she takes. A high neckline draws attention to the graceful curve of her shoulders, while the sleeves taper elegantly to her wrists, leaving a hint of lace detail along the edges. The bodice is fitted, cinching at her waist before flaring into a cascading skirt that trails behind her in a soft, sweeping train.

My breath stalls for just an instant. The simplicity of the gown only serves to emphasize her natural beauty. She moves like she owns the room, and though her expression is all defiance—glaring at me with her chin high, her eyes daring me to say something—there’s no denying how stunning she looks.

The manager stands by with her hands clasped in front of her chest, beaming in approval as if she knows she’s witnessing a moment meant to impress. But it’s not just the dress. It’s the way Seraphina wears it, with a kind of fire that burns. She could stop hearts with that combination of beauty and attitude—and she damn well knows it.

“So?” Seraphina challenges. “Is this what a Barkov bride is supposed to wear? Or did you want something more… conservative?”

I rise from the sofa, stepping closer to her. The manager discreetly moves back. “You look good.”

She huffs. “Good? That’s it? I thought you’d want your underlings drooling at the sight of your new trophy.”

I narrow my eyes. “If I catch any underling drooling over you, I’ll knock his teeth out. Nobody stares at what’s mine.”

She flinches, and her eyes flash. “I’m not yours, Barkov. I’m forced into this wedding, but let’s get one thing straight: I belong to no one.”

A flicker of possessiveness surges in me. “For now, maybe. But soon enough, you’ll wear my ring.”

Her lips curl into a snarl. “Keep dreaming.”

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