Page 45 of Used Bratva Bride

I don’t answer. Which, of course, only fuels him further.

“Come on,” he goads, nudging me with his elbow. “The girl’s gorgeous. You get to own her? That’s a dream setup if I’ve ever heard one.”

I exhale through my nose, giving him a side glance. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

I set my glass down with deliberate slowness. “It’s not a question worth answering.”

Ivan smirks, clearly entertained by my refusal to engage. “Alright, fine. If you ask me, settling down might actually be good for you.”

I let out a dry chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Since when do you care about my well-being?”

“I don’t,” he admits easily, shrugging. “I just think it’d be funny to see you, Mikhail fucking Sharov, dealing with a wife.”

I shake my head, unimpressed. “You think I’m about to turn into some domesticated husband? Put down my gun and pick up a fucking gardening hobby?”

Ivan snorts. “Would pay good money to see that.”

I roll my eyes, but a smirk threatens at the corner of my lips. He’s an idiot, but he’s been with me long enough to get away with this shit.

“Look, all I’m saying is,” Ivan continues, gesturing lazily with his half-empty glass, “if you’re stuck with her anyway, might as well enjoy it.”

I don’t respond, but his words settle in my mind. Enjoy it. I already do. More than I should. That’s the problem.

I glance toward the bar, contemplating another drink, but I know it won’t help. Julie is in my system now, and no amount of alcohol will dull the thoughts running rampant in my head.

Eventually, Ivan leans back, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut up now. Just had to poke at you a bit.”

“Consider yourself lucky I’m in a tolerant mood.”

He grins. “If you say so.”

I shake my head, swirling the ice in my glass as Ivan leans back against the booth, still grinning like an idiot. He’s had too much to drink, but that’s nothing new. He loves to push my buttons, always has.

He takes another sip of his vodka, then eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You know, maybe I should be the one to toast at the wedding.”

I give him a deadpan look. “I’d rather shoot myself.”

Ivan throws his head back, laughing. “Come on, it’d be legendary. I’ll get up in front of everyone, tell them how the great Mikhail Sharov has finally been tamed.” He shakes his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Hell, maybe I’ll even bring a slideshow. You know—before and after shots. The fearsome Bratva boss turned doting husband.”

I don’t smile, but there’s a flicker of amusement deep in my chest. “I’ll have you thrown out before you get a word in.”

Ivan grins, unbothered. “What’s the worst you could do? Kill me?”

I take a slow sip of the melting ice in my drink. “If you keep talking, I might.”

Ivan’s laughter is cut off when a woman slides up beside him, resting a manicured hand on his shoulder. She’s blonde, with deep red lips and a body that commands attention in a way that’s calculated, practiced.

“There you are,” she purrs, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Ivan immediately turns his attention to her, grinning as he wraps an arm around her waist. “Here I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully swatting at his chest. “I could never forget you, darling.”

Ivan winks at me before standing. “Duty calls.”

I exhale through my nose, watching as he lets her drag him toward the dance floor, already distracted by whatever the night has in store for him.

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