Page 47 of Used Bratva Bride

I sigh, taking the glass but not drinking just yet. The burn of alcohol is already warm in my veins, but Ivan isn’t going to shut up until I humor him.

The other Bratva, still nursing his own drink, smirks. “I think you’re trying to make sure he’s too hungover for his wedding.”

Ivan gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest. “Moi? brat, you wound me. I would never do such a thing.”

The bartender snorts. “Bullshit.”

Ivan just laughs, unbothered, andclinkshis glass against mine before knocking it back. I follow, letting the warmth settle in my stomach.

Before I can put the glass down, the music shifts, the bass deep and pulsing, the kind of song that makes people move instinctively. The energy in the room heightens, bodies pressing together on the dance floor, drinks spilling as people let loose.

Ivan’s eyes light up like a man with a terrible idea.

“Oh no,” I mutter, already knowing what’s coming.

“Oh yes,” he counters, grabbing my wrist.

I resist, narrowing my eyes. “You’re out of your mind.”

“You say that like it’s new information.” Ivan gestures to the dance floor, which is a chaotic mix of writhing bodies and neon lights. “One dance. You haven’t actually celebrated tonight.”

“I don’t dance.”

He scoffs. “You don’t, but your body does. We’ve done this before, brat. I know you enjoy it.”

I hesitate. I have danced before, though never with the reckless abandon Ivan embraces. For me, it’s never about losing control—it’s about precision, movement, domination.

“Come on, it’s a fast song,” Ivan urges. “No slow, awkward bullshit. Just movement.”

I roll my shoulders, exhaling sharply. Again, the fastest way to shut him up is to give in.

“Fine.”

His face lights up, victorious, and he drags me toward the floor before I can change my mind.

The moment I step into the crowd, the energy shifts. Bodies press too close, the pulse of the music thrumming through my bones. As soon as I start moving, I fall into it—the rhythm, the heat, the control.

It’s electric.

Ivan whoops beside me, lost in his own movements, but I don’t pay him much mind. My focus is on the beat, the way my body moves in sync with it, the sheer rush of giving in for once.

Women drift closer, their gazes drawn to me, their bodies moving in invitation. Normally, I’d indulge, pick one for the night, let myself get lost in the temporary pleasure.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I dance. Nothing more.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself enjoy it. Not as a Bratva leader, not as a man plotting his next move—just as someone lost in the music, even if only for a few minutes.

The song shifts again, slowing slightly, and that’s my cue to leave. I step away, running a hand through my hair as I make my way back to the bar.

Ivan stumbles after me, laughing. “See? Wasn’t that fucking great?”

I shake my head, grabbing my drink. “Are you done harassing me now?”

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “For tonight, maybe.”

I take another sip, letting the ice cool my throat before I set the glass down. “I’m calling it a night.”

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