Page 60 of Used Bratva Bride

Julie shifts her attention back to Erik. “What about you? Are you enjoying this?”

Erik tilts his head slightly, considering. “Oh, I never expected my brother to get married, let alone to someone from the Spade family. This is better than any business deal I’ve seen.”

I scoff. “You just like the spectacle.”

“That, and I’m curious to see if you can handle this,” Erik replies, a smirk playing on his lips. He takes another sip of his drink before adding, “You were never the domestic type.”

Julie lets out a quiet snort at that, and I arch a brow at her. “Something funny?”

She presses her lips together, clearly fighting back a smile. “It’s just… I can’t imagine you being ‘domestic’ either.”

Erik laughs outright. “See? She’s catching on fast.”

I exhale through my nose, unamused. “Enough. You should know better than to bring my wife into this, given how you met your own.”

Erik grins. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave, since you insist on mentioning Chloe.”

“How is she, by the way?”

Erik waves a dismissive hand. “A handful, as always. “He gives Julie one last assessing look before setting his glass down and clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve got your hands full too, Brother.”

With that, I watch as he steps away, disappearing into the crowd.

Julie exhales, shaking her head. “Your brother is… something.”

I sneer. “You just met him on a good day.”

Before either of us can say much else, my uncle Denis steps into the conversation with the same unwelcome presence he always carries—too casual, too arrogant, as if he owns thespace he enters. His sharp gaze rakes over Julie before he even acknowledges me, his lips curling into something between amusement and disdain.

“Well, you’ve certainly made a choice that’ll keep tongues wagging,” he sneers, his voice dripping with derision. “Marrying a Spade… I suppose betraying blood runs in the family, doesn’t it?”

I don’t react immediately. Denis has always been one to provoke, throwing veiled insults like knives just to see how deep they cut. He thrives on tension, on pressing buttons to see which ones will break.

My grip on my glass tightens, but before I can open my mouth, Julie speaks.

“Interesting how the loudest critics are often the ones who’ve accomplished the least.”

A sharp silence falls between us.

I shift my gaze to her, surprised—and amused—to find her standing tall, completely unshaken by Denis’s presence. There’s no hesitation in her voice, no uncertainty in her posture.

Denis blinks, the smirk on his face faltering for just a fraction of a second before he lets out a low chuckle. “Well, well. The Spade girl has a tongue on her.”

Julie doesn’t flinch. “Yet, it seems to be sharper than yours.”

The amusement in Denis’s eyes turns cold.

I watch him closely, waiting to see how he’ll react. He isn’t a man who enjoys being outplayed, especially not in public. Julie just cut him down in front of the highest-ranking men in the Bratva.

Denis lets out another chuckle, slower this time, measured. “Bold words for someone who wouldn’t be standing here if not for the Sharovs keeping her on a leash.”

Julie’s expression doesn’t waver. “A leash only works if you allow it.”

The men around us go quiet, their interest in the exchange evident in the way they linger. This kind of tension is exactly what they live for—power plays, unspoken challenges, the constant game of dominance.

Denis shifts his weight slightly, tilting his head at me. “I hope you’re keeping this one in check, Mikhail. Wouldn’t want her getting the wrong idea about her place in all this.”

I smirk, taking a slow sip of my drink before answering. “Oh, I know exactly where she belongs—here, with me.”

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