Page 47 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

“I told you you were stupid to let this little piece twist you around her finger,” he scoffed, acting like he was the one in charge, as usual.

Before I could say a word to shut him up, Mila raced forward, slamming her closed fist into his jaw with all her might. His head snapped back, slowly rocking forward again. Dazed, he made the mistake of spitting at her. I stepped in with my own fist raised, but Mila held up her hand.

“Don’t,” she said, never taking her eyes off Eldar. “I’ll let you know when I’m tired.”

Then I watched in absolute awe as my beautiful bride let Eldar have it with both fists, one after the other. Beating the shit out of someone was exhausting physical labor, but she never let up until he was slumped over, barely conscious.

Shaking out her bloody fists, she turned in a slow circle, trying to catch her breath. Fire blazed from her blue eyes, and she tossed her hair behind her shoulder before wiping the sheen of sweat off her brow with her forearm. She was radiant, and she was mine.

“Damn,” I said, grabbing a hank of Eldar’s thin hair and pulling his head back to see if he was still alive.

He blinked woozily at me and made a gurgling noise before spitting out a mouthful of blood. He’d taken enough damage to the head, but I was far from done with him. He’d made my woman suffer, and he was going to feel her pain and fear a thousandfold before I let him die.

“I’m not finished,” she said, turning her fiery look on me and daring me to stop her. She was so fucking hot I forgot where we were and what we were doing.

I turned away from Eldar and closed the distance between us, pulling her into a rough embrace. Her bloody hands stained my shirt as she gripped handfuls of the fabric, turning her face up to mine. I had to have her mouth, feel her heat pressed against me. Her lips parted the moment I claimed them, her tongue eagerly seeking mine.

“Damn,” I repeated, lost for any other word. “You are something else.”

She let me go and moved toward Eldar again, those dainty but dangerous fists clenched and raised. I grabbed her arm and held her back. “He’s had enough punches.”

“Then give me a knife so I can start carving,” she growled.

Holy shit. How did I ever get so lucky?

***

After I sorted out the bad seeds in my organization, a few blissful weeks passed without too much trouble. Nothing I couldn’t handle, anyway. Since I had given up the fact that Mila wasn’t just out traveling and staying too busy to actually hop on a call with anyone by my frantic text to her brother Lev, the cat was out of the bag, and her brothers knew she was missing.

However, due to some miracle, they didn’t yet suspect I was behind it, or I hadn’t heard about it yet since the Moscow branch of her family hadn’t rained hell on any of my businesses. I had hired several actresses who disguised themselves to look exactly like Mila, at least enough to fool anyone who spotted her on the cameras on the streets of Paris, Brussels, and then Mumbai, just for fun. I hated to think what Mila would do if she found out I was leading her brothers around by the nose, all over the world, just on the off chance it might really be her this time.

She would have ripped my head off, so I kept it my guilty little secret. She certainly wouldn’t have been happily going to my meetings with me, wearing different wigs and makeup styles to stay hidden from anyone she might know while we were out and about.

I was shocked she went along with it, but she seemed to be having fun with it most days, probably glad she wasn’t being left behind. She was far too clever and outgoing to stay at home with no one but guards to keep her company, and unlike her, I didn’t have a gaggle of close family members for her to befriend.

For the first time, we were on the same page, and if I wasn’t wrong, I would have said she was both happy and evencontent, especially when I let her keep taking video meetings to run my quarry—no, her quarry now. She had earned it. Mila really was my queen. Not just dazzling to look at, but sharp-witted and sharper-tongued when necessary.

It was at least thanks in part to her helping me root out the weeds that my organization here was now lean and mean. Together, we ousted the bad players and replaced them with people I could trust. She seemed to be thriving for the most part, but…

For one, she was a Californian through and through. There was a difference to spending the occasional Christmas in Russia. The biting winters could be charming if you only spent a few days in them. Much longer than that, and anyone who grew up in the South would begin to suffer. It was only the beginning of fall, but the air had a distinct chill, especially after the sun went down. Once, I walked into the closet while she picked out her outfit for the day and caught her looking wistfully at the sundresses she brought from Rome. She would still be wearing them in Italy, and the same in LA.

Secondly, her Russian was improving by leaps and bounds, but I could tell it tired her out to follow along with the fast-spoken conversations I had with others.

And finally, while I would never ask and she would never admit it, she missed her family. How could she not? She actually liked and got along with her brothers, unlike me. At the moment, it had been weeks since I last heard from Kolya, so who knew where he was or what havoc he was wreaking. Unlike Mila, who surely must wonder what her brothers were up to, I didn’t care at all.

I missed LA, too. I wasn’t a native, but getting used to a place that hardly ever rained and had miles of breathtakingcoastlines was easy. Not to mention all the opportunities. The American dream was real, and I had worked hard to get my piece of it. It had been a struggle, but I actually enjoyed the fight.

Here in Moscow, I’d inherited everything, and people respected me more based on my ruthless father’s name than my own. It was almost too easy, except for the fact that I had to keep my wife a secret, and my sworn enemies wouldn’t rest until they found her. They had to be going crazy by now, after I’d kept her from them without a trace for so long. It was only a matter of time before they stopped chasing after my decoys and realized who they were really after.

I had stopped messaging Nat altogether because as soon as Lev put out the word, she stopped believing it was her friend on my end, and it seemed unnecessarily cruel to torment her.

Despite all that, things were good with Mila and me. Maybe even great, as we were still riding the high of claiming vengeance on my uncle. But we were still being tentative with each other. Not quite real. I wanted real.

When there was finally an afternoon with no meetings, and Mila was upstairs memorizing Russian verbs, I planned a romantic evening for us as a surprise. It was going to be a catered dinner with all her favorite foods, candles, flowers, soft music—the works. I went all out, making sure everything was perfect and just the way she would like it, feeling as anxious as when I put together my first multimillion-dollar proposal years ago.

When she wandered downstairs at dinner time to see the table swathed in a white linen cloth, tall silver candlesticks lighting the room instead of the usual overheads, and the huge bouquet of jasmine and bougainvillea I’d had flown in, she looked surprised and flustered. Maybe even as nervous as I was.

“Have dinner with me?” I asked.

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