Page 10 of Taken By The Bratva
As the crowd around us gradually returns to their conversations, coffee cups clinking and ambient chatter resuming, I hold my fiancée—my fiancée, the word itself a miracle—and marvel at how profoundly right this feels, like finding home after a lifetime of wandering. The complications are still there, the dangers still real and looming in the periphery, but for the first time in my life, I don't care about any of it, not the consequences, not the risks.
Because I finally found the courage to fight for what matters most, what's irreplaceable, what fills the empty spaces I've carried inside me for so long. The weight of her in my arms feels like an anchor in a storm-tossed sea.
And I'm never letting her go again, not for anything or anyone in this world. Not for career advancement, not for approval from those who never truly saw me, not even if the very foundations of everything I've built come crashing down around us.
BROOKLYN
SIX MONTHS LATER
I'm still not used to sitting at the poker table instead of serving drinks around it. The familiar back room of Dimitri's restaurant looks different from this angle—less intimidating, more like what it actually is: a gathering place for family and the people they trust completely.
"To Brooke," Dimitri raises his glass of champagne, and the gesture still surprises me with its genuine warmth. "Who proved that sometimes the best business partnerships start with excellent service and evolve into family."
Around the table, faces that once seemed cold and calculating now smile at me with acceptance and affection. Sophia beams beside her husband, delighted to welcome another strong woman into their tight-knit circle. Even Viktor—who I once thought was irredeemably crude—has shown nothing but respect since Maxim made our engagement public.
The transformation from hidden secret to beloved family member feels surreal sometimes. The threats from rivals who thought I might be a vulnerability turned out to be manageable when the entire Volkov organization made it clear that touchingme meant war. The suspicious glances from associates who questioned my motives faded once they saw how Maxim and I complement each other in business as well as life.
My consulting firm is thriving, with the Volkov family's legitimate businesses as anchor clients and referrals that have grown my company faster than I ever dreamed possible. I've hired three employees and moved into a real office space, complete with a conference room where I can meet with international clients via video calls.
But the real victory isn't professional—it's personal. It's the way Maxim's hand finds mine under the table during family dinners, possessive and proud. It's how he introduces me to new associates as "my brilliant fiancée" with such obvious pride it makes my chest tight with happiness. It's the engagement ring that catches the light every time I gesture, a constant reminder of the public claim he made and the promises he keeps every day.
"What are you thinking about?" Maxim asks, sliding his arm around my waist with the casual possessiveness that still makes my pulse skip after all this time. His fingers press gently against my hip, anchoring me to him in the crowded room, a silent reminder of who I belong with.
"Just remembering that first poker night when I thought you were the most arrogant man I'd ever met," I tease, leaning into his warmth and marveling at how perfectly we fit together. The memory of his intense stare across that green felt table flashes vividly in my mind, how he watched me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"And now?" His eyes dance with amusement and heat, the same magnetic pull that first drew me to him now tempered withdeep, abiding love. The corner of his mouth lifts in that half-smile that still makes my stomach flutter, even after everything we've been through together.
"Now I know you're the most arrogant man I've ever met," I reply, rising on my toes to kiss him softly, tasting champagne and promises on his lips. "But you're also the most generous, protective, and surprisingly romantic man I know. Plus, you tip really well."
His laughter is rich and warm, resonating through his chest and into mine, the sound of someone completely satisfied with his life's choices and reveling in every moment of it. "Lucky me that you're worth every penny and much, much more," he adds, his voice dropping to that intimate timbre reserved only for me.
"Speaking of which," Sophia chimes in with a mischievous smile that brightens her entire face, her eyes sparkling with barely contained excitement, "when are you two actually going to set a wedding date? I have a dress picked out and everything—a stunning Valentino that would be absolutely perfect for the occasion."
"Soon," Maxim says with quiet certainty, his arm tightening around me in a way that makes me feel both cherished and claimed, his fingers tracing small circles against my hip. "We're thinking spring, when the gardens are in bloom. Something intimate, just family and those closest to us."
"Define intimate," Dimitri says dryly, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler, "because in this family, that could mean anywhere from twenty people to two hundred, depending on how many cousins and business associates suddenly discover they're our dearest friends."
As the conversation flows around us—good-natured arguments about guest lists and venues, Sophia's detailed plans for menu tastings, jokes about whether I'll wear white or go straight for the "don't mess with the bride" look—I reflect on how far we've both traveled to get here.
Six months ago, I was a struggling grad student serving drinks to men whose world I didn't understand, stealing glances at a man who seemed impossibly out of reach. Now I'm planning a wedding with someone who sees me as an equal partner, building a life that combines his resources with my ambitions, his protection with my independence.
The poker game that follows dinner is different too. Instead of crude comments and predatory stares, I get respectful nods and genuine questions about market projections. When one of the newer associates makes a mildly inappropriate joke, the temperature in the room drops ten degrees and every eye turns to Maxim with expressions that promise swift retribution if he chooses to take offense.
He doesn't need to say a word. Just a slight tightening around his eyes, a barely perceptible shift in his posture, and the message is clear: this woman is mine, and disrespecting her is the fastest way to find yourself on the wrong side of the Volkov family's considerable displeasure.
The associate apologizes immediately, falling over himself with earnest, repeated apologies, his face flushed with embarrassment as he stammers his regrets. The game continues with perfect decorum after that, the atmosphere relaxing back into professional camaraderie, though no one forgets the momentary tension.
Later, as we're getting ready for bed in the luxurious penthouse that's transformed from Maxim's bachelor pad into our shared sanctuary over these past months, I catch him watching me in the ornate bathroom mirror. His expression carries such intense tender possessiveness—equal parts devotion and fierce protection—that it literally steals the breath from my lungs.
"No regrets?" he asks softly, coming up behind me to wrap his strong arms around my waist, his warm chest pressing against my back as he lowers his head to press a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive curve where my neck meets my shoulder, his lips warm against my skin.
"About which part? Falling in love with a dangerous man, joining a crime family, or giving up my nice quiet life for one filled with excitement and incredibly good sex?"
"All of it," he murmurs against my skin, his hands spanning my waist in a way that makes me arch back against him, the heat of his touch radiating through the thin fabric of my nightgown and sending a delicious shiver down my spine.
"None," I say honestly, covering his hands with mine, interlacing our fingers together in that familiar, perfect fit that still amazes me every time. "Not a single one. You?"
"Only one," he replies, and my heart skips until he continues. "I regret waiting so long to fight for you. I should have claimed you publicly from the very first night."
