Page 1 of Dark Bratva Christmas
Prologue: Matysh
Fuck, my little brother’s getting a seksual’nyy (sexy) wife.
My eyes rake over the curve of Catarina’s tiny little waist, her round ass, and the way the white lace reeks of an innocence that needs to be ruined.
And even from a hundred feet away, I’m still certain I’d like to be the one to do it.
Not because I feel anything for her—or any woman for that matter—but because she’s the kind of woman you fuck once, just to say you did. Just to see how she sounds when she falls apart beneath you.
But she’s always been off-limits. The daughter of Boris Petrov—the Pakhan of our biggest rival. Which only makes me wantto taste her even more. There’s something about forbidden fruit that I just can’t get enough of.
My cock throbs against my zipper as I imagine pinning her to the wall—her wrists bound, my hands gripping her hips, ramming my cock in and out of her until she’s whimpering and begging for me to let her cum.
God, I bet she’d look so pretty with tears running down her face.
I’d bury my fingers in that honey-blonde hair, feel her lips wrap around my cock…taste her until she’s trembling.
Or until my loving brother put a lead round between my eyes.
You know, since she’shisnow. I frown at that, mostly because I don’t understand the point of being tied down to one pussy forever—but my brother claims love as loud as he does business in this deal.
And that’s a fucking weakness.
“Matysh.”
My body stiffens when I hear my name called, my mind ripped right back to reality.
I drag in a breath and shove the thoughts aside. I turn around to see my father standing in the doorway, sauntering toward mewith his own rugged swagger. He leans heavily against his cane, and I purse my lips at the sight.
He looks old now, older than I ever thought he would be.
But hell, even I’m getting old at forty-three.
“Planning on joining the party any time soon?” my father asks as he rests a frail hand on my shoulder. A breath escapes his lips as he leans against the railing, and I don’t miss the way he winces, nor the way he points toward Mikhail and Catarina, sharing some sort of slow dance. Everyone stands around, nursing their expensive champagne and pretending to give a damn.
Like it’s not just business.
And on that fact alone, my blood starts to boil in my veins.
“Are you really okay with this?” I meet his icy gaze, gripping the champagne flute tighter, feeling how my numb fingers dig into the edges of the crystal adornments.
“There comes a time when you must accept change. There are many threats in the city to worry about on top of the Petrovs.” He pauses and shifts his body with another painful groan, looking out at the flowing river. I watch as his eyes scan the party boats and houses nearby, decked out for Christmas already at the beginning of November.
Holidays are a goddamn waste of time and money.
My father brings his attention back to me, fatigue evident in the lines around his face. “The bloodshed between our families had to end eventually. Why not let love be the reason?”
“Lyubov’ zhestoka, mozhno polyubit’ dazhe kozu(Love is cruel, you can even fall in love with a goat),” I say, sparking a smile from my father, though I feel devoid of any humor at all.
“Sometimes love itself is irrational, Matysh. Someday you’ll learn that.” My father lets out a laugh, one very opposite of mine.
“I never took you as a romantic,” I scoff, shaking my head and letting the conversation die as his frown deepens.
He gets the irony. Because if I had a nickel for every time I heard my father issue a command to anavtoritet(authority)to kill an enemy's loved ones, then I wouldn’t need to be in this business.
And the bodies at the bottom of this river can attest to that.
“You think I may have gotten weak in my old age,” he mutters. “But this alliance could mean the start of something new. Something that allows us to expand rather than just defend.”
