Page 2 of Dark Bratva Christmas
I drain my champagne. “I think I’d rather defend for the rest of my life than share a bed with the Petrovs.”Officially, anyway. I’d fuck one just to say I did.
Footsteps on the rustic wooden slats catch my attention, and I turn to see Mikhail, in the flesh, approaching the two of us with a big smile. “Look, I know you two take your jobs very seriously,but we're celebrating here. I'd love it if my brother and father could integrate with the rest of the party. Consider that my wedding present.”
I cock a brow. “Wedding presents? For the enemy?”
Mikhail glares at me. “Don’t be ahuylo(dickhead).”
“Says the man who fucked three women at once only a month ago,” I shoot back. “Tell me,bratik(brother), how does one suddenly become so…prudein such a short amount of time?”
“Matysh,” my father warns, but my brother waves him off.
“Forgive him, Father,” Mikhail retorts, “He just hasn’t learned what real love can actually do to a man.”
“Oh yes,” I snort, unable to hide my wicked grin. “Reallove, or as some might prefer to label it,good pussy.It makes a man weak, gives the enemy a clear shot—”
My father clears his throat, cutting me off and pushing off the railing. “I think this will be good forallof us.” He wraps his arm protectively around my brother, and together they head toward the wedding party.
I stare at their backs, my mind running through the deal with Catarina’s father and the allegiance that we’re supposed to be forging. Marriage means producing an heir, and for a moment, my imagination conjures up the image of Catarina, heavy with my brother’s child in her womb.
I quickly push that away.
We all come to a stop in the doorway and look at the party before us, Catarina in the center, dancing with her soft pink lips pulled into a wide smile. Her pale skin is luminous as she moves, like she’s truly glowing with joy.
Takaya naivnaya devochka(Such a naïve girl).
Her long blonde hair is tied back in a braid adorned with blue flowers, perfectly matching her eyes. The party dress hangs loose on her body, showing off her soft, delectable curves. She’s petite with an hourglass figure begging to be touched.
She’s a vision. Mybrother’svision.
And speaking of, maybe I shouldn’t be so goddamned hard on him. He’s got a big enough lesson coming once he’s the son-in-law of Boris Petrov. I’ll torture him with thatafterwe get through this night.
“There's still time to run, you haven't signed the certificate yet,” I say as I clap Mikhail on the shoulder. He laughs and shakes his head.
“Bratik(Brother), I've never been so sure about anything in my life.” Mikhail takes a deep breath and looks out at the party before him. “Sometimes, when you know, you know.”
“Emphasis on the sometimes,” I mutter. My eyes sweep the crowd, pausing on both familiar and unfamiliar faces alike.Despite the outwardly jovial celebration, the tension simmers in the background.
Mikhail and Catarina were never meant to be together. He’s a Volkov and she’s a Petrov. Our families have been at war with each other for decades. Mikhail was only supposed to keep an eye on her after Boris Petrov ordered a hit on one of our cousins. He was never supposed to engage with her, much less getengaged.
Mikhail and my father might think this union will wash away decades of bad blood between our families, but I don't think it'll be that easy. Not to mention, the other powerful families—the Morozovs and the much unwanted Italian-Russian mutts, the Vitales—are pacing their floors.
Or plotting to destroy us.
All the while, Mikhail and Catarina spent weeks preparing her dream wedding. Two hundred people all crowded around the reception hall, helping themselves to an array of hors d'oeuvres and pastries, with non-stop champagne and vodka flowing through the room.
Catarina turns and looks at my brother, giving him a small wave and gesturing for him to come closer. Mikhail looks at me, smiles, then walks away.
Happy bastard.
“Dance with me,” a sultry voice hits my ears at the moment fingers wrap around my thick wrist. I turn to see one of Catarina's bridesmaids, a drunk cousin named Irina, clinging to my arm.
“No.” I rip my arm from her grip, ignoring the way her gray eyes light up with annoyance. There’s not a single Petrov woman used to hearing the wordno.But I’ll be damned if they don’t hear it from me.
“You’re as cold as they say,” Irina sneers up at me, tipping her chin upward as her blonde hair spills down her back. “It’s always the most handsome ones who are fuckingdevils.”
I grin. “I’d hardly call that an insult.” But the words don’t make it to Irina, as the PA system kicks on with a buzz, and the music suddenly stops.
“Catarina and I want to thank all of you for coming out here tonight and celebrating with us,” Mikhail says into the microphone, grabbing Catarina around the waist and holding her close. She laughs and drunkenly pushes a few strands of hair out of her face.
