Page 4 of Bratva Bride

Nikolai emerged from the shadows behind Father's desk and I had to work hard not to flinch in surprise. Father would have been furious to know I didn't pay attention to my surroundings.

Nikolai walked over and shoved Lukyan to the side. He wrapped his big, muscular arms around me and rested his chin on top of my head. At 6'6, it was easy for him.

"Happy Birthday," he whispered, before letting me go and slinking back to his usual spot against the wall.

If Lukyan was the crazy idiot of the family then Nikolai would be his polar opposite. Quiet. Smart. Driven. Nikolai was the brains whereas Lukyan was the headache, the one that drove us all mad. Not only was Nikolai incredibly smart, he was also unbelievably strong. We always used to place bets as to who would win in a fight between him and Aleksandr. I’m talking about a real fight, not just a friendly spar. Not only was he our resident tech head, but he was also head of security, responsible for any and all surveillance related queries. He invested all his time into the Bratva, never doing anything for himself. The Bratva was his life, it was who he was. He lived and breathed for the Bratva.

I thanked them both and moved to sit down in the chair next to the one Lukyan was just occupying. Father poured another shot of vodka in a glass and handed it to me. I picked up the glass and downed the drink without hesitating. The burn of the liquid as it slid down my throat was comforting and familiar.

I've been drinking vodka since I was seven, after my first kill. Father said, “If you're old enough to kill, you're old enough to drink.” He never let me get piss drunk, but he let me have a couple shots here and there.

Lukyan took a seat next to me and returned to his position prior to my arrival. He brought his cigar to his lips, inhaling for a solid few seconds before releasing his breath.

"So, Father, what's this meeting about?" Lukyan asked casually.

Our father turned his head and pinned him with his sharp gaze. He said nothing. He remained absolutely silent, the only indication he heard Lukyan's question was the subtle raise of his eyebrow.

Lukyan immediately back peddled. "Not that I'm demanding answers from you or anything, father," he said quickly, sitting up straighter. "I mean. . . I was just . . . you know. . . oh fuck," he said, lowering his head.

"Oh fuck's right, you moron," I whispered in his direction, though I knew Father could hear me.

Youneverasked Father what was going on. He would tell you when he was good and ready, not a moment before.

"We'll discuss your insolence later Lukyan," Father said, his voice low and threatening.

His entire demeanour was cold and menacing. Just being in his presence made you want to tuck your head between your legs and run. He was my father. I loved him, I respected him, but I also feared him. You'd be a fool not too.

"Once Aleksandr returns, we'll begin. Speaking of, where is your brother?" Father asked, turning his killer gaze towards me and raising an eyebrow.

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Be cool. If he finds out you brought a guy home, you'll be in the ring.

"He had to go to the bathroom after he came to wake me. Massive case of the runs. Full blown diarrhoea," I said quickly, mimicking an explosion with my hands and adding sound effects. "Kaboooooooom"

Father remained still, his face impassive, but I could see the slight twitch of his lips. He was trying hard not to laugh, to keep his 'Russian Mobster' persona intact.

Three quick knocks on the office door and any trace of laughter from him disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“Enter,” he bellowed.

Aleksandr opened the door and walked in. With a slight head nod to Father, he moved to the far side of the room and took a seat on the three-seater couch. Leaning back, he stretched his arms out over the back of the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee.

Father focused back on me, while the room filled with silence.

"Let's begin."

ChapterTwo

Illayana Volkov

Father picked up his glass and took a long swig of his vodka before beginning. "Our contacts in New York have reached out with a message. Alessandro De Luca, head of La Cosa Nostra, requested a meet."

Silence. Complete and utter silence. I mean, what other reaction was he expecting? It's not every day that an Italian family tries to establish some sort of alliance with the Russians. We're not exactly enemies but we're not really friends either. We coexist with each other. We stay in Las Vegas, they stay in New York, end of discussion. We don't cross each other; we don't engage each other and we're all better off for it. So why change things now?

Aleksandr is, as always, the first to break the silence. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on knees, interlocking his fingers. “La Cosa Nostra? Are they sure?"

"They are," Father replied, leaning back in his chair. "Vincenzo De Luca, Alessandro's son, delivered the message in person to solidify its authenticity. He was adamant that the request was genuine and would end in a mutually beneficial agreement between us both."

"Mutually beneficial?" Lukyan scoffed, taking a puff of his cigar. The smoke swirled around in the air between us, the stench lingering and filling my nostrils.

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