Page 34 of Bratva Bride

“Aw, leave it alone, Nik. The more you tell her not to do it, the more she wants too. You’re just making it worse. Come on, let’s go. Catch ya later, T.”

“Bye,” she called out, eyes still glued on her phone.

I dragged Nikolai out of the café and over to his car.

“Why’d you do that? You think it’s alright for her to go running late at night on her own?” Nik grunted, opening the driver’s side door.

“I think it’s none of your business what she does,” I said, walking around the car to the passenger’s side. I arched an eyebrow. “Why do you care, anyway?”

He didn’t answer, just grumbled under his breath and got in the car.

When we got home, I went straight to my father’s office. Nikolai left to do his own thing. I knocked on his office door and stepped inside when he bellowed, “Enter.”

As usual, my father was planted behind his big mahogany desk in his classic three-piece Armani suit. There were two other men in the room along with him, one of them I knew. Adrian Alexeev, my father's main bodyguard. He was tall, pushing 6'5 I'd say, and built like a pro football player. He had short black hair and deep brown eyes. He had a scar that started a few inches above his left eyebrow, down to just underneath his eye. It gave off a real ‘Scar’ fromThe Lion Kingvibe. He was dressed in a plain black suit with no tie.

The other man I had never met before, and I was sure of it. He was a bit shorter than Adrian, but he looked just as deadly. He had blonde hair that was styled neatly and blue eyes. His nose was slightly crooked, like it had been broken several times. He was dressed similar to Adrian; black pants, black dress shirt.

“Father,” I said, coming to a stop in front of his desk. “You needed to see me?”

He placed the papers he was reading down on the desk and looked at me. "These are your new bodyguards.” He nodded to the two men in the room. “They're to go everywhere you go. You know Adrian and this is Lorenzo from the Cosa Nostra, Arturo sent him to be your other guard.”

Lorenzo bowed his head slightly, making sure to maintain his posture beside my father's desk.

I frowned. "Guard? Since when do I need a guard?" I asked, confused.

"Since we announced your engagement to Arturo. The merging of our families has brought forth some. . . problems." Father reached for his glass, half filled with vodka, and took a swig. Adrian and Lorenzo stayed unmoving, hands clasped behind their backs. The epitome of professionalism. "It's nothing we didn't expect. Just people unhappy with you marrying outside the Bratva. Especially when there are plenty of eligible Russian men available for you to marry instead. But I would be a fool not to take precautions. And I am no fool."

"But Father, you know I don't need a guard. I can take care of myself."

"Nevertheless, you will have them. And I'll hear nothing else on the matter, understood?" He narrowed his eyes at me, his voice deep as he issued his command.

I clenched my teeth to refrain from lashing out. "Understood," I growled.

He nodded and motioned towards the door. "Good. Now go, I have work to do."

I turned and walked out of his office, accompanied by my new guards. I definitely wasn’t happy about this situation. My father taught me how to protect myself. Taught me how to use a gun, use a knife. Taught me hand to hand combat. For years I trained every day honing those skills until I became just as good as my brothers. If my brothers could walk around without any guards, I didn’t see why I needed them, not when I’m completely capable of taking care of myself. But I knew better than to balk at my father’s orders.

When we left my father’s office I turned left, heading down the long corridor towards the kitchen, my new guards in tow. “This is ridiculous,” I grumbled under my breath, aggravation gnawing at my bones.

Adrian chuckled. “You know it’s only because he cares about you, Illayana.”

“I know that, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” I stopped and looked at Lorenzo. “Arturo sent you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

I winced. “Please don’t call me ma’am. I’m twenty-one, not sixty.”

“Apologies, Miss Volkov.”

“Illayana is fine.”

“Miss Volkov,” Lorenzo repeated, not willing to refer to me with such familiarity.

I shrugged my shoulders and continued on to the kitchen. “Whatever works for you.”

Lukyan was at the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the table. He had his hands clasped behind his head as he balanced on the two back legs of the chair with ease. He was wearing a sharp grey suit with a black tie and his long hair was tied at the nape of his neck.

When I entered the kitchen, he scowled at me. He dropped the two front legs of the chair back to the ground with a loudthud, picked up his coffee on the table and turned around, giving me his back.

---