Page 61 of Bratva Bride

She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Maybe. It’s worth a try.”

I nodded. “Give it a go. If he’s still being a jackass about it, tell me and I’ll handle it.”

“Uh, oh. I don’t like the sound of that. Handle it how?”

I winked. “Leave that with me.”

The front door opened and slammed shut, making us jump. Nikolai strolled through the foyer and glanced into the lounge room. He froze when he saw us.

“Whose pizza is that?” he asked, his baritone voice hard enough to cut glass.

Tatiana picked up a slice, wrapped her tongue around the cooked dough and bit down hard, ripping a piece off. “Not sure, found it in the fridge,” she said, a teasing smile on her face.

Aggression wafted off him, his fists clenched at his side and jaw locked in anger. “That was mine.”

Tatiana shrugged and took another bite. “Now it’s mine.”

Nikolai growled and took a threatening step into the lounge room.

Fuck. An angry Nikolai was a very bad thing. It took a lot to ruffle his feathers. Out of all three of my brothers, he was always the calm, composed one. But whenever it came to Tatiana, that seemed to fly out the fucking window.

I jumped up and stood in front of him, palming his chest. “Hey Nik, Flora’s making lunch. Carbonaro, your fav. Why don’t you go see if she’s finished?” I asked, trying to distract him from my idiot best friend who insisted on antagonising him.

He hesitated briefly and then glared daggers at Tatiana before stomping to the kitchen.

I blew out a breath and turned to my best friend. “You know, one of these days, he’s gonna kill you.”

She just smiled and said, “Let him try.”

* * *

The next few days flew by in a complete blur. My time was divided between trying to fend off Tatiana and helping my father handle business. Her crazy insistence on me helping to plan the wedding when I made it perfectly fucking clear that I wanted nothing to do with it was aggravating me so badly that I took out all my frustrations on the people my father sent me after.

The Devil’s Son’s, a local MC gang we had worked with for years, decided to short us $3,000 on their last payment for a case of guns we provided, either thinking we were too dumb to notice or that they were big enough hot shots now to get away with it.

They weren’t.

My father gave me twenty men and permission to handle it any way I saw fit. I chose to walk right into their clubhouse, dressed in my sexiest black pantsuit with my four-inch Louboutins and bitch slap their Prez right in the face. Before the shock wore off, my men shoved him onto the ground and held him down while I stood over him, digging my heel into his temple and pointing a gun right between his eyes.

Risky I know, considering we were on their territory, but when you were at the top of the food chain, you couldn’t afford to show even the slightest hint of weakness.

When I asked the Prez why they shorted us, he told me I could get the money back if I sucked his cock. I shot him in the face instead. All hell broke loose at that point. Their bunny’s - that’s what they called the women who belonged to the club – screamed and cried as they ran out of the room. The other MC members were ready to take us on, until they realised who we were. Their VP, who was promoted to Prez the moment I pulled the trigger, apologised on behalf of the club and gave me back the missing money plus interest for the trouble.

The Bratva had to be cutthroat in the way we handled business. We couldn’t afford to be anything less.

Then there was the little fucker who thought it would be a good idea to try and rape one of our girls atStrip, the strip club we owned. I had a lot of fun dealing with that one. I cut his dick clean off and shoved it down his throat.

On top of all that crap, plans were being finalised to make sure the De Lucas had their gun shipment by the time of our wedding. The MP5s and M60s were easy, we basically had an endless supply of those. It was the Canadian submachine gun - the DAR7014s - that were a little tougher to get a hold of.

Large wooden crates were designed to store and transport all the weapons, each one constructed with a false bottom so the guns could be easily concealed. Since we were getting married here on my father's estate, it was arranged that the guns would be shipped with us, when Arturo and I flew to New York City after the wedding. Aboard our own private jet, the guns would never be found. Even if for some reason the jet were to be searched, they would never be able to find the hidden compartments throughout the aircraft.

In between dealing with all that, Tatiana was there, trying to get me to pick the furniture, or decide the menu, or something else completely inconsequential to me for the wedding. It was a lot to deal with in the space of a few days.

I didn’t get to see Arturo again until the wedding, which was disappointing, but I understood. He was dealing with his own problems in thefamigliawhich required his absolute attention.

Suddenly, I blinked and boom, wedding day.

I woke up early Saturday morning to Tatiana and a team of beauticians standing at the foot of my bed. I had to refrain from hurling things at them, their bright and cheery faces already putting me in a sour mood.

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