Page 48 of Bratva Queen

He started with the right hand, knocking Dima’s cheekbone and splitting the skin. Then the left, cracking his jaw. He kept going, even lowering his blows to crack Dima’s collarbones. As he did so, Dima cried out in pain, his tears mixing with the blood streaming from his face. But Stepan… he was laughing. His smile was wide and his eyes bright with excitement.

“Think you can fuck with me, huh?” he shouted down into his face, and gave three quick shots with his right hand against Dima’s head. “I’m the goddamn king of this city, youdebil yobani!” Fucking idiot.

His laughs turned high-pitched, like a child overwhelmed with excitement. But his blows were hitting deadweight. There were no more cries, and frankly, no more of Dima’s face to punch. It was mulch.

I put my hand on Stepan’s shoulder and he sat back, breathing deeply. He looked up at me with a smile. “That’s how you take back power, Aleksei.” He groaned as he stood up, and I held his elbow. “But I’m sure you knew that. You were my papa’s guard after all!” He laughed again, and a few of our men laughed too.

Yes, his father was a ruthless man. But I didn’t think I’d ever seen him laugh quite so happily as he beat a man to death.

* * *

It tookus a few hours to dig a ditch among the cars and roll the bodies into it, soak them in gasoline, and watch them burn. We covered the mass grave up and even lowered a smashed-up car over it, just in case someone grew a little too curious. It was imperative that we stayed vigilant; any slipups, and not only would we all go to jail, but we’d all lose our lives.

Stepan took his car and one of the men to go celebrate, as he called it. The guys said they were heading over to join him at the club.

The club, of course. The day after his wedding, he was smacking some stripper’s ass while watching it jiggle in his face. I wondered why he didn’t just pack up and go to Greece now that the threat was handled. But the answer was clear: Stepan just had a power rush. He’d beaten a man to death, taken his power back, and just about rolled in the blood of his enemy. He was in no state to be romantic. His bloodlust brought back his old self: drugs, booze, strippers.

Fuck this…

I told them I wasn’t in the mood—something they always easily believed due to my near-constant seriousness—and went home. I tried to lie to myself and say it wasn’t to go and see Isabel, but this deep pull inside of me needed to know if she was okay. Being ditched by your husband the day after your wedding and being told there’d be no honeymoon for the foreseeable future, that was fucking harsh.

Back at the house, it was late, and most staff were already in their rooms except for the few guards stationed outside the house. I was free to roam and quietly approach Isabel’s bedroom. Carefully, I placed my forehead against the closed door with my eyes closed, battling with myself. But then I heard her soft cries, and there was no stopping me.

I knocked. “Isabel? It’s me.”

I heard a little scrambling and then her light footsteps up to the door. “Alek?”

“Yeah.”

She opened the door, and I could see she’d just wiped her tears from her cheeks. She sniffed, pretending that wasn’t the case. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

My eyes brushed over her face, puffy and red but still so beautiful. She wore a soft sweatpants and sweater combination.

“Did you have a good send-off with your mom and Inessa today?” They would have flown back to Belarus since Isabel was supposed to be on her way to Greece.

“Yeah!” She tried to smile. “I um… I told them that Stepan and I would be going to Greece tomorrow. But that was a lie. The first of many, I’m starting to believe.”

I sighed, looked around, and stepped into the room, pulling her into me and closing the door behind me simultaneously. She came easily, leaning her cheek against my chest with a small sob. Her hands clasped behind my back, holding me tightly, and I ran one hand down her back, the other over her hair.

“I’m sorry, Isa… I know this is only the start of what’s going to be a… difficult marriage. I know it sounds harsh, but soon you’ll learn to expect these things. Stepan still surprises me with his rash decisions, but I’ve learned to roll with it.”

“Roll with it?” she asked, pulling away and looking up. “Just roll with him disregarding me the morning after I gave him my hand? I always knew it wasn’t the perfect arrangement but that was so… so…”

“Harsh, yeah. He’s no romantic.”

“He used to be,” she said softly, dropping her forehead between my pecs.

I swallowed deeply, not wanting to tell her that it was all manipulation. That this was the true Stepan. I couldn’t help but drop my lips against her head and whisper against her hair, “If I could take you to Greece myself, I would. In a heartbeat.”

“Oh, please do!” She looked up again, this time smiling through her teary eyes. “We could pretend you’re my husband and share the honeymoon suite and—”

I knew she was joking, neither of us was that stupid, so I chuckled as she spoke and brushed her hair behind her ear. But her words cut off quickly when we heard Stepan’s voice. He was entering the house downstairs, loudly laughing with his men.

“He’s drunk,” Isabel said, freezing with fear in her eyes.

I held her cheek and locked my eyes with hers. “I’ll be close by. I promise.”

She nodded, and I quickly slipped out the door to hide behind a bend in the corridor.

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