Page 6 of Stolen By the Bratva
Please, no.
I’d heard too many horror stories about him. He was reported to be a hard, sadistic, and greedy man. As I helped Rosamund clean off, I wondered how much worse I would fare with him. Here, my standing as the Pakhan’s daughter kept me untouched. There? With the enemy? I dreaded it.
“When?”
Rosamund looked me in the eye, perhaps pitying me now. “Friday.”
So soon! I hardened myself to the shock and drew in a deep, steady breath. My father planned to marry me off at the end of the week, and I was only learning of it now.
“It’s your duty, Mila.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm, cruel and mocking. “Are you going to be a good wife for him? Please and obey your husband, no matter the circumstances?”
I stared right back at this tortured woman. Neither of us could escape this life. All I could do was remain icy and numb and take it all.
Nodding once, I resolved to overcome my circumstances and beat my odds—no matter how awful they might be.
But deep inside, my heart chipped and cracked just a little more.
3
ALEK
My uneasiness about this potential alliance with the Kastavas didn’t dissipate. Over the night, it worsened. By morning, when I was due to report in to my uncle for a so-called meeting with the top soldiers and brigadiers, I was anxious.
No one would know it by looking at me. The day I received word that my father died, I mastered the fine art of masking my emotions. I’d never believed the story I was given. That Pyotr Valkov, my hard-working father, had been killed in friendly fire during a turf war. None of my brothers believed it either, but with time, we had no choice but to accept it as fact. They’d questioned it. Maxim, my youngest brother, had still been more of a boy than a man when our father was killed. We all struggled in our own ways, but I knew that expressing my feelings would only be a weakness, a tell.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I was in a lousy mood. The grave and irritated expressions on the wait staff didn’t improve my attitude. I caught more than one of them complaining about Pavel treating them like shit, like indentured servants, not professional waitstaff, and I could almost sympathize with them. But weren’t we all in the same boat? He treated us all like peons, never hesitant to remind us that he was the boss and we would always be inferior. Dissent had been growing for a long while, and within that low morale, I had company.
It wasn’t just me. My brothers often echoed my sentiments. I wasn’t a lone complainer, but some days, I felt like I was the only one who’d ever think about fighting back.
“About time,” Pavel said as a greeting. He wiped his napkin at the corner of his mouth then tossed it to the table. Everyone else was seated, but it seemed he and Andrey were the only two who had an appetite to touch the food.
I made a show of glancing at my watch. “I’m ten minutes early.”
He shrugged as though to say whatever. “Seeing as we’re all here now, I have two matters of business to discuss.”
Such gatherings were an excuse for him to hear himself talk. He didn’t know what the hell was happening with the family anymore. He didn’t care.
Nikolai raised his brows at me in greeting, and I moved to stand next to him, off to the side. Ivan and Dmitri sat in front of us, and Maxim fidgeted in a seat down the opposite end of the long table. It didn’t matter where we were, I always made sure to check on my brothers. I’d promised my father I would always look out for them, but I felt like I was failing at that. Letting them stay with the bratva seemed like I was permitting them to be dragged down.
“First, the fucking cartel.” Pavel scowled, shaking his head slowly. “The fuck do they want?” Then he pointed at Andrey. “And the goddamn Italians. Good work, eliminating that spy at the warehouse.”
Ivan leaned back, catching my eye and deadpanning. This wasn’t the first time Andrey had taken credit for something he hadn’t done, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“They keep creeping on our territory. Interfering with our businesses. I’m sick and fucking tired of their meddling.”
Big words from a little man. I maintained my blank expression while I fumed inside. If the asshole ever tried to keep tabs on patrols, our soldiers, any intel reports, maybe things would be different. He liked to talk big but act on nothing.
“Which is how the Kastavas will help us.” He nodded sagely, losing the scowl and replacing it with a smug smile.
“They’ll agree to guard our land?” a top soldier asked.
“No.” Pavel sat up straighter. “They have docks on the other side of the city. Specifically, the Colver dock. We’ll be able to run transportation much easier there. Our shipments won’t be as susceptible to falling into the wrong hands.” He pounded his fist into his hand. “The cartel and the Italians can fuck off with trying to interfere there. The law enforcement too.”
The NYPD was always on our asses. The DEA too.
Still, it sounded too good to be true. I couldn’t shake this skepticism, but Nikolai beat me to voicing it. “Why would Sergei Kastava want to help us at all?
“Isn’t there bad blood between the families?” Dmitri asked before Pavel could respond to the first question.