The Bratva’s Bride: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Henry, Jane

  But I like the little girl who’s with me now, weakened by pleasure, her tummy filled with food. I allow the people who work for me to prepare our wedding, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind.

  Early in the morning, they come and have me try on my tux. It fits fine, and I stare with dispassionate interest at my reflection.

  “It’ll do,” I tell them, quickly undressing so I can get to my work. So when they come to fit Calina’s dress, I sit in the overstuffed chair in the living room working on my phone. Her gaze comes to the phone in my hands, and she can’t hide the eagerness. She wants to use this. There’s someone she wants to call, and it makes me angry.

  “What do you think?” The seamstress stands proudly by Calina’s side, beaming. And she ought to. Standing in front of me is the most exquisite woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. The gown is a simple, fitted ivory satin trimmed with lace at the neck and hemline. She shows hardly any skin, and it would be almost modest if not for the way it hugs her curves like a second skin. She’s wearing low heels, and carries a silk arrangement of flowers in her hand. The ivory is in such stark contrast to her dark hair and vivid eyes, she’s striking.

  “Beautiful,” I say, distracted, because I want to know who she’s going to call and why. I’m torn between locking her up and punishing her for the very thought, and allowing her to do so because I want to know what her plan is.

  “And here’s her crown,” the seamstress says, holding a jeweled tiara. “You know it’s traditional for you to crown her at the ceremony.” Fuck tradition. We’re getting married in a civil ceremony in the ballroom, hardly the massive church affairs the little brats who get married these days insist on. There will be no large wedding party, or the many traditions and trappings of a traditional Russian wedding. No honeymoon or road trip for pictures, like others typically do.

  I’ll take my vows and keep her as mine for as long as our arrangement suits me.

  “Perfect,” I say, looking away. They stand in the doorway another moment before the seamstress whisks Calina away. A few minutes later, she comes to me and sits by my side.

  “You didn’t seem too enamored by the dress,” she says with a frown.

  “Does it matter?” I ask her, looking out the window. “This is only to check off a box.” I don’t care that she flinches at my tone. She’s here to serve a purpose, and I’ll see that she fucking does. There is no love lost in this. There’s not even affection or infatuation. She can’t hide how badly she wants out of here, even if I make her body teem with lust.

  That’s all this is, fucking lust. One of the seven deadly sins my mother warned me about as a child on her knee. She tried desperately to school me in virtue. I have my own set of virtues now.

  I pull up my phone, holding it close so she can see it. I want to yank her head back with my fist in her hair, and make her tell me what she’s after. Who waits for her somewhere else? Does she have a lover? Is there a man she’s given her heart to, who’s on her mind even while she worships my cock under threat of punishment? I barely control my temper at the very thought.

  “Filip just sent me the record of your payoff. You’re doing well.” I swipe my phone on, not bothering to hide the password, and she tenses beside me when I pull up the spreadsheet. “The wedding will also pay well,” I say. I slide my phone in my pocket, and get to my feet. Those invited are the wealthy, and it’s customary to receive large gifts at our weddings, though it isn’t the income from the ceremony I’m referring to. Having a bride will bode well for me here. “Today, I’ve got work to do,” I tell her. “You’ll join me.”

  Boring work lies ahead of me, but I like the idea of her by my side. I don’t care that she’s indebted to me. Tomorrow, we wed, and I mean to make the most of our arrangement while I can. Fuck whoever pines for her somewhere. Fuck whoever she cares about. While she’s here, no one else matters.

  I’ve had my desk set up in a makeshift private office here. I have phone calls to make, and another call to Amaranov.

  I point to the armchair a few feet from my desk. “Today you will earn your wages by giving me something to look at.”

  Pouting a little, her lower lip sticks out. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Deserve what?” I ask, distracted.

  “Sitting like a child in the naughty spot,” she pouts. I almost smile. She thinks sitting is a chore.

  “Need I remind you what earned your place here?” I ask her, taking my place at my desk and opening my laptop. But I know what she means. What has she done recently to be punished with a time-out?

  “Is there nothing else I can do for you?” she asks, and the immediate image of her on her knees under my desk sucking my cock comes to mind. I can’t afford the distraction, though. Last night I made a connection with Amaranov, and I need to follow up on that for the good of the brotherhood.

  “What do you normally do in your free time?” I ask her, distracted while I respond to a message from Filip. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see her begin to pick at her nails then stop herself. She’s done better with that habit since I’ve had her get a manicure, but she still tries to pick at them from time to time. One sharp look, and her hands fall to her lap.

  “Before I came here, I didn’t do much but work,” she says.

  “Work?” I ask. “In an institution?” What an odd response. Did she take side jobs at St. Andrew’s?

  For some odd reason, her whole body tenses, as if she just said something she shouldn’t have. Does she regret admitting to hacking? That doesn’t make sense to me, since we’re both very clear as to why she’s here. It’s no secret.

  “Well, yes,” she said. “I… was very good at it, honestly. You were the first who ever caught me.”

  “You left your trail wide open.” Now she has my full attention. “Why? Did you want to be found out?”

  But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she tucks her feet up under her on the chair, cross-legged like a little girl, and places her chin in her hands. It makes her look almost innocent, and for one brief moment I find it hard to believe this is the woman who stole millions from me and my brothers.

  “It was a mistake,” she says. “You weren’t meant to find me. And yes, I took on jobs for others as well.”

  But she’s lying. Someone as intelligent as she is certainly wouldn’t do something like that by accident.

  “Did you perfect your skills while in the hospital?”

  I turn back to my screen. She won’t give me the real answers I want, and I’m not sure I care enough to make her. She’s here, she’s mine, and she’s working off the debt.

  Shrugging, she lifts one of her fingers and frowns at it, circling the cuticle with the tip of her index finger. “Of course. I studied code… encryption algorithms… firewalls, and scripting.” She pauses. “I like breaking through impenetrable things.” I bring my gaze to hers, but she doesn’t meet my eyes, and the words hang between us like they hold meaning. “I like the challenge in it. It excites me.”

  I like breaking through impenetrable things.

  I turn away from my computer. “Do you?”

  Do I pose a challenge to her?

  “Of course,” she says. “And you’d be a liar if you told me it doesn’t excite you, too. It’s one thing we have in common, you and I.”

  I ignore the latent disrespect because I like this side of her. I like her bold, fearless admonition of the truth.

  I want to hear what she has to say, but she’ll do so within my grasp. I turn from my desk and pat my knee.

  “Come here, Calina.”

  She trembles a little when she rises, but I’m not surprised. I’ve made her climax so many times in the past twenty-four hours, a mere breath of air on her sweet, secret folds would make her fly apart again. Tentatively, she walks my way until she’s just a foot or so away. I draw her between my knees and begin to strip her. She’s wearing nothing but a white camisole and the matching panties she wore beneath the gown. I peel back the soft cotton la
yers until she’s naked before me. I position her standing in front of me between my legs.

  Leaning my head down to her chest, I drag my tongue between the valley of her breasts. “Tell me, kisa. Tell me what we have in common.”

  “We like the thrill of the chase,” she says, beginning to pant when I suckle her nipple and graze the back of my hand between her thighs.

  I nod, agreeing with her. “What else?”

  “The rush that comes from defying the odds,” she says, her voice pitching off into a moan. “Like… like when you beat up those guys last night. I could see it in your eyes. Your thirst for vengeance and how badly you wanted to beat them.”

  She’s not wrong.

  “And when you do, when you gain that power and control…” Her voice is ragged, the effort of speaking becoming more difficult when I ghost a finger over her sex. “You enjoy being victorious. Powerful. Just like when you master me.”

  “Oh?” I ask. I reach for my desk drawer and remove a pen. She eyes it with trepidation, likely wondering how I plan on torturing her with it, when I twist her hair up in a bun and stick the pen through it to keep it in place.

  “I like that,” I tell her. “Do your hair that way for the wedding, will you?”

  But her eyes are rolling back in her head while she rocks herself on my fingers. She’s so wrapped up in what I’m doing to her, she’s boneless when I slide her onto my lap. I adjust her so she’s facing the computer, and I can pet her while I work. I finger her pussy while I read over my computer screen, until she comes with her head back and mouth parted.

  “Oh God,” she pants, slumped over me. I gently push her to the side to unfasten my pants and remove my cock, then slide her onto me. She braces herself on the desk as I fill her.

  “Maybe you can serve a purpose for me,” I say. “Some inter-office stress relief.” I bite the back of her neck while I lift her hips and slam into her. She rides me as I palm her breasts, mark her neck with my teeth, and scrape my nails down her back until I come, hot and wet and messy, with her smeared all over me and chasing her second climax.

  “Christ,” I mutter, kissing the red bite marks along her neck. “I’ll never get anything done with you here.”

  “You were the one who made me come over here. I was sitting like the good little girl you wanted me to be over there.”

  I pinch her thigh and groan into her neck in response.

  “I could help you with your proposition to Amaranov,” she says. “It seems there’s a missing piece to those transactions.”

  I still. That quickly, she looked at my computer screen that I didn’t even bother to hide. I lift her, bring her to the bathroom, and clean us up before I bring us back to the desk. Thinking.

  “Now tell me. What is that missing piece?” I slide her back onto my lap and situate her there. I don’t care that she sees what we’re doing. There’s no hiding why I met with Amaranov, and the encrypted message here is nothing she won’t hear when I’m talking to one of my men.

  “Filip is handling these transactions?” she says, staring at the screen and biting down on her nail. I give her a sharp swat to the thigh and she immediately pulls her hand from her mouth.

  “Yes.”

  “There are three steps to effective money laundering,” she says. “Placement, layering, integration. Right?”

  I nod. I don’t handle the finer details, but I understand that basic gist. “Correct. And Amaranov needs our help.”

  “Well of course he does,” she says, frowning at the screen. “What kind of a dumbass launders money in America or the U.K.? Especially a prominent politician. Is he trying to start another world war?”

  She’s cute when she gets fired up like this. “Amaranov is stubborn and arrogant,” I tell her. “When he sets his mind to something, it’s hard to sway him.” I tense beneath her, remembering how he looked at her the night before. How he wanted her for himself.

  “Well, is his goal to pad his pockets?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Then consider a country that’s easier to target. The Bahamas. Israel. Hell, keep it domestic. If he targets a less challenging location, the layering step becomes easier. He may get away with placement, but it’s the layering that’s most difficult with countries that have major federal funding to prevent exactly this.”

  I’m both impressed and annoyed at her clear admission that she’s skilled in this area. “I see. And after he’s placed his money and we’ve effectively layered it, Filip can handle the integration.”

  “Yes,” she says, mulling over the numbers. She hits a few strokes on my keyboard, and I watch as she expertly maneuvers funds. “There,” she says with a flourish. “See? It’s that easy.”

  I hold her to my chest and whisper in her ear. “You’re very good at that, malyshka.”

  I want to know who she has at home. In my mind, she’s got a man, and I want her to eradicate the thought. “Did your boyfriend teach you?”

  She shakes her head. “I have no boyfriend,” she says. “My father taught me the basics and the rest I learned on my own.” But she’s pulling away from me and doesn’t look at me. She’s hiding something, and I mean to find out what that is.

  “I’ll have you and Filip discuss this,” I tell her. I let my words drop like hail, heavy and cold, so it shouldn’t surprise me when she flinches. “I’ll allow you to discuss it with him in my presence. You could be useful while you’re here.”

  “Works for me,” she says nonchalantly.

  “Here,” I say, handing her my phone. “You may entertain yourself on my phone while I get some work done. Download a game or a book or something.” I want to test her. I want to see how far she goes.

  Tentatively, she takes it from my hand and nods. “Thank you,” she says. “I’ll need your password to access the app store, though.”

  I swipe it in, allowing her to see it and she gives me a curious look. Within a few minutes, though, she’s curled up on the chair, swiping at the screen with her lips caught between her teeth, smashing some sort of fruit. She’s good at it, with quick reflexes and a sharp eye, and I’m soon more interested in watching her play on my phone than my work, my anger forgotten.

  There’s a stark simplicity about her that I like. She isn’t honest. She hides things from me. But somehow, in our short time together, as I’ve stripped away her layers, I’ve revealed some of the real Calina. Intelligent and cunning. Responsive and eager. And so damn beautiful something inside me aches.

  I turn back to my work and focus, scowling at the screen. I won’t allow myself to fall for her. I won’t.

  We break for lunch, and I like having her here with me. I like that she sits on my lap and lets me feed her. I don’t allow her to wear clothes, and I can’t get my fill of her. But as darkness settles, the long day at work wearing on me, I want to be done with this. I turn to her and marvel at her beautiful, naked form strewn over the chair. She has her beautiful legs draped over the side, her arms stretched over her head.

  “You’re a naughty little girl distracting me from my work,” I scold her.

  She blinks and sits up, yawning like a little kitten and shrugs.

  “Perhaps I need to be punished,” she says. Taunting.

  And I want to punish her. I want to strike her naked body until tears dampen her cheeks and she begs me to stop.

  “Come here, malyshka.”

  She rises like the little girl I call her, a slowness to her movements betraying her trepidation, but the fullness in her breasts and taut nipples tell me more.

  Calina likes this. Hell, Calina craves this, this dance of dominance and submission, of power and control, discipline and pleasure. Already, I’ve trained her body to react to my demands and punishments with a Pavlovian response. I command and she obeys. Her obedience reaps pleasure at my hands, but not until she’s paid the price.

  When she reaches me, I shake my head, like a disapproving teacher.

  “Naughty little thing,” I tell her, flickin
g one of her hardened little nipples. “Does the thought of punishment excite you?” Cupping her backside, I draw her closer and inspect her naked body, prepared to lay her over my desk and stripe her thoroughly, when my phone rings. At first I ignore it, but when I see it’s Maksym, I curse. I hold a finger up to my lips to tell her to be silent while I take the call.

  “What is it?” I snap.

  “I’m sorry to call this late, Demyan,” Maksym says. “We need to talk about Amaranov. Give us a few minutes?”

  I nod and hang up the phone. I could dress her and take her.

  Or I could tempt her to do what I know she wants to. Leave my phone behind, find out what I need to know.

  “Behave while I’m gone,” I tell her, getting dressed. A part of me hopes that she will.

  Chapter 14

  “I need to go meet with my men briefly,” he says with a frown. “We need to discuss a few things, but I’ll be back.” Standing, he takes me by the hand and pulls me to him. And then he does something he shouldn’t, something dangerous and deadly and oh, how I wish he wouldn’t do this. Cupping my jaw with his large, warm hand, he bends down and gives me a lingering kiss that makes my toes curl. Tender and sweet, speaking promises to me he shouldn’t.

  Lies.

  That I mean something to him. That he won’t hurt me. That he actually cares about me.

  No, my mind warns, don’t fall for this. It isn’t real. He doesn’t care.

  But my body has been weakened by the ministrations of the days leading to this and I can’t help my response. My hands go to his face, framing his beauty and strength between my grasp. I mentally beg for some authenticity in this. For him not to hurt me.

  I know he feels this, that he isn’t immune to the seductive power of ardor and passion when his forehead meets mine.

  “Calina,” he groans.

  “Sir?”

  But that’s all he says. Pulling me to him with his hand at my lower back, he kisses me again, until I moan into his mouth and soften against him like sand beneath the tide, pushed and pulled and dragged back under again. He leaves me breathless and panting and a little stunned as I watch him walk to the door.