An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #10)

Chapter 1 - Vladimir

I stride into my older brother’s office, my footsteps echoing off the polished hardwood floors. I knock twice and enter without waiting for a response.

I’ve had a long day and can’t wait to have the rest of the evening to myself. There’s a new business plan I need to create projections for, and then I need to talk to our bank in Russia about cutting our exchange rate for larger transactions. Abram looks up from a stack of papers from behind his oak desk, his cloud-grey eyes locking onto mine.

"Vladimir," he says, his tone clipped.

“I’m done for the day, Brother. If you need me, you can reach me at home.”

I’m about to walk out when I hear him growl. "I trust you remember your obligation this evening."

I clench my jaw and turn around to face him, honestly having forgotten about the charity gala.

“It’s tonight?”

“Yes. Ivan sent your ticket over.”

“ Your ticket, you mean,” I cluck my tongue. Ever since Abram got married, he’s needed more personal time to devote to his wife, Zara. While I’m happy for them, the fact is that I’m the one who needs to step up for Abram. More responsibility around this place unfortunately comes with showing your face around town.

We left Russia to come to New York almost a year ago. Since then, I have truly tried to keep to myself because I perform best when I can focus on our empire wholeheartedly. After work, I’ve spent most evenings holed up in my study.

But I’ve hardly had time to myself since Abram got married. I’ve stepped up, and leading a powerful Bratva family comes with the territory of not just managing the business but also keeping a check on all those around you.

Half our work, according to Abram, is keeping alliances in place. They can, after all, shift anytime. Friends can turn into foes and vice-versa in the blink of an eye.

“Must I really go tonight? It’s a charity gala, for god's sake. Couldn’t I send a generous check on our behalf, instead?”

Abram's eyes narrow. "It's not just about socializing and showing your generosity, Vlad. These events are crucial for our business relationships. The Zolotovs stay relevant only as long as people remember we exist."

"Then send someone else," I snap. "Mark or Denis, perhaps.” I offer up our younger brothers. “I have more important things to do than play nice with a bunch of stuffy elites."

My brother rises from his chair, his imposing frame casting a shadow across the room. "You know that's not an option anymore. We’re fresh blood here and don’t have as many allies as we did back in Russia. We need to present a united front. I can't do this alone."

I feel a twinge of guilt at the weariness in his voice. Our brother has done more than his fair share of sacrifice for our family to succeed. Sometimes, I tend to forget that in my quest for solitude. Besides, I know deep down that Abram is right. Our world has changed, and I can no longer hide in the shadows.

"Fine," I growl. "I'll go to the damn gala. But don't expect me to enjoy it."

Abram's shoulders relax slightly. "That's all I ask, Brother. Who knows, you might even surprise yourself."

I snort, already dreading the evening ahead. I stride out of Abram's office, my jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. The weight of expectation settles on my shoulders like a lead coat. Damn these social obligations. I'm a man of action, not empty words and fake smiles.

But, it is what it is.

***

The weekend arrives too quickly, and I yet again find myself in the backseat of a sleek black car, hurtling toward anywhere but home.

Tonight, it’s Nikolai Orlov’s mansion. The leather seat creaks as I shift, adjusting my tie for the hundredth time.

"You look like you're headed to your own execution," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my hair.

The driver clears his throat. "We're almost there, Mr. Zolotov."

I grunt in acknowledgment, my stomach tightening as the mansion comes into view. It's a behemoth of stone and glass, screaming new money and power—the kind of place that makes me itch for a quick exit, even if it is my sister’s home.

In fact, my cousin Anoushka is also married into the Orlov clan. And still, I haven’t met most of their siblings. I quickly run their names through their head, dreading the fact that I might get them wrong. I already know Nikolai and Dima, with them being my brothers-in-law. But it’s the younger ones, Fedor, Sofia, Natalia, and Artyom whom I’ll have to put a face to.

"Fuck," I breathe, closing my eyes for a moment. "Get it together, Vladimir. It's just a family dinner."

But it's not just dinner, is it? It's my debut as the rising face of the Zolotov family. A role I never wanted and am not sure I can play.

The car slows to a stop, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come.

"Time to face the wolves," I mutter, pushing the door open and stepping into the cool evening air.

***

The gravel crunches under my feet as I step out, my eyes drawn upward to the imposing facade of the Orlov mansion.

"Quite the place," I mutter, shoving my hands in my pockets as I approach the grand entrance. My sister and her husband just moved in here, and it’s the first time I’m stepping foot on the premises.

I walk through the double doors of the entrance only to find the beaming faces of my brothers, Denis and Mark.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Denis crows, slapping me on the back.

Mark chimes in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We were taking bets on whether you'd actually show up or if we'd find you holed up in your apartment with a bottle of vodka."

I scowl, shrugging off Denis's hand. "Hilarious. I'm here, aren't I?"

"And dressed for a party, too," Mark adds, tugging at my lapel. "Will wonders never cease?"

I bat his hand away, fighting the urge to loosen my tie. "Keep it up, and I'll show you just how 'proper' I can be."

Denis laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Brother. No need to bare your teeth. We're just happy to see you out of your cave."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," I grumble, but I can feel the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. Their familiar banter, as annoying as it can be, is a welcome distraction from the anxiety churning in my gut regarding all the time I’m wasting playing nice when I could be working.

As they lead me further into the mansion's glittering interior, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, I can survive this night after all.

"Well, well, I thought I heard the sound of grumbling," a melodic voice cuts through our banter. I turn to see Lara, my sister, approaching with a playful smirk on her face.

I roll my eyes but can't help the slight upturn of my lips. "Funny. I thought I heard the sound of meddling."

Lara laughs, linking her arm through mine. "Someone has to keep you in line, Vlad. Now come on, I want you to meet my family.”

I bristle at her words of choice. Even though I know we’re still her family, sometimes, I forget she has a whole other life and forget we’re not her only family.

While she drags me across the room, I catch sight of our cousins Boris, Damien, and Lev grinning like idiots, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Lara, I don't need—" I start, but she cuts me off.

"Hush. It's time you met everyone properly." She pulls me to a stop right next to her husband, Dima, who I quickly shake hands with, and introduces me first to a tall and lean man. "Vlad, this is Fedor Orlov. Fedor, my brother Vladimir."

Fedor's face breaks into a smile as he extends his hand. "Vladimir! It's great to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

I shake his hand, my grip firm. "Likewise," I reply, my tone neutral. "Though I hope not everything you've heard is true."

Fedor chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Only the good parts, I assure you. Here, let me introduce you to my younger siblings, Artyom and Natalia."

He gestures to a cheerful young woman with dark blonde hair and a younger man with an easygoing demeanor.

I nod to each of them in turn, my posture stiff. "Pleasure," I say, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.

Natalia smiles warmly, so wide that her lips could reach her ears. "The pleasure is ours, Vladimir. We've been looking forward to meeting Lara's mysterious brother."

"Mysterious?" I arch an eyebrow. "I prefer 'private’."

Artyom grins. "Private, mysterious, potato, pot-ahto. Either way, it's nice to finally put a face to the name."

I force a polite smile, acutely aware of Lara's eyes on me. "Well, now you have. I hope I haven't disappointed."

"Not at all," Dima says, clapping me on the shoulder. "In fact, I hope we'll be seeing more of you. Family is important, after all. We’d also love to introduce you to our sister, Sofia. But…” He scans the room. “I simply don’t know where she is.”

“She’s blonde, tall, and a total ice queen.” Fedor grins, waving his hands to indicate her height. “You’ll see her somewhere, biting someone’s head off, probably.”

“Fedor!” Natalia playfully whacks him on the arm while the rest of the crew holds back their laughter.

“Wait, I think I see her.” Artyom looks behind me.

I bristle, not bothering to turn around, fighting the urge to run off without another word. "Don’t worry about it," I reply, my mind already searching for an escape route. "She must be busy. I’ll see her around later. If you'll excuse me, I think I see Ivan."

I make my excuses and slip away from the Orlov’s enthusiastic hospitality, seeking refuge at the bar on the far side of the room. I weave through the crowded space, dodging mingling guests and raucous clusters of family. A few call out greetings or raise their glasses, but I keep my eyes averted and my responses clipped.

At last I reach the relative peace of the bar. As I wait for the bartender, I lean back against the counter and observe the lively party. Laughter and warmth fill the grand room, yet I feel disconnected, an outsider peering in through frosted glass.

"Vodka, neat," I tell the bartender when he finally makes his way over. I lean back against the counter again.

“You’re blocking the cherries,” I hear a husky voice from my right. I look, and the woman standing beside me steals the breath from my lungs. Her slender figure is sheathed in an elegant black dress, contouring subtle curves. Blonde hair cascades down her back in a sleek curtain, contrasting vividly with her dress. She’s all high cheekbones and rosy red lips. As she lifts an elegant hand adorned with diamonds to point at the cherries, I catch a glimpse of her emerald green eyes, contrasting sharply with the black of her dress.

“Excuse me?” I find myself saying, utterly forgetting what she said.

“The cherries.” She rolls her eyes at me.

I quickly move to let her reach, and just then, the server returns with my drink. I accept it, and turn back to the woman, who is now lecturing the server on how she specifically requested no sugar syrup in her cocktail.

Blonde, tall, ice-cold, and biting off a head. Something tells me she’s an Orlov.

Sofia Orlov, to be exact.

I feel an inexplicable pull toward her, my feet carrying me closer to her before I can process the sudden quickening of my pulse.

I sidle up to the bar, careful to maintain a respectful distance. "Water, iced," I tell the bartender, my voice gruffer than intended.

The woman beside me doesn't turn, but I catch her glancing at me from the corner of her eye. Her gaze flickers to the drink in my hand before coolly turning back to survey the scene.

As she turns, I catch a trace of her scent—cool and floral like a frost-kissed garden.

"I don't believe we've met," I say bluntly. Subtlety has never been my strong suit.

She arches one delicate brow. "We haven't.”

I note she doesn’t offer her name. This is a first. Usually, when I strike up a conversation, I have the woman’s number in hand within minutes. Her casual dismissal only serves to pique my interest further. I’m used to women falling at my feet, enticed by either the hundred thousand dollar watch I wear on my wrist or my name, should they have it. But she simply stands there, unimpressed and untouchable.

I lean against the bar, studying her profile as she takes a sip of her drink. “Not a fan of small talk, are you?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, her indifference a stark contrast to the usual flirtatious encounters I'm accustomed to. "Small talk tends to bore me. If this is your attempt at it, you should probably stop now."

“So, what would you rather discuss? Nuclear war?” I bite back.

“Sure.” She turns to face me now, and I see a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. But then I think I could have imagined it, from how coolly she looks at me. “But I doubt you’d have much to add on that topic.”

“Didn’t someone tell you it’s rude to make assumptions?” My lip curves into a small smile.

“Well… do you?” she shrugs.

“Do I what?” I ask, instantly.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Know much about nuclear war?”

Suddenly, I feel like a fool. God. What is it with this woman rendering me so utterly forgetful? It’s like I’m so lost in how enchanting she is that I forget half the questions she asks me.

“Not really,” I say.

“Then I guess I wasn’t rude,” she says bluntly.

"Fair enough," I concede, inclining my head slightly. "I prefer honesty anyway.”

“Good to know,” she says, and the next I know, she picks up her glass and is about to walk away.

No way am I letting that happen.

“Hey,” I say out, a little too loud. She throws her head back over her shoulder, watching me with a raised eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Sofia,” she says without skipping a beat.

My heart roars in my heart. There, at last. I have her name. It’s also an additional moment of joy to realize I’d been right to read who she was all along.

“Sofia Orlov,” I say, toying with her a little. But, to my surprise, what I wished for to be an opening for her to get a little curious regarding how I know her full name and extend the conversation, is shut down just as fast.

She turns to face me fully, and I feel the full force of her gaze. "Well, isn't that interesting? You’re venturing into society after doing his homework. How… prepared of you."

I feel a flicker of irritation at her words, but something about her sharp wit intrigues me. "There’s nothing wrong with a little homework," I say bluntly, taking a sip of my vodka. “It helps me stay ahead.”

Sofia's eyebrow arches elegantly. "How studious of you," she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what else have you learned so far, Vladimir?"

I study her for a moment, noting the tension in her shoulders despite her outward composure. "That you're used to keeping people at arm's length," I state matter-of-factly. "It's easier than letting them in, isn't it?"

A flash of surprise crosses her face, quickly replaced by a cold smile. "My, aren't you perceptive?" she quips. "Next, you'll be telling me my favorite color and what I had for breakfast."

I can't help but chuckle at her sharp retort. "Someone once told me it’s rude to presume," I say, a hint of amusement in my voice. "Though I imagine it wasn't vodka for breakfast, despite the family business." After all, Nikolai’s nightclubs are the source of endless Vodka for all the Russian elites.

For a split second, I see a genuine smile tug at the corners of her mouth before she schools her features back into cool indifference. The brief glimpse of warmth ignites something in me—a desire to see more of the real Sofia beneath the icy exterior.

But then, it ends all too soon.

Sofia turns away abruptly, her pin-straight blonde hair swishing as she moves. "Enjoy the party, Vladimir," she says over her shoulder, her voice a mix of dismissal and boredom.

I watch her retreating form, unable to tear my eyes away. The sway of her hips, the graceful set of her shoulders—everything about her is captivating. My mind races, replaying our brief interaction. There's more to Sofia Orlov than meets the eye, and I'm determined to unravel the mystery.

"You're not getting away that easily," I mutter under my breath, downing the rest of my drink. The burn of vodka does nothing to quell the fire she's ignited within me.