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

Epilogue - Vladimir

6 months after

The crystal chandelier casts a warm glow over the ballroom as I take another sip of my whiskey, nodding along to Peter's animated retelling of his latest business venture. From the corner of my eye, I scan the room. Over a dozen beautiful waitresses serve, smile, pour and fetch. And I have eyes for just one.

I wonder what disguise she’d be in tonight.

"…and that's how we managed to secure the contract," he finishes with a self-satisfied grin.

I force a polite smile. "Impressive work, Peter. The profits should be substantial."

As he launches into another story, I can't help but marvel at how different this feels from just a year ago. Back then, I would have been skulking in the shadows, avoiding small talk like the plague. But now…

My eyes scan the room instinctively, searching for a glimpse of golden hair. Sofia. The woman who turned my world upside down. The one who got me to where I am today.

Just then, I notice a petite woman weaving her way through the crowd. As she moves through the room in that blouse and tight skirt, a cast of admirers follows in her wake like leaves caught in a spring breeze. Men turn to watch her, their gazes lingering on her slender form and the subtle curve of her lips as she flashes them a coy smile.

But, she pays them no further mind when one of them waves a hundred dollar bill in her direction. That coy smile turns cold and she walks right past them to approach a distinguished elderly gentleman seated at a corner table.

The man’s eyes brighten as the waitress pours him a drink. She speaks sweetly, listens attentively to his words, nods at all the right moments and leaves when someone joins him.

I admire her kindness. But realize soon enough that I’m distracted again. Now, where the hell is Sofia?

"To be honest, though, I never thought I'd see the day when Vlad Zolotov willingly attended a social gathering," Peter chuckles, pulling me from my reverie.

I shrug. "Times change. People change."

"And what brought about this miraculous transformation?" he probes, eyebrows raised.

Before I can answer, a commotion erupts beside us. That same petite waitress with chestnut curls stumbles, nearly spilling her tray of champagne flutes. I frown, in disbelief. I had just witnessed her grace. How could that same woman be so accident prone all of a sudden?

I watch her with narrowed eyes, taking a step back from Peter.

"Oh! I'm so terribly sorry," she gushes, her cheeks flushing as she rights herself. Her eyes, a startling shade of green, lock onto Peter. "How clumsy of me. I hope I didn't get anything on your lovely suit, Sir."

Peter's usual composure crumbles as he stammers, "N-no harm done, Miss. These things happen."

I watch, fascinated, as the waitress bats her eyelashes over deep blue eyes and giggles. She sets down the tray on the table beside us and turns her back to us. She takes a moment longer than needed before turning back to face us with a handful of paper napkins, far more than are needed. Her fingers brush against Peter's coat to help him get clean.

“It’s alright, Miss.” Peter blushes. “I can do it.” He tries, reaching for her hand.

“No, Sir. Please. A handsome man like you in a handsome suit like that. I really must insist.”

I watch her hands while Peter watches her face, his eyes trailing down her neckbone. There, between the napkins, I see a flash of something small and black.

Sofia?

I hold back a chuckle as I watch Peter blush, letting her finish dabbing the coat. Only except, I know she’s doing a lot more than helping him clean up. Once done, she bats her lashes at him and passes him a fresh glass of champagne. The typically unflappable man is practically tripping over his words. “Th…thank you, Miss.”

"You're welcome," she purrs. "I do hope you're enjoying the party. Is there anything else I can get for you?"

As Peter fumbles for a response, I hide my smirk behind my glass. Who would have thought the fearsome Bratva Pakhan could be reduced to a blushing schoolboy by a pretty face and a coy smile?

She hands Peter a glass of champagne and picks up her tray. She walks right up to me and looks up at me. I watch, enthralled, as she bites her lower lip and slowly slides her gaze up from my chest to my eyes. “And you, Sir? Anything I can get you?”

I bend lower, and mutter under my breath. “Oh, trust me. You can give me a lot, but none of that would be appropriate around here.”

I see her lips part slightly and her eyes flash with a challenging thrill. “You shouldn’t go talking like that, Sir. Some might consider it harassment.”

And then, to my surprise, she winks and turns around, walking away from me.

I give her a few seconds in a head start. All this time, she’s been serving right beneath my nose, while I’ve been wondering where Sofia is? I swear, my wife gets better and better with each passing day.

I excuse myself from Peter, who barely notices my departure, still flustered by the charming waitress. My eyes follow her retreating form as she weaves through the crowd. Without drawing attention, I make my way to a secluded alcove near the back of the ballroom.

The waitress is already there, her back to me. As I approach, she turns, and I'm met with those unfamiliar blue eyes—her contact lenses. Sofia's natural blonde hair—no longer hidden behind the chestnut wig—spills over her shoulders as she removes the hairpiece.

"Quite the performance, my love," I murmur, reaching out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear.

Sofia's eyes sparkle with excitement. "Vlad, I did it!" she whispers, her voice tinged with pride. "The bug is planted. That fool Peter didn't suspect a thing."

“To be honest,” I admit. “I didn’t either.”

“Oh, I know,” she flicks her hair over her shoulder with pride. “I was watching you scan the room for a good portion of the last hour. Honestly? It was entertaining.”

“Oh, you,” I growl, grabbing her by the waist and bringing her closer to my body. God, she’s a sexy beast in that uniform.

"You were magnificent," I praise, my chest swelling with admiration. "Peter didn't stand a chance against your charms."

She grins, a rare display of unbridled joy. "He was putty in my hands. Can you believe he's one of our biggest rivals? The way he stammered, you'd think he'd never spoken to a woman before."

I laugh, but a part of me tenses at the thought of other men falling for Sofia's act. "Just remember who you come home to at the end of the night," I growl playfully, pulling her even closer.

Sofia rolls her eyes, but I catch the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "As if I could forget, you brute," she retorts, her tone softening despite the sarcastic edge.

I run my fingers along the edge of her waitress uniform, feeling the cheap polyester beneath my touch. "You know, these little missions of ours are becoming quite the habit," I muse, my voice low. "Who would've thought the Ice Queen and the Recluse would make such an effective team?"

She leans into me, her warmth seeping through the thin fabric. "Certainly not me," she admits. "But I must say, I'm starting to enjoy our covert operations. It's… exhilarating."

I nod, understanding completely. "It's a rush, isn't it? The danger, the secrecy. And knowing we're protecting our families in the process."

Sofia's eyes darken slightly, a reminder of the weight we both carry. "Yes, that's the most important part," she agrees solemnly.

I can't help but tease her, hoping to lighten the mood. "Though I must say, this outfit is an unexpected bonus," I growl, my hands trailing down her sides. "You're driving me wild, woman."

She quirks an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh? And here I thought you preferred me in designer gowns, not polyester uniforms."

I lean in close, my breath hot against her ear. "I prefer you in anything… or nothing at all."

Sofia's breath hitches, and I feel a surge of satisfaction that I can still affect her the way she does me. She pulls back slightly, her green eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my heart race.

"Vlad," she whispers, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "I don’t think I say this enough, but… I love you. Truly."

The words hit me like a freight train, as though she’s saying it for the first time, even though I’ve heard it every single day. “I love you too,” I say, cupping her face in my hands, my thumbs tracing her cheekbones. "More than I ever thought possible."

A rare, genuine smile lights up her face, and I'm struck by how beautiful she is in this moment. Not just physically but also in her vulnerability, her trust in me.

"Well," she says, her usual sass returning, "now that we've gotten that out of the way, what do you say we find somewhere a bit more… private?"

I grin, already scanning the room for an exit. "I thought you'd never ask, my love."

With a quick glance to ensure no one's watching, I take her hand and lead her toward a secluded hallway. The thrill of our mission, combined with the excitement of our shared confession, has my blood pumping. As we slip away from the party, I can't help but think how much my life has changed since Sofia entered it

And how grateful I am for every moment.

*****

THE END