The Bratva’s Captive Bride (Milov Bratva Brides #14)

Chapter 1 - Marlen

Being patient is quickly wearing thin. The last few months have not been the best for my family or me.

Ever since Diomid Abashin married that Shev sister, Angelika.

The whole thing has been a giant thorn in my side.

Diomid crashed my brother’s event, set off smoke bombs, then set off real bombs, effectively fucking up the entire event.

And I’m supposed to sit quietly and accept this?

His family claims it was an auction involving kidnapped women, but Bardil has a different story entirely, and between my own brother and the Abashin family…

I’d rather trust my brother any day. All this bullshit about Bardil owing the Sokolov family money is also hard to believe.

He wouldn’t go behind my back like that.

My brother can be impulsive at times, but not reckless.

Everything Diomid claims my brother did is fabricated, an excuse to cover his own actions.

I look up from the paperwork spread over my desk.

My corner office is on the top floor of one of the buildings I own in Miami.

Giant glass windows give me an endless view of the city below.

Through the polarized glass, the orange sunset looks more saturated, more vibrant than it probably is in real life.

Cars stream like ants as after-work traffic builds on the streets below, and lights begin to flicker on in other buildings.

Winter is around the corner, and the sun is setting earlier and earlier.

These late Autumn skies are spectacular though.

I wish I were in the mood to savor them more.

I sigh and push my hands through my hair as I lean back in the leather chair, groaning out loud.

After Diomid contacted me about the whole situation that they claim was an attack to stop a human auction, I assured him I wouldn’t retaliate.

The Abashins are closer to the Shevs than ever now. Their families are fully locked into an alliance. And the two families have brought the Sokolov family onboard now as well, apparently because of the money Bardil owes them. Those three families are not a group you want to mess with.

But I’m also not a man you want to mess with.

And they have messed with me. With my brother. With my family.

As much as I wanted to, I didn’t retaliate against the attack on Bardil’s event.

But I don’t plan to ignore the situation entirely, and revenge is certainly in the cards for the accusations they made against Bardil, which put my family name in a bad light.

Standing up from my desk, I wander over to the window, shove my hands into my pockets, and stare down at the monotony of life playing out below me.

The city sleeps and wakes and repeats. Over and over again. Like robots, people move through their lives without ever really taking control, directing, chasing dreams and goals.

That’s why they’re down there, and I’m up here. I will never be like the average man. I was born for bigger and great things.

“Are you contemplating your existence?” Bardil’s voice comes from behind me.

“Actually, I was,” I chuckle, turning to face him. “I thought you were leaving early today. Why are you still here?”

“Got caught up in some admin. I decided to get it done while I was on a roll.”

He walks over to the window, too, and presses his face to the glass to watch the same scene that captivated me a moment ago.

“Like ants,” he muses.

A smirk plays over my face. He and I are different in a lot of ways, but also the same.

“I was thinking about the Abashins again.”

He grimaces, his face pulled tight as he throws me a pained look. “Fucking liars, all of them,” he grunts. “I don’t get why we let them get away with what they did.”

Bardil’s neck muscles pull taut, veins and tendons standing out as he grinds his jaw in agitation. I’m angry about the whole thing, but Bardil is seven levels above me in his hatred toward the Abashins.

“I’ve decided to play a little game of my own,” I say, immediately sparking Bardil’s interest.

“Is that so?” He turns from the window, fully focused on me.

His eyes follow me as I walk over to the dark wood bar in the corner of my office, and I pull down a crystal bottle filled with the finest vodka.

“You want one?” I ask, throwing two blocks of ice into my glass and splashing translucent liquid over them. People say that vodka has no scent. But it does. It smells like home.

“Yes,” my brother answers shortly.

Bardil has moved closer, sitting on the sofa near the bar.

I carry our drinks to the small glass table and set them down, then sit opposite him, leaning back and sighing loudly.

Bardil picks up his glass and takes a massive sip, finishing more than half the drink.

I roll my eyes. He never did figure out how to savor things.

“Well?” he huffs.

Vodka swirls in my glass, the ice floating freely, knocking gently against the sides. My mind is finally at ease, now that I’ve decided it’s time.

It’s time to get revenge against the Abashins. First, they steal my sister, then they attack, and fabric lies about my brother. I kept my word. I didn’t retaliate after the attack. But this… this is different. This is me putting my foot down against a lot of shit that should not have happened.

Bardil is getting impatient. He sits forward, grunting, glaring at me with his brows raised.

A devious smile spreads over my face as I enjoy his frustration for a brief moment before giving in and telling him my decision.

“They took Talia from us. I think it’s time we returned the favor. An eye for an eye, so to speak,” I say slowly.

“A sister for a sister?” The corner of Bardil’s lips curves upward into a dark smile.

I nod.

“Nikita Abashin. I know where she’s going to be tonight.”

“I want to help, I want in,” he snaps, slamming his glass down on the table.

“I knew you’d say that. It’s serendipitous that you’re still here this afternoon because I was going to give you a call in a few minutes anyway.”

Bardil stands up to pour another vodka. “Lay out the plan,” he says.

“Once a month, Nikita goes to the same theater, a place downtown that screens obscure art movies. She’s there tonight. The show starts at seven and ends at nine. After that, she will drive herself to a nearby cocktail bar, have one cocktail, then head home.”

“Will she be alone?”

“Talia and a few other girls go to the show together; some go for cocktails, some don’t.”

I shrug, pulling my phone out of my pocket and checking for messages. I already have a guy sitting outside the theatre. “The important this is that Nikita goes every month, without fail. And tonight, we’re going to be waiting for her when she comes out. Well… you are.”

Bardil’s eyes flare wide. “Me?”

“I figured you’d want front row action for this. It should be an easy snatch-and-grab so you can do it alone. I’ll listen in. You’ll bring her straight to my place afterward.”

“What’s the plan for her?”

“Bind her to me through marriage, then use her as a tool to get what I want out of her brothers.”

This is a marriage born of purpose. Nothing more. There will be no happily-ever-after fairy tale bull shit here.

Bardil’s smile widens. He nods, draining his second glass of vodka.

“Go easy on that, I need you focused,” I huff. “Do you know what the girl looks like?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man, I can handle my vodka. And yes, I know what she looks like. What time do you want me at the theater?”

“Be there by eight. They only come out at nine, but if she leaves early for some reason, I don’t want to miss any opportunities. I want her tonight. I’ve waited long enough.”

“Send me the location, I’m going home to gear up just in case.”

Bardil leaves my office, and I sit quietly finishing my vodka, contemplating the satisfaction of finally having an outlet for all this pent-up anger I’ve built toward the Abashins.

They’ve underestimated me from the beginning. That was their mistake.

***

It’s seven when I get home and already dark outside.

I should be feeling good, but I’m just anxious to get this part over with.

I would’ve preferred to grab her myself, but Bardil deserves a role in this.

He deserves to be part of it. The reason I only told him so much later in the plan was that I was almost hoping he’d say he wasn’t available to help.

But given his levels of anger, I guess it was presumptuous of me, because if I were him, I would cancel anything else and rather do this.

The next two hours are going to be agonizing unless I do something to take my mind off the waiting, so I dump my things down in the kitchen and head upstairs to change into sweatpants and a t-shirt.

There is a gym in my mansion, and I can’t think of a better way to release the tension than a workout.

***

Sweat is soaked into my t-shirt, my muscles straining and shaking as I finish the final rep with the heavy iron weights. With a loud huff, I drop them down onto the rubber mats and lean over to grab my water bottle, gulping three mouthfuls.

Quarter past eight. Perfect.

Just enough time for a quick shower and a bite to eat.

Checking my phone, I nod, satisfied, reading Bardil’s text to confirm he’s arrived at the theater. It takes me five minutes to shower, another five to throw on some fresh clothes, and another five to grab some leftovers from the fridge.

Sitting at the dining room table, I press the earpiece into my left ear.

“You there?” I ask.

“Here,” Bardil replies. “I’ve located her car and scouted the theater. I’m waiting at the corner street between her car and the entrance.”

“Good. Let me know when…”

“Shit, they’re coming out!” Bardil sounds excited.

I fall silent, listening intently.

Between sniffling sounds, Bardil’s grunts, and the occasional spoken update, I follow along as he stalks Nikita toward her car. In the distance, I hear female voices, “See you at the bar, order me a Sherbet Glitter if you get there before me.”

“It’s her,” Bardil whispers.

My heart beats faster, my skin tingling with anticipation.

Bardil’s breathing changes; everything goes quieter.

Without realizing it, I’m also holding my breathe. The food on the dining room table next to me is untouched.

A sharp scream pierces through the earpiece, and I wince.

It’s cut off, and Bardil growls something I can’t make out.

A car door slams, banging, another scream, but muffled.

“I have her, she’s in the trunk, we’re on the way,” Bardil snarls, as tires skid against tar.

“Come straight here,” I demand.

“See you in fifteen minutes.”

Standing up, I’m grinning, unable to believe it’s finally happening.

I grab my phone and dial my lawyer.

“Mr. Killian, you can come around this evening with those papers I had you prepare for me,” I say, unable to hide the excited edge to my voice.

“I’m just finishing up at another client, then I’ll come to you,” he replies curtly. “I’m not sure how long this will take.”

“Thank you, it doesn’t matter what time it is, just come here after,” I say, before ending the call.

I want to get the marriage documents signed tonight. No matter how late he comes over, I just want it done.

Pacing in the foyer, my eyes are on the open front door, eager for Bardil’s arrival.

When his car lights shine down near the front gate, I force myself to take a deep breath, slow down, and focus. My adrenaline is on its own mission, though.

Bardil parks at the bottom of the steps, and I watch him climb out of the car and walk around to the trunk.

“She put up a pretty decent fight,” Bardil says, sounding impressed. “I tied her hands but didn’t have time to get her feet too.”

“Let’s get her inside as quickly as possible,” I reply.

Bardil tugs the trunk open, and I hear a scream from her and a grunt from Bardil as she kicks him in the chest.

There is a tussle that ends with her being flung over his shoulder. He’s shaking his head as he walks toward me, up the steps to the front door.

“Like I said. She’s a fighter,” he grumbles.

I lead the way into the living room and gesture for him to put her on the sofa.

While he’s doing so, I start talking.

“You’ll find that things will go a lot smoother if you do as you’re told,” I tell her.

Bardil steps away, and my eyes fall onto the beautiful girl sitting in front of me, bewildered, angry, her hair a wild mess around her face, and her eyes piercing daggers into me.

It’s not Nikita Abashin.

Anger spikes through me like venom, and I grab Bardil’s arm to pull him to the side. In hushed tones, I growl, “That’s Stefania Shevchenko, not Nikita Abashin!”

“Fuck,” Bardil mutters.

“Fuck? Are you kidding me? You took the wrong girl, and all you can say is fuck?” I whisper harshly.

I should never have trusted him with this. It’s so typical of my brother to fuck up something so fucking simple.

My heart is beating a million miles an hour. My head is swimming with thoughts. But it’s too late now. I still have to go ahead with the same plan. It’s not like I can just send her home with an apology.