The Russian’s Unwilling Bride (Lukov Bratva #3)

Chapter 1 - Sergey

I’ve already lost count of how many drinks I’ve had tonight, and it’s not even midnight. Frankly, I don’t care.

Bass carries through the club low enough for the vibrations to move through my feet. I swirl the whiskey in my glass lazily while I watch everyone outside of the mezzanine lounge.

They’re doing the usual—dancing, grinding, drinking our overpriced drinks, and enjoying every second of it.

They use these nights as their escape from everyday life, and if I were to guess, I’d say it’s a rare thing for them. They dance like they have nothing to lose in this moment, like they’ll never get the chance to again.

But for me, this is all too common.

It doesn’t matter that it’s a Thursday night. I function on my own time, and if I feel like drinking before the week is up, then I sure as hell will. It’s not like I have a wife or kids waiting for me at home. I don’t have anyone waiting for me, and that freedom always feels good.

Sipping from my glass, I study the clientele, checking out who has blown in this time. There are some pretty things in the crowd, but none that catch my attention right away. They all look standard to me...run-of-the-mill. Nothing too exciting.

Of course, if all else fails, there are dancers here who never say no to a night with a Lukov. It’s a tempting thought.

“Sergey.”

Roman’s voice reaches me through the low rumble of music and laughter, slicing at my attention from behind my armchair. I close my eyes, trying to push down my immediate irritation at being interrupted.

Even while in one of his clubs with everyone here ready to bend over backward to please him, he sounds like he’s preparing to give orders in a war room instead.

I don’t turn right away to make him wait, sighing out a breath.

Part of me wants to tell him not to disturb my night. To leave me be and talk to me after I’ve sobered up tomorrow. But knowing it’s the booze talking, I push that idea to the side and spin my chair around to face him.

Roman has spent most of my life seeing me like some kind of family mascot. Like I’m good for a laugh or a distraction, and maybe a bit of muscle when things get tough, but never the guy who gets sent out to make real moves.

He and Mikhail handle the tough business. Hell, even Nikolai and Ivan get to crack their fair share of skulls.

When I glance up, I find Roman watching me from across the VIP section. His jaw is tight, and he doesn’t look like a man here to enjoy his night.

“What?” I ask, voice carrying enough resignation to make his teeth clench.

“Get over here.”

Sighing again, I grumble under my breath before throwing back the rest of my whiskey and pushing up from the leather seat.

To my left, just outside of the lounge, I catch a few girls glancing at me, and I have half the mind to forget all about my brother and head straight to them. But I don’t do more than let a smirk tug at my lips.

They’ll still be here later, but Roman likely won’t.

As I reach him, Mikhail moves from behind with his phone in hand, then Ivan and Nikolai follow, eyes flicking over the crowd before looking at me. They surround me, but none of them get comfortable.

“Looks like a party now, huh?” I say with a lazy grin.

“We’re not planning on staying long,” Roman says, tone even while he focuses on me. “Since you weren’t answering your phone, we decided to come to you.”

“How chivalrous of you,” I murmur back, gesturing vaguely to him. “Let me guess, you’re here to scold me. Or, this is some kind of intervention.”

He doesn’t even crack a smile. “This isn’t a joke, Sergey.”

I clap a hand against his shoulder, feeling sluggish through the simple movement. “It never is with you, brother.”

His hard expression betrays just how unimpressed he is with me, and he takes a moment before ignoring my comment and continuing.

“While you’ve been here fucking around, the rest of us have been handling things.

There have been three major hits—along with even more minor ones—on our fronts in the last few months.

Warehouses, shipments, and even one of the casinos. ”

“So I heard,” I mumble with a shrug. “Everyone has heard. Maybe someone new is trying to break out onto the scene.”

“Or maybe someone’s trying to pull us into a war we aren’t prepared to face,” Mikhail adds, looking just as reserved as Roman.

“Regardless, we can’t have this. Which is why we’re trying to nip it before the problem gets worse.” Roman says, leaving no room for debate. “After everything went down with Maxim and Igor, these hits are too suspicious to ignore.”

Glancing between them, I’m well aware of how serious something like this is, even through my buzz. “What, are you thinking it’s the Balakins?”

Roman nods once. “We don’t have proof yet, but it lines up. Igor had a son, and we know full well that when you cut a pakhan down, a son is quick to take his place.”

“And if he has taken up the mantle?”

“Then we cut his legs out from under him before he has the chance to make any significant progress in the city. They’re New York rats…they don’t belong here.”

Mikhail crosses his arms and leans against the half wall beside him. “What remains of the Balakin ranks would’ve been sent into chaos after we devastated them and Igor. And now, we can only assume Yuri has filled those shoes and is trying to strengthen that empire again.”

That’s easy enough to believe.

A moment of silence lingers between us, and I watch how Roman’s expression doesn’t falter for even a moment.

“Alright…so why did you come here personally to tell me this?” I ask, not seeing how this is an urgent matter. “This sounds like something Mikhail or Nikolai would handle.”

Roman’s gaze sharpens. “Because they already have their jobs. And yours is to keep an eye on Katya.”

My eye nearly twitches. “The Balakin girl?”

“Yes. She’s in Brooklyn, and that’s where you’re heading.”

A note of incredulity enters my words. “You want me to go across the country to babysit her?”

“Surveil her,” he corrects.

“It’s the same thing.”

“She’s Igor’s daughter, and if the Balakins are behind this, then she could be useful. She might even be involved. But regardless, we need to know what her angle is and if she’s a potential threat,” Mikhail comments, using his own authority.

“And you’re sending me to do it?” I scoff, shaking my head while I gesture to the others. “You probably have one of them keeping tabs on Yuri. Someone else infiltrating their trade, and I’m assuming Nikolai will be breaking some noses. And I’m the one being sent to watch some girl?”

Roman sighs. “Sergey—”

“I’m being serious,” I utter, cutting him off. “Do you want me to make sure she leaves the house okay? Braid her hair, maybe take her shopping while I’m at it?”

Roman’s jaw clenches again, but his tone stays even. “I don’t care what the hell you do as long as we have eyes on her. You’ll blend in better than the rest of us. She won’t suspect you.”

“So, in other words, I’m the one you think is useless enough to waste on this job.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Maybe not, but it’s what you meant,” I mumble, unsure of just how much the alcohol is talking in this moment.

Roman pulls in a deep breath like he’s holding himself back from snapping, but Mikhail puts a hand on his shoulder before he has the chance, keeping his eyes on me.

“This isn’t about proving anything or snubbing anyone,” he begins, tone vaguely gentler than before. “It’s about figuring out what the Balakins are planning before they strike. Keeping tabs on the girl is part of it. Do this right, and maybe you’ll get more jobs that seem worthwhile in your eyes.”

I furrow my brows at him. “More what? Babysitting assignments?”

Roman’s gaze hardens. “Sergey. Enough.”

Holding his stare for a long beat, I want to argue. I want to continue pushing my luck just to make a point, but I know how this will end. Roman always gets his way, as is always the case for someone in his position.

Biting back the other words threatening to spill, I take a breath.

“Fine,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “I’ll play little spy for now, but don’t expect me to thank you for the privilege.”

A humorless chuckle escapes him. “You’ll thank me that it wasn’t worse when the assignment is over.”

“I doubt it.”

The others shake their heads and sigh while I turn and walk away, unwilling to remain in that conversation any longer.

A quiet voice in the back of my mind tells me to stay back and listen to more of what they have planned or what is ahead of us, but I can’t force myself to stay there.

Instead, the whiskey in my stomach feels heavier now as I return to my spot, not caring about how long my brothers linger nearby.

The night doesn’t feel as carefree or spontaneous as it had before Roman dragged me into his plans.

The thought of being put on babysitting duty feels like a slap to the face, whether my brothers want to acknowledge it or not. Even more so, considering who my target is.

I’m not worried about watching over Katya. If I know anything about most daughters in our world, she’ll be nothing more than a spoiled brat who is likely more than happy that her dad’s gone. His money will be more accessible to her than ever before, so long as Yuri doesn’t have a tight hold on it.

And now I’m supposed to keep my eyes on her like she’s the most important link in all of this. As if she is some kind of threat.

I wholeheartedly doubt it.

Worst of all, Roman decided this is where my skills should be placed. Where I’ll excel best.

Grabbing a drink from a passing tray, I drain it fast and ignore the burn.

By the time I glance back to where my family had been, I find the space empty. I let go of a heavy breath and focus on everything else around me instead.

A group of young women dancing some distance away laugh and smile together, almost drawing the club’s attention to them. There’s a brunette with them that catches my eye as she smiles at me, performing an obvious once-over of me. But I don’t move toward her.

I should be enjoying myself tonight. This is my scene, after all. There’s music, expensive drinks, and more than enough pretty women. But I can only think about how Roman looked at me like I was still a kid incapable of handling the simplest task.

Babysitting. That’s what this is.

Fine…if Roman wants me to watch the Balakin girl, then I will. But I’ll do it my way.

And hopefully, this assignment won’t be as boring as I expect.