Owned Bratva Bride (Yezhov Bratva #9)

Chapter 1 – Marielle

“Those traffic lights exist for a reason, you know?” I asked Kat.

“Rules are meant to be broken,” she chuckled, focusing on the road in front of her and ignoring the scolding look I sent her way.

If I were being honest, considering the quiet stretch of road, I had expected her to run the red light—and she did.

Katria’s natural dislike for following the crowd explained why she was the closest thing I had to a best friend.

But, in things like these, she was more daring than I could ever be.

Daring enough to call a professor’s bluff during a lecture when we were in college.

Daring enough to rock the direct opposite of our college graduation dress code and get away with it.

“I’m tired of you,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, you say that every time….” She turned to face me, narrowing her eyes. “You’ll never be rid of me, baby.”

Kat’s green eyes were a striking forest green that made you want to look again. Unlike my honey brown ones that were, well…just normal. No, I’m not jealous of my best friend’s gorgeousness; I mean, not every time. We were two unique, beautiful people.

She was two inches taller than my 5’6" height, and my long, wavy, blonde hair contrasted her dark auburn curls. While my curves stood out despite my small body frame, Kat’s slender figure was highlighted by soft curves.

“Watch me,” I bluffed.

She opened her mouth to say something when her phone’s ringtone overshadowed the low music playing through her car radio.

“James,” she breathed.

She didn’t need to say any more.

James was our mutual friend. We had always assumed he was closer to Kat because they worked at the same place. Little did we know.

“Do you have any intention of talking to him ever?”

“Of course,” she answered. “I just can’t deal with him now. It’s all so…I don’t know, crazy.”

“Too crazy for you? Who would have thought?”

“Shut up,” she remarked, half-rolling her eyes.

“Real talk, though: What’s so crazy about it? He’s your friend, and now he wants more.”

“That’s the exact problem. He’s my friend!”

“I get that it might be a bit weird, but it’s not—” I started before she interrupted.

“It’s more than ‘a bit weird,’ Marielle. I choked on my drink when he went, ‘Kat, I have strong feelings for you.’”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter.

In spite of herself, she joined me.

“Okay, it’s weird. But you can’t run away from him because of that,” I pointed out. “How do you feel about what he said? I mean, aside from it being awkward because he’s our friend.”

“James is a player,” she huffed. “I can already see how awkward things would be when he sticks it in me and moves on to his next girl. I don’t know about him, but I know it’ll be awkward for me. And I know it’ll be awkward for you, too.”

“I could call you a player, too.”

“What? Are you on his side?” she questioned, glancing at me.

“Nope. My point is, you’re in and out of relationships because you’ve not found anyone worth committing to. And we both know James doesn’t date because he doesn’t have more than a physical attraction with anyone. He tells us these things, Kat.”

“So what? You think I might be the one he’ll eventually commit to?”

“Yes! Why do you make it sound so ridiculous?”

“It is ridiculous.”

“I think you’re just holding back because of the what-ifs you have in your head.”

“Oh…and they aren’t valid what-ifs?”

“You can’t be sure yet. You’ve not had a conversation about it with him. I mean an adult conversation where none of you is running home.”

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

I chuckled.

“You have to hear him out. It’s not cool to leave him hanging. Text him, meet up, and talk. If he was lying about being in love with you since forever, you’d know. Forget the what-ifs, girl.”

“I’m guessing this new forget-the-what-ifs philosophy is why you’re now hanging with Mr. Mysterious, yeah?”

By Mr. Mysterious, my friend referred to the man who invited me to the art showcase she was driving me to.

“Lucien. His name is Lucien Navarro,” I corrected, smiling.

“Lucien, huh? That guy seems like bad news, Marielle.”

Kat and Lucien’s first and only meeting had been enough for her to notice the powerful and dangerous air around him. And, as always, she wasn’t wrong.

What she didn’t realize, however, was that I relished the feeling of all that power and mystery focused on me. She didn’t understand that I loved how he treated me.

“No arguments, there. But that’s kinda why I like him,” I revealed, grinning.

“You kidding?”

“Just a long overdue change,” I answered, shrugging. “I’ve been good for too long. I’m unleashing the fearless vixen in me, baby. I just want something…unpredictable, you know? Maybe a teeny weeny bit dangerous.”

“Dangerous doesn’t give her number to a stranger she met at a rooftop bar. Dangerous winds up in court.”

“Gee, thanks. I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

“Seriously, be careful. If things get shady, bail immediately.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I’m not laughing with you. I won’t rush down from Spain to identify your body.”

“Enough with the morbid talk. It’s not like I have a death wish. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You’d better.”

“That’s the building,” I disclosed, pointing.

“O…kay,” she drawled, switching lanes.

I put my phone in my black glittery purse and zipped it up.

Kat slowed down as she slid onto the street, parking beside the large brick building.

“So…enjoy your family trip. Drink something out of a coconut, skinny dip, and take lots of pictures,” I told her, undoing my seatbelt.

I leaned in to hug her, and her hand wrapped tightly around me.

“Be safe,” she warned again as she released me.

“I promise,” I assured, chuckling as I opened the door. “And you have to promise to have that talk with James before you leave for Spain.”

“Whatever. Bye!”

“Bye!” I answered, shutting the passenger door.

The soft evening breeze blew the asymmetric hem of my red silk dress as I turned sideways toward the front of what turned out to be a warehouse.

The atmosphere shift was palpable as I set foot in the interior of the building. It felt like another world—a dark, decadent, yet intriguing world. Despite being awash with neon and velvet, the whispers of power could be heard in the warehouse.

Just as I got to the velvet rope, I heard Lucien’s smooth voice.

“There you are, darling,” he uttered, his bright blue eyes raking over me.

Dressed in a grey suit and black trousers, he looked elegant. His black hair shone in the light as he crossed the small distance between us.

“You look lovely,” he stated, smiling as he moved to kiss my cheek; it was always the cheeks. Another charming thing I liked about him. It probably came with the older man package.

“Thanks. You look good, too.”

“I try.”

From his wrist, heavy with a Cartier tank, to his expensive-looking suit, he did more than just ‘try.’ His charming face and tall, smart 6’0” frame made it hard to believe he was a decade older than me.

“Come with me.”

He emphasized his instruction with his Cartier-laden hand on my lower back.

Like predatory birds, models in metallic silk swept by exposed brick pillars. There were more suit-clad men around than women. The small crowd of attendees didn’t look laid-back, as one might expect at a typical art show. Everyone seemed to be immersed in serious business.

“Art curator, hm? This isn’t just an art show, is it?” I asked as we stopped moving.

Lucien’s smile was faint and sharp as he turned to face me.

“Let’s call it unofficial business,” was his reply. He signaled to one of the servers and took two glasses of champagne from the tray, handing me one.

“Thanks.”

“The pleasure is all mine, darling. I’m the most fortunate man here to have a muse like yourself in my company.”

I couldn’t stop my smile as I took another sip of my champagne.

He turned his attention to two bulky men dressed in black suits. They had to be bodyguards. As quickly as he turned to talk to them, his attention was back on me.

“Gotta keep everything under control,” he explained.

“Of course,” I agreed. “So, what’s this unofficial business? I mean, you said you were in logistics, and now this is an art show you’re curating.”

I half-expected him to evade the question. After all, I wasn’t so naive to think an enigmatic man like him talked freely about his business to every lady he went out with.

That explained my surprise when he moved closer and asked, “Remember what I told you about running a blackmail ring through socialites last week?”

“Yes. You said to disregard it. You were drunk.”

“I believe you know whatever you learn here isn’t to get out under any circumstances,” he warned, his tone grave.

“Of course.”

He nodded.

“I was drunk. But it’s not untrue,” he disclosed, jerking his chin toward the attendees. “Many of them are the socialites I was talking about.”

I’d be lying if I said his confession didn’t make me uncomfortable in a way. But I wasn’t scared of him. I knew he had a dangerous side from the first time we met; now I was just a bit more curious.

“I don’t understand. If they’d been blackmailed by you, why are they here for your art show? Aren’t they supposed to be your enemies?” Then a realization struck me. “They don’t know you’re their blackmailer?”

I caught the bodyguards’ glances in our direction, but none of them looked directly at my face.

“It’s not about the secrecy. They’re here for different reasons, but on the surface, they’re just attending an art show like any other. In their search for answers, they’ll reveal things to the wrong people.”

“By wrong people, you mean your people?”

He shrugged in response. “None of them know the other person is being blackmailed. Besides, some of them haven’t been blackmailed yet.”

“Poor socialites,” I mumbled sarcastically, emptying my drink.

He chuckled as he took my glass and passed it to one of the bodyguards.

“Now I think I get why you always move with bodyguards,” I commented.

“Darling, you have no idea.”

That smooth smile was on his face again.