Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #15)

Chapter 1 —Ravyn

This was exactly the kind of gathering that I hated, honestly: one that required me to wear a gown and a polite smile. I had to play the role of the poised, perfect girlfriend just to impress my powerful, handsome boyfriend, Viktor.

I never wanted to be here tonight, because these gatherings were constant reminders of the life I was running away from. The place reeked of wealth and power, the aroma of champagne blending seamlessly with the rich scent of perfumes and colognes.

The soft hum of conversations filled the air, accompanied by the occasional clinking of glasses. Guests, dressed to impress, hung around in small groups, their faces lit up with smiles—a good number of which were plastic. Like mine.

I stood beside my boyfriend, Viktor, fingers locked in his, pretending to listen to his dumb friends as they spoke with enthusiasm. Those idiots, two boys and two girls, had nothing valuable to talk about except their designer clothes and expensive accessories.

For the past ten minutes or so, none of them had said anything about their achievements within the last few months. Nothing productive or clever. No plans for the future whatsoever.

All these bird-brained assholes did was brag about their parents’ money and how they weren’t getting enough allowance to spend on vacations and redundant accessories.

I wasn’t a party pooper; I wasn’t that uptight either.

It just always bothered me when I met young boys and girls with no goals or ambition other than spending Daddy’s money.

Being born into a family of affluence was a privilege, and these folks didn’t even understand how lucky they were.

And instead of focusing on building their lives with this opportunity granted to them, they’d rather live a lavish lifestyle—party all day and do hard drugs.

I was not a saint, nor was I a hypocrite. I just despised lazy people, especially those who thought the world revolved around them because of their family status.

Sometimes, I wondered why I was different, seeing that I was born with the same privileges as these guys. My father was richer and more important in society than all of Viktor’s friends’ families put together.

Yet, I loved to lie low and do my thing away from my family’s wealth and power. My father built a life, his empire, all by himself, and that was the same mindset that kept me going.

In all honesty, I’d rather brag about the little change I made from my fashion design than tie myself to Daddy’s money. Where was the dignity in that?

Fashion design had been my major in college, and it was paying my bills. I loved making dresses and getting paid for it. In the eyes of many, this was nothing but petty change. But it was my money. Mine. An exchange for a service that I provided. And I was super proud of it.

“Don’t you think so, babe?” Viktor’s words cut through my thoughts like a knife.

Snapped back to reality, I was totally confused, unaware of what the hell they had been talking about for the past three to five minutes.

“Huh?” I looked at him, eyes slightly widened, confused.

“The new club downtown,” one of the two boys said to me, his flirtatious gaze sweeping over my body. “We have got to check it out.” His lips curled into a rather disturbing smirk.

My face contorted into a faint scowl, triggered by the lust flickering in his eyes.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” one of the girls said to me, her voice soft and polite. “Your dress—where’d you get it? Did you order it online or buy it in-store?”

“This?” I glanced down at the emerald spaghetti-strapped gown that clung to me like a second skin. “Oh, uh…I made it myself.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, awe dancing in her gaze. “Shut the door!”

My lips curled into a self-satisfied grin.

“OMG. I love it.” She reached out, gesturing at the fabric. “Can I?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Always happy to meet a fan of my work.

She felt the material’s quality and squinted, as if admiring the intricate patterns woven into the fabric. “My God, the details on this….” She glanced up at my face. “You’re so talented.”

“Thank you,” I said, a glint of pride creeping into my tone.

Nothing beat the joy of a genuine compliment over a job well done.

“Viktor, you, my friend, are such a lucky bastard,” said one of the boys, and the others burst out laughing.

“Of course.” He chuckled, swinging his arm over my shoulders. “She’s exceptional in more ways than you can imagine.”

Again, they laughed. Except for one—the other girl, who seemed overwhelmed with jealousy.

“It’s just a simple dress,” she said, glancing at me. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it. Anyone can make that.” Her gaze shifted to the girl who had complimented my work earlier. “Right, Eren?”

Eren shook her head. “Hell no. Can you not see the design and the amount of details on that ‘simple dress’?” She air-quoted the phrase.

“Jessica’s just jealous. Pay no attention to her,” said the guy with the flirtatious gaze.

“Fuck you, Simon,” she snarled, casting him an evil eye.

He lifted his glass to his lips and murmured, “Yeah, you wish.”

It was funny how he effortlessly shut her up. And although I hated how he looked at me earlier, I liked how he put this Jessica girl in her place.

I was used to demeaning remarks from jealous girls like Jessica. And the crazy part was, girls like that had no real skills at all—just endless criticism. This wasn’t my first encounter with her kind, and unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be my last.

Amid the chatter of friends and Viktor’s relentless praise, a figure in the crowd caught my eye across the room.

Clad in a charcoal suit that blended with the darkness of a corner, his gaze was so intense it momentarily took my breath away.

His face was shrouded in shadows, his broad shoulders emphasizing his rugged build.

The figure was tall, with an intimidating presence and a stare that held me in place.

My heart skipped a beat, spooked by the dark energy flowing through my body—yet drawn to it at the same time.

With one hand buried in his pocket, the figure cradled a champagne flute in the other, poised and majestic.

Viktor leaned in and whispered softly in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Look at that peacock. I bet his watch is faker than his smile.”

“Probably borrowed both from his mistress,” Jessica chipped in, laughing.

I took my gaze off the figure and traced their eyes to a man across the room, dripping in gold chains. He was a guest like the rest of us, and in my opinion, his smile was even more authentic than most I’d seen so far.

Fun fact about Viktor: He was a douche sometimes. Well, most of the time, if I was being honest. And with friends like this, it was no wonder he was such an idiot.

I was dating an idiot—a spoiled little brat who always got what he wanted and bullied whoever he felt like. I knew deep down that I shouldn’t be with him, especially because we were cut from different cloth.

Jessica was his type: tall, gorgeous, arrogant, and stupid. She was the perfect definition of a bimbo. They were more alike than they cared to admit, and sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something fishy going on between them. However, I’d never given it much thought.

Viktor and I were from two separate worlds; we saw the world through two different lenses. We weren’t compatible, and I wasn’t exactly sure why I was still with him. My friend Blair believed I was wasting my time with him; she’d told me several times to break it off and move on.

I couldn’t just do that; I needed an excuse to leave and never turned around.

But Viktor was careful not to give me one.

As arrogant and annoying as he was, he wasn’t disrespectful to me.

He always listened to me, apologized when he was wrong, and claimed I was turning him into a better version of himself.

Maybe the reason I hadn’t left was because I thought I could change him—make him more responsible. But the more I tried to fix him, the more these idiot friends of his frustrated my efforts.

My eyes accidentally flicked back to the figure, and the second he stepped out of the shadows, my heart sank into my chest.

It was him. Lev Tarasov. Viktor’s older brother.

His name carried its own weight, whispered in the criminal underworld. He was in the Mafia, and that made him dangerous.

Blair thought the reason I hadn’t left Viktor was because of his relation to the Russian gang known as the Bratva, a faction of which was headed by Lev Tarasov. His brother.

Even though Lev Tarasov scared the shit out of me, he wasn’t the reason I was still Viktor.

Our eyes met in a split second, and his cold gaze sent shivers down my spine. His dark hair, slightly tousled, complemented his black suit. His eyes, pale and expressionless, looked silver under the lights.

His neatly trimmed beard caught my attention, drawing me in like a moth to a flame. He didn’t look away, and somehow, I didn’t either. Couldn’t, actually. It was like I was frozen in place.

When I finally got a grip on myself, I cleared my throat and excused myself from this toxic group.

“Where’re you going?” Viktor called after me.

“To get some air,” I answered without turning back.

Jessica was saying something crude about my sudden exit, but I didn’t listen. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I slowly weaved through the crowd. Before long, I found myself on a balcony overlooking the vast compound below.

My fingers wrapped around the polished railing, and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. The night air was cool, carrying the sweet scent of fresh flowers from the garden below. I exhaled softly, feeling the gentle breeze on my skin.

I rolled my neck in a massaging motion, struggling to calm my racing heart. How could a man’s stare be so cold and lifeless? How did he put the fear of God in me without even trying?

“You shouldn’t be here,” a deep, husky voice spoke from behind me.

I almost flinched at the sudden presence, and my breath hitched in my throat. The voice was unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew he was standing right behind me.

Fuck.

I could hear my heart racing in my slowly heaving chest. My hands trembled, and I had to blink a few times to regain composure.

Quietly, I turned around, my back against the railing as I held his gaze. Fear wasn’t something I wanted him to see in me. No.

“Why is that?” I asked, looking right into those pale, hollow eyes. “This is a party, isn’t it?”

“It’s a fundraiser. Not a party,” he said. “And you’re not supposed to be here.”

I locked my jaw, trying so hard to mask my terror. My throat was dry all of a sudden, making it difficult to swallow.

Again, he wasn’t going to see me scared.

My brows furrowed, expression darkening by a whisper. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”

He paused for a second, staring at me as though he found my statement rather ridiculous. “You’re a girl.” He took a step closer. “This is no place for you.”

My scowl grew deeper as I narrowed my eyes at him. At this point, I was confused, unsure whether this was a threat or some twisted concern.

His gaze swept over my body, then lingered on my face a little longer. I stared back at him, refusing to look away until he broke eye contact and picked up his pace.

I watched him return to the hall with slow, measured footsteps—graceful and majestic.

It wasn’t until he was out of sight that I realized I’d been holding my breath this whole time.

A heavy sigh of relief fell from my lips as I held on to the railing for support.

My knees were weak from the encounter, and my heart was threatening to jump out of my chest, even with the palm placed over it.

Did I just have a short conversation with the devil? Why was I spooked and terrified?

For the rest of the evening, I was unsettled, barely able to stay focused on anything. Even when Viktor laughed too loudly and sang my praises, I still found my eyes wandering the hall as if searching for something in particular. Someone, maybe.

I hated how my thoughts kept drifting back to Lev Tarasov: his looks, the sound of his voice, and the bad energy that oozed out of him. I told myself it was wariness, not curiosity, that kept pulling me back to him.

At the end of the gala, I left with Viktor, and although Lev was gone, he’d left a mark on me. His presence followed me home like a shadow, a ghost I couldn’t get rid of.

For my sake, I hoped we would never cross paths again.