Savage Reign (Bratva Kings #2)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Five Years Earlier

SOFIYA

Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

But not mine. Today feels more like a living nightmare than a dream.

A strangled sob rips from my throat as a guard shoves me into the backseat of the Jeep.

“Shut up, will you? It’s a wedding, not a funeral.”

I almost laugh at the bitter irony. I wish it were a funeral—my own. I’m being forced to marry a monster, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

The vehicle lurches forward, and I press my hand against the window, my gaze locked on the farmhouse that’s been our prison since yesterday. My older sister, Liza, just as helpless as I am, is still somewhere inside.

A day ago, everything was different. I was a typical seventeen-year-old in Moscow, attending boarding school, hanging out with friends, and acting in the school play. My world was predictable—boring, even.

I was living in a bubble, naively believing that nothing could touch me or the people I loved. Yesterday, that illusion shattered when my sister’s fiancé, Anatoly Petrovich—the man I had believed to be her Prince Charming—abducted Liza and me and flew us here, to some foreign country.

While we were locked together in the farmhouse, Liza finally revealed the secret she’d been hiding. Anatoly isn’t a prince; he’s an abusive predator. The only reason she stayed with him was that our selfish parents forced her to. My father had gambled away our family fortune, and without Anatoly—heir to a shipping empire—covering our expenses, we would have been out on the streets.

But Anatoly isn’t the clean-cut businessman he pretends to be. My sister said he secretly formed a partnership with the Zhukov Bratva, a small but brutal organized crime outfit from St. Petersburg. Along with its leader, Sergey Zhukov, they plan on uniting their business interests.

That’s why we’re here. I’m being forced to wed Sergey, a virtual stranger, while Liza is expected to marry Anatoly. They want to bind their empires together through our bloodlines. In this world, family connections mean everything.

My hands tremble as I grasp the white lace of the wedding dress, the fabric sticking to my back, damp with sweat. I choke back useless tears as we race along sun-soaked mountain roads. The Jeep jerks to a halt in front of a small, whitewashed chapel, its entrance patrolled by half a dozen armed guards.

One of them yanks my door open, and clamps his hand around my upper arm, wrenching me from the vehicle. For one desperate moment, I consider running. But where? I wouldn’t get far surrounded by all these men.

Another man steps up, giving me a once-over like I’m an object on display. “Cuff her. Then send her in.” He smirks. “Her groom wants a taste before the ceremony.”

Panic seizes my lungs as my hands are secured by zip ties in front of my body, and I’m pulled inside the chapel. For one merciful second, I think it’s empty, but then I see him—a lone figure, seated in the front pew.

I stand stock-still. Small windows allow in little light, leaving only the soft glow of candles at the front to illuminate the space. The air is thick with incense, and it’s not doing my already anxious gut any favors.

This place has probably hosted many happy celebrations, but this won’t be one of them. It’ll be the exact opposite.

When he stands and turns, the breath is stolen from my lungs. Because the man walking toward me is not Sergey Zhukov.

I know because I met him a few weeks ago when Anatoly took me out for dinner with some of his business associates. At the time, I had no idea who Sergey really was. He looked like a respectable businessman with pressed designer suits and neatly trimmed dark hair.

This man doesn't bother hiding his savagery: a shaved head, an eyebrow ring, and dark tattoos coiling out from under the crisp collar of his tux. One tattoo, a star encircled by thorny vines, catches my eye. His features are beautiful yet unforgiving, with a rugged jaw, sharp cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.

With his every step toward me, I take an automatic step in the other direction.

“Stop,” he commands, but I can’t. It’s only when my back hits the wall and there’s nowhere else for me to go that I still.

“I see you don’t follow orders very well,” he purrs. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. Guess you’ve figured out I’m not Sergey?”

I nod, slowly. About all I can do.

“I’m Nikolai Zhukov. Sergey’s older brother. I’m working with Roman and other members of the Belov Syndicate to free you and your sister.”

I stare at him blankly, trying to process this information. The Belov Syndicate is the country’s most powerful Bratva, and Roman Vasiliev is one of its leaders. He’s also the man Liza’s in love with. When we were taken, she was about to leave Anatoly for Roman. But he’s dead—murdered by Anatoly’s goons earlier today.

“Y-you think I’ll believe that?” I stammer. “I know Roman is dead.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “That’s what we wanted Anatoly to believe. He’s not dead—Sergey is. I killed him myself.”

My face drains of color. What kind of man kills his own brother only to partner with a rival bratva? I shake my head. “Why would you be working with the Syndicate?”

“That’s a long story, and we don’t have time for it. The important piece is, I just got out of jail to find out Sergey had partnered with Anatoly. While I was locked up, they started a side business in sex trafficking.” He frowns, his jaw tightening. “It was something we swore never to touch, but Sergey got real good at breaking his word.”

Liza said they were into dark deeds, but sex trafficking? That’s sickening.

“My brother was a piece of shit that didn’t deserve to live,” he continues. “That mudak was going to marry you today… a seventeen-year-old.” His jaw hardens as he scans the chapel. “Roman and others are rescuing Liza from the farmhouse, which means we have to kill some time here before they can provide us with backup. There’s one guard too many for me to take out on my own.”

“Why should I trust a word you say?” I huff. He’s a cold-blooded killer, not exactly a man of his word.

He tips my chin up so I can’t look anywhere else but at him. “You don’t have a choice. These guards are mercenaries. Anatoly hired outside help for this job, which means they don’t know what Sergey looks like, and they believe I’m him. In a few minutes, a priest is going to walk through those doors, and we will be expected to marry.”

Anxiety claws at my throat. “We have to get… married?”

“We have to go through the motions so the guards believe everything’s going according to plan. It also means I have to act the part—brutal and ruthless.” He cocks his head, studying my reaction. “I’m here to protect you, but I can only do that if you play along. Do you understand?”

I understand what he’s saying, but do I trust him? No. Except, like he said, I don’t have a choice.

The door swings open, and a terrified-looking priest is marched toward us by one of the hulking mercenaries. In a blink, Nikolai’s demeanor changes. His back snaps straight, his stare grows cold, and he wears a callous smile.

“I was playing with my bride-to-be. But if the priest is here, let’s get this over with so I can enjoy the real prize.” His eyes drink me in, flashing with hunger.

Dread snakes through me. Is this the real Nikolai, or is he only playing the part as he claimed? When the guard’s attention turns toward the priest, Nikolai’s gaze softens, and his thumb brushes over my cheekbone.

The rest of the men trail in, and Nikolai frowns. “She needs to be cut free. I'm not marrying a woman in zip ties.”

One of them reaches for me, but Nikolai steps between us. “You don’t get to touch what’s mine,” he growls. The guard produces a knife, which Nikolai snatches from him.

My hands tremble as Nikolai carefully slices through the heavy plastic, freeing me from the bonds. He pulls me against his body and announces, “Are you ready to get married, my little mouse? Don’t look so scared. I promise to be gentle… at first.”

Snickers fill the room, and my blood runs cold. I’m in the company of predators—the kind who enjoy watching others suffer.

“Gentlemen,” Nikolai addresses the guards. “I require everyone to witness this holy union. Sit and watch.” He points to the pews.

They exchange looks as if this is the strangest thing anyone has ever asked of them.

“What’s the fucking holdup?” Nikolai snaps. “All of you, sit the fuck down. This is my wedding, and we’re doing it my way.”

His authoritative voice has them scrambling into place. Half a dozen guards sink into the pews, our reluctant guests.

“Y-you sign marriage certificate first,” the priest stammers in broken English, gesturing toward a small desk beside the altar.

Nikolai grabs me by the wrist, shoving me toward the desk. He doesn’t read it, just adds his signature at the bottom.

“Sign it.” He thrusts the pen at me and jabs his finger beside the line that requires my signature.

My hand freezes. Could this make our union real? The idea is so horrifying that the pen drops and clatters to the floor. I leave it there, my limbs frozen.

Nikolai reaches down to pick it up before forcing it back into my hand. “I said, fucking sign it. Are you stupid?”

Another round of harsh laughter fills the small space. Either Nikolai is a top-notch actor, or he actually has no soul. The jury is still out.

I draw my shoulders back and put pen to paper, adding my signature. The ink is barely dry on the paper when Nikolai hauls me back in front of the priest, and the ceremony starts. I don’t understand a word of what the priest is saying because it’s in another language, Greek, I’m pretty sure, although I can tell he’s stuttering and losing his place more than he should. Like me, he’s clearly not here willingly.

As the priest chants, the guards shuffle in their seats, distracted, but Nikolai isn’t. His attention locks on me, studying every detail of my face like he’s committing it to memory.

As much as I’m scared for myself, my mind drifts back to Liza. Is she okay? Is Roman really alive, as Nikolai claims? Can he save her? Is Nikolai really who he says he is, or will this end with me in a worse situation than I’m already in?

And then it’s the part where we say, “I do.” Nikolai says it first—those two words carry more weight than they should. I have to say it now, but when I open my mouth, the words get stuck in my throat.

Say it, Sofiya, and be done with it.

What does it matter anyhow? Everything in my life has already gone up in flames. “I do.”

Nikolai grasps my hand, his touch warmer than I expected, and slides a gold band onto my finger. He doesn’t look at me as he picks up the second ring, slipping it onto his own finger, his attention shifting briefly to the guards.

My gaze drops to the ring. All of this feels like a dream. A bad one. If someone told me this was in my future a few days ago, I would have laughed, but there’s nothing funny about it now.

The priest says something that I don’t understand, though I get the insinuation—this is the “you may kiss the bride” part. As scary as that is, like everything else, I don’t have a choice.

Nikolai moves toward me slowly. His attention drifts to the door, then back to me. What’s he waiting for? Backup? The priest looks between us and says the words again clearly, that we need to kiss. Nikolai takes in the guards sitting in the front pew, stone-faced and bored.

As he closes the small gap between us, his demeanor softens. His mouth lingers inches from mine, giving me a moment to brace myself. I wet my lips and look up at him. A shiver skates down my spine. It’s not quite fear but something else that pulses under my skin.

I tip my head up, my eyes fluttering closed as his lips press softly against mine, the gentleness unexpected. His fingers graze my cheek, and almost instinctively, my hand rests on his chest, sending a warmth through me that I wasn’t prepared for.

POW POW POW.

A series of explosions echo in the distance, and Nikolai breaks away sharply, his head snapping up as he locks onto the guards seated in front of us.

It all happens so fast. Nikolai shoves me down behind the altar, yanks a pistol from the back of his waistband, and fires toward the pews.

Holy shit! My heart pounds furiously in my ears. I can’t help but peek out from behind the altar, my stomach twisting as I take in the guards, each one slumped forward, a bullet hole in their heads.

Nikolai waves off the priest, who scrambles out the back without a second glance. Then he kneels in front of me, his hands cupping my face as he murmurs something I can barely make out. Whatever it is, it doesn’t penetrate the horror of what I just witnessed.

“Breathe, just breathe. It was kill or be killed, moya sladost .”

Sweetheart.

He brushes the hair off my face. “Those explosions you heard were Roman and his men attacking Anatoly and the other guards. These guys here would’ve figured out what was happening pretty quickly. I said I would keep you safe, and I did, but now we have to get out of here.”

I nod, numb and heavy with shock. Despite everything, a strange calm roots itself in me. He’s a cold-blooded killer, but he risked his life to protect me.

When he lifts me into his arms, I don’t fight or struggle. I lean into his chest and let him take me away.