Sold Bratva Wife (Vadim Bratva #14)

Chapter 1 - Dante

The thing about these charity events is that in our world, they’re never just about charity.

I adjusted my cuffs as I stepped into the bustling ballroom that would have impressed most people, but hardly made a dent on me. The room was beautiful, no doubt. It was the tuxedos too tight on bloated egos that I had a problem with.

On the surface, it was about giving back by funding foundations to help those in need.

Underneath, however, the most dangerous criminals in New York were here tonight, playing at being philanthropists.

Half the funds expected to flow in during the event were already earmarked to disappear through shell NGOs and offshore pipelines that would fund our less-than-legal enterprises, while the other half would go to whatever causes they’d been pushing; sick kids, homeless vets, endangered fucking pandas.

Clean on paper. Dirty as hell where it counted. Just the way this world liked it.

Genius, really.

I straightened my black tie and searched the crowd, looking for someone useful, and maybe a drink strong enough to make this charade bearable.

Truth is, I wasn’t here to play philanthropist. I was here to collect intel.

The Espositos were getting reckless again.

After what they pulled with kidnapping my sister-in-law Autumn’s sister, Megan, and throwing my brother Federico into a bloody frenzy, I had no doubt another move was coming our way soon.

Tonight was a chance to read the room and watch who shook hands too long and see who didn’t look us in the eye.

My father had been sending my brothers and me to these things since I was twenty-one, before he passed away, of course. Now, at thirty-seven, I could navigate them in my sleep. Although I made it a point to avoid these as much as possible

A waiter passed with a tray of champagne. I snagged a glass and downed half of it in one go.

“Thirsty, Lebedev?”

I turned to find Viktor Romanoff, a mid-level player in the Russian faction, wearing a cold, ugly smile.

“Just preparing myself for an evening of bullshit,” I replied, clinking my glass against his. “How’s business?”

“Can’t complain. The import taxes are killing me, but what can you do?”

Import taxes. Cute code for the increased police presence at the docks.

I nodded like I gave a shit. “Same old, same old.”

What I didn’t say was that I knew his operation was struggling. The Espositos had been pushing into everyone’s territory lately. I wondered if I could ask him questions about that, but as of now, I didn’t know whether Romanoff had cut a bargain with the Espositos or hated their guts.

Ask the right questions to the wrong guy, and I’d have gifted those bastards a cause for war.

So I stayed mute and bid a polite goodbye.

Viktor drifted away to kiss the ass of someone more important, and I continued my circuit of the room.

I made my way through the exhibits lining the gallery—paintings, sculptures, wine collections, vintage watches.

Each had a small plaque explaining what “cause” the donation would support: clean water, orphanages, and education funds.

In front of each display was a printed donation sheet.

No auctioneers and distasteful live bids.

You just wrote your name and the amount, and the highest donor wins the item.

A few of the usual sharks were already lingering near the high-ticket items, scribbling down their numbers like this was foreplay. I tried not to roll my eyes as I walked past them.

A large abstract painting, full of harsh red slashes and black circles, caught my eye. Honestly, it looked like someone had a seizure while holding a paintbrush, but it was exactly the kind of thing that my younger sister Beatrice would love.

“That’s a Reznikov original,” a woman’s voice said behind me. “Starting bid is fifty thousand, can you imagine?”

I turned to find a petite redhead in a dress that left nothing to the imagination. She was giving me the look. The one that said she knew exactly who I was and what I was worth.

“Is it?” I asked, pretending to study the painting more closely. “Looks like something my five-year-old nephew could paint.”

She laughed a little too hard. “You’re funny, Mr. Lebedev.”

I tried not to roll my eyes at how fake she sounded.

I wrote down $200,000 on the bid sheet. My name would be going on every sheet before the night was done.

Not because I gave a damn about the painting, but because I needed to maintain appearances.

The Lebedevs were known for their generosity at these events.

It kept people thinking we were the good guys among the bad.

Which, if I could say so myself, we oddly were. Most of the guys in here were known monsters.

I moved on to the next item, a weekend at some private island resort, and put down eighty thousand.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed over the speakers. “If I could have your attention, please.”

Everyone turned toward the small stage at the front of the ballroom. A man in a tuxedo stood at the microphone, his face vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place where I knew him from. “A quick announcement before dessert.”

“We’d like to thank you all for your incredible generosity tonight. The Children’s Heart Foundation, Veterans Relief Fund, and the Alaska Wildlife Conservation have already received pledges totaling over two million dollars.”

Applause rippled through the crowd, not for the causes, of course, but probably for themselves for being so generous.

“And now, we have a special announcement. As you know, traditionally, the highest overall donor of the evening receives our special appreciation gift.” He paused for dramatic effect. “This year, we’ve secured something truly extraordinary, offered to us by a very special benefactor.”

The crowd murmured. Half these assholes didn’t care what they were buying—only what they were being seen buying. But a mystery prize made this whole thing exciting.

“I think you’ll agree this is our most valuable offering yet,” the man continued, his smile turning predatory. “Please welcome to the stage… our prize.”

The lights shifted. A spotlight cut through the haze. And then she stepped into it, escorted by two men.

Honey blonde hair.

Honey brown eyes.

Skin I’d memorized with my fingertips years ago.

Alisa Montes.

I froze.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

My fucking Alisa stood on that stage like a lamb among wolves.

Her hair was twisted into a sleek knot at the base of her neck, her shoulders bare under a satin slip dress that clung to every soft curve I remembered too goddamn well.

She wasn’t restrained physically. But I saw the way her hands clasped in front of her, too still.

The way her gaze darted nervously across the crowd without ever settling.

She didn’t see me and probably didn’t know I was here.

But I saw her.

And I swear, for a second, my heart stopped.

She looked… older. Stronger. Still soft, still so goddamn beautiful it made my ribs ache.

Four years.

It had been four fucking years since I last saw her. She was twenty then. Too young for the world I lived in, too innocent for the blood I had on my hands, and too good for a man like me.

But that hadn’t stopped me.

I met her at a bar, of all places—some overpriced cocktail spot in SoHo with violet lighting and pretentious drinks.

I’d gone there to meet a contact, and she was there for her friend’s birthday.

I spotted her across the room, tucked giggling between friends, wearing a red dress that made my mouth go dry.

She caught me staring, and I didn’t look away.

She walked over. I still didn’t look away.

“Do you always stare like that?” she’d asked, lips curling into a smile that I’ve dreamt of ever since.

“Only when I see something I want,” I had said.

And just like that, we started.

It was a whirlwind where weeks felt like minutes.

Laughing into takeout cartons at her place, her trying and failing to beat me at chess, me letting her think she’d won.

Mornings with her hair a mess and her fingers trailing down my chest, her sleepy smile more dangerous than any weapon I’d ever carried.

She made me forget. Forget who I was. What I was. And for a while, I let myself believe maybe that was enough.

But it wasn’t.

“As some of you might know,” the announcer continued, “this exquisite creature is the daughter of Federal Prosecutor Marc Montes.”

That name sent a ripple through the crowd and a stab through my heart.

Because Alisa was the daughter of Marc Montes, the federal prosecutor who spent a decade trying to gut the Bratva from the inside out.

And back then, Marc had started sniffing a little too close to the Lebedev family.

If he’d found out about me and Alisa… hell, he would’ve dragged her down with me.

So I cut her off as cruelly as I could because I didn’t want to risk her thinking she could come running back or that we still stood a chance. It was the only way to protect her.

And now—the only woman I’d ever loved was being offered to the highest fucking donor like she was some prize goat at a state fair.

“Our sources tell us she’s been… separated from her father’s protection,” the announcer was saying. “A rare opportunity for someone to acquire a very valuable asset.”

Separated from her father’s protection? That was bullshit. This was a kidnapping, plain and simple.

I looked around the room. Two hundred faces, all watching her with hunger. I wanted to kill every single one of them.

My vision tunneled.

I wanted to tear this whole place apart. Every bastard in a tux. The host. The donors. The motherfucker who thought this was entertainment.

But I couldn’t. I was outnumbered and outgunned.

There was only one play: make sure she doesn’t get into the wrong hands.

The announcer smiled. “The highest overall donor tonight will have the privilege of Miss Montes’s company for as long as they desire. Bidding on all items will close in thirty minutes. Good luck, everyone.”

I just grabbed the nearest pen and began to blindly double, or even triple, my bids. I didn’t care what I was buying and certainly didn’t care what it cost. All I could see was Alisa standing on that stage, looking lost and afraid.

She was still there, now seated in a chair, her hands folded in her lap. A guard stood behind her. She kept her eyes down, but I could see her shoulders trembling slightly.

I wanted to go to her and tell her it would be okay. But I couldn’t stop tracking the bids because if I moved away and someone outdid me, then she’d be in even deeper waters.

So I kept bidding, moving from table to table, checking my previous numbers every few minutes to make sure I was still ahead.

A million here. Half there.

No matter what, I wasn’t losing.

Finally, the announcer returned to the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bidding is now closed. Please allow our staff a few moments to tally the results.”

I stood at the back of the room, my heart pounding in my throat. Alisa still hadn’t seen me. She sat perfectly still, a statue of quiet dignity, though I couldn’t imagine her internal state.

Five minutes felt like five hours. Then the announcer was back, holding an envelope.

“And now,” the host declared, “we are thrilled to announce our top donor of the evening, with a staggering combined contribution of seven-point-four million dollars—”

He grinned.

“—Mr. Dante Lebedev!”

The tension in my spine finally snapped. I’d done it. She was out of their reach. Still trapped in this fucked-up world, but at least now, she was trapped with me. And once I got her out of here, I’d make sure to hunt down whichever fucker put her up on that stage in the first place.

“Mr. Lebedev, please come to the stage to claim your prize.”

I moved through the crowd, feeling eyes on me from every direction. Some were jealous, some amused. I didn’t give a shit about any of them. All that mattered was getting to her.

As I approached the stage, Alisa finally looked up.

Our eyes met.

And for a second, for one brief, brutal second, I forgot how to breathe.

She didn’t smile. In fact, she paled and stared at me like I was a ghost.

Yeah, baby. Me too.