Bratva Prince (Volkov Brothers #2)

Chapter One

The door to Alexei’s office swung shut behind Dmitri with a muted click. The room smelled faintly of cigar smoke and expensive whiskey. Rain tapped softly against the tall windows overlooking the estate’s garden.

Alexei stood beside the bar cart instead of behind his desk, one hand braced against the crystal decanter as he poured himself another drink. Even though their father, the old Pakhan, had died years ago, Dimitri sometimes caught traces of the old man lingering in the room.

Every time he entered this office, Dimitri was reminded of expectation, the weight of the Volkov name pressing against a man’s throat until he either carried it or choked on it.

Alexei glanced over his shoulder. “You’re late.”

“Three minutes,” Dimitri pointed out.

“In this family, that counts.”

Dmitri ignored the remark and crossed toward the desk, loosening the cuff of his black coat. Outside the office walls, the mansion remained unnaturally quiet.

Their home had never been warm, even before their father died. It was too large, too cold, too full of armed men who constantly patrolled the hallways.

Alexei slid a glass toward him. Dmitri left it untouched. His brother studied him for a moment before taking a slow sip.

“You know why I called you in here,” Alexei began.

“The Marino meeting,” Dimitri supplied.

“The marriage.”

Dmitri gave a single nod. Alexei exhaled through his nose, already looking tired. Being Pakhan suited him in the same way wearing a crown suited a man heading toward execution.

“You’ll be on your best behavior today,” Alexei reminded him.

Dmitri nearly smiled at that.

“My worst behavior tends to involve corpses. I assumed that was discouraged during diplomatic negotiations.”

Alexei’s mouth twitched, but only briefly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Silence stretched between them. Rain continued whispering against the windows.

Finally, Alexei set his glass down with a quiet clink. “You don’t need to like her. You just need to keep her under control.”

The words settled heavily in the room. Dmitri’s expression remained neutral, but something cold shifted unpleasantly beneath his ribs.

Control her. Alexei made it seem like Sofia Marino were already property waiting to be managed. Then again, marriage in their world didn’t mean anything but that.

He didn’t challenge Alexei. There was no point. Their father had spoken the same way about women for most of Dmitri’s life. Wives were leverage, daughters were bargaining chips. Love was an infection that weakened judgment.

The Volkov men had been raised on lessons carved from violence and obedience, and yet, Dimitri’s thoughts drifted unexpectedly toward Maksim and Lena.

A quiet irritation flickered through him at the memory.

No one had expected Maksim’s marriage to survive. Least of all Dmitri. Lena had started as a witness to one of Maksim’s kills, then instead of killing her, Maksim decided to keep her.

Dmitri still remembered the chaos of it. The way Maksim had looked perpetually one bad decision away from strangling someone. Now somehow the bastard looked happier than any Volkov man had a right to be.

Lena laughed in their home, and Maksim actually smiled around her. The difference was unsettling enough Dmitri preferred not to examine it too closely.

A dangerous thing, envy, especially when directed toward your own brother. Their mother had once smiled like that too. Before years with their father carved the softness out of her.

Dmitri remembered being ten years old and finding her alone in the winter garden, staring blankly through the snow-covered glass while bruises hid beneath diamond bracelets.

She had looked beautiful, and yet miserable at the same time. He pushed the memory away immediately. Sentiment was useless.

He knew exactly what waited for him inside this arrangement with Sofia Marino. The daughter of one of the most powerful Italian dons in the city would not arrive naive or romantic. She had been raised in the same poisoned water he had.

That was the foundation of marriages like theirs. Anything else was fantasy.

“Are you paying attention to a word I’m saying, Dimitri?” Alexei’s voice cut cleanly through his thoughts.

Dmitri blinked once, realizing his attention had drifted. His brother was staring at him with visible irritation now.

“That depends,” Dmitri said calmly. “Was it important?”

Alexei muttered something sharp in Russian beneath his breath and dragged a hand down his face. “This is exactly what I’m talking about.”

“The meeting will go smoothly,” he told Alexei.

“That’s not reassuring coming from you.”

Dmitri finally picked up the untouched whiskey glass, more for appearance than desire. “You’re worried I’ll start a war before the appetizers arrive?”

“I’m worried you’ll decide provoking the Marinos is entertaining.”

That earned the faintest ghost of amusement from Dmitri.

Alexei studied him carefully then sighed. “If this goes badly, it affects all of us. The alliance matters.”

Dmitri knew that already. Lately, rivals had been circling for months like starving dogs scenting weakness. An alliance with the Marino family secured ports, weapons routes, political influence. It stabilized power.

The cost of that stability sat waiting for him in a hotel conference room. A wife he’d never met.

“I should go with you,” Alexei said suddenly.

Dmitri immediately understood the thought behind it. His brother was reconsidering, considering canceling his afternoon meetings to personally oversee the negotiation.

Which meant Alexei genuinely thought Dmitri might burn the entire thing down out of boredom.

“I can handle this,” Dimitri said.

Alexei still looked unconvinced. Dmitri leaned back slightly in the chair.

“Relax. I’m not planning to threaten my future father-in-law until at least dessert.”

Another reluctant twitch at the corner of Alexei’s mouth.

Finally, he nodded once. “Fine. But remember what’s at stake.”

Dmitri rose smoothly to his feet. “I always do.”

****

A black sedan already waited outside the Volkov estate by the time Dmitri stepped into the rain-slick driveway. One of the guards hurried forward to open the rear passenger door.

The cold air carried the scent of wet pavement and cigarette smoke. Dmitri adjusted the cuffs of his coat before sliding into the back seat.

“Hotel Belladonna,” he told the driver.

The man nodded immediately and pulled away from the estate gates.

The city blurred past in streaks of silver and neon beneath the rain. Dmitri rested one arm against the window, watching familiar streets drift by while his mind remained irritatingly occupied by thoughts of Sofia Marino.

He knew the basics already.

She was twenty-six, educated in Switzerland, and fluent in four languages. Her father trusted her enough to sit in on negotiations. That alone made her unusual.

Most men in their world treated daughters like decorative insurance policies. The Marinos apparently sharpened theirs into knives. Interesting.

By the time the sedan rolled beneath the covered entrance of Hotel Belladonna, Dmitri had settled fully back into his usual emotionless self. He couldn’t afford to show weakness here.

The hotel stood gleaming against the gray afternoon. Marble columns framed the entrance. Gold lighting glowed warmly through towering glass windows. Luxury designed to look effortless.

Dmitri stepped from the vehicle, and two of his men automatically fell into position behind him. The revolving doors opened.

Inside, the lobby gleamed with polished marble floors and muted gold light reflecting off crystal chandeliers overhead. Somewhere nearby, a piano played softly enough to disappear beneath the murmur of conversation.

Still, Dimitri didn’t miss the tension that poisoned the atmosphere beneath the elegance. Hotel staff moved with stiff smiles and nervous eyes. They seemed overly careful and aware.

Maybe it was because the armed guards stationed discreetly throughout the lobby were about as subtle as wolves in church. Marino men.

Dmitri spotted them immediately. There was one near the elevators pretending to read a newspaper. Another was seated near the lounge bar with an untouched espresso. A third lingered by the hallway entrance adjusting his cufflinks while scanning exits.

They were all professional, but not invisible. Dmitri’s gaze swept automatically through the lobby for exits, security cameras, and potential blind spots out of habit.

Alexei often sent him to negotiate with rival organizations precisely because Dmitri never walked into a room assuming peace would hold. Men survived longer that way.

A blonde receptionist straightened immediately when he approached the desk.

“Mr. Volkov,” she said carefully. “Ms. Marino and Mr. Marino are waiting in the conference suite.”

Her pulse fluttered visibly in her throat. She was afraid, he realized. Nothing new there.

Dmitri inclined his head politely anyway. “Lead the way.”

The woman guided them through a private corridor lined with dark wood panels and abstract art expensive enough to launder money through three different countries.

The closer they came to the conference suite, the heavier the security presence became. There were more Marino guards, and he briefly wondered if he should’ve brought more men, then he dismissed the thought. The Marinos were allies, or potential ones at least.

The secretary stopped outside double doors. “They’re inside.”

Dmitri adjusted his cuffs once more before pushing through the doors without hesitation. The conference room overlooked the city skyline through massive windows streaked with rain. It had a long, polished table, and on it were crystal water glasses and expensive whiskey.

Emilio Marino rose first. He was older than Dmitri expected. Silver threaded through his dark hair, but the man’s eyes remained sharp and calculating. A predator’s eyes.

“Mr. Volkov,” Emilio greeted smoothly.

Dmitri crossed forward and offered his hand. “Don Marino.”

The older man’s grip was firm, measured, and testing. Dmitri returned exactly the same pressure. Then his attention shifted, and landed on Sofia.

She stood near the windows slightly behind her father, one hand resting lightly against the back of a chair. Beautiful was too simple a word for her.

She looked dangerous first. Long dark curls spilled over one shoulder in soft waves against the severe elegance of her fitted black dress. The fabric hugged the curves of her body without apology, all sharp sophistication and quiet confidence.

Her jewelry was minimal, an intentional choice perhaps, so nothing would distract the eye from the woman herself. Her eyes were dark and steady, watching him with unnerving directness. Interesting.

Most women reacted to Dmitri one of two ways. Fascination or fear, sometimes both tangled together. Even when they smiled at him, there was usually hesitation underneath it. Instinct recognizing something lethal beneath the charm.

Sofia Marino showed neither. She had no hint of nervousness, she simply observed him calmly, like she was evaluating threat levels.

Dmitri became aware she wasn’t only studying him either. Her attention flicked briefly toward the men behind him. Their positioning, posture. Perhaps she was silently cataloguing them for concealed weapons.

The realization settled into place with quiet satisfaction. His assumptions had been correct. Most mafia daughters were taught how to smile beside monsters. Sofia Marino looked exceptionally well-trained at surviving them.

The thought amused him more than it should have.

There had been a very real possibility she would arrive timid and overdressed, prepared to play obedient bride while older men arranged her future around her.

Instead, she met his gaze like someone fully aware how dangerous this world was, and entirely capable of surviving inside it. Maybe even thriving.

Slowly, she lifted one elegant eyebrow at him in challenge. Dmitri felt the faintest pull of genuine interest for the first time that day.

Well, then. At least this marriage might provide him with some entertainment.