Reclaimed by My Ex's Bratva Brother

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Briony

My boyfriend and my best friend were exchanging rings. No—my ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend.

They declared their love, said they were crazy about each other, then kissed like something out of a movie. A massive bouquet slammed into my head.

"Oh—Briony! I just knew this good luck would find you." Chloe's voice drifted down from the ceremony platform, dripping with fake sweetness.

I stood among the bridesmaids and staff, forcing a smile. That bitch.

If I hadn't been forced to plan this wedding, I wouldn't have wanted to see her for one more second.

Now I finally understood why she'd spent so much time telling me Makar was no good, pushing me to break up with him. She wasn't looking out for me—she wanted him for herself. I still couldn't believe I'd come home early from work one night and walked in on these two assholes screwing in my bed.

I told Makar we were done, then stormed out—only to get a mocking text from Chloe the next day.

"I want you to design mine and Makar's wedding. To: my best friend Briony."

Absolutely fucking terrible. Literally.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present for the first time—" The wedding was winding down. The officiant finally turned to face the guests.

I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. This circus was finally going to be over. But "Mr. and Mrs. Petrov" never left the officiant's mouth.

"Darling Briony, could you come up to the stage?" I looked up. Chloe had already grabbed the microphone from the officiant. "I'm sure you want to say something about this wedding."

My temples throbbed. She'd just derailed the entire ceremony like it was a game of house.

"No, I... don't have anything to say." I waved my hand in refusal.

Nothing to say? Actually, I had plenty to say.

I should march right up there and tear into them. Tell every guest how this bride spent her time mooching my makeup while going after my boyfriend. And how this groom was a complete worm—I'd put up with all his bullshit, and he'd hooked up with my best friend.

Even though the betrayal was behind me, I still couldn't help the rage. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to calm myself.

I couldn't do this. I was a wedding planner, and this was the first wedding I'd planned independently.

This determined whether I could keep working at the company, keep earning money, pay off the massive medical debt my dead parents left behind, and raise the little boy they'd left behind—my eight-year-old brother.

I couldn't screw this up.

"Briony, it's okay. Makar and I both know you're just too shy, and a little insecure. After all, you've never had many friends or much of a social life." She flashed me what looked like a very gentle smile. "Come on, no one's going to laugh at you."

The officiant rubbed his nose and awkwardly stepped aside. I knew if I didn't go up there, she'd never stop.

"Fine." I walked through the private estate covered in pristine flowers toward the stage.

The entire venue was draped in white roses, satin and tulle interwoven, crystal chandelier light casting a delicate shimmer across the fabrics—it looked like diamonds scattered everywhere.

Chloe and Makar stood side by side at the center of the ceremony platform.

What a waste of my carefully designed setup.

Their spot should've been filled by a couple who actually deserved happiness.

I'd barely positioned myself on stage when Chloe looped her arm through mine and addressed the guests. "Briony is my most important, closest friend. Without her, Makar and I never could have fallen in love."

Let me translate—she meant if I hadn't trusted her enough, how could she have had the chance to steal my man?

"Sweetheart, even though you're very plain-looking and so overweight... like a little heifer. I don't care. You're still my best friend." She looked at me with a pitying expression that made me sick. "Thank you for planning mine and Makar's wedding. It's perfect."

I almost shoved the microphone down her throat. The way people below struggled to keep their mouths from twitching made my stomach do a nasty flip.

Makar stood with his hands in his pockets, coldly watching it all.

"Sorry," he said, his tone worse than I'd imagined. "She kind of makes me sick."

He even exaggerated a gesture toward his belly fat. The guests' laughter finally broke free.

My chest ached from trying to breathe. Was I that fat? Give me a break.

"All right, Briony, the floor is yours." Chloe had finally enjoyed my humiliation enough and held the microphone out to me. "I'm sure you have lots of well-wishes for Makar and me."

I didn't take it right away.

"Briony, don't keep the guests waiting. You don't want to ruin this wedding, do you?" she urged in my ear. "Think about your job. Think about your bonus."

"Uh... I wish you both a marriage that you totally deserve." I finished my speech as briefly as possible, then put down the microphone.

I really hoped they understood what I meant.

"Can I go now?" I looked at Chloe. I was so done with her.

"Of course. Anytime." She smiled and gestured for me to leave.

I turned to go, but suddenly felt a massive pull. My hem ripped at the seam. Then I lost my balance and fell to the floor.

"Ah!" I cried out instinctively, but it was too late.

Completely done.

I looked back toward the source of that pull. Chloe's high heel was planted right on the strip of gray fabric that had separated from my body. And my overly generous ass was completely exposed.

My biggest regret right now? Why I'd chosen these red thong panties this morning out of all my underwear.

"Oh... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to." Chloe said carelessly, hands spread. "But I guess maybe you're just too fat and stretched the dress out. Otherwise, how could one little step from me tear it?"

"Chloe—" I stared at that innocent, vicious face, shaking with rage.

"Oh my God..." Whispers rose from below. Flashes went off.

I reached to cover this ridiculous, humiliating scene, but unfortunately, that only made me look more pathetic. This was completely unexpected—or rather, no one could have predicted I'd create a joke at a wedding that people would remember for twenty years.

My head felt heavy. I wanted to crawl into a crack in the floor. Let me do it, please. My vision blurred.

Just as despair was about to consume me, those whispers and laughs grew quieter and quieter until they stopped. Something in the air shifted. I struggled to lift my head and found everyone's attention had moved off me, toward the entrance.

My gaze focused on the center of that oppressive presence.

A man stood there in a perfectly tailored suit, tall and powerful, his silver-gray hair trimmed just right. He looked somewhere between forty and fifty—past the recklessness and immaturity of youth, but not old enough to have lost his appeal.

He deserved everyone's attention, because he was the kind of person who made everything else fade.

And right now, he was walking toward the ceremony platform. Toward me, specifically. I could tell the guests respected him—feared him, even. When he passed near the people who'd been laughing, they instinctively stood up.

When he stopped in front of me, I held my breath without meaning to. Without a word, he removed his jacket and gently draped it over me. The length easily covered my exposed lower half. His cedar scent immediately filled my nose. I was hooked instantly.

"You all right?" His deep voice wrapped around me completely.

That rough, uniquely Russian-accented voice effortlessly announced his authority and power.

I looked into those deep steel-gray eyes, speechless.

God, he was absolutely the most handsome, perfect man I'd ever seen. Makar didn't even compare. Light fell across his face like it was hitting a sculpture. His high cheekbones were aggressive, his nose a clean arc—classically rugged and beautiful.

His large hand gripped my arm, slowly helping me up, his movements careful and gentle.

"Thank you... I'm fine." I finally found my voice.

"You sure?" He raised an eyebrow, seeing right through me. "Little liar."

His teasing, intimate tone landed on my neck, stinging and itching at once.

At least he didn't scold me. He turned his gaze to Chloe and Makar.

His naturally commanding stare made everyone afraid to breathe. I felt the air around us drop several degrees. His slightly appraising look swept over them both before settling on Makar.

"Makar." His voice carried weight. "You two. Apologize to this woman."

Chloe bit her lip, her expression too rich to describe. And Makar? His face flushed red.

"She..." He tried to argue, looking at me with resentment and dissatisfaction, like I'd done something wrong.

"Apologize." The man's jaw flexed slightly as he spoke again, his voice deeper, more dangerous.

When Makar met the man's eyes, his face went white instantly.

"Sorry." After a moment of silence, Makar lowered his head first.

Chloe wisely followed, though I could see her reluctance.

He finally released the two of them and looked up at the guests. I saw Makar and Chloe both breathe secret sighs of relief. Was this man really that terrifying?

"Delete those photos and videos," he said. "I don't want anything from tonight showing up anywhere else."

Just that one sentence was enough to make everyone who'd been enjoying the show do exactly what he said, fingers flying across their phones. No need to verify—I was certain they'd delete everything completely.

So who the hell was he? Why could he make arrogant Makar meekly apologize with Chloe? Why did these clearly well-connected guests instinctively obey his orders?

I couldn't help turning to look at him. He wore only a white shirt now, which made his chest look even broader and more muscular—the fabric looked ready to burst against his pecs.

"I'll take you to the dressing room." He caught my gaze, his palm hovering politely at the small of my back. He wasn't even touching my skin, but I still felt burned.

"Thank you so much..."

"I should be thanking you." A tiny curve appeared at the corner of his mouth, but I caught it. "Thank you for giving me a chance to get close to you."

My heart trembled. What was he saying?

The sound from those thin, sexy lips was too dangerous, creating heat that made my whole body shiver. And he was too close now—close enough for me to see his recently grown stubble. I bet it would feel rough, but wonderful too. My pulse quickened.

"I'll make it up to you for Makar, beautiful lady." His voice moved even closer, almost touching my ear.

My skin was on fire.

But make it up to me for Makar? Why? He'd just helped me!