Bratva Bride (Bratva Series Book 1)

‘Illayana Volkov! Get your ass out of that bed! Now!’ A deep voice boomed from outside my bedroom door. Three loud bangs against the door followed after, making the walls shake.

I bolted upright, my hair dishevelled and legs wrapped up in the blankets. My hand flew to my forehead as I closed my eyes and groaned.

Ugh, too fucking early.

Another bang at my bedroom door snapped me out of my haze and my eyes flew open. The heat of a body next to mine made me jolt straight out of the bed.

Oh fuck.

There, lying in the middle of the bed was . . . fuck, what was his name? My one-night stand, let’s just call him that.

After a kick ass night at one of our nightclubs, Distoria, where I celebrated turning twenty-one with a few of my closest friends, I must have stumbled home, taking this guy with me.

How the fuck did I get him past the guards at the main gate?

My eyes wandered over the sleeping male in my bed. Is it just me or did he look way more attractive last night?

Beer goggles, Illayana. Those damn beer goggles.

He wasn’t unattractive, just not the usual man I go for. He was lean but more so on the skinny side. He had long, brown hair that went to his shoulders with streaks of blonde running through it. Yuck…did I think that was sexy? His face was round, kind of like a baby face and his nose was flat, like he had been hit with a shovel repeatedly and his nose never healed properly.

What the fuck was I on last night?

Looking down at my body, I realised I was naked.

Fuck.

I quickly ran across the room to my closet and plucked a robe off a hanger. Tying the rope around my waist, I made my way back to the bed just as another bang reverberated throughout the room.

‘Illayanaaaaa,’ the voice growled, which I now knew to be my older brother Aleksandr.

“Just a second!” I yelled back, reaching for my phone. I quickly dialled my best friend, Tatiana. She answered on the fifth ring.

“You better have a damn good reason for calling me this early in the fucking morning,” she grumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

“Dude, what the fuck? You let me bring a guy home last night? Are you insane?!” I hissed, cupping the receiver.

“Bitch, I didn’t let you do anything. I tried to stop you and you said, and I quote, ‘if I wanna get laid, ain’t nobody gonna stop me.’ Then you stumbled off dragging him behind you. What was I supposed to do? Tackle you?”

“That would have been preferable, yes. My father is gonna lose his mind when he finds out!”

“So don’t let him find out then. Duh.”

If I could slap her right now, I would. Granted, this wasn’t exactly her fault. I should have had enough common sense not to bring him home. But still, she was the sober one last night, the DD (designated driver), not me. So she should have had enough of her brain cells working to realise what a horrible mistake this would turn out to be.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“I dunno, figure it out and call me later. I’m going back to bed.”

“Tatiana, don’t you dare-”

She hung up.

That bitch.

Tatiana has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. Being raised in the Bratva, it was hard sometimes to make friends, unless they were in the life which, lucky for me, Tatiana was. Her father has worked for my father for over twenty years, since before we even moved to America. As one of my father’s advisors, he was always around and he would bring his daughter along too. Tatiana and I clicked instantly. To put it bluntly, we were both bat shit crazy, and loved to stir shit up, even when we were kids.

The man was still fast asleep on my bed, his upper body completely bare and the blanket just barely covering his lower half. I placed my phone on the bedside table, brought my foot up and kicked him in the leg, trying to rouse him.

‘Oi,’ I hissed, kicking him again.

He groaned, rolling his body to the side to face me and opened his eyes.

Ahhh, that was why.

His eyes, one blue, one brown, and a complete fucking turn on.

He blinked a few times before those sex-bomb eyes focused on me.

‘If you value your life you’ll get up and jump out that window,’ I said, pointing to the large clear window to my left.

My room was on the third floor, so it wouldn’t be a pleasant fall. But compared to what lied in store for him should my father find out he was here; I think I’d prefer the jump out the window to be honest.

‘What?’ his voice came out raspy and thick from sleep.

A loud bang followed by a string of Russian curses had Sex Eyes jumping out of the bed completely buck naked. My bedroom door had been kicked open, and the force of it caused the door to smack into the wall.

Next thing you know, in strolls big brother Aleksandr in all his 6’7 glory.

He was a bigggg dude. Built like a pro wrestler and tall enough to have to duck his head whenever he walked through the damn door. He is my father’s pride and joy. The next Volkov to take the throne and continue our legacy. He has the entire world at his fingertips. Doesn’t help that he’s good-looking either, and he damn well knows it. His black hair is cut short and styled neatly. His chiselled jaw is always a winner with the ladies, as well as his piercing bright blue eyes.

Aleksandr walked in like he owned the damn place and stopped right in front of me. His gaze flicked to Sex Eyes – to me – and then back to Sex Eyes, his signature scowl plastered on his face. You could feel the intensity of his presence fill the room, almost to the point where you felt suffocated by his sheer masculinity.

Sex Eyes started to squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze, shifting from one foot to the other. He lowered his head in submission, his dick hanging placid between his legs and his arms limp at his sides.

Aleksandr turned fully and pinned me with his gaze. ‘Really Illayana?’ he growls.

Even though I’m 6’2, I still have to raise my head to look him in the eye. ‘What?’ I said innocently.

Think of something to distract him.

‘Did you forget today’s my birthday?’

Aleksandr narrowed his eyes and then scowled at me, turning his focus back to Sex Eyes.

Oh ho, ho, he did forget and I’m going to use that to my advantage.

‘Oh my god you did forget!’ I chastised, poking my finger into his chest. ‘My own brother forgot my birthday! I’m hurt!’ I yell dramatically, bringing the back of my hand to my forehead and swaying like I’m lightheaded.

Aleksandr looks back to me, his face clearly radiating his anger at this entire situation. ‘What do you want, Illayana?’

Ah, big, bad, big brother knows me well. Obviously, I don’t give a shit if he forgot my birthday, but I know I can play the card to get what I want, and he knows I do it too. Let’s just say, it isn’t the first time.

‘Why don’t we forgo presents this year and instead, you help me out with a teeny, tiny, problem I’ve got,’ I said not at all subtly, pointing my thumb over to Sex Eyes.

Aleksandr closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before looking back at me. He turned and started making his way over to the naked man in my bedroom.

Sex Eyes’ head snapped up and he started backing away, his hands flying up in surrender. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he yelled, as he continued to back away. His legs hit the end of the bed and Aleksandr placed a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit.

Without hesitating, Aleksandr pulled his gun from inside his suit jacket and clocked Sex Eyes right between the eyes.

A solid umph came out of Sex Eyes right before he fell back on the bed unconscious.

‘I’ll take him to the pit and we’ll deal with him later,’ Aleksandr began as he picked up the limp body and flung him over his shoulder. ‘You need to hurry up and get ready, or did you forget that Father called a meeting this morning?’

‘Oh fuck!’ I yelled, sprinting to my closet.

‘Oh, fuck is right,’ Aleksandr muttered as he walked out the door.

Ignoring him, I quickly put an outfit together, simple black jeans and a blank tank, and ran to my en suite. After a quick five-minute shower, I got dressed and made my way downstairs.

Our house (although people would say it’s more of a mansion) is built on several hundred acres of land. The whole property is gated off and guarded by my father’s men twenty-four hours a day. It’s every bit as ostentatious as one might expect the leader of the Bratva to have.

Three story house, built in the Victorian Era, and every bit deserving of the name. With towers, turrets, wrap-around porches, decorative railings and a stone exterior, our home is everything my mother ever wanted it to be.

Making my way down our large circular staircase, I tried to get my head back in the game. My father told us all yesterday he wanted to meet this morning to discuss something important. Of course, I hardly paid attention because I was getting mentally prepared to get fucked up that night.

Now, I was paying the price for that.

I had no idea what this meeting was about and I hope to God he didn’t tell us yesterday. Otherwise I’ll be the next one to go a few rounds in the ring with him.

Growing up, my brothers and I used to get into all kinds of fights. From screaming matches to full on blows, we would argue over the tiniest little thing. Not to mention the fact that we used to prank each other all the time, and our pranks sometimes got way out of hand.

One year, Lukyan and I decided Aleksandr really needed to loosen up a bit, so we spiked his vodka with Rohypnol, commonly known as Roofies. Once he passed out, we tied his ass up and left him buck naked in one of our strip clubs with lipstick kisses all over his body from one of the strippers.

He woke up pissed and disoriented, with no clue as to how he got to the strip club, and a simple note taped to his chest – ‘Lyubov, Lukyan & Illayana.‘ Love, Lukyan & Illayana.

When he got home, note in hand, he was ready to wage war. Instead, we settled it like we always do, in the ring. When our father realised he couldn’t contain our habit for picking fights with one another, he decided that any disagreements would be settled in our boxing ring at our personal gym. He also used it as a form of punishment. If we fucked up a job, or disrespected him, we would have to go a few rounds with him, the devil himself, and Father never went easy in the ring. It doesn’t matter if you are his own flesh and blood, he’ll knock you down to teach you your place.

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I pivoted left and made my way down the long corridor towards my father’s office. Coming to a stop in front of a large, wooden door, I raised my hand and knocked twice.

‘Enter,’ my father’s voice boomed from inside the room.

I lowered my hand to the handle and immediately opened the door.

The smell of smoke and alcohol immediately hit my senses. Not surprising even for nine o’clock in the morning. My father was seated behind his large, mahogany desk in the middle of the room. Wearing his signature three-piece Armani suit, he looked like he was a model for GQ, not a cold-blooded Russian Mobster.

His black hair was kept neat and tidy, with only a few grey hairs starting to make their appearance. His face was set in his usual neutral expression, giving off the epitome of a man who had no care in the world. His bright blue eyes locked on to me as soon as I stepped in the room.

Father rose from his chair and made his way around his desk, heading towards me.

‘S dnem rozhdeniya, printsessa,’Happy Birthday, Princess, he said in Russian as he embraced me in his arms. Placing a small kiss to my forehead, he gave me one quick squeeze before letting me go. Reaching into his suit jacket, he pulled out an envelope, handing it to me.

Ah, the perfect gift, money. I can always count on Daddy Dearest to deliver the goods every year.

Leaning up on my tip toes, I kissed him on the cheek and whispered, ‘Spasibo, otets‘ Thank you, Father.

He straightened his body, fixing his tie and running his hands down his suit. A clear sign he was uncomfortable. My father loves me, there’s no doubt in my mind about that, but he isn’t the greatest at showing it. At showing emotions or feelings in general.

He was raised to be tough. To show no weakness. To be every bit the ruthless killer a Pakhan ought to be. That kind of upbringing cemented him as the tough love type of parent, instead of the nurturing type.

He walked back to his desk and sat in his large leather chair, pouring himself what I’m guessing is his second or third shot of vodka. As I walked in, I tucked the envelope in my back pocket and took stock of my surroundings.

Lukyan was sitting in a chair in front of father’s desk, slouched back with his ankle resting comfortably on his left knee. He had a thick, brown cigar sticking out of his mouth and a glass half filled with vodka in his hand.

He was the youngest boy, and he definitely acted like it. He was carefree, with a ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude that wafted off him like a bad smell. He was always the first to make light of a bad situation with dark humour and crappy jokes, never taking anything too seriously and always being just a general shit head. Only a few years separated us. He was older, but you wouldn’t think it based on his childish behaviour half the time. He drove me crazy most of the bloody time.

Swirling the glass, he brought it to his lips and chugged the remainder. Placing the glass on Father’s desk, he stood quickly and made his way over to me.

He was just as tall as Aleksandr, but instead of being built like a bloody brick house, Lukyan was more on the leaner side. His dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, with a few strands cascading over his face. His brown eyes connected with mine and his lips curved up in a smile.

‘Happy Birthday baby sister,’ he said, his thick Russian accent coming through clear as day. No matter how long we lived in Las Vegas, his accent never changed, his true heritage always shining through.

‘Thank you, brother,’ I replied, wrapping my arms around his waist.

Nikolai emerged from the shadows behind Father’s desk and I had to work hard not to flinch in surprise. Father would have been furious to know I didn’t pay attention to my surroundings.

Nikolai walked over and shoved Lukyan to the side. He wrapped his big, muscular arms around me and rested his chin on top of my head. At 6’6, it was easy for him.

‘Happy Birthday,’ he whispered, before letting me go and slinking back to his usual spot against the wall.

If Lukyan was the crazy idiot of the family then Nikolai would be his polar opposite. Quiet. Smart. Driven. Nikolai was the brains whereas Lukyan was the headache, the one that drove us all mad. Not only was Nikolai incredibly smart, he was also unbelievably strong. We always used to place bets as to who would win in a fight between him and Aleksandr. I’m talking about a real fight, not just a friendly spar. Not only was he our resident tech head, but he was also head of security, responsible for any and all surveillance related queries. He invested all his time into the Bratva, never doing anything for himself. The Bratva was his life, it was who he was. He lived and breathed for the Bratva.

I thanked them both and moved to sit down in the chair next to the one Lukyan was just occupying. Father poured another shot of vodka in a glass and handed it to me. I picked up the glass and downed the drink without hesitating. The burn of the liquid as it slid down my throat was comforting and familiar.

I’ve been drinking vodka since I was seven, after my first kill. Father said, “If you’re old enough to kill, you’re old enough to drink.” He never let me get piss drunk, but he let me have a couple shots here and there.

Lukyan took a seat next to me and returned to his position prior to my arrival. He brought his cigar to his lips, inhaling for a solid few seconds before releasing his breath.

‘So, Father, what’s this meeting about?’ Lukyan asked casually.

Our father turned his head and pinned him with his sharp gaze. He said nothing. He remained absolutely silent, the only indication he heard Lukyan’s question was the subtle raise of his eyebrow.

Lukyan immediately back peddled. ‘Not that I’m demanding answers from you or anything, father,’ he said quickly, sitting up straighter. ‘I mean. . . I was just . . . you know. . . oh fuck,’ he said, lowering his head.

‘Oh fuck’s right, you moron,’ I whispered in his direction, though I knew Father could hear me.

You never asked Father what was going on. He would tell you when he was good and ready, not a moment before.

‘We’ll discuss your insolence later Lukyan,’ Father said, his voice low and threatening.

His entire demeanour was cold and menacing. Just being in his presence made you want to tuck your head between your legs and run. He was my father. I loved him, I respected him, but I also feared him. You’d be a fool not too.

‘Once Aleksandr returns, we’ll begin. Speaking of, where is your brother?’ Father asked, turning his killer gaze towards me and raising an eyebrow.

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Be cool. If he finds out you brought a guy home, you’ll be in the ring.

‘He had to go to the bathroom after he came to wake me. Massive case of the runs. Full blown diarrhoea,’ I said quickly, mimicking an explosion with my hands and adding sound effects. ‘Kaboooooooom’

Father remained still, his face impassive, but I could see the slight twitch of his lips. He was trying hard not to laugh, to keep his ‘Russian Mobster’ persona intact.

Three quick knocks on the office door and any trace of laughter from him disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“Enter,” he bellowed.

Aleksandr opened the door and walked in. With a slight head nod to Father, he moved to the far side of the room and took a seat on the three-seater couch. Leaning back, he stretched his arms out over the back of the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee.

Father focused back on me, while the room filled with silence.

‘Let’s begin.’