Page 71 of Bratva Prince
“Willow, can I borrow yourhusbandfor a moment,” he said, giving her the satisfaction of hearing it aloud.
“What’s going on?” I asked, not releasing Willow from my arms.
Misha’s hand swept the back of his neck and he exchanged looks with Dimitry. “Security has a man apprehended and they’re telling us he has some important information we all need to hear.Itold Dimitry we should handle it ourselves since it’s your wedding day and all, butheinsisted we involve you in the matter.”
I placed a gentle kiss on Willow’s forehead, promising I’d be back.
“But you promised no work on our wedding night,” she reminded me.
“No, no, my love. This isn’t work. I’m going to deal with whatever bullshit is going on real quick and I’ll be back by your side in time for our second piece of cake.”
She sighed, pointing her finger to my chest. “Language,” she reprimanded. “I don’t want the baby hearing such vulgarity.”
I brushed my mouth against her ear, whispering, “Then maybe you should keep it down when you’re screaming such obscenities while you ride my cock all night.”
Her face flushed a bright shade of red, and she cleared her throat. “Make it quick. I’m going to check on Timur and when we get back, you’d better be here waiting.”
I knew that would get her off my case about the swearing for a few minutes.
I kissed both of her hands and promised my beautiful bride I’d be waiting for her soon, and followed my brothers outside to where a strange man stood waiting with his arms restrained behind his back.
He looked to be younger than us, mid-twenties, maybe? Dark hair, blue eyes, about as tall as the rest of us—which was interesting, considering we were usually the taller men in the room.
I was the first to speak up, annoyed to be dragged away from my bride. “You’d better have a damn good reason to interrupt my wedding,friend.” My words were harsh and stern.
“I do. It’s about Isabel Chernoff—er, Isabel Koslov. You might better know her as mommy.” His tone was a mix of amusement and concern, something I might find humorous or charming if the bastard hadn’t interrupted my dance with Willow.
Our backs straightened when we heard the name Isabel, be it a Chernoff or Koslov, though we knew either way he meant our mother.
“The fuck do you know about Isabel,” Misha growled, resisting the urge to pin the man to the brick wall behind him.
“I know a lot about Isabel considering… She's my mother, too. Or, about as much of a mother that life was willing to give me.” I could sense a little hidden resentment, and I cocked my head to the side, hearing the words repeat themselves in my head.
He was our brother. Or, so he claimed.
“Why would we believe you’re a Koslov?” Dimitry asked while Misha and I stood with our mouths pulled closed tight.
“I’m not a Koslov,” he spat. “I’m a Chernoff. But we are brothers.”
“Prove it.” Though Dimitry said it, we’d all been thinking it.
The man reached into his pocket and we instantly all reached for our weapons—the security and my brothers alike—but the man simply held his arms up in surrender. “Easy, boys,” he said, making a slow movement to pull out a folded up paper. “It’s just a photograph.”
He unfolded the photo and handed it over, pointing at the woman we clearly recognized as our mother. Beside her were the three of us and our dreaded father. The photo was bittersweet, reminding us of both good and bad times. Memories of when our mother was still around, but unfortunately so was our father.
“How did you get this?” Misha asked, gripping the photo, shaking it vigorously.
“It was my mother’s. I came across it and decided to do a little investigating, dig a little deeper. Turned out, the kids in the photo were you guys, my brothers. Shocked the hell out of me considering she’d never mentioned she had kids before me. Then again, she didn’t really tell me shit about my life, or apparently hers, either. Anyway, I decided to take a trip to Moscow to see it for myself, and here I am. Hello. Maxim Chernoff, your alleged half-brother.”
“How do we know you’re not fabricating some elaborate story? Huh? What is it you want, money? Power? Well, find someone else to help you achieve it.”
Maxim scoffed. “Please. You think I need your help for that? Isabel and I have built our own wealth and our own power.”
“Then, what are you doing here?” I asked. “Looking for a family reunion?”
“Well, we aren’t interested. For all we know, you’re a lying son of a bitch who’s trying to get on our good side to fuck us over later,” Dimitry spat.
Maxim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not interested in anything tangible you have to offer, and I don’t want a family reunion. I couldn’t give a fuck less about family. I just need your help. Your brains, per say.”
“For what?” we asked in unison.
“I need your help finding our mother. She’s missing and I think she might be in danger.”
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