Page 2 of Bribed & Bred By The BRATVA (Bred By The BRATVA #9)

The night air is sharp with rain on stone. She hesitates at the threshold of the pool house I’ve lived in for the last ten years, bag clutched like a shield, but she still follows when I step inside. Good. She doesn’t understand yet, but her body already knows there’s no path but mine.

The house hums with silence. High ceilings, glass walls, polished wood. My space. Private. No laughter from brothers, no women’s voices carrying down the halls, no children crying. I keep this place stripped down to what I want and nothing more. Until what I wanted changed.

Now I want her. From the moment I saw her, I knew. Like night follows day and day follows night. She was meant for me, and I was meant for her.

She stands in the entryway like she’s waiting for judgment. Pale under the light. But her chin lifts a fraction when I look at her, and I like that. The steel under confusion and fear.

“You’ll stay here,” I tell her. “It’s private. Secure.”

Her throat moves as she swallows. “Until when?”

“Until always.”

Her lips part, ready to argue, but I don’t give her the space. I take her bag from her hands and set it down. “The judge will be here soon.”

The flicker in her eyes is panic, but there’s something else under it too. Relief. I see it in the way her shoulders sag just slightly. She’s too tired to fight the tide.

“You said—” she begins.

“I said your brother would live,” I cut in. “And he will. His transfer is complete. The doctors are already briefed. You’ll see him tomorrow. You’ll see the difference in his skin, in his breath. I keep my promises.”

Her gaze drops to the floor. A tremor runs through her, tiny, like a shiver she can’t control. She’s already learning that safety and I are the same thing.

A knock at the door breaks the moment. I glance at the clock. Right on time.

Two of my men show the judge in. A man who owes me more favors than he can count. His hands are steady, his words efficient. He doesn’t ask questions.

He knows better.

The license is set on the table. Thick paper. Black print. Her name, my name. I stand close enough that my shadow falls over hers.

“Sit,” I command.

She lowers herself into the chair. Her hands tremble when she picks up the pen. The judge clears his throat and begins the formal words. They’re meaningless. This isn’t about vows or God. It’s about blood and ink.

“Isabella Constible,” the judge says. “Do you consent to this union?”

Her voice is thin. “Yes.”

It’s enough.

When the pen scratches across the paper, I feel it like a pulse under my skin. Final. Irrevocable. Mine.

I take the pen when it’s my turn. My signature is swift. Sharp. A blade carving its mark.

The judge adds his seal, murmurs something about legality and witnesses. My men sign where needed. Then it’s done.

The license is folded and placed back into the folder. The judge leaves without lingering. He knows when he’s in the presence of something bigger than himself.

The silence after is thick. Heavy. She sits stiff in the chair, staring at the papers as though they might burn her. The pen still lies beside her hand.

“Stand.”

Her body obeys before her mind catches up. I can see it in her eyes, the shock of it. Of how easily she follows.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring. A thin band. A simple diamond that catches light without bragging. I take her left hand. Cold. Fragile. I slide the ring onto her finger and feel the tremor.

“Say it,” I tell her.

Her lashes lift. “Say what?”

“That you are my wife.”

Color stains her cheeks. She hesitates. Then: “I am…I am your wife.”

The words seal tighter than the signature. My hand comes to her neck, steady, claiming. Her pulse hammers against my palm.

“Good,” I murmur. “Now the world knows what I already decided.”

Her breath catches when I lower my mouth to hers. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a vow, a possession. She gasps, and I drink her in like I’ve been starving for this one taste all my life.

“You belong here. To me. This house. My name. My bed. My child. All of it begins now.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t argue. She only stands there, trembling, caught between fear and anticipation.

I step back, not because I want distance but because control tastes better when it’s stretched.

“You’ll eat with me tonight. Sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow you’ll see your brother.”

Her voice is still thin. “Sleep?”

“You,” I say, “are now my wife. We will consummate this marriage and you will sleep in my bed as my wife.”

She grips the edge of the table. “You planned this.”

“Of course.” I brush a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. “Nothing I do is left to chance.”

Her eyes close at the touch. A shiver runs through her.

I should leave. Give her space. Let the hunger steep a little longer.

But when her lips part on a shaky breath, patience snaps like a bone.

I step closer, crowding her against the table, my mouth claiming hers before she can think to protest. The kiss is rough, unrelenting, the kind that sears possession into the skin. She gasps, clinging to me, and that’s all the permission I need.

“Tonight,” I murmur against her lips, “you don’t just sleep in my house as my wife. You sleep in my bed. You learn exactly what it means to belong to me”

Her pretty lips part, but no words come out.

I gesture toward the hall. “I’ll show you our room.”

She follows, her footsteps soft against the polished floor. At the doorway, she pauses. The room is large, with windows overlooking the pool, the bed is dressed in dark linens.

She grips the frame. “You planned this.”

“Of course.” I brush my fingertips over her chin, dragging my thumb to her collarbone. “Nothing I do is left to chance.”

Her eyes close at the touch. A shiver runs through her.

I let my fingers linger for a beat, then drop them. “Dinner will be in an hour.”

I leave her there, standing in the doorway with the ring flashing on her finger, and return to the silence of the main room.

Through the glass, the pool lies still, reflecting the first scatter of stars. I pour a drink I don’t taste. My chest is tight with the hunger of patience. I could have taken her already. She would have yielded because there was no choice.

But the first time matters. The first time sets the tone. When I take her, it won’t feel like a bargain. It will feel like inevitability. And she will crave it just as much as I do.

She’ll learn soon enough. I am safety. I am power. I am fate.