Page 2 of Bride of the Bratva King (Blood & Bride #1)

Chapter two

The Purchase

A lexei

Three million dollars.

I've spent less on entire buildings, but watching Mila Kozlov walk across that stage in her little black dress, I would have paid ten times that amount. Twenty times. Whatever it took to make sure no other man in this room could touch her.

The irony isn't lost on me. Three years I've been carving Viktor's face into wood every night, trying to cut the guilt out of my chest one sliver at a time. Three years of sleepless nights and whiskey that doesn't work and memories that won't fade.

And now his sister is standing next to me, her small hand still caught in mine, looking up at me like she wants to put a knife between my ribs…

Which she probably does.

"Mr. Morozov." The auction coordinator appears at my elbow with a tablet and that practiced smile that says money talks . "If we could just handle the paperwork..."

I don't let go of Mila's hand as I tap my card against the reader. Three million dollars transfers from my account like it's three dollars. The coordinator's eyes widen slightly at the speed of the transaction, then she's all business again.

"Congratulations on your purchase," she says, like I just bought a car instead of a human being. "Your... bride... will be ready for transport in ten minutes."

Mila's hand tenses in mine at the word bride . Her breathing gets shallow, and I can practically hear her heart hammering against her ribs. But she doesn't try to pull away. Smart girl.

Or maybe she's just too shocked to move.

"There's no need to wait," I tell the coordinator. "We'll leave now."

"But sir, there are forms—"

"Are handled." I don't raise my voice, but something in my tone makes her take a step back. "The money has transferred. The contract is complete. We're leaving."

I start walking toward the exit, and Mila has no choice but to follow unless she wants me to drag her. Which I will, if necessary. I've waited three years for this moment. I'm not waiting another ten minutes for paperwork.

The crowd parts as we move through the room. Some of these men have known me for decades, watched me work my way up from Dmitri's enforcer to his right hand. They know what I'm capable of. More importantly, they know what I'm capable of when someone threatens what's mine.

And Mila Kozlov is mine now. Bought and paid for.

The fact that she came here willingly, that she put herself in this position, tells me everything I need to know about her plan. She thinks she's going to get close to me and then what? Kill me in my sleep? Poison my food?

Little girl has no idea what she's walking into.

But fuck, she's beautiful. The photos Viktor showed me three years ago didn't do her justice. In person, she's devastating. All long legs and dark hair and eyes that burn with fury and intelligence. When she was standing on that stage, every man in that room wanted her.

The difference is, I'm the only one who gets to have her.

My driver is waiting by the SUV when we emerge from the club. Boris sees me coming and immediately opens the back door, his eyes carefully not looking at the woman beside me. Smart man. I've killed people for less than looking at what belongs to me.

"Get in," I tell Mila.

She hesitates for just a second, and I can see her weighing her options. Run and get dragged back. Scream and get ignored. Fight and get hurt.

Or get in the car and continue whatever revenge fantasy she's been nursing for three years.

She gets in the car.

I slide in beside her, and Boris closes the door behind us. The partition between the front and back seats is already up, giving us privacy. The engine starts, and we pull away from the club into the Brooklyn night.

Mila sits as far from me as possible, pressed against the opposite door like she's trying to melt through it. Her dress has ridden up slightly, showing more of those long legs, and I have to grip the seat to keep from reaching out and touching her.

Patience , I remind myself. She came to me. Now I just have to wait for her to make her move.

"So," she says, and her voice is steadier than I expected. "Three million dollars. That's quite a lot for a wife you don't know."

I turn to study her profile. She's looking out the window, but I can see her reflection in the glass. Those dark eyes are watching me watch her.

"Who says I don't know you?"

That gets her attention. She turns to face me fully, and I can see the calculation behind her expression. Trying to figure out how much I know. How much danger she's in.

More than she realizes, but not in the way she thinks.

"Viktor talked about you," I continue, and watch her flinch at her brother's name. "Showed me pictures. Told me stories about his brilliant little sister who could hack into anything, who was going to change the world with computers."

Her jaw tightens. "Did he also tell you why he's dead?"

Direct. I like that about her. No games, no pretending. Just straight to the heart of it.

"Your brother made some poor choices," I say carefully. "Got involved with people he shouldn't have trusted."

"People like you?"

"No, little wife. People like Roman Volkov."

I see the confusion flicker across her face before she can hide it. Good . She doesn't know the whole story. Which means she doesn't know that Roman was the one who put the gun to Viktor's head. She doesn't know that I took a bullet in the shoulder trying to save her brother.

She doesn't know that Viktor's last words were about her.

Take care of Mila. Promise me.

"I don't know who Roman Volkov is," she says, but there's less certainty in her voice now.

"You will."

We drive in silence for a while. I can feel her tension like a living thing in the space between us. She's probably planning twelve different ways to kill me, weighing her chances of survival if she tries to jump out of a moving car.

Let her plan. When she's ready to hear the truth, I'll tell her.

When she's ready to understand that her brother died because he was trying to protect her, I'll explain.

When she's ready to realize that marrying me is the only thing keeping her alive, maybe she'll stop looking at me like I'm the monster.

But for now, I'm content to sit here and watch her think. To breathe in the scent of her perfume and imagine what she'll look like in my bed. To plan all the ways I'm going to make her mine.

Because she is mine now. The paperwork is signed, the money is transferred, and in the eyes of both the law and the Bratva, Mila Kozlov belongs to me.

The fact that she has no idea what that really means just makes it more interesting.

"Where are we going?" she asks as we turn onto the highway heading north.

"Home."

"Your home."

"Our home," I correct. "You're my wife now, Mila. That makes it your home too."

She makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be a sob. "I'm not your wife. I'm your... what did that woman call it? Oh yeah, your purchase ."

"Tomorrow we'll have a proper ceremony. Orthodox, traditional. Father Sergei will perform the service."

"I'm not Orthodox."

"You are now."

That gets me another one of those looks that could melt steel. But underneath the anger, I can see something else. Fear, maybe. Or excitement. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes.

"You can't just decide to change my religion."

"I can decide whatever I want, little wife. That's what three million dollars buys."

It's a harsh thing to say, but she needs to understand the reality of her situation. She's not some college girl playing at revolution anymore. She's in the deep end now, swimming with sharks, and I'm the biggest predator in the water.

The only question is whether I'm going to eat her or protect her.

Right now, I'm leaning toward both.

My phone buzzes against my chest. Text message. I pull it out and see Dmitri's name on the screen.

War council tomorrow. 9 AM. Volkov is making moves.

I delete the message and put the phone away. Mila is watching me with those intelligent eyes, probably wondering if it's about her. If someone is already planning to take her away from me.

They can try.

"Business?" she asks.

"Always."

"What kind of business?"

I lean back against the leather seat and study her face.

She's fishing for information, probably hoping I'll give her something she can use against me later.

But there's genuine curiosity there too.

Viktor's sister, through and through. Always asking questions, always wanting to understand how things work.

"The kind that keeps people like you safe from people like Roman Volkov."

"You keep saying that name like I should know it."

"You should. He's the reason your family owes the Bratva three million dollars. He's the reason Viktor got involved with us in the first place. And he's the reason your brother is dead."

I see the moment the words hit her. The way her face goes pale, the way her hands clench in her lap. She wants to argue, wants to tell me I'm lying. But something in my voice stops her.

Maybe it's the truth she hears there. Or maybe it's just the certainty.

"My family owes money because my father gambled it away," she says quietly.

"Your father gambled with Roman's money. Lost Roman's money. When he couldn't pay it back, Roman came collecting. Viktor tried to protect your family by working for us instead. Computer security, mostly. Clean jobs."

"And then?"

"And then Viktor discovered something he shouldn't have. About Roman's operation. About where the money really comes from."

I don't tell her the rest. Not yet. Don't tell her that Viktor was going to take the information to the FBI.

Don't tell her that Roman found out and decided Viktor was too dangerous to live.

Don't tell her that I killed three of Roman's men trying to save her brother, and that I still wake up in cold sweats wondering if I could have done more.

Don't tell her that marrying her was Viktor's idea, not mine.

Promise me you'll take care of Mila. She's all the family I have left. Promise me.

"You're lying," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"Ask me again in a week," I tell her. "When you've had time to think. When you've had time to realize that if I wanted you dead, little wife, you never would have made it to that auction."

The SUV turns off the highway onto a private road. Trees line both sides, tall pines that block out most of the moonlight. It won’t be long before my estate comes into view. Soon I'll have her inside my domain, surrounded by my security, completely under my control.

The thought sends heat straight to my groin.

"You know," I say, settling back against the leather seat and letting my gaze travel slowly down her body, "for someone who supposedly hates me, you're sitting awfully close."

She glances down and realizes she's unconsciously moved toward the center of the seat during our conversation. Color floods her cheeks as she quickly presses herself back against the door.

"I wasn't—that's not—"

"It's all right, little wife. I have that effect on women."

Her eyes narrow dangerously. "You're incredibly arrogant."

"I'm incredibly honest. There's a difference."

I lean forward slightly, invading her space just enough to watch her pupils dilate.

"For instance, I could tell you that you smell like vanilla and something uniquely yours that makes me want to bury my face in your neck.

I could mention that your dress has been driving me insane all evening, the way it hugs your curves and shows just enough leg to make me imagine what's underneath. "

Her breathing has gone shallow, and I can see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat like a trapped bird.

"I could also point out," I continue, my voice dropping lower, "that despite all your protests about being bought and paid for, you haven't once asked me to stop the car and let you out."

"You wouldn't stop even if I asked."

"Try me."

The challenge hangs between us for a long moment. She stares at me with those dark eyes that burn with intelligence and fury and something else she's trying hard to hide.

Desire.

"Stop the car," she whispers.

I don't move. Don't even blink. "Are you sure?"

"I—" She falters, and I see the exact moment she realizes she doesn't actually want me to stop. That despite everything, despite the circumstances that brought us together, she wants to see where this goes.

Smart girl.

"That's what I thought," I murmur, reaching across to trace one finger along her jawline.

Her skin is soft as silk and warm under my touch.

"You came to me tonight, Mila. Maybe not for the reasons you think, but you came.

And deep down, in that brilliant, dangerous mind of yours, you know this is exactly where you belong. "

"With a man who bought me like property?"

"With a man who paid three million dollars to make sure no one else could touch you." My thumb brushes across her lower lip, and she inhales sharply. "With a man who's going to spend every night for the rest of our marriage showing you exactly how precious you are."

"Marriage," she breathes. "This isn't a real marriage."

"It will be." The gates of my estate come into view through the trees, wrought iron and stone that mark the boundary of my domain. "In every way that matters."

I can see her trying to process that, trying to figure out if it's a promise or a threat. The answer, of course, is both.

"Almost home, Mrs. Morozov," I tell her as the gates swing open for us. "Ready to see what three million dollars bought?"