Page 55 of Brutal Union (Ruthless Mafia Kings #8)

Chuckling, I turn back to myself in the mirror.

The dress Gwen fought me on fits like it was made for a war queen. Timeless silk, structured bodice, no lace, no frills. The fabric hugs my frame with clean lines, and the slit down the left leg is obscene in the best way—high enough to show the thigh holster Gwen thinks I’m not wearing.

I smooth my hands down the waist, catching the shimmer of gold at my ring finger. This dress wasn’t made just to walk down the aisle. It was also made for battle in case anyone tried to kill both the leaders of the Yakuza and the Bratva on their wedding day.

This wedding isn’t just about love. It’s about power. About showing the world—our allies and our enemies—that the Bratva and the Yakuza are no longer at war. That we’re united. Bound not just by blood and history, but by choice.

One foot in the Bratva. One foot in the Yakuza.

After our fathers died, there was chaos. Blood, betrayal, and power grabs from every direction. Sho and I tried to hold it all together—him running Japan, me managing the States. We lasted a few months before burning out, both exhausted and missing each other more than either of us wanted to admit.

Sho and I are weapons, not politicians. So we learned to delegate—carefully.

Officially, Sho is the head of the Yakuza. To the public, it’s all him. But behind the curtain, Aoi and Bhon handle most of the diplomacy—cutting deals, managing relations, keeping things quiet. Sho doesn’t have the patience for handshakes and veiled threats. They do.

On my side, I reclaimed the Bratva the only way I knew how—by delivering Boris Petrov’s head in the middle of a council meeting. That single moment erased any doubts about my loyalty or my ruthlessness.

I kept the title of Queen, but I’ve learned to share the burden. Nikolai handles the day-to-day operations now—logistics, money, keeping the old guard in line. I trust him, mostly. He knows better than to cross me twice.

I asked Aleksandr once if he wanted to take on more. He shook his head and said, “Between Lily and Rosie, I already report to two bosses who don’t accept excuses.” Fair enough. Their toddler could probably run a small militia already.

It’s not perfect, splitting our lives between New York and Tokyo. The time zones suck. The politics are worse. But it’s what needs to be done if we want this to last. If we want to build something real out of all the destruction we came from.

Which leaves me here. In a wedding dress. Wearing a ring that’s both a promise and a warning. Surrounded by crime lords who’ve all agreed—no killings until after 2 a.m.

After that? All bets are off.

“You look gorgeous,” the low rasp of Sho’s voice catches me off guard and instead of hiding myself I place both hands on my hips, and narrow my eyes at him.

He stands just inside the suite, wearing a crisp white montsuki kimono layered over a black hakama .

The family crest stitched in silver on the chest, his sleeves perfectly folded, his hair clean and pushed back, revealing every sharp angle of his face.

Even in formalwear, he looks like a man built to ruin people.

“You’re not supposed to see me yet,” I say, crossing my arms, but not moving to cover the slit that runs up my leg.

He smirks. “That rule doesn’t apply to us. ”

“It’s bad luck.”

“ We are bad luck,” he says simply, stepping closer. “If the universe hasn’t cursed us by now, a dress isn’t going to do it.”

Sho stops just in front of me. His hands curl around my waist, firm and steady. The weight of them is grounding—familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.

“Touching the bride has to be double bad luck,” I smirk, the clearness of his green eyes almost looks like the Everglades, and I feel like I am falling in love with him again.

“Ooo,” he mutters. “I am so scared.”

His lips brush the base of my neck—light, slow.

Then higher, pressing a kiss just beneath my jaw.

The heat coils low in my stomach, and I don’t move.

Don’t breathe. Another kiss, just behind my ear, and I can feel the smile against my skin as he murmurs, “I am going to rip this dress off with my teeth later.”

I laugh softly, though it’s more of a breathless exhale. “Only if you’re a good boy until after the ceremony.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gaze sharp and predatory. “You wouldn’t torture me by not giving me a taste.”

The word no dies in my throat. Because the way he’s looking at me—like he’s already undressing me in his mind—makes my heart race and my skin flush.

I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, but it’s impossible when he’s this close, when his hands are still on my waist, when his lips are still tilted in that dangerous smirk.

“Gwen will kill me if I fuck up this dress,” I gasp as his hand trails up my outer thigh .

“Gwen is going to have to fight me first,” he growls, nipping at the edge of my ear.

“You’re terrible,” I manage finally, my voice shaky. “An hour before the ceremony, and you’re already?—”

“Trying to consummate the marriage?” His fingers tighten slightly on my waist, and he leans in again, his breath warm against my ear.

“You are insufferable,” I grab his hand just as he gets to my hips, but before he can fully notice that I am not wearing any panties. “Am I going to have to handcuff you to keep your hands to yourself tonight?”

He smirks, cocky and completely unrepentant. “Please?”

I push at his chest with the intention of creating space, of reminding him we’re on a schedule, but all it does is give him leverage.

His hands slide lower as he pulls me closer, until our bodies are fully pressed together—my chest against his, the silk of my dress dragging across the textured folds of his hakama, every breath shared, every inch of me aligned to the heat rolling off of him.

He dips his head, brushing his nose against mine, and for a second everything goes still. His hand tightens at my waist like he’s holding himself back. Like he’s trying to be good.

Then he kisses me.

It’s not rushed. It’s not rough. It’s slow—intensely so—like he’s drawing it out on purpose, like he wants to savor it. His lips press against mine with a steady, controlled pressure, warm and coaxing, not demanding, but deep and knowing. Like he’s been waiting for this exact moment .

My body reacts before I can think. My lips part beneath his, and his tongue finds mine, slow and smooth and maddening. I clutch at his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his kimono, trying to anchor myself. But it doesn’t work.

The kiss deepens.

His mouth moves with precision—tasting, teasing, taking. His hand skims the curve of my lower back, drawing small circles that send sparks through my spine. My skin buzzes. My pulse spikes. Every part of me feels like it’s being dragged closer to something dangerous and inevitable.

He tilts his head and groans softly into my mouth as my fingers slip beneath the edge of his collar. I feel the bare skin there—warm, tight with muscle—and I want more. I want all of him. Here. Now.

His kiss turns hungrier, just slightly—his teeth grazing my bottom lip, his hand tightening at my hip like he’s seconds away from spinning me around and doing things we won’t be able to walk away from.

I break the kiss first. Barely.

My lips are swollen. My breath short. My heart pounding like it wants to leap into his hands.

“Tell me the truth, Hime,” he says, voice rough, lips still brushing mine.

“Hhm?”

“Are you wearing panties right now?”

I smirk, slow and cruel. “Guess you’ll find out later.”

His hands stay on me, but his eyes narrow, calculating the weight of that tease. I drag my thumb across his mouth, deliberately slow, watching his control fray.

“You better walk away now,” I murmur, lips brushing his jaw, “because if you mess up this dress I am edging you all week.”

Sho swears under his breath, jaw clenched tight, as he pulls me in even closer, breathing me in and definitely ruining my dress.

“Nadia you are not going to-” Nikolai’s voice snaps the perfect tenderness of the moment as he rips open the door. “There you are!”

“You snuck away from your suite?” I smirk, pushing him away just so I can have space to breathe.

“I wanted a peek,” he smiles, reaching for my hand but I take a step back and narrow my eyes.

“Go stand at the end of the aisle,” I snap.

Sho’s grin only deepens. “Promise you’ll meet me down there,” he says, and leans in to kiss the curve of my cheek, slow and smug.

“I promise.” I grin—and not a small, polite smirk. No, this is something deeper. A toothy, wild grin that stretches across my face until my cheeks ache and my eyes sting. It's unhinged, radiant, raw. An eclipsing smile that feels too big for my skin, too alive to cage.

It hurts—but for the first time, the pain is the good kind. The kind I’d endure over and over. The kind I’ve fought for, bled for. The kind that doesn’t hollow me out but fills me—like fire in the lungs, like love in a war zone.

The kind I can take.

The kind I can give .

And finally, finally, the kind I choose .

As I step forward, toward everything I once swore I’d never want, I realize—I can have it all. The crown. The guy. My ability to kill someone in seventeen different ways.

I can be it all.

Thank you so much for trusting me with Nadia and Sho’s story. This book is a little different from my others, but I always follow where the characters lead—and I’m grateful you came on that journey with me.

If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave a review. Your support helps me grow and gives me the chance to keep creating the kinds of stories you love.

Coming soon is Alek’s and Lily’s story, this one had me in tears at times. Stay tuned, follow me on Amazon and so you’re the first to know when it’s available.

If you haven’t, enjoy Nikolai and Gwen’s story in Bratva King’s Secret Twins.

Here is a sneak peak…