Page 6 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Five

ALINA

I stare down at my half-empty glass of wine. Everything about the night is surreal, from the sleek limo that picked me and Ilya up to us sitting at one of the oldest, fanciest, most exclusive Italian restaurants in Chicago.

I pick up my glass and take a gulp, spilling a drop on the tablecloth somehow. I rub at it with my finger.

Well, fuck. This has got to be the most awkward-as-fuck evening ever.

Not just surreal. But awkward as fuck.

Because I’m sitting here with Santo and Ilya, and while that would be weird enough, Ilya’s in full-on fiancé mode, sitting close to me, his arm draped around my shoulders.

And I… I like it.

More surrealness. More weirdness.

Max was always a modern man, a loving one, but he wouldn’t ever make an arm around me akin to a pissing contest.

Yet this…

A small sigh escapes as I lean into Ilya, that fresh summer Tuscan citrus of him lifting my mood, relaxing me as I stop myself from snuggling in.

His warmth is oddly comforting, and I’m willing to cling to it in this moment.

Because I still don’t know what Santo wants from me.

The fact I turned up with a man, one who claims he’s my fiancé, should have been enough for him to just have a drink with us and then end the evening. Instead, it’s like I’m with a suitor and my man in some weird threesome audition.

A small smile breaks out on Santo’s face as he runs a finger around the rim of his glass.

“You know, I thought you were full of shit when you said you were engaged, but here you are with your fiancé, clearly in love.” He raises a hand.

“No shade from me for finding love again so quickly. When it happens, it happens, and you two are… Congratulations.”

My stomach flips and catches on a corner of guilt.

We’re not in love, obviously not, but the fact Ilya and I look so natural together unnerves me. It feels…almost like a betrayal to Max.

“I’m not a liar,” I force out.

This is true, even if I’m lying about me and Ilya.

This is a rebuttal gone astray.

Santo refills our glasses and takes a sip, then he tosses a glance Ilya’s way. “What did you say your name was?”

Every muscle in Ilya’s body vibrates and tightens, and I put a hand on his iron-like thigh to stop him from doing something stupid.

“Ilya,” he says, his jaw clenching.

“You’re a lucky man, Ilya.” Santo lifts his glass. “I’m not used to being turned down, especially for someone so clearly beneath both me and the beautiful Alina.”

I didn’t think the man could tense any more, but Ilya does. I hear the almost soundless growl .

I look at Ilya, my stomach tightening. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this mess.

Santo’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Ilya is trying to bore bullet holes into Santo’s skull with his gaze.

“Is there a dessert menu? Or do you want to call it a night, honey?” I say, wincing inwardly at the horrible generic term.

Neither man glances at me nor acknowledges me, though Ilya’s thigh muscle twitches once.

“I mean, you’re Demyan’s little bitch boy, right? I have my own fucking empire.” Santo’s words sound cruel and boastful. He looks at me. “Is it a pity thing?”

“Alina makes up her own mind,” Ilya says. “Even if she was single, she wouldn’t choose you.”

“Or her fucking brother decided to reward his pet with his sister?”

“Actually, my grandfather is Aleksandr Belov. You’ve heard of the Belov Bratva, right?” Ilya says calmly. “Pretty soon, it’s all going to be mine.”

I bite down on a gasp and struggle to keep the shock off my face.

I’ve known Ilya forever, since I can remember. He’s part of our family because he lost his so young. So why am I hearing about this for the first time right now?

Obviously, I’m just bratva by birth. I keep out of it all, as much as I can, so I have no idea who this Aleksandr Belov is.

But Santo knows.

Surprise blooms on his handsome face, and there’s a glimmer of unwanted admiration in his eyes.

Ilya’s family must be important.

Because the big blond man is not only impressed, but his pissing contest ends as his demeanor changes to one of abject interest.

“Interesting. How did I not know this? ”

A lesser man may try to jump on that and take Santo down, but Ilya doesn’t.

“It’s not something I advertise,” he says.

“Apparently so.” Santo clicks his fingers, and the waitstaff brings a cheese board as well as a dessert trolley over. “Whatever you wish for, Alina.”

I numbly choose mud cake, and when the staff disappears, Santo reaches into his pocket and presents Ilya with a business card.

“I heard about Aleksandr’s passing.” He nods at the card he places in front of Ilya. “Reach out to me once you gain control of the family. I’ve got a business proposition for you, one I’m confident you’ll like, Ilya.”

I take a bite of the cake, and I know it’s sublime, but honestly, it could be cardboard for all the attention I pay it.

If it were Demyan here, he would throw the card back. He’d taunt and bring Santo down a peg or three. Ilya doesn’t. And I’m pretty sure it’s partly because I hate that kind of thing, and partly because he’s different from Demyan in important ways.

It’s why they work so well together. They balance each other.

It’s not to say Ilya isn’t arrogant when he wants to be. He’s as pigheaded and stubborn as my brother, but there’s a softer, more in touch with the modern world vibe about Ilya, one Demyan was denied by our father. One he’s learning with his family, with Erin.

Ilya nods. “I’ll do that. When I’m ready. And of course, there are no promises if I’ll be interested.”

“Of course.” The smugness returns to Santo, and I think it may be his default setting. “Eat up your dessert. Have some drinks at the bar on me. This has been fun, but I’ve got other places to be. ”

I take another bite so that I don’t have to say goodbye to Santo. Once he’s gone, I set down my fork.

“What the hell, Ilya?” I demand.

He takes my plate and calmly starts eating the cake. “What?”

“ What ?” I hiss, looking at him. “Was any of that true?”

He looks down at the plate and eats another bite before pushing it away and pouring the rest of the bottle into his glass. A dark blush stains his cheeks.

Ordinarily, his embarrassment would delight me, but not right now.

“It’s all true,” he admits.

“How long have you known? How did I not know?”

“I found out two days ago.”

“When we had coffee?”

He nods.

I glare. “You didn’t tell me?”

“You had a lot on your mind.”

“Had a lot…” I stop, finish my wine. “Ilya, I thought we told each other everything…”

I suck in a breath.

“So…” I switch to speaking Russian. “Bratva? You inherited your own bratva?”

“Yes, I just found out I’m meant to take over my family’s bratva. My grandfather’s. A man I didn’t know still lived until after he died last week.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I whisper, the words coming automatically.

He touches my hand. “Alina, thank you, but I didn’t know him. The rest… I didn’t know that either.”

I don’t know what to say. He’s immersed in the bratva world, working for my brother. But there’s a difference between being someone Demyan relies on and needs to being a separate powerhouse .

Ilya got shot, for crying out loud. I lost my love because of wars within organized crime. It’s deadly already without Ilya being another Demyan.

Erin is remarkable in how she’s accepted what my brother is, and even Demyan’s softened a little. This step back to Russia, even for a short period, is something I’ve never seen.

Was I hoping for an end to it all?

It isn’t something I’ve let myself think about too much. I had a foot out the door before reality hit me hard when Max was caught in the crossfire of the world I was born into.

Part of me has accepted I’m never going to be free. But knowing two pakhans?

“Ilya, taking over a bratva is huge.”

“You don’t think I can?”

“I think you can do anything you want,” I say, my voice shaking a little. “I think you could be a powerhouse like Demyan, and the two of you could rule Chicago. That isn’t what I’m saying.”

He nods slowly. “What is it, then?”

His life is already in danger. He nearly died trying to protect Erin. And I know he’d lay down his life for me, Demyan, Erin, and the children. And he shouldn’t.

I can’t?—

I swallow hard.

Ilya isn’t Max.

Ilya’s of this world. The world of violence, of organized crime.

And he’s deadly. The power he has working with Demyan is already huge. But a pakhan is always a potential target.

This isn’t something I can say to him. My terrible fears.

They’re mine, not his, and we’re just friends. Good friends, close, but still friends. And me stating I don’t want to lose him like I lost Max is both complex and selfish.

So I make myself breathe. And I sort my words .

It’s not because we’re speaking in Russian. Max never spoke the language but it’s part of me. Both are right. No, I sort them because I want them to be right.

The fear and dread aren’t about him or whether he can do this I know he can. It’s me. I’m the one brimming with those emotions. I can’t be inside my fears.

Finally, I settle on the right words. “How do you feel about it? And what do you want?”

Now it’s Ilya’s turn for silence, and his ability to weigh things up, assess situations, has always impressed me. Even now, when it comes to himself and his news, he’s thoughtful, considerate of what he wants to convey.

My heart squeezes a little, and I wonder what kind of lov?—

No. I don’t want to know that.

Do I?

He takes another bite of my dessert, then he swallows and finally cuts a piece of cheese from the platter and places it on a cracker for me. He cut it super thin, just how I like it. Then he cuts a hunk for himself and eats that.

“I’m still processing it all,” he finally says. “As to what I want?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Yet.”

Yet…

I nod. “It’s a lot to take in.” I pause. “I wish you’d told me earlier.”

“And take the limelight from your date with Santo?” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and then he orders a couple of whiskeys.

“Yes,” I say, forcing a laugh. “You should have done that.”

A small smile turns up his mouth. “It’s complicated, Alina. I had to get ready for our engagement here. But seriously, I’m just processing.”

“So, when you finish processing, what?” I ask. “You just take over? Just like that? ”

When the drinks arrive, he slides a finger over the back of my neck before removing his arm from where he’d had it when Santo was here.

Ilya clears his throat. “It’s not quite that simple.”

“What do you mean?” I frown.

Once more, he shifts and downs half his drink.

“Ilya?”

“Yes?”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, something he always does. And I suddenly know he’s keeping something from me. Lying, I guess, by omission.

I sit back and fold my arms. “You can look at me, Ilya.”

He does, for about a nanosecond. “I am. See?”

“Don’t play that game with me.” I look at him then poke him in the side before refolding my arms.

But he does finally rest his gaze on me. “You’re so little and yet so annoying.”

I refuse to smile. “I’m not little. I’m not overly tall, but you make me sound like a doll.”

“A teeny, little doll.”

“Ilya.”

“A teeny, little, angry doll.”

“With teeth,” I say, “that bite.”

He chuckles.

“Ilya, whatever’s going on, you can trust me to keep a secret.”

“I know,” he says softly.

But I’m not finished. “I owe you, after all. You helped me out and kept my lie. You played into it, and look what happened? Santo backed right off the moment you told him who you were.”

“A—”

“Ilya. A strong and brave man,” I say. “One not to be trifled with. ”

He laughs again, shaking his head.

“Who knows?” I continue. “Maybe talking through whatever’s on your mind might help you figure it out. I’m good with problems. Great.”

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you met me? Demyan and my father spoiled me rotten, and you did the same. You all created a monster. I get my way. I always do. So, come on, Ilya…tell me, or I’ll make your life hell.”

I’m teasing, and he knows it. The smile of delight gives him away.

But he finally sighs. “You really are a monster, Alina. My little monster.”

“I know,” I say, putting my hand on his arm and picking up my whiskey with the other. “It’s a problem.”

He casts me a look. “There’s a condition to my inheritance.”

I wait; there’s something about that look that warns me to keep my mouth shut.

“Thing is, I need to be married,” he says, and my mouth drops open. “For a year.”

“A year?” I echo.

“It gets better. I have a month to find myself a wife.”

“Oh.”

He nods, his mouth setting. “Oh yeah. And not just any wife either. Apparently, it needs to be someone with bratva connections.”

“You need a bratva bride.”

He winces. “Basically.”

“Is it something you want? Really?”

I know he’s still processing it all, but I’m asking about everything. Not just power, but the money it must come with .

“There’s a lot at stake, and…” He shrugs.

“What about me?” I say, my voice seemingly coming from elsewhere, outside my control. “I’m bratva. Very bratva. And Demyan’s your friend, so there’s no threat there, from either of us.”

“Hell no,” Ilya says, shaking his head. “I’m not making you go through that.”

It’s an out. I hear it. But the thing is, now that I’ve tossed the idea into the ring, it makes sense. And…I want to help him. I love Ilya. He’s my friend. I’d do anything for him, the way he would for me.

“You should take this, even just for the money. You work so hard. You’re loyal.

And if you go another route, another girl, who knows what will happen there?

Look at the mess Demyan got himself into with Stefina.

And that could have been so much worse. He could have lost his love and his little family.

I know Erin, and if he’d had to go through with it all, then Erin would have walked.

“Who knows what other trouble’s out there? You need someone you can trust, Ilya,” I say. “Which means we both know I’m what you need. In fact, there’s no better option than me. I’m perfect, and you know it.”

He picks up my hand and kisses it. “Alina, you know I appreciate this. I do. But I can’t, and I won’t ask this of you.”

“I’m offering, and it’s rude to say no.” A bright spark of genius hits me. “Besides, Santo already thinks we’re engaged. It’s going to look suspicious as fuck if you suddenly marry someone else.”

“I said no.”

I glare at him. “Ilya Belov, getting married not only fixes your problem and gets you what you want, but it helps me.”

“Alina—”

“We both know it’ll keep Santo off my back permanently.” I sit back, but he doesn’t shoot up and whirl me around, saying yes and proclaiming me a genius.

He starts to speak but stops, hesitating.

“Okay,” I say, something snapping inside me. “Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t marry me.”

I sit back and wait.