Page 9 of Sold to the Bratva (Sinful Mafia Daddies #2)

ISAAC

T he tailor cinches a tape around my waist while I stare past my reflection.

The tuxedo is nearly finished, jet black with sharp lines and knife-edged lapels.

It isn’t my first bespoke suit, and it won’t be my last, but knowing I’ll wear this one on my wedding day lands like a punch.

Pins-and-needles nerves prickle under my skin, yet my attention drifts miles from this room.

All I can picture is Katya gliding down the aisle toward me.

I saw the invoice for her gown. I can only imagine how extravagant it looks. She’s trying to bait me with the price, convinced I’ll blow a fuse. Even after our talk the other night, she still refuses to trust me.

Mikhail’s voice drifts from the far side of the room, hijacking my wedding fitting for an impromptu briefing. I don’t hear a single word, yet I nod at the right moments and hum so he assumes I’m listening.

My mind is miles away. I replay the way Katya looked in my office the other night, vulnerable and almost afraid. She bared her soul, confessed why this marriage hurts her, and it took everything in me not to drag her into my arms and swear I’d fix it all.

She isn’t what I expected. At first, I assumed she was bratty for the sake of it, defiant simply because she could be. I didn’t know how deep her layers ran, how much she wants from love and marriage. Her concerns are legitimate, even if her own father refuses to acknowledge them.

That’s why I swore to show her how good marriage can feel.

My care won’t stop at the bank account. I want to honor her dreams, prove I hear every word she says, especially the part about owning her own gallery.

She thinks marrying me buries that wish but I intend to prove the opposite.

Whatever her heart names, I’ll give it, whether she dares to ask or not.

That doesn’t mean I won’t tease her mercilessly in the meantime. She keeps tugging on my chain, but she’ll be the first to discover how deeply I can burrow under her skin. I’ll woo her, seduce her, rile her. Honestly, it’s the part of this marriage I’m looking forward to the most.

Before Katya, marriage never crossed my mind. I couldn’t picture a wife, let alone how to treat one. I didn’t want marriage, certainly not children. My life was the business, full stop. Carving out space to make someone else feel chosen had no place on my calendar.

In our world, family is a liability. Even Viktor knows that.

Maybe that was part of his motivation for arranging this marriage.

If I’m married to his daughter, I can’t use her against him, not that I ever would.

That isn’t the man I am, and it isn’t how I run my organization, even if it’s exactly how Oleg would do it.

And it doesn’t hurt that Katya already steals the air from my lungs. She strides into any room and tilts the world off its axis, gliding through my house as though she owns the deed while daring me to push her out.

She needles my limits just to gauge my temper and every time I refuse to snap, her frustration morphs into fascination. I wonder what she’d do if I shoved back, let her believe she was under my skin. She’d probably crank the heat even higher.

Ours will never be a soft, gooey sort of marriage.

That’s not who we are. We’re gasoline and the match.

One of us will spark, the other will feed the blaze.

Sooner or later we’ll blur together, unable to tell who struck first or who fanned the flames.

All I know is that I want to burn with her, for her, because of her.

Mikhail clears his throat, and I realize he’s waiting for me to respond to something. Damn it, I haven’t heard a single word. Even the tailor is staring at me, expectant. Shit, what did I miss?

“What’s on your mind, boss?” Mikhail asks, all innocence except for the wicked grin stretching across his face. He’s caught me red-handed.

I flick a glance at the mirror, hunting for some imaginary flaw in the impeccable suit, anything to throw him off the scent.

“Maybe the jacket needs gold buttons,” I bluff. “Special color for a special occasion.”

Mikhail rolls his eyes, and the tailor merely frowns.

“Matte black beads are classy, sir,” he says, making it clear there’s no chance he’s swapping buttons. We’ve already put him on a brutal schedule with the wedding right around the corner.

“You’re right.” I smile, never meaning to rattle him with my bluff. “And I think it all looks great.”

“Very good, sir,” he mutters. “Why don’t you step out of it so I can get it pressed and hung for the big day?”

“Thanks, Reggie,” I say, using the nickname I know he loathes.

Reginald has tailored my suits for more than a decade, yet I still haven’t cracked his stone-carved expression.

The man is all business, with the sense of humor of a sponge.

I peel off the tux, handing it over to him.

Once he disappears and I’m back in street clothes, Mikhail sidles up wearing a smirk he can’t hide.

“You actually like this girl, don’t you?” His eyes gleam the way only a best friend’s can. He’s never seen me like this, and he’s delighted to give me hell for it.

I narrow my eyes at him.

“What I feel about Katya is no one’s concern,” I answer, sharp and clipped, the tone I usually save for discipline. It only eggs him on.

“You don’t have to be the pakhan in here,” he says, voice light. “This happened fast. It’s a lot to process. Be real with me, Isaac. You like her.”

I exhale and fidget with my cuff links, watching light wink off the silver.

“More than I should,” I admit, my gaze fixed on my cuffs.

“She’s unpredictable,” he warns. “Smart, sure, but a little reckless.”

“So are you,” I shoot back.

He snorts. “Exactly why I know that combination is dangerous. Aren’t you worried this is a trap set by Oleg?”

I glanced at him. “You think this is a trap?”

“Could be. Oleg’s acting squeaky-clean, but the timing stinks. And Viktor handing over his daughter like a county fair prize? Feels like a calculated move.”

“Would Viktor really be so cruel as to use his daughter as a pawn to get what Oleg wants? Is that something you would do for me?”

“I wouldn’t,” he admits. “But it’s also a silly hypothetical. I don’t have kids, and since you’re the one getting married, you’ll probably have them before I do. Would you use your own children as pawns for the good of the Bratva?”

I pause only a second yet I already know the answer. Even though I’ve never wanted kids, I’ve thought about it. Family should come first, always. My father put the Bratva above me, and I never forgave him. I won’t repeat that cycle.

Before I can answer, a soft knock interrupts. Saved by the bell. Maude peeks in, her voice smooth and polite.

“Mr.Kozlov, Miss Belova is here, as you requested.”

I nod and motion for her to usher Katya into my closet, which has been converted into a dressing room for the fitting. Katya steps inside, confidence pouring off her in waves, one manicured brow lifted as she glances between Mikhail and me.

“We’ll talk more at the bachelor party,” he murmurs, clapping me on the shoulder before leaving with Maude.

On his way out, he catches my eye, and the look we trade is equal parts warning and amusement. The door clicks shut behind him.

Katya crosses her arms and cocks her head.

“You wanted to see me?” she asks, chin tipped upward to show she doesn’t appreciate being summoned.

“I found the receipt for your dress,” I say, fully aware she planted it on my desk. I lift the slip between two fingers, brow arched. “Fifteen grand?”

She shrugs. “You told me to pick whatever I wanted,” she says, chin lifted as though bracing for a fight. “I chose the one I loved. Are you going to deny me that on my wedding day?”

I dropped the paper and capture her gaze. This is nothing but a game. She blew that money just to needle me, and I intend to let her think it worked, if only for a heartbeat. The real pièce de résistance is still coming.

“No,” I drawl, offering a slow, sweet smile. “Of course not. Lucky for you, I’m the kind of husband who gives his wife anything she desires.”

I stroll toward her, deliberate and quiet, until barely a foot remains between us. I watch her lips part, note the flicker in her eyes as she realizes I’ve tricked her, and trace the rise of her chest as I invade her space.

I savor the small hitch in her breathing. Her eyelids dip, and I wonder whether she’s replaying the night I made her come. I hope so, and I hope she caught the double meaning in my promise.

“Anything?” she asks, brow arched, her voice hushed and uncertain.

We’re so close I can feel each warm exhale against my skin. The air crackles. It would take nothing to clasp her waist, thread my fingers through her hair, and tilt her proud chin toward me. One hard, hungry kiss and she’d surrender.

“Anything,” I whisper, my voice low and seductive.

I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and I know she feels the same. Her heavy-lidded gaze and parted lips betray her. She swallows, and the subtle bob of her throat mesmerizes me. I ache to kiss a path down her neck, taste her skin, and find the spot that makes her gasp.

All that can wait. We have a lifetime to explore each other. For now, I just need her calm enough to reach the altar.

She steps back and gives a small shake of her head, as though clearing fog.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says at last, her mask sliding back into place with a wicked grin.

Sooner or later, one of us is going to break.