Page 13

I lean back in the leather booth, swirling the ice in my glass, watching as my men drink and celebrate. The bass of the music thrums beneath my feet, the low hum of conversation blending with the clink of glasses and drunken laughter. They’re toasting to my upcoming wedding, throwing back shots in my name, as if this is some grand victory.

To them, it is; another power move, another way to break the Spades and remind them who they’re dealing with.

To me, it’s just another necessary step.

I bring my glass to my lips, letting the burn of vodka settle in my throat, my expression blank. The noise around me barely registers. I let them have their fun. Let them toast, let them act like this marriage is just another business deal, another triumph.

They don’t see what’s in my head. Julie.

Her flushed cheeks, her parted lips when I kissed her. The way she trembled beneath my touch, not just in fear, but something else—something darker, something she doesn’t even want to admit yet.

A waitress appears at my side, her movements practiced, confident. She leans in close, setting down another bottle of vodka, her fingers grazing my arm as she lingers. I don’t look at her, but I can feel the weight of her stare, the expectation in the way she presses just a little too close.

I don’t entertain it. I don’t have to say a word—just a glance, sharp and final, is enough to send her stepping back, her smile fading.

I’m not interested. Not in her. Not in anyone.

Not when my thoughts are consumed by her .

I grip my glass tighter, the cold pressing into my palm as I take another slow sip. Around me, the celebration rages on—voices raised in laughter, men clinking their drinks together in a chaotic symphony of toasts and boasts. They’re celebrating me, my upcoming marriage, but my thoughts are far from the festivities.

They’re on her. Julie.

The image of her, both embarrassed and beautiful, stays lodged in my mind like a blade I can’t dislodge. I saw more of her than I intended that night. The soft curves of her body, the way her skin was still damp from the shower, droplets clinging to places my eyes lingered far too long. She had looked furious—mortified, vulnerable. There had been something else, something she tried to hide, even from herself.

I shift in my seat, jaw tightening.

She’s just a pawn. A means to an end. I tell myself this over and over, but it doesn’t stop the dark thoughts that creep in when I think of our wedding night.

Claiming her.

Owning her in every way.

I roll my shoulders, exhaling sharply, willing the tension away. Focus. I have too much work to do to let my thoughts spiral into something I can’t afford to indulge.

Of course, peace never lasts.

A heavy arm slaps down onto my shoulder, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Ivan. He’s clearly drunk, more than I’ve ever seen him. Fucking wonderful.

“You know,” he slurs, sliding into the booth beside me with a lazy grin, “I still can’t believe it.”

I arch a brow, not in the mood for guessing games. “Believe what?”

He snorts, waving a hand. “That you. You, of all people, are getting married.” He shakes his head like the thought alone is too ridiculous to comprehend. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

I take a measured sip of my drink, ignoring the amused glint in his eyes. “It’s not that kind of marriage.”

Ivan whistles low. “Yeah, yeah. Business, power moves, revenge, whatever helps you sleep at night, Boss.” He leans in slightly, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Let’s be real here—there’s no way you aren’t enjoying this.”

I don’t answer. Which, of course, only fuels him further.

“Come on,” he goads, nudging me with his elbow. “The girl’s gorgeous. You get to own her? That’s a dream setup if I’ve ever heard one.”

I exhale through my nose, giving him a side glance. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

I set my glass down with deliberate slowness. “It’s not a question worth answering.”

Ivan smirks, clearly entertained by my refusal to engage. “Alright, fine. If you ask me, settling down might actually be good for you.”

I let out a dry chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Since when do you care about my well-being?”

“I don’t,” he admits easily, shrugging. “I just think it’d be funny to see you, Mikhail fucking Sharov, dealing with a wife.”

I shake my head, unimpressed. “You think I’m about to turn into some domesticated husband? Put down my gun and pick up a fucking gardening hobby?”

Ivan snorts. “Would pay good money to see that.”

I roll my eyes, but a smirk threatens at the corner of my lips. He’s an idiot, but he’s been with me long enough to get away with this shit.

“Look, all I’m saying is,” Ivan continues, gesturing lazily with his half-empty glass, “if you’re stuck with her anyway, might as well enjoy it.”

I don’t respond, but his words settle in my mind. Enjoy it. I already do. More than I should. That’s the problem.

I glance toward the bar, contemplating another drink, but I know it won’t help. Julie is in my system now, and no amount of alcohol will dull the thoughts running rampant in my head.

Eventually, Ivan leans back, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut up now. Just had to poke at you a bit.”

“Consider yourself lucky I’m in a tolerant mood.”

He grins. “If you say so.”

I shake my head, swirling the ice in my glass as Ivan leans back against the booth, still grinning like an idiot. He’s had too much to drink, but that’s nothing new. He loves to push my buttons, always has.

He takes another sip of his vodka, then eyes me over the rim of his glass. “You know, maybe I should be the one to toast at the wedding.”

I give him a deadpan look. “I’d rather shoot myself.”

Ivan throws his head back, laughing. “Come on, it’d be legendary. I’ll get up in front of everyone, tell them how the great Mikhail Sharov has finally been tamed.” He shakes his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Hell, maybe I’ll even bring a slideshow. You know—before and after shots. The fearsome Bratva boss turned doting husband.”

I don’t smile, but there’s a flicker of amusement deep in my chest. “I’ll have you thrown out before you get a word in.”

Ivan grins, unbothered. “What’s the worst you could do? Kill me?”

I take a slow sip of the melting ice in my drink. “If you keep talking, I might.”

Ivan’s laughter is cut off when a woman slides up beside him, resting a manicured hand on his shoulder. She’s blonde, with deep red lips and a body that commands attention in a way that’s calculated, practiced.

“There you are,” she purrs, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Ivan immediately turns his attention to her, grinning as he wraps an arm around her waist. “Here I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully swatting at his chest. “I could never forget you, darling.”

Ivan winks at me before standing. “Duty calls.”

I exhale through my nose, watching as he lets her drag him toward the dance floor, already distracted by whatever the night has in store for him.

I finish my drink, signaling for another. The bartender moves quickly, refilling my glass with a fresh pour of whiskey. I down it just as fast, letting the warmth settle deep in my chest before rising from my seat.

The club is just a front. A place for the men to drink, for business associates to mingle, for money to exchange hands. The real work happens behind the scenes.

I make my way toward the back, passing through the crowd without a second glance. The music thuds in my ears, the flashing lights casting shadows across the room, but I pay none of it any mind.

The hallway leading to the offices is quieter, the soundproofing keeping the chaos of the club at bay. It’s a different world back here. Controlled. Efficient.

I pull out my phone, dialing one of the guards stationed at the estate. He picks up after the second ring.

“She’s fine, sir,” he reports before I even ask. “Causing a fuss, but nothing we can’t handle.”

I smirk. Of course, she is. I imagine her pacing the room, throwing whatever insults she can muster at the guards outside her door, maybe even attempting another escape, as useless as it would be.

“She eat?” I ask.

A pause. “Not much. Picked at what was brought to her, but it’s better than nothing.”

That’s something, at least.

I end the call without another word, slipping my phone back into my pocket just as a familiar voice calls out from behind me.

“Are you really working right now?”

I turn to see Ivan and a few others rounding the corner.

Ivan looks exasperated. The others just look amused.

“You really have no concept of relaxing, do you?” Ivan shakes his head, clapping a hand against my shoulder. “You’re at your own damn celebration, and you disappear into the back like a fucking accountant.”

I roll my shoulders. “Business doesn’t stop because you’re too drunk to function.”

Ivan smirks. “Maybe not, but you’re not exactly fun at a party.”

One of the others, Viktor, lets out a chuckle. “It’s true. You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here.”

Because I would.

Ivan sighs dramatically, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, one more drink. One dance, even. Just pretend to enjoy yourself.”

I stare at him, unimpressed. “No.”

“You wound me.”

I shake him off. “You’ll live.”

He steps in front of me, blocking my path. “One drink. That’s all I’m asking.”

I exhale sharply. The fastest way to end this conversation is to give in.

“Fine,” I mutter.

The men cheer, leading me back toward the club. I let them drag me into the noise, into the chaos, but my thoughts are still elsewhere.

Ivan slams his glass onto the bar, grinning like an idiot as the bartender raises an eyebrow at him. “Another round,” he announces, voice already slurring. “For the groom.”

The bartender, a sharp-eyed man who knows when to push and when to back off, grins as he grabs another bottle. “I should be cutting you off,” he jokes, pouring the vodka into fresh glasses. “But I’d rather not find myself floating in the river tomorrow morning.”

Laughter erupts around us, but Ivan just smiles wider. “That’s the spirit.” He slides a shot my way. “Come on, one more.”

I sigh, taking the glass but not drinking just yet. The burn of alcohol is already warm in my veins, but Ivan isn’t going to shut up until I humor him.

The other Bratva, still nursing his own drink, smirks. “I think you’re trying to make sure he’s too hungover for his wedding.”

Ivan gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest. “Moi? brat, you wound me. I would never do such a thing.”

The bartender snorts. “Bullshit.”

Ivan just laughs, unbothered, and clinks his glass against mine before knocking it back. I follow, letting the warmth settle in my stomach.

Before I can put the glass down, the music shifts, the bass deep and pulsing, the kind of song that makes people move instinctively. The energy in the room heightens, bodies pressing together on the dance floor, drinks spilling as people let loose.

Ivan’s eyes light up like a man with a terrible idea.

“Oh no,” I mutter, already knowing what’s coming.

“Oh yes,” he counters, grabbing my wrist.

I resist, narrowing my eyes. “You’re out of your mind.”

“You say that like it’s new information.” Ivan gestures to the dance floor, which is a chaotic mix of writhing bodies and neon lights. “One dance. You haven’t actually celebrated tonight.”

“I don’t dance.”

He scoffs. “You don’t, but your body does. We’ve done this before, brat. I know you enjoy it.”

I hesitate. I have danced before, though never with the reckless abandon Ivan embraces. For me, it’s never about losing control—it’s about precision, movement, domination.

“Come on, it’s a fast song,” Ivan urges. “No slow, awkward bullshit. Just movement.”

I roll my shoulders, exhaling sharply. Again, the fastest way to shut him up is to give in.

“Fine.”

His face lights up, victorious, and he drags me toward the floor before I can change my mind.

The moment I step into the crowd, the energy shifts. Bodies press too close, the pulse of the music thrumming through my bones. As soon as I start moving, I fall into it—the rhythm, the heat, the control.

It’s electric.

Ivan whoops beside me, lost in his own movements, but I don’t pay him much mind. My focus is on the beat, the way my body moves in sync with it, the sheer rush of giving in for once.

Women drift closer, their gazes drawn to me, their bodies moving in invitation. Normally, I’d indulge, pick one for the night, let myself get lost in the temporary pleasure.

Not tonight.

Tonight, I dance. Nothing more.

For the first time in a long time, I let myself enjoy it. Not as a Bratva leader, not as a man plotting his next move—just as someone lost in the music, even if only for a few minutes.

The song shifts again, slowing slightly, and that’s my cue to leave. I step away, running a hand through my hair as I make my way back to the bar.

Ivan stumbles after me, laughing. “See? Wasn’t that fucking great?”

I shake my head, grabbing my drink. “Are you done harassing me now?”

He claps a hand on my shoulder. “For tonight, maybe.”

I take another sip, letting the ice cool my throat before I set the glass down. “I’m calling it a night.”

Ivan groans. “Come on, the night is young.”

“For you, maybe,” I say dryly. “I have a wedding to prepare for.”

Ivan rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Be a responsible groom. I’ll drink in your honor.”

“Do that.” I give him a pointed look. “Try not to get yourself killed while you’re at it.”

He winks. “No promises.”

I shake my head, stepping away from the bar, ignoring the way people still glance my way, some with curiosity, others with interest. None of them matter.

No matter how much I drink, no matter how much I move, Julie lingers in my thoughts.

I know exactly what I want to do with her.

Soon, I’ll make sure she knows it too.

I step outside the club, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. The noise from inside fades as I pull out my phone and call my driver.

“Bring the car around,” I say, my voice low.

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up, inhaling deeply. The crisp air does little to clear my head, but at least it’s quiet. A stark contrast to the chaos of the club. Within minutes, the black SUV rolls up, the headlights slicing through the darkness. The driver steps out to open the door, but I wave him off and slide in myself.

The ride home is silent. I stare out the window, watching the city blur past, my mind still trapped in thoughts of Julie.

By the time we pull into the estate, the house is dark and quiet. I step inside, my boots echoing against the marble floors. The place is freezing, but I don’t bother adjusting the thermostat.

Instead, I find myself walking toward her room.

I open the door soundlessly, stepping inside just far enough to see her. She’s curled up in bed, the soft rise and fall of her breathing steady, her face peaceful in sleep.

I watch her for a long moment, lingering in the doorway.

She looks untouched, untouched by the world she’s been forced into. Soon, that will change.

Soon, she’ll belong to me.

I step back, closing the door quietly behind me. It’s only a matter of time.