The Bratva’s Bride: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Henry, Jane

  My plan was to have the dance instructor give her the basics while I met with my men, but when the instructor walks in, he’s a twenty-something college graduate with dark hair and eyes who looks at Calina appreciatively.

  He will not touch her. He won’t come within a foot of her, because if this boyish pretty boy touches her, I’d have to kill him, and that could complicate the evening.

  Fuck lessons. I’ll have to do this myself.

  “Play the music,” I tell him, “And instruct her as we go.”

  He knows who I am and why he’s here, so he does what I instruct without a second hesitation, fumbling to turn the music on so rapidly he knocks over the speakers.

  “He didn’t do anything wrong,” Calina whispers in my ear.

  “So?”

  “So maybe stop growling at him so he can do what you tell him.”

  I grunt, but try to school my features so he doesn’t wet his fucking pants.

  Nodding, he does what I say, but minutes into the lesson, I realize he’s useless. I don’t need instruction. She does, and she’s following my lead.

  “Go,” I tell him. “Leave the music. Go get lunch in the dining room. I’ll tell you when we’re done.”

  He blinks in surprise and opens his mouth to argue, but he’s already being escorted out by one of my men.

  “Your reputation precedes you, sir,” she whispers to me, and is it my imagination, or does laughter dance in her eyes?

  “Good,” I mutter. “It makes things easier.”

  We dance quietly for a moment before she speaks again. “Do you like being feared?”

  I think before I speak. I want to tell her the truth.

  “Of course,” I tell her. “I have no patience for common pleasantries and polite society. I’m no business man. I have very clear goals, and it’s best if I’m obeyed without question.”

  “Right,” she says softly.

  I hold Calina close and speak in her ear, taking her focus back to the dance. The clock ticks. “The most important thing is that you follow my lead,” I tell her. “Relax into the dance.” Streams of violin echo in the large dance hall as we step in tune to the music. She’s soft and supple in my arms, faintly scented like spring posies. I like the way one hand rests on my hip, her other hand clasped in mine. How she follows my steps easily. And for one brief moment, I close my eyes as we move to the music. I tell myself I’m preparing her for this evening, so she doesn’t make a fool of herself. In the brutal landscape of my life here, the tender moments are few and far between. I open my eyes, the momentary sentimentality vanishing because I can’t lose my edge. I can’t lose my utter focus on my purpose: her training, so I can do what needs to be done for the brotherhood.

  “Keep up,” I snap when her footing falters. Her only response is to hold her head higher as she obeys. She’s a fast learner with good rhythm, and within an hour is following my lead with ease.

  “We’re done here,” I tell her. “You’ll do fine on the dance floor. Now let’s go over how you’ll behave.”

  I take her to a meeting with my men, and she sits obediently by my side. For a while, she behaves, her hands in her lap. I catch her trying to pick at her fingers, but a stern look stops that immediately. While we talk, I can feel she’s growing restless. Tapping her foot and looking around her, she freezes when her eyes come to the phone in my hand. I hold it out in front of me, pretending I don’t see the way she hungrily observes every detail. With deliberately obtuse movements, I enter my password. She captures her lip between her teeth.

  She’s going to try to use my phone.

  Of course she is. What made me think last night was a one-time thing?

  Who is she trying to call? From our records, she has no friends outside the institution. What else does she need?

  We conduct our business, and go over what my target goal is for this evening.

  “You need to be sure you solidify our connection with Amaranov,” Maksym says, and I give him a withering look. I know this.

  “Is she ready?” Vladak asks, casting a reproachful look at Calina. I stifle the sudden urge to lift him out of the chair by his collar and throw him across the room. I maintain my composure with effort and frown at her. Even though we don’t speak in English, she notices us all looking her way.

  “What?” she asks, frowning. I don’t like her tone of voice and wonder what’s gotten into her. “You know I know some Russian,” she says. “Don’t you? Tell him I’m ready.”

  She grows too free with her speech.

  “She’ll be ready,” I tell them, though my gaze is fixed on her.

  “I think you should nail Amaranov’s wife,” Vladak tells me with a smirk. “And she’ll make sure you get what you need.” Calina tenses.

  I scowl at him, and no one laughs. Fucking the Prime Minister’s wife is a good way of getting assassinated.

  “Why not?” Filip asks. Maksym sits with his arms crossed, and says nothing. He was the one that alerted me to the fact that Amaranov’s wife asked for me, but he doesn’t approve of this plan. I don’t like it either. There’s something unsettling about it.

  I watch Calina’s knuckles whiten when she fists them in her lap.

  She heard the other men suggesting I sleep with Amaranov’s wife and she doesn’t like it.

  “I have better means of getting what I want,” I tell them and Calina has the gall to snort derisively.

  “Perhaps she isn’t sufficiently trained,” I tell them, a clear warning to her.

  She lifts her face and juts out her chin. “Sufficiently trained?” she snaps.

  The room grows quiet. My men expect her to obey me, and she’s anything but obedient right now.

  “Enough, Calina,” I warn, but she doesn’t heed my admonition.

  “I don’t know,” she says, her voice rising. “Maybe you need to snap a metal collar around my neck. Take me for a walk so I can pee in your garden. Perhaps if you—”

  But she doesn’t get any further. When I rise from my chair, panic flits across her features and she bites her lip. She knows she’s in trouble. She knows she’s crossed a line. What she doesn’t know is how badly I want to punish her with an audience. How my cock aches with the knowledge of what she’s pushed me to do. It seems last night’s lesson didn’t make the impact it should have. I shouldn’t have given her the attention afterward. Or perhaps she simply needs further demonstration.

  I take her firmly by the arm, yank her to standing, and haul her bodily over the table while my men watch in stoic silence. Papers flutter to the floor. No one says a word. None are amused. They know what’s at stake.

  No one even flinches when I slam my palm across her ass. They’re an audience of soldiers who would lose respect for me if I didn’t do just this. If I didn’t teach her a lesson in obedience for all to see. If I’ve taught them well, any one of them would do what I have to do now.

  “Demyan,” she protests. “Please! I’m sorry,” But I ignore her complaints and push her flat across the table with a firm palm on her lower back. I crook a finger to Maksym, since he’s the largest, strongest man in our company.

  With a scowl, he rises. Though Maksym has a tender spot, he knows what’s on the line. He’d be the first one to tell me to punish her, so when I give my order he doesn’t flinch.

  “Hold her down,” I instruct. Calina’s eyes fly to mine with panic and betrayal written in her pretty gaze.

  “Not in front of everyone,” she begs, her tone subdued. I hold her gaze while I unfasten my belt clasp and yank the leather free. She deserves to be stripped and bared for this, but I won’t let the others see her fully stripped. She’s my woman, my little slave girl, but I want her to remember this. With a savage yank, I jerk her dress up to her waist.

  Maksym holds her wrists in his firm grasp, his face immovable. Even though he’s like a brother to me and I trust him with my life, even though he’s doing exactly what I told him to, blistering anger surges through me at the sight of his hands o
n her slender wrists.

  He’s obeying my instruction, but it’s her disobedience that put us in this position.

  I let the leather fly.

  I whip the folded leather across her backside with firm, steady strokes, until she’s whimpering and her knees buckle. They watch me punish her in solidarity. We’re soldiers at war and tonight is a battleground. One of our own has fallen, and more lives are at stake. There are dozens of men underneath my command, and solidifying our connection with Amaranov is crucial.

  She can’t fuck this up.

  I can’t.

  “I’m sorry,” she moans. “Please.”

  “This isn’t a game,” I tell her, emphasizing my words with another lick of the belt. “We are not equals in this. The only reason I’m allowing you out of my room is to pay back your debt. The only chance you have to pay us back is with your obedience. Am I clear?”

  “Yes,” she whimpers. “Yes, sir.”

  I hate that she’s made me do this. I hate that Maksym’s hands are anywhere near her. I hate that she’s giving me a fucking erection by being strewn over the table and helpless while I punish her.

  Because I’m a sick fucking bastard and I don’t really hate this at all.

  In silence I slide my belt back on, not giving Maksym the instruction to release her until I’m good and ready. Her spanking hasn’t sated my anger at all. My cock throbs.

  “Apologize to my men for your insolence.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, sniffling, and I don’t care. She isn’t softening me with her soft pleas and her tears. I don’t want to gather her in my arms and kiss away the tears. I don’t.

  I fucking don’t.

  I pull her dress down and nod to Maksym to release her. I lead her to my lap, then take her on my knee and hold her to me while I speak to the others. This is no sweet gesture, but one meant to keep her subdued. She sits erect, no more cuddling up to me and trying to seek comfort. She’s as distant from me as if she were across the room. It’s fair. I expect her obedience and nothing more. I imagine I hurt more than her pretty ass with her punishment. Her pride is bruised.

  With her firmly held to me, I issue commands to the others to prepare for tonight. We’re going to a public sphere not twenty-four hours after we’ve lost one of our own. I’ll need surveillance and protection for both me and Calina. Maksym goes over who will be where, and how we’ll stay in touch. Tomorrow, we debrief.

  “Any word on the attack?” I ask.

  Filip nods. “He does seem to have a former affiliation with the Thieves, but just former. There are no current connections that we can see. He wears their marks but the Thieves are still in America.”

  I shake my head. We make many enemies, and sometimes the most obvious suspect is part of a larger scheme. Could it be a random attack? I shake my head. “Keep looking.”

  We have one hour before we leave, and I want her ready. “Calina and I will prepare to leave,” I say. But before we go, I need to remind her who she is, why she’s here, and to whom she belongs.

  “Filip, bring up her time sheet.” He taps on a tablet and her eyes widen when I bring up her time here and update how much she’s paid off. I’ve tallied the hours she spent with me the night before and the morning.

  I could make her stay for eternity or allow her to pay off her debt in one fell swoop. Or I could do what I do now, remind her of why she’s here and how we’ll handle this.

  I tuck a stray hair behind her ear and she allows it, her eyes focused on something far away, not even bothering looking my way. “Tonight will count as double time if you play your part well, Calina. Do you understand?”

  But she only nods meekly. “Yes, sir.”

  If what I demand is her surrender, why do I dislike the quenched fire in her eyes? The way she holds herself apart from me even on my knee? Why does my memory go to her curled up on my chest in slumber?

  “Come with me,” I tell her. I want her alone for a little while before this evening. I consider my options and formulate a plan.

  Chapter 11

  I will never forget the way he’s humiliated me. I’ll never forgive him.

  But I’ll never forgive myself either. How could I? When he ordered the big, burly man to hold me down and took off his belt, I knew what was coming. I cringed inwardly knowing he was going to punish me. Then why did my body thrum with electric need and desire before the first lash?

  I’m as fucked up as the real Calina. Maybe I’m the one who needs a shrink and a straitjacket.

  God.

  It hurt. I was embarrassed and angry, but furious at myself for even allowing the jealousy to impact my behavior.

  They were telling him to fuck another man’s wife, that much I gathered. Joking as if sticking his dick in some woman would give him political leverage, and I’m not dumb enough to think it wouldn’t work.

  It sure fucking could.

  Then why did it bother me to imagine him doing just that?

  I have no claim on him. He’s my brutal captor, and yet the very thought of him touching another woman makes my vision blur, my hands clench into fists, my belly sick at the thought. We have nothing but an arrangement for me to pay off Calina’s debt like a fucking prostitute.

  Then why does my mind go right to the tender moments? The way he held me after he punished me. The way he laid me out on the bed and brought me to climax on his tongue. The way he bathed me and dressed me and called me his little kisa.

  But it isn’t real.

  I almost laugh to myself when I feel the fabric of my dress against my punished ass.

  Real isn’t the right word. This is fucking real. I’m not dreaming. There was nothing fake about the way he spanked me.

  It’s the tenderness I’ve imagined, as he demonstrated loud and clear for all to see by taking his belt to my ass in front of all his men.

  I’m embarrassed and hurt and angry but—God!—fucking turned on.

  I hate this I hate this I hate this.

  This is harder than I ever thought h it would be. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to pay this debt.

  We walk in silence back to his room, and I keep my head bowed. I’ve had enough punishment to last the rest of my life, and don’t wish to be humiliated or beaten again. Worse, I don’t want my traitorous body to respond like a fucking whore when he dominates me. I need to maintain some of my dignity through all of this.

  Or do I? Does it matter, if my only purpose is to pay off what Calina owes so they never find her?

  I’m faintly conscious of him leading me to his room and the door sliding open. I hazard a glance at him, not at all surprised to see his brows creased over angry blue eyes, his lips thinned, and a look of grim determination on his features.

  Maybe this will be the time he puts me in that god-awful cage and locks it. A part of me hopes he does, to keep me away from him. To protect me from my own irrational reactions.

  And a part of me wants him to sit on that bed and draw me on his lap and hold me like I mean something to him, the way he did last night.

  He does neither but slams the door, then shoves me hard against the wall. I stifle a gasp when my back hits the solid surface. He’s in my space, caging me in, his solid, muscled body framing mine with one arm braced over my head.

  Before he speaks, he takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and raises my eyes to his. “Don’t you ever fucking make me do that again.”

  “Do what?” I ask, even though I know full well what he’s referring to. I want to hear him say it.

  “Punish you in front of my brothers!” He slams a fist on the wall above my head. I gasp, but he doesn’t hurt me.

  “I didn’t make you,” I say, and for some reason I’m not angry anymore. My voice is tremulous. “You chose that yourself.”

  “If you disobey me in any way, my hand is forced. We don’t have the luxury of time or romance, Calina. You’re to be my bride, and soon, but any woman of mine is expected to behave. To do everything sh
e’s fucking told. If I allow disobedience, I lose respect from the men that I lead in battle.”

  Bride hits me like a two by four.

  Brides are...bound by law. Legal. Vows.

  Forever.

  I open my mouth to speak again, to somehow protest this, because this is a big deal, but his lips meet mine, hard and punishing and brutal, a clash of passion and need that sends hopeless need trilling through my veins. His hand is at my cleavage, palming the bare skin before rending the dress to tatters with a savage tear. I’m divested of my clothing, the ruined fabric bunched around my ankles. He makes quick work of tearing my bra and panties from me until I’m bared, then he kisses me and fondles my breasts like he owns every inch of me. And hell, he fucking does. Pulse racing. Belly clenching. Breath ragged and hoarse with arousal, my body gives way to his domination like a deck of cards with a gust of wind. I crumple, my resolve blown away in seconds.

  I can’t resist him. I can’t hold myself back. He takes what’s his, and I give it to him. Somewhere far away, locked up in a distant world of rational thought and self-preservation, a whispered voice tells me to resist. To stop. But I dismiss the warning without a backward glance.

  He unzips his pants, frees his rigid cock, then lifts me up to straddle his hips. There is no warning, my punishment the only foreplay, before he slams into me, so hard and savage my head falls back with a scream. It hurts so fucking good. My pussy milks his cock, slick and hot and ready, as he impales me, lifting my hips and thrusting until he groans his climax. We’re sweaty and slick and my clit pulses with the need for friction and release, but this time, he doesn’t grant it. He allows himself the luxury of a few seconds with his forehead pressed against mine before he brings his mouth to my ear.