The Bratva’s Bride: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Henry, Jane

  I kneel, my feet tucked into my backside, and raise my head, though the top of the cage presses tightly against my scalp. I draw my shoulders back and refuse to cry. I refuse to beg. In my hurt and anguish, I lost control of myself, but I will not do so again.

  I came here to pay the debt of my sister. I’ve succumbed to his punishments. I’ve given him my body. And yes, I called my sister to check on her, but I’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment. I gave him my fucking vows and allowed him to make me his wife, and I do not deserve this.

  So when he comes back in the room, panting and covered in sweat, likely after trying to work off anger at the gym somehow, I glare at him. I don’t give him the submissive posture he wants. I will not shed one more tear for him. When he steps in the room, I have something to say.

  “How dare you!” I say, my voice shaking with the anger that’s grown in his absence.

  Swiping an arm across his brow, he stands in the doorway with his arms crossed on his chest, and Christ, I hate it, I fucking hate it, but he’s so stunning standing there like that that it does something to me. All hot and muscled and powerful, like a fucking god. He belongs with the legendary kings and heroes united with Odin in the golden halls of Valhalla. I hate that even now, I’m attracted to him in his beautiful, magnificent fury.

  I try to shut myself off from this, but I can’t. I’ve allowed him to make me vulnerable beneath him. Every time he’s stripped me bare. Every time he’s made me cry. Every time he’s wrought pleasure from my body and held me in the aftermath of pain and pleasure. Every time he’s called me his little kisa, and kissed me, he’s molded my heart to his. And as much as I wish it wasn’t so, I can’t deny the way his beautiful, strapping body, gleaming in sweat and taut with power, makes me feel. How I want to touch him in his anger and passion and rage, to curl up in his lap and kiss him until the wrath within him seeps away.

  Some of his anger seems to abate while he quirks a stern eyebrow at me. “How dare I?” he asks. “You’re cuffed and caged and have the audacity to scold me?” He shakes his head. “It’s unfortunate I was too angry to punish you before I left this room, Calina.” I blink. He’s still calling me Calina. He doesn’t know who I am yet. “It seems being caged and helpless hasn’t brought out the submissive in you at all.”

  “Submissive in me?” I spit back out. “I did nothing to deserve this. I’ve done nothing but pay off my debt as you’ve asked. I’ve allowed you to do anything you want to me, and yet here I am, caged like an animal.”

  “You haven’t been tamed at all.”

  “Tamed? Was that part of our agreement?”

  Uncrossing his arms, he stalks to me. I close my mouth now; I know I’m pushing this, and he has the power to hurt me so easily. “Here you are,” he says with practiced patience. When he reaches the cage, he crouches before me and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Mine, yet not fully, for you belong to another. One you had the audacity to call the day before our wedding.” He can’t hide the pain in his tone. But now he’s told me at least part of why he’s angry.

  I shake my head. “I called my friend,” I tell him, but I’m scared to tell him more, to tell him the full truth. If he investigates and finds Calina… or is it already too late? Are his men on their way this very minute?

  I begin to tremble again, and I try to speak to him reasonably.

  “Please, Demyan. Listen to me. If you’ll only listen to the truth.”

  “The truth?” he asks. “Do you think I would believe you?”

  “What reason have I given you not to?”

  But his phone rings on the bedside table before we can continue. Not answering me, he stalks out of the room and takes the call. Though he speaks in Russian, I hear him curse.

  Without a backward glance, he leaves me and shuts the door behind him. I’m still helpless and bound in the cage, unable to control a single thing beyond my own breathing.

  Chapter 17

  “Demyan, there’s something you need to see.” It’s Maksym on the phone. Between the call I got from Filip early this morning and my interaction with Calina, my nerves feel frayed and electric, fraught with tension.

  “What is it?” I snap. I want to shower. I want her to stay in her cage to punish her for not being who I thought she was. For sneaking and lying.

  For not being fully mine as I imagined.

  I know now that she never was, that our entire arrangement was meant to serve one purpose. How could I have allowed myself to be weakened by her beauty and charm? How could I have let myself feel anything but detachment as I made her serve her purpose here? I want to break things, to hurt someone, to somehow release this anger that pulses through me like liquid lava, threatening destruction for anyone and anything in its path.

  “Is it urgent?” I ask. “Why can’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “Because you need to see it. Vladak has reported back to us after investigating this morning.”

  “Come to me,” I tell him. I never allow them to come here, to my private residence. But I don’t want to leave Calina again.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do to her.

  I want to yank her out of that cage and turn her over my knee and redden her ass. I want to take her out and impale her on my cock, mark her with my come and make her scream her pleasure so she remembers who her master is.

  But I still don’t trust myself not to hurt her. It was why I put her in there to begin with. Before they arrive, I walk to the doorway between the rooms and shut the door so Calina doesn’t see them come or hear what we say.

  I can’t look at her right now. It’s killing me to have her apart from me, restrained as she is. I want to pull her to me and ask her why. I want to look into the depths of those beautiful eyes and find out if this means anything to her at all.

  I always thought I would like objectifying her. I thought it would feed the sadist in me and more than once jerked off at the thought of caging her. But now that I’ve actually done it… now that she’s on her knees, helpless and bound and apart from me… it doesn’t feel the way I thought it would.

  A few minutes later, Maksym and Flip show up, still wearing their clothes from the night before, and I realize then they never went to sleep. Something important has happened. Something that impacts all of us.

  I let them into my suite and shut the door behind them, standing still in the boxing shorts I wore this morning while I pounded the punching bag to alleviate my anger. But even with them fully dressed and me wearing nearly nothing, they bow their heads out of respect.

  I’ve earned the trust and respect of these men. I’ve led them in battle and forged our way as the most respectable brotherhood of Bratva in Russia. I need to keep that trust. Whatever happens next bears weight.

  Maksym clears his throat.

  “We’ve been trying to unearth everything we could. About Amaranov, and his people. Because oddly, when Calina made that call, things started to fall into place.”

  What? How?

  Calina had something to do with Amaranov?

  “Amaranov has two sons,” Maksym say. “Though you would never know it from the media’s reporting.” It’s true. I frown. The only mention of Amaranov’s family is of his wife. I didn’t know he had any sons.

  “One son went rogue, according to what we know, years ago. The second was the man who ambushed us. The one who killed Anatoly. The one who went rogue is the man Calina called.”

  I blink in confusion. I don’t understand.

  “What does this mean?” I ask.

  “The man she called. He goes by the name of Glen Gustav now. He’s off the grid and hard to track, but our sources say he was once Glen Amaranov.”

  I pace the room, running my fingers through my sweat-slicked hair.

  Has Calina’s betrayal run further than I gave her credit?

  “Was he in touch with his brother?”

  Maksym shrugs. “We don’t know. I’ve sent Vladak to ask him questions.”

  I pace
the room, mulling this over. Calina is in love with Amaranov’s son. Was her coming here no accident? Has Amaranov himself orchestrated this?

  She’s been dishonest, and Amaranov is not to be trusted.

  “Call Vladak,” I order. “I want point by point details as this goes down.”

  Filip takes out his phone and dials Vladak, who picks up on the second ring. Filip switches it onto speaker.

  “We’re here with Demyan. Give us a status update,” Filip says.

  “Demyan.” Vladak addresses me first.

  “I’m here. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “How did he—” his voice trail off. “Christ. Oh, God. He’s got—no, it can’t be. How could he? I have to go.” His phone cuts off.

  I swivel to Maksym. “Find him,” I order. “Send back up. Go as quietly as you can, and tell me exactly what’s going on. I want to know. I want to know now.” I exhale. “While you do, I will extract whatever truth I can from Calina.”

  Chapter 18

  I hear him speaking with his men outside the room, but I can’t understand anything they say. My stomach growls with hunger, and I’m thirsty, but my physical needs seem secondary to my need to make peace with Demyan. To have the man who pledged vows to me the night before return. The door opens, and when he walks in, I see nothing has changed. In fact, if possible, he looks even angrier than before.

  When he reaches the cage, he unlocks it, swings the door open, then grabs me by the cuffed wrists, and drags me out. I scramble, trying to get out quickly so it doesn’t hurt. He uncuffs me. The chain falls to the floor with an ominous clang as he stands me in front of him and grasps my chin in his hand, dragging my eyes to him. Demanding I don’t look away.

  “Why are you so angry?” I whisper. All I did was call my friend to check on my sister. I’ve done everything else he told me. Everything.

  “You betrayed me,” he whispers. “You lied.”

  How much does he know? How much do I tell him? I shake my head. I’ve paid my debt honestly and given him nothing but devotion. Why would one call to my friend make him so angry?

  “Tell me about your affiliation with Amaranov,” he spits out. I’m so surprised by this that I blink at first, unable to respond.

  “What?” I whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice tight. “You called his son yesterday. Why did you call him?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t call his son,” I say.

  Releasing my chin, he shakes my shoulders. “You did,” he says. “Don’t lie to me, Calina.”

  He’s still calling me Calina. If he’s still calling me Calina, he doesn’t know the truth. He’s operating on half-truths which could destroy us both, but if I tell him everything, it could destroy Calina.

  Shaking his head, he meets my eyes, and for one brief moment I see sadness in his gaze. I see a glimmer of broken trust and dreams, and it hurts my heart to see him like this. He thinks I’ve betrayed him, and I haven’t.

  “I’m telling you the truth,” I say tremulously. “Please, Demyan. Believe me.”

  “I will have the truth from you, Calina,” he says soberly. Dread suffuses my limbs when I realize what he’s doing. He’s dragging me to his bedroom to punish me, to make me tell him truth, but I don’t even know what to tell him. I don’t know what any of this has to do with Amaranov or Amaranov’s son.

  “Demyan, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I beg, pleading for him to listen, but he doesn’t. He’s bringing me to his bed, to the cuffs that hang from rings. Lifting me, he places me on my knees on the bed and firmly takes one wrist, then another, snapping them into the cuffs above my head. “Please, sir,” I beg, and this time, I get through to him, I think.

  He bows his head and places one hand on my shoulder. “I trusted you,” he says softly, brushing the hair off my shoulders. “I allowed myself to fall for you. And I was a fool to think you felt the same.”

  “I did,” I say on a sob. I have nothing to lose by speaking the truth but the broken fragments of my heart. “I do. Oh, God, I do. I meant those vows I said, as stupid as it sounds. I’ve seen beyond the anger in your eyes and I know who you are.” Something flickers in his gaze, but I go on. “That you are a man capable of love and devotion. That you meant those vows to me.” I cry freely, unable to swipe them from my eyes. “Demyan,” I beg. “Sir, please. Listen to me. I don’t know Amaranov.”

  Shaking his head, his gaze grows pained. “My men say something else, Calina.”

  I’m not Calina, I scream in my mind, but even now I can’t tell him that. I clamp my lips shut, a dead giveaway that I’m keeping something from him. He misses nothing. When I don’t respond, he shakes his head sadly, then walks toward the closet with determined steps. I tremble, waiting for him to return, because I know he’s going to punish me. What will happen next? I can’t do anything to stop this. I can’t tell him the truth.

  When he comes back bearing his thick leather belt in hand, I cringe inwardly, knowing how badly it hurts.

  “I will extract that truth from you,,” he says with grim determination. “You will tell me everything.”

  “I can’t,” I sob. “I can’t tell you everything!”

  His lips thin and he takes his place behind me, looping his belt and palming the buckle.

  “You can,” he contradicts. “And you will.”

  The swish of leather sounds a split second before his belt connects with my naked skin. I howl in agony and grief, crying more for the pain in my heart than the pain on my body. Even now, I can tell he’s restraining himself. He could draw blood with punishment. He’s stronger, but he won’t let himself do it.

  “Tell me.”

  I grit my teeth and close my eyes, bracing for the next lash. I won’t tell him. He can beat me black and blue and I won’t betray my sister. I tremble, my wrists shaking in the metal binding.

  “Tell me,” he orders. I shake my head.

  Another painful lash of his belt falls, then another.

  “Tell me,” he repeats. Again, I refuse, bracing for another stroke, and this time when he whips me, it’s harder than before. I cry out loud, weeping for the hopes and dreams I held that are lost, for Calina.

  For Demyan. My captor. My jailer.

  My husband.

  How far will he take this? Even though he’s punished me before, he’s never truly harmed me.

  Will he now?

  “Calina,” he says on a tortured plea. “For the love of God, tell me the truth.” He doesn’t want to strike me again. I can feel his reluctance when he comes to me, placing his hand on my shoulder, his voice pained. He tries a different tact.

  “I will protect you. I will take the very best care of you. Even now, I can forgive you if only you give me the truth. Give me a chance to prove my devotion to you. Don’t make me rip the truth from you with pain and punishment.” He pauses, his voice cracking. “Calina.”

  I shake my head.

  I’m not Calina.

  I hear his intake a breath. He walks away, toward the closet, and my stomach clenches. He is going to get a harsher implement.

  “No,” I plead, knowing even as I speak that he won’t back down now. That he will have the truth from me, even if it kills both of us. But before he punishes me further, his phone rings. I hear him answer it quickly, as if he’s looking for an excuse not to do this. Maybe he is.

  He speaks in rapid Russian, so angrily and fiercely, I can barely make out his words.

  I listen hard as he slows his speech, still speaking in Russian. I need to know what’s happening, but I can understand only bits and pieces. “Calina stands in front of me. I have her here. It is not possible she’s with you.”

  Oh, God. Oh, no. They have Calina. They found Calina and soon he’s going to know I’m not her. He will punish me for lying, and our lives are at stake.

  A deep coldness floods through me at his next word. He says one question loud and clear.<
br />
  “Sestra?”

  Sister.

  He walks out of the room, and I hear nothing else.

  He knows. He fucking knows.

  What happens now?

  Seconds tick by into minutes. I don’t know how long I’m held here, suspended and throbbing, waiting to hear what happens next. My mind is spinning, trying to formulate a plan, but how can I? What does he know? And why does he think I called Amaranov’s son?

  Unless… Oh, God.

  Unless he knows something about Glen I don’t?

  We met a few years ago, but we don’t share family history. As hackers, it’s safer that way. The less we know of each other, the better. But why… Then my mind goes to Demyan and Calina. He said sister.

  When Demyan walks back in the room, there’s a look of weary resignation on his face--no, worse. Tortured. Anguished. A pained, pinched expression that makes him look so much older than he is.

  When he walks to me I freeze, not knowing if he’ll resume my punishment.

  What happens now?

  When he reaches me he unfastens my cuffs and spins me around to look at him. I collapse against him, so exhausted from this ordeal. I’m shaking.

  He holds me to his chest.

  “You aren’t Calina,” he says. “Are you?”

  He knows the truth. There’s no reason for me to hide anything from him now. I endured punishment and pain and I betrayed his trust. For what?

  It’s over. He knows the truth.

  I shake my head. “I’m not.”

  “Why?” he whispers, shaking his head. “You gave me everything. Your body to punish. To fuck. You were prepared to lay down your very life for your sister.”

  “How do you know?” I ask. “Please don’t hurt her, Demyan. Please.”

  I look into his eyes and beg him for mercy I know he could grant. “She doesn’t know what she did. She can’t bear the punishment I’ve taken. It would break her, Demyan. She’s convinced it was your brotherhood that killed our father. She thought she was getting revenge. She wanted answers. She didn’t know what she was doing.” I continue, pleading for mercy. “Please, sir. Please listen. I’ve taken her punishment and will continue to, for as long as you see fit. Please don’t punish my sister.”