I feel beautiful.
“She’s here,” Leonie whisper-shouts from the other side of the door, which only makes me giggle.
The door flies open, and I see a whole group of women and kids, tons of kids, behind her.
“Surprise!” they all yell. I can’t help the tears that rush to my eyes and fall.
I knew people were coming.
I knew there would be a shower.
But I had no idea.
None at all.
Not really.
“Surprise,” Leonie whispers with a big smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper back and wrap my arms around her in an embrace.
I clear my throat as we separate and then walk inside of her condo. My eyes skirt over the women standing in the living area, all with wide smiles.
The whole group is here from California—Tatyana, Emiliya, and Haleigh. Then there’s also the girls from New York—Ashley and Inessa. Then, of course, there’s Quinn and Leonie.
It’s a whole party of Bratva women, and they’re all here for me. They came to every single party I had while I was “choosing” my husband, and now they’re here again. I wipe the tears away from my face and finally speak to all of the expecting people who are staring at me.
“I don’t know what to say,” I laugh. “Thank you. Thank you all so much. I never thought that I could be this happy, or that I would have the opportunity to be this happy. I’m the luckiest woman in the world; not just because I have Mika, but also because I have all of you to call my family.”
I watch as a few of the women wipe their own eyes, and then they all start to clap.
“Okay, food and cake and presents. We aren’t doing games. You’re gonna have to be okay with that,” Quinn announces.
“I’m okay with that,” I grin.
I spend the rest of the afternoon with my friends, and I can officially call them that. I can feel their love fill the room, and I can’t wipe the smile from my face the entire day, especially when I start to open the sweet gifts that they brought for Misha.
“I have boys, so I hope you don’t find my gifts boring, but I needed to be practical, for your sake,” Emiliya announces as I get to her gifts.
I can’t help but laugh.
Her gifts are very practical; bottles, diapers—lots of diapers—and extra crib sheets. Then another box has a bunch of cute plain onesies. They’re adorable and soft.
“They pee on everything, and Radoslov threw up a million times a day. You never know what your baby will do. I‘m preparing you,” she announces in her no-nonsense, thick Russian accent.
“Thank you so much, Em. It’s all perfect, and I know that I will use it—everyday, probably,” I laugh.
“More than once a day,” she grumbles making me smile.
“How about cake?” Quinn asks a few minutes after I’ve opened the last gift.
I watch as she walks over to Leonie, and they bring over a light blue frosted buttercream cake. It looks so delicate and fluffy, and I can smell the buttercream icing as they slide it right past me.
“That looks like heaven,” Haleigh whispers.
I watch as one of the kids reaches for the cake with his sticky little pointer finger. Kiska, Tatyana’s teenage daughter, scoops him up in her arms right before he pokes his fingers in the frosting. We all laugh.
“Better cut that thing up before all the kids get the same idea. I don’t know if there are enough of us to ward them all off,” Inessa murmurs with a smile tipping her lips.
“Do you want me to take all the kids in the other room?” Kiska asks as she looks between us.
“No. Let’s set them up at the table over here. They can make a mess on floors that are mop-able,” Leonie says with a grin and a wink.
We watch as she and Kiska gather up all of the kids, and Quinn plates pieces of cake for them to surely make a disaster with.
“Kirill has started talking about a contract for her,” Tatyana says, just low enough so that Kiska can’t hear her.
“She’s only fifteen,” Haleigh mutters. “Without the threats from years ago, why is he in a hurry?” she asks, speaking of the sexual slavery that went on when Emiliya’s father took girls.
“He’s a Pakhan. He doesn’t want people to think they can take advantage of her for his position. He wants a say in who she marries,” she whispers. I don’t miss the way her eyes shift to me.
“Like Gavril tried to snowball everyone? Makes sense,” I say with a shrug. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have liked it, but all of this shit would have probably never happened had my parents picked someone a long time ago.”
Quinn offers me a plate with a piece of cake on it. I take a bite, moaning at its deliciousness.
“Has he talked to you about who it could be?” Haleigh asks curiously.
“All he told me was that he had his eye on a couple men. I don’t know. I want to trust him, because she is his daughter, too, of course. But I worry,” she whispers.
“You’re a mother,” Emiliya announces. “You worry because you’re a mother. It’s what we do,” she shrugs.
“I think that he’ll bring it to me when it’s time. I don’t see him making a decision like this without me—but, yeah, I worry,” she nods.
“The worrying, it never stops, does it?” Inessa asks as she cradles her baby.
“Never,” they all agree simultaneously.
I walk into Ziven’s condo and grin at the men who fill the space. Fuck. It’s good to be back and around my old crew from California. Maxim, Radimir, and Kirill all walk up to me and give me slaps on my back. Though I just saw them not too long ago, when we raided El Patron’s place, a lot has fucking happened since then.
“Glad to see you’re still breathing,” Kirill says with a grin.
“It was touch and go there for a while,” I chuckle.
“Fucking Pasha,” Maxim growls.
“Let’s get this meeting started,” Timofei announces.
He came here a party prince, only worried about his next score of dope and pussy. Now he’s a man, standing on his two feet, and about to become a goddamn king, if we have anything to say about it.
“Pasha’s reign is over,” Yakov announces.
“It sure as fuck is,” Kirill agrees.
“Who takes over Brighton Beach once this is all said and done?” Dominik asks.
“The prince,” Yakov states. I watch as Timofei jerks back.
“Nyet,” I rasp at Yakov’s words.
“We all agree, Timofei,” Kirill rumbles.
I look at each man in this room. Men I hold the highest respect for. Men who have worked their asses off for the ranks they hold. Men who, in their own way, each deserve the position of Pakhan of Brighton Beach. I, however, am not deserving of the title or the position. I’ve not worked even a quarter as hard as any of them.
“I don’t deserve it,” I announce.
“It’s yours,” Radimir mutters. “You are the one who has already stood up to Pasha when we did not. The position is yours, and we know you are smart enough to surround yourself with a good team to guide you.”
I shake my head.
No way in fuck.
“Timofei, you got rid of Gavril. We all know it was your bullet. To some extent, we know it was for the protection of your sister, but we also know it was just as much for the Bratva,” Kirill states.
“Yakov should take it,” I say, looking over to the man.
“I don’t want it, Timofei. I like my piece of territory. You’re the only logical one. Your marriage bridges Brighton Beach and my territory with the Irish in the middle. You can’t bring your bride back here. You have to stay in the City,” he says.
Panic fills my body. Not just because my nuptials are in only a few months, but now I have this. When I offered to dethrone my father, I never imagined I would have to stay there. I imagined I’d pack up the Irish princess and come back here.
I don’t want to live in New York again. My mother was there. My father, w
hen he was still a good man, was there. The memories play through my mind on fast-forward every single time I take a step inside the city limits.
“You’re made for this, Timofei,” Maxim states.
I look to the man that I’ve always considered family. My father was his mentor, and he spent a lot of time at our house as I grew up. In my teenage years, I wasn’t home much, but Maxim was always a constant, like a cousin to me.
“Maks,” I grunt.
“Groomed for it, Timofei. All the stupid shit your father put you through, he was grooming you for this. Now that you’ve been out from under his watchful thumb, you’ve become a better man than I ever thought possible,” he compliments.
“What if I turn into him?” I ask quietly.
“Don’t,” Yakov states.
I turn to face him. His father was despicable. Disgusting in every way a man could be. Yet, Yakov is nothing like him. They share the same blood, and if you just glance at him, you can see their physical similarities. But Yakov is a good man and absolutely nothing like his father. I’m just not sure I’m as strong of a person as he is.
“But…”
“But fucking nothing. Are you the cunt your father tells you that you are? Or are you a man who knows between right and wrong? A man with a backbone, with a brain, who makes decisions everyday, and everyday goes to bed knowing you made the Bratva better, and stronger, instead of weaker and more vulnerable?” he asks.
I think about his words for a minute. I am not the cunt my father claims me to be. My crew is the strongest. They almost make the most in Denver, second only to Mika; and I do go to bed knowing, without a doubt, that my decisions have only made the Bratva stronger—including my decision to kill my sister’s husband on their wedding day.
“I am kniaz,” I announce, stating that I’m the prince.
“And when this is over, you will be the Czar,” he says, calling me an emperor.
I grin and look around the room. These men. They are fucking awesome.
“Korol, not Czar,” I say, correcting them and calling myself a king. “Together, we will rule the U.S., and we will take Psaha Vetrov down. A new dawn of rulers is coming, and this shit ends now. No more is the Pakhan of Brighton Beach above the Pakhan of any other city. We make decisions about the future of the Bratva, together.”
All of the men slowly grin, and then we get down to business. It’s time to dethrone the fucking imposter and unhinged king.
FIVE MONTHS LATER
I BOUNCE ON MY toes. Waiting… and excited. Mika places his palm at my back to calm me down, but I’m way too anxious. The door opens, and the scream that follows pierces my ears and causes Misha to startle then scream against my chest.
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Aleksandra whispers.
“It’s okay,” I smile as I rock him in my arms. He settles after a few soothing rocks of my body, and falls right back to sleep.
“You’re here?” Aleksandra whispers as she steps to the side.
“I’m here,” I sigh, walking over to my friend and wrapping my arms around her, careful to keep my body away from her so that I don’t squish my six-week old bundle.
“Hey, Mika,” she says with a grin. “Denis is in his office,” she says. I can tell she wants him to go so that we can have girl time.
“I need to speak with him anyway. Thanks,” Mika mutters. I watch him walk away, curious as to why he would need to speak with Denis. I didn’t even realize that he knew him.
“Can I hold him, please?” she begs. It breaks me away from my thoughts of Denis and Mika.
I nod and walk over to her sofa. Once I sit down, I arrange myself and then hand my sleeping boy over to my friend. She looks down on him and then looks back up at me as a tear streams down her face.
“I can’t have them, you know?” she says quietly.
“Aleks?”
“Children. I can’t have them,” she says, looking down at Misha. “We’ve tried. I went to a doctor, and it just isn’t possible. Denis wants them still, though,” she murmurs.
“Have you thought about adoption?” I ask.
“He wants his own,” she whispers. “I asked the doctor about a surrogate, but it’s my eggs that are the problem. It’s just not possible. Adoption is my only choice, but Denis refuses,” she explains, keeping her gaze on Misha.
“What will you do?” I ask as a wave of sadness washes over me.
“He’s divorcing me,” she says. “I’m sure that’s what he and Mika are discussing. Denis wants to be contracted to someone else and move to Denver,” she whispers.
“Oh, Aleks,” my voice trembles as I reach for her leg and give it a squeeze.
“I understand it. Really, I do, and I love him, as much as he’ll let me. He’s my husband, but we don’t really love each other, not like you and Mika. He wants children and I can’t give him that. As a Bratva man, he is owed as many as he wishes, and a wife that can do that for him. It’s okay, really,” she says. I can’t help but feel as though it is not all right. He married her, he picked her, and he should fucking stay with her.
“What will happen to you?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
“Denis has promised to give me a small allowance for as long as I need it. He is also going to ask for any widowers who already have children for a match,” she shrugs. My stomach turns at the thought.
“Aleks,” I repeat, unsure of what else to say, but knowing that I need to say something.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. Seriously,” she says with a smile. She shakes her head, her eyes coming up to connect with mine. “Denis is not my love match, Sana. He is nice enough to me, and I respect him as my husband, but we are not in love at all. I thought that I loved him once, but this whole thing should hurt me a lot more than it does, so I don’t think that I do. Maybe whoever is found for me, maybe that’s who I’ve been waiting for.”
“I wish I could make all of this better,” I whisper.
“I’m going to be just fine, Sana.”
“I want you to be as happy as I am,” I admit.
“That’s why I love you,” she grins. “You always want everybody to be happy, and that is your mother shining through you. I love that, and so would she. I will be happy. Whatever that happiness looks like for me, I will find it,” she nods.
We sit together and talk a little more, changing the subject over to Misha, who decides he’s hungry. He lets out a loud wail to tell me of the fact. I nurse him, covering myself while Aleks and I just have girl-talk. We leave the heavy stuff alone, but I can see the sadness in her eyes.
“Ready, lapochka?” Mika asks as he walks into the room.
I look behind him and don’t see Denis anywhere, wondering why he doesn’t come out from his hidey hole, but I don’t say anything.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“Come see me before you go back to Denver,” Aleksandra says as we stand.
“Are you coming to the party?” I ask as I lift my diaper bag onto my shoulder and rearrange Misha in my baby wearing contraption.
“No. Tell Timofei congratulations for me, though,” she murmurs.
“I’ll call you before we leave. We’re staying in the city for a couple of weeks, so there will be time,” I say with a smile.
We finish our goodbyes and I’m surprised when Mika bends down and embraces her before we turn and leave. Once we’re settled in the car, I turn to him and he holds his hand up.
“I can’t say anything, but trust in your husband to take care of your friend, yeah?”
“Okay, Mikhail,” I whisper as I reach over and wrap his hand in mine, giving it a squeeze.
My wife has always been gorgeous. Long and lithe when we met, with just enough curves to send my hormones over the edge. But now? Six weeks after delivering our son, her body has changed, and I can’t deny that her more plentiful curves make me fucking weak in the knees.
I watch as she crawls up the bed, her short cotton nightie covering those curves that I ache to see so badly, es
pecially now that I can touch them all I want. Waiting has been hell. Though my lapochka has been good to me, using her hands and mouth often, nothing can replace the connection I feel when sliding inside of her tight cunt.
“Misha is fast asleep. We have at least two hours,” she whispers against my lips.
Wrapping my hands around her waist, I flip her onto her back, fitting my hips between her thighs. I moan when I feel the warmth of her pussy against my bare dick.
“No panties?” I ask as I roll my hips against her pussy lips.
“No panties,” she confirms, wrapping her legs around my waist.
I start to push her nightie up, and her hands wrap around my wrists, stopping my movements. I look down at her, my brow furrowed in confusion, and wait for her to speak.
“I don’t want you to see me. It’s gross, Mikhail,” she whispers.
Without allowing her to speak another word, I whip her nightie off and press my lips to hers, shoving my tongue deep into her warm mouth. I kiss her, devour her, and own her as my cock hardens even more. Then I slowly glide it inside of her wet cunt.
“Mika,” she rasps as she rips her lips from mine and throws her head back.
“You’re gorgeous, Oksana. Never think you are anything but the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on,” I announce as I pull out and then slowly thrust inside of her on a moan.
“I’m not,” she says breathy as she shakes her head.
I thrust into her with a little more power and grin when her breath catches.
“This body brought our boy into this world. This body nurtures him. This body is beautiful,” I grunt, punctuating each sentence with a grind against her clit. “This body is mine.”
“Mikhail,” she pants as she climbs closer toward her release.
I can feel her pussy flutter around my cock, and I know she’s close. It’s been weeks since I’ve made her come, and when she finally does, it’s with a shout as her back bows, her pussy clamping down hard around my cock.
Forever my Badman (Russian Bratva Book 7) Page 26