Page 34 of Silken Chains
“Anastasia Petrova? Her old man’s a money-grubbing sukin syn. And Ekaterina Smirnov? That whole family’s shadier than a night in Moscow.”
Misha chimes in, trying to lighten the mood, “But hey, Ekaterina’s got a hell of an ass, right?”
I shoot Misha a cold look, unamused.
“Victor, they’re solid mafia blood,” Ksenia argues, rolling her eyes.
Fuck, my mind is consumed by thoughts of Laura and the slick, sweet pussy between her thighs.
I toss the list aside. “This is all bullshit. I’m not tying myself to some power-hungry bitch family.”
Ksenia’s in my face now, her tone hard. “It’s not your call. Papa’s dying wish. Choose one and keep the Bratva strong.”
“He is not dying.” I scowl, feeling trapped. “Chert voz’mi, Ksenia. I’m a mob boss, not a fucking matchmaker.
She picks up the list, shoving it at me. “Man up, little brother. This is bigger than your dick. Do it for Papa, for the Bratva.”
“Ksenia, if I am doing this, I am doing it my way.”
“Do you have someone else in mind?” Her eyes pierce through me, searching.
I break her stare, looking at Fyodor’s dead body. Blood drips everywhere, his life snuffed out like a candle. Blyad, if I don’t get this sorted, we’re in deep shit.
News spreads like wildfire here, and if other gangs catch wind that the old man, the Pakhan, is battling health issues, losing his strength, they’ll see it as a weakness, a crack in our armor. Whether I like it or not, these traditions need to be adhered to.
Ksenia’s got a point; the Bratva’s riding on my fucking decisions now.
But hell, I’m not giving her the satisfaction of knowing she’s hit the nail on the head.
“That’s none of your business,” I growl back at her.
Ksenia turns to leave the room but pauses at the door. “By the way, you have five days to decide who you’re going to marry.”
Chapter 13
Laura
BREAKFAST IS an extravagant affair straight out of a glossy magazine, all thanks to Naomi, the young redhead who brought it in.
I’m digging into a fluffy omelet, rich with herbs and cheese, and some perfectly salty bacon on the side. Then there are these pancakes, soaking in maple syrup, topped with a melting butter blob—insanely delicious.
I chomp down on a heart-shaped melon slice.
“Mmm…” I can’t help but moan, the taste so fresh, it’s like it was just picked off the vine this morning.
I look around the room, my head still spinning from last night. What the hell was I thinking? The luxury around me feels surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. Wrapped in this soft hotel robe, I feel out of place yet oddly regal.
No, not regal—more like Julia Roberts in “Pretty Woman,” but without the hooker part.
I check the time. It’s still early, not as early as when Victor left after washing me up, drying my hair—something no one’s ever done for me—and tucking me into bed.
Then he gets a call, his face tightening up, all serious. Next thing I know, he’s hastily throwing on his clothes, clearly annoyed.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Victor’s whisper echoes in my ears. “If I don’t see you here when I get back, you’ll get your punishment.”
“You can’t keep me here; that is called kidnapping,” I remember protesting, feeling his hands over my neck, his breath against my lips.
“Do as I say, Laura,” he demands, his teeth grazing my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.
