Page 64 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
Still angry about the marriage. Still convinced I’ve made a strategic mistake.
He’ll get over it. Or he won’t. Either way, the decision is made.
“Dimitri.” Viktor Volkov’s voice cuts through ambient conversation. “And your… wife. How unexpected.”
I turn to face him, keeping Janice tucked against my side. Viktor stands with his sons and Elena, all wearing expressions of calculated neutrality.
“Viktor. I wasn’t sure you’d attend.”
“Miss an opportunity to celebrate family unity? Never.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Though I’m surprised you brought a guest. Given recent… tensions.”
“Janice isn’t a guest. She’s family now. Surely you understand the importance of family, Viktor.”
The jab lands. His jaw tightens fractionally before smoothing.
Elena steps forward, offering her hand to Janice with practiced grace. “Mrs. Rudenko. How lovely to finally meet you properly. I’ve heard so much.”
Janice accepts the handshake, matching Elena’s smile with one equally empty. “All good things, I hope.”
“Of course. Though I must admit, your marriage was quite sudden. Surprising, even, given Dimitri’s previous… commitments.”
There it is. The first strike, delivered with surgical precision.
I open my mouth to intervene, but Janice speaks first.
“Sudden, yes, but not surprising. Not to those paying attention.” Her voice is pleasant, conversational, hiding the blade underneath. “Real connections don’t follow timelines, Elena. They simply are. I imagine that’s difficult to understand when you’ve spent your life preparing for arrangements that never materialize.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Elena’s composure cracks slightly in a flash of fury quickly concealed. Around us, I feel the shift in attention. People are listening now, watching this exchange with the fascination reserved for blood sports.
“How interesting,” Elena says, voice tight. “You speak as if you understand our world. Tell me, Mrs. Rudenko, what exactly did you do before marrying into the Bratva? Marketing, wasn’t it? Such a… pedestrian profession.”
“Someone has to know how to craft narratives. Control perception. Make the unsavory look palatable.” Janice tilts her head slightly. “Though I suppose your education covered more traditional skills. Languages, etiquette, the art of being decorative. Very useful when the only value you bring is ornamental.”
I have to suppress a smile.
Elena’s face flushes. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? You were raised to be a trophy. Polished and positioned and ultimately rejected because someone decided you weren’t worth the trouble of keeping.” Janice’s voice never rises, never loses its pleasant tone. “I wasn’t raised for any ofthis. I earned my place. That’s the difference between us, Elena. You were offered and declined. I was chosen.”
The room has gone completely quiet now.
Elena looks like she wants to physically strike Janice. Viktor’s hand on her shoulder is probably the only thing preventing it.
“We should circulate,” I say, steering Janice away before the situation escalates further. “Enjoy your evening, Viktor. Elena.”
We move through the crowd, and I feel the weight of eyes following us. Respect, curiosity, fear—all the reactions I hoped for when I decided to bring her.
“That was dangerous,” I murmur once we’re out of immediate earshot.
“She started it.”
“I know, and you finished it beautifully.” I can’t quite keep the pride from my voice. “Where did that come from?”
“Years of dealing with people who underestimate me. I’m done being quiet about it.”
Something shifts in my chest. Possessiveness, yes, but also recognition. This is what I’d sensed in her four years ago—the spine underneath softness, the refusal to be diminished.
