Page 48 of Bratva Menace

I stiffened.

Grandfather smiled. It was evil. Fucking sinister. “Ah, yes. He has. Make no mistake, Lukyan, I have no problem following through with it.”

I kept myself still, for fear that if I didn’t, I’d try to kill the fucker right there and then, all the guards in the house be fucking damned.

“I expect you to be on your best behavior. You will stand at that altar and do your duty as a Volkov, and that is it. There will be no scheming. No trying to weasel your way out of this. You’re bought and paid for, Lukyan. Like a grand, prized show horse”—that old fucker—“and so long as you do as you’re told, Illayana will be safe.” He picked up his knife and fork and slowly cut into the meat on his plate. “Now, tell me, what does my son have planned?”

“Why would he have something planned? Have you done something to warrant him rebelling against you, Grandfather?” I asked casually.

Darkness washed over him. It was a risky move, calling him out like that, and in all honesty, I probably shouldn’t have done it. But he’d crossed the line, threatening Illayana like that. The bastard deserved it.

“Of course not,” he responded, taking a sip from his crystal glass. “But I know my son. He does not like to have his hand forced. So, save all the trouble his failed attempt will cause and just tell me what he has planned to stop this wedding.”

“Nothing.” I stuck my fork into a bowl of beef stroganoff and spun it slowly. I had to make him believe there was nothing going on. That we had nothing planned. That we weren’t trying to…you know…kill him. “Do you really think Father would do anything to risk Illayana’s life? She’s his favorite, you know.” I popped the food into my mouth, chewing lightly. “I mean, I won’t lie. Father would definitely love to see your head on a stick, but he’d never do anything to endanger Illayana. You hold all the cards.”

The twinkle in his eyes told me he liked that. Sergei liked being told how good he was. That he was in charge. In control.

“I do, don’t I?”

Smug bastard.

“Business going well?” I asked, trying to keep a knowing smirk off my lips.

His body locked up. “Why would you ask that?” His voice was strained. Harsh. Worried.

My senses came to life like a shark recognizing blood in the water. “Because I’m bored, and you don’t exactly have the most riveting and dazzling personality. No offense.” Casual was my forte. I had a lifetime of practice in hiding my true intentions. While on the outside, it looked like I hadn’t caught the subtle change that question brought forth in him, I had.

My attention turned to Mr. Average. He sat silently, eating his food at a slow, unhurried pace. He didn’t try to join in on the conversation or offer any comments. It was like he was a fly on the wall, just watching the events take place.

What is he doing there? What is his purpose? And why is he watching my grandfather so fucking closely?

Sergei’s body relaxed ever so slightly. “Business is business,” he replied briskly. He cleared his throat and wiped his lips with a napkin. “Everything is in place for tomorrow. The limo will be here at 9:00 a.m. to take you to the venue. Be waiting outside. Do not be late.”

That was a little surprising. Given how serious he’d been lately about ensuring the wedding went through without any problems, I expected him to be by my side, taking me there himself. The fact that he wouldn’t be meant that something else needed his attention. Something more important.

I nodded. “Yes, Grandfather.”

“Good.” He continued to talk, and I continued to pretend to listen, giving an odd, “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir,” or “Whatever you say, sir.”

Father was right. He laid the manipulation on thick, trying to confuse me and keep me off balance. He would act like a downright dickhead, and then change it up by trying to be my friend and asking about my life. What I liked to do. My favorite food. As if he really gave a shit.

Mr. Average didn’t speak once.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LUKYAN VOLKOV

Here it is. My motherfucking wedding day.

I looked into the mirror, adjusting my cerulean tie. I’d chosen that color specifically to bring out the shine in my pretty blue eyes. My hair was up high in a bun. It accentuated the sharpness of my jawline, and a black, fitted three-piece suit was molded to my frame.

The whole event might not have been something I’d have chosen for myself, but I was going to make damn sure I looked good doing it.

I picked up my cuff links from the bathroom counter next, putting them on. I’d received numerous messages from my siblings, all wishing me well. Their words of encouragement meant a lot. Especially coming from Aleksandr.

We hadn’t spoken since I left, and even though I was yet to reply to him, I’d already decided I would call him later that night, after the wedding and festivities were over, and squash whatever bullshit was going on between us. Life was too short to bicker over such meaningless and frivolous shit. I could literally die at any moment if I stepped out of line. If my grandfather uncovered the secret plot to kill him and take over. I didn’t want to die with unresolved issues.

Light, bassy music played in the air as I moved out of the en suite and into the main bedroom—a piss-poor attempt to try to lighten my mood after the conversation with Sergei the night before.