Page 20 of Scarred Bratva King

I chuckle again, and this time there’s genuine amusement in it. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Dmitri joins in with the laughter, slipping an arm around Elena. “I’m glad that’s settled. The engagement party invites have already gone out. Would be embarrassing to cancel.”

Veronica scowls. “So I’m marrying him to prevent you being embarrassed?”

“No,” Elena says. “You’re marrying him so Marco can’t ever hurt you again.”

11

VERONICA

The next day…

“How do you feel?” Elena asks as another stylist comes at me, blow dryer in her hand pointing at me like a gun.

“Like a shootout at high noon. How many hair dryers can one corral need?”

“Nah, the old west didn’t have dresses like that.”

“The bordellos did.”

A massive table sits in one corner of the suite, covered in pristine white linens that probably cost more than a year of my rent.

Right now, though, the main attraction for the stylists is the rack of gowns lined up like the world’s most flamboyant military regiment.

More arms come toward me, brushes, curling irons, and some kind of terrifying contraption that I think might be for contouring. I eye the one approaching with a blowtorch, and I lean away. “Easy there. I’d like to keep my scalp intact, thanks.”

Another stylist, a woman with perfectly arched brows and a no-nonsense attitude, huffs. “You want to look good, you have to cooperate.”

“Cooperate? I didn’t realize ‘engagement party prep’ was code for ‘burn me like a witch.’” I flash her a grin, but she doesn’t even crack a smile. “Tough crowd.”

Elena’s eyes sparkle with amusement as she takes in the chaos. “Making so many friends, I see.”

I gesture dramatically to the gowns. “Oh, absolutely. Me and the glittery death traps are on a first-name basis. This one,” I point to a slinky red mini dress, “is named Murder in Manhattan. And that one over there,” a midnight blue number with a plunging neckline, “is Bury Me in Sequins until I’m dead. With sequins.”

Elena laughs. “The party starts in three hours, and you need to look and sound like a woman madly in love with Maxim. These dresses screamBratva bitch, trust me.”

I groan, throwing my head back. “Bratva bitchI can do, butmadly in love? Can’t I just go formildly tolerant of this insanity? I feel like that’s at least believable.”

“No,” she says firmly, her eyes still glinting with humor. “Now, let’s go over the story again. How did you and Maxim meet?”

I sit up straight, adopting a deadpan tone. “He abducted me at gunpoint and said, ‘Congratulations, you’re my wife now.’ Very romantic. Then he did me up the butt. Dry. It chafed but then I realized on the end of his cock was an engagement ring. I had to fish it out myself and when I did, it fitted on my finger. Heartwarming tale, right?”

Elena raises an eyebrow. “Try again.”

With a sigh, I try to channel my inner rom-com heroine. “We met at a charity gala. I was there to serve food because I’m scum and he’s mob royalty. He saw me across the room, and it waslove at first sight. He swept me off my feet. By unrolling his cock and using it as a broom.”

“Near enough,” Elena replies. “And the proposal?”

“In a dungeon surrounded by his henchmen as he whipped my bare innocent flesh,” I say, then add quickly as she glares at me, “Fine. On a moonlit balcony, he got down on one knee, looked deep into my eyes, and said he couldn’t live without me any longer.”

She nods approvingly. “Perfect. Keep practicing that delivery.”

As the stylists start hacking at my hair, I glance at Elena through the mirror. “You know, I dreamed about him again last night.”

Elena smirks. “The one where he rescues you then pounds you like he’s a steak hammer and you need tenderizing? Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you he’s the one.”

“Or maybe I’m just horny. A month in a coma does things to a gal.”

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