Page 1 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

Chapter 1 – Miron

“They call us liars, cheats, morally reprehensible, and still shamelessly attend our functions and revel in the benefits. It’s appalling, the blatant hypocrisy displayed by these…these certain individuals who undermine my leadership. Look at them, the bloody bastards.”

Across the room, a middle-aged woman dressed like old money and cigarettes, leaning by the grand staircase, was looking at our table. Beside her, a young journalist took mental notes, her press badge tucked between the folds of her evening gown. The woman by the staircase caught Jeffery’s gaze and raised her glass with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

And with a smile even less friendly, Jeffery’s acknowledgment was icier, just a gesture with the tip of his glass toward her, before he turned back to us.

A scowl pressed deep lines at the corners of his mouth, the wrinkles on his forehead making an ugly fold when he rolled his grey eyes. He chugged down the sparkling white in his glass with the speed of light and grimaced like it was a mix of whiskey and lemon.

“That’s Ambassador Ruiz,” he pointed out.

We didn’t ask, but I’d known the man for more than a decade. Long enough to know he was going to keep talking….

“She thinks we don’t know it, but she’s fucking Governor Langley. Oh, and Senator Phil. Do I pity their wives? Maybe. Sometimes.”

…and talking.

“When the lights are on, you’d see her smiling at me like an early Santa with presents in May. But when the lights go off, the bitch has a butcher’s knife hovering behind my back.”

In the midst of the music and low, chatty buzz, I took a look at him. A good look at him, past the façade of the respectable man in the Ralph Lauren Purple Label Kent suit, past the cloud of irritation and false piety he wore as a mask, till I stared at the sly bastard with a skunk for a soul.

The seasoned politician had celebrated his sixty-seventh birthday recently, but his appearance told a different story.

His eyes, which were once bright and full of life when we’d first been introduced in my office, now seemed sunken, as if a weight bore down on him. His mouth hung limp, the streaks of gray in his hair dominated the shades of brown, and his skin appeared paler than usual. He looked like an eighty-year-old ball of pale beef.

“Tomorrow….” He was still talking. “One of ‘em—could be Ruiz, or any one of them here—will likely perpetuate further falsehoods through their stupid blogs to spread the toxicity of misinformation that I’m already trying to deal with.”

I was cautious not to spill a word and instead clenched my fingers and gritted my teeth. Having Damir constantly give me the “check” with his eyes wasn’t helping, either.

113 degrees Fahrenheit.

With one thumb caressing the flute and the rest of his fingers curled around the crystal stem, Damir threw his head back to finish the last of his champagne and chuckled dryly. “I’ve been trying to stay in my lane, but I guess I can’t help it. What’s got you so riled up? It’s your evening. You’re one of those who put this together. You should be enjoying the night.”

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a snake.

“Just some idiots trying to cause a scandal with my personal shit from the past,” Jeffery said. Then, he quickly added, “But it’s not going to mess up anything on our end, I can assure you.”

And by “our end,” the fool meant his business with us. Of course, it wasn’t going to mess up anything. Nobody was stupid enough to cause trouble on my turf and not be prepared to face dire consequences.

Jeffery Smith was one of the big dogs in politics and had worked with us the longest—precisely fifteen years since the Bratva gained his support.

It’d been good. More sunny days than stormy clouds working with him.

He’d kept his end of the bargain, offering some level of protection, giving blind spots for operations, and covering our tracks, and we’d kept ours, giving him money’s worth for a service well done. Business had been running smoothly, and before tonight, I’d worn a huge maniacal smile on my face.

That was until a little birdie perched on my window this morning with some irritating news.

“You should feel proud, Smith. You’re accomplished, living the life others would literally kill for. Take this place, for instance. Blackwood is one of the finest five-star hotels in the state. Making a hell load of money is bound to piss some people off. But it doesn’t matter what shit others are spewing; your eyes should stay focused at all times.”

I shared a brief look with Damir for two reasons. One, we both knew he was buttering up Jeffery on purpose. And two….

Let’s just say Damir was giving the bastard a heads-up at the temperature shift in the room because he’d been seated right there, at the other end of my desk, when that birdie perched and knew I wasn’t going to let it slide.

149 degrees now.

Jeffery scoffed. “Don’t patronize me. We’re talking about power, and you’re finding hotels fancy.”

Safe to say, the old man didn’t catch the hint flashing like a neon sign.

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