Page 3 of The Bratva's Captive

I had been. Derick was my high school sweetheart who moved me to the city out of college. But it felt like years ago now.

“They sell them to the VIPs and they sell them.” She shot me aduhlook. “Trafficked, Sloane.”

“Seriously? Damn.” I shook my head and began applying the thick cosmetics, watching her reflection in the mirror. With the distant thud of music in the background, I was more aware of my pulse and the intensity of my headache. Lenny’s laughter sounded in the distance, and I sighed heavily.

“Yeah, seriously,” Nevaeh said. “The Bratva men. The Italians. Some of the gangsters. They’re all in on finding dancers here. They get them hooked on drugs and then they can never leave.”

I hid my cringe, not wanting her to see just how naïve I was. Sure, I knew women were sold all the time, but I never witnessed it happening here at Stanley's.

“So, just a heads up,” she added, meeting my gaze through our reflections. “Be careful who could be listening in when you say you need more money.”

I nodded. “I do, though. My damn rent is going up.”

She huffed. “Again? What the fuck?”

I shrugged, not really knowing what to say. More money was necessary for me to stay afloat, but I wouldn’t broadcast that. Even though I hated this job, I was determined to do it and get out.

But that didn’t stop me from wishing once more that life could be easier than this.

2

MAXIM

Lights shone down from the ballroom’s chandeliers. Diamonds sparkled from the bride as she danced with her new husband. The jewelry. Her dress. Adornments in her hair. She spun and smiled up at her spouse, and he couldn’t have looked prouder to have this woman on his arm.

Elegance was the theme of this party celebrating the Russian families coming together here in this packed venue. No expense was spared. All of the finest was on display, from the gowns, the crystal glasses we just raised for a toast, and the gourmet meal that had been catered to the hundreds of guests.

“You see one wedding,” I muttered softly to my father, Grigory, seated to my left, “and you’ve seen them all.”

My younger brother, Damon, yawned from the chair to my left and I smirked.

Amen to that, Brother. This is boring as fuck.

While my father chuckled, his mother disagreed with my wise-ass remark. “The Smirnoffs did a wonderful job with this wedding.”

Saul, my youngest brother, lowered his wine long enough to raise his brows at her. “It’s not liketheydid anything. They just hire a planner for shit like this.”

Anastasia Ivanov would never tolerate any of her four sons disagreeing. She lifted her chin and didn’t bat an eyelid at his comment, which was probably entirely accurate.

While the Smirnoffs weren’t an influential family like mine was, they mattered in our circle of acquaintances. More than that, they were secure under the Ivanov Syndicate’s protection. Of all the guests here at the wedding for the bride and groom, whose names I had already forgotten, if I’d ever known them at all, our table was the most important. We were guests of honor, the six of us coming to represent the might of our crime family. Even though my father was the boss, thePakhanof our Bratva, my three brothers and I were princes and bosses with hefty power. Despite being a woman, my grandmother’s influence remained the same—sought-after and envied.

The emcee announced for other couples to join the newlyweds, and my father groaned. Widowed so long ago when my mother turned traitor and got herself killed, he wasn’t one half of a couple. I never could blame him for refraining from marrying again. He had his sons. All four of us brothers were heirs, next in line to wield our family’s power. He vowed to never trust another woman again. With him, he didn’t only talk the talk. He walked the walk and remained happily single and widowed, lacking all interest in letting any woman get attached to him for more than a quick fuck.

“How much fucking longer do we have to stay?” Damon asked. He had to be itching to get that tux off him. As the biggest of us, most muscled and used to honing his body to make it a killingmachine as our deadliest enforcer, he looked out of his comfort zone dressed up this much.

He winced at the crowded dance floor filling up with couples and guests who weren’t annoyed to be here. As his face flexed with the wince, the scar above his eyebrow stayed stiff.

“We haven’t congratulated the couple,” my grandmother protested.

“I don’t even know their goddamn names,” my father groused.

I smiled, amused that my father and I shared sentiments about this stupid wedding. I understood that we had to be present for the sake of showing our loyalty to less-influential families in our organization. But hadn’t this gone on long enough?

Reaching back for my glass, I found it empty and sighed. Alcohol would help numb the boredom, wouldn’t it? I hadn’t drunk quite enough to find this evening bearable yet.

“I’ve got shit to do,” Damon complained as he rubbed his hand over his face.

“You mean more assholes to question in the dungeon?” Saul quipped.

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