Page 3 of Bribed & Bred By the BRATVA
The car rolls to a stop. My fingers tighten around my bag, though I don’t remember lifting it.
The driver opens the door. Aleksei doesn’t move until I do. His hand rests casually on his thigh, watch glinting, a man in perfect control.
When I finally step out, the cold night air slaps my skin and the rain dampens my hair. The house stands ahead of me, windows lit like watchful eyes.
Aleksei comes around, his steps unhurried. He stops close enough that I feel the pull of his gravity, close enough that when he tilts his head to look down at me, the world seems to tilt with him.
“Come inside,” he says.
It isn’t an invitation, but now I realise, I’ve already said yes.
Aleksei
The night air is sharp with rain on stone. She hesitates at the threshold of the pool house I’ve lived in for the last ten years, bag clutched like a shield, but she still follows when I step inside. Good. She doesn’t understand yet, but her body already knows there’s no path but mine.
The house hums with silence. High ceilings, glass walls, polished wood. My space. Private. No laughter from brothers, no women’s voices carrying down the halls, no children crying. I keep this place stripped down to what I want and nothing more. Until what I wanted changed.
Now I want her. From the moment I saw her, I knew. Like night follows day and day follows night. She was meant for me, and I was meant for her.
She stands in the entryway like she’s waiting for judgment. Pale under the light. But her chin lifts a fraction when I look at her, and I like that. The steel under confusion and fear.
“You’ll stay here,” I tell her. “It’s private. Secure.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Until when?”
“Until always.”
Her lips part, ready to argue, but I don’t give her the space. I take her bag from her hands and set it down. “The judge will be here soon.”
The flicker in her eyes is panic, but there’s something else under it too. Relief. I see it in the way her shoulders sag just slightly. She’s too tired to fight the tide.
“You said—” she begins.
“I said your brother would live,” I cut in. “And he will. His transfer is complete. The doctors are already briefed. You’ll see him tomorrow. You’ll see the difference in his skin, in his breath. I keep my promises.”
Her gaze drops to the floor. A tremor runs through her, tiny, like a shiver she can’t control. She’s already learning that safety and I are the same thing.
A knock at the door breaks the moment. I glance at the clock. Right on time.
Two of my men show the judge in. A man who owes me more favors than he can count. His hands are steady, his words efficient. He doesn’t ask questions.
He knows better.
The license is set on the table. Thick paper. Black print. Her name, my name. I stand close enough that my shadow falls over hers.
“Sit,” I command.
She lowers herself into the chair. Her hands tremble when she picks up the pen. The judge clears his throat and begins the formal words. They’re meaningless. This isn’t about vows or God. It’s about blood and ink.
“Isabella Constible,” the judge says. “Do you consent to this union?”
Her voice is thin. “Yes.”
It’s enough.
When the pen scratches across the paper, I feel it like a pulse under my skin. Final. Irrevocable. Mine.
I take the pen when it’s my turn. My signature is swift. Sharp. A blade carving its mark.
