Page 25 of Sold to the Bratva
Ours will never be a soft, gooey sort of marriage. That’s not who we are. We’re gasoline and the match. One of us will spark, the other will feed the blaze. Sooner or later we’ll blur together, unable to tell who struck first or who fanned the flames. All I know is that I want to burn with her, for her, because of her.
Mikhail clears his throat, and I realize he’s waiting for me to respond to something. Damn it, I haven’t heard a single word. Even the tailor is staring at me, expectant. Shit, what did I miss?
“What’s on your mind, boss?” Mikhail asks, all innocence except for the wicked grin stretching across his face. He’s caught me red-handed.
I flick a glance at the mirror, hunting for some imaginary flaw in the impeccable suit, anything to throw him off the scent.
“Maybe the jacket needs gold buttons,” I bluff. “Special color for a special occasion.”
Mikhail rolls his eyes, and the tailor merely frowns.
“Matte black beads are classy, sir,” he says, making it clear there’s no chance he’s swapping buttons. We’ve already put him on a brutal schedule with the wedding right around the corner.
“You’re right.” I smile, never meaning to rattle him with my bluff. “And I think it all looks great.”
“Very good, sir,” he mutters. “Why don’t you step out of it so I can get it pressed and hung for the big day?”
“Thanks, Reggie,” I say, using the nickname I know he loathes.
Reginald has tailored my suits for more than a decade, yet I still haven’t cracked his stone-carved expression. The man is all business, with the sense of humor of a sponge. I peel off the tux, handing it over to him. Once he disappears and I’m back in street clothes, Mikhail sidles up wearing a smirk he can’t hide.
“You actually like this girl, don’t you?” His eyes gleam the way only a best friend’s can. He’s never seen me like this, and he’s delighted to give me hell for it.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“What I feel about Katya is no one’s concern,” I answer, sharp and clipped, the tone I usually save for discipline. It only eggs him on.
“You don’t have to be thepakhanin here,” he says, voice light. “This happened fast. It’s a lot to process. Be real with me, Isaac. You like her.”
I exhale and fidget with my cuff links, watching light wink off the silver.
“More than I should,” I admit, my gaze fixed on my cuffs.
“She’s unpredictable,” he warns. “Smart, sure, but a little reckless.”
“So are you,” I shoot back.
He snorts. “Exactly why I know that combination is dangerous. Aren’t you worried this is a trap set by Oleg?”
I glanced at him. “You think this is a trap?”
“Could be. Oleg’s acting squeaky-clean, but the timing stinks. And Viktor handing over his daughter like a county fair prize? Feels like a calculated move.”
“Would Viktor really be so cruel as to use his daughter as a pawn to get what Oleg wants? Is that something you would do for me?”
“I wouldn’t,” he admits. “But it’s also a silly hypothetical. I don’t have kids, and since you’re the one getting married, you’ll probably have them before I do. Would you use your own children as pawns for the good of the Bratva?”
I pause only a second yet I already know the answer. Even though I’ve never wanted kids, I’ve thought about it. Family should come first, always. My father put the Bratva above me, and I never forgave him. I won’t repeat that cycle.
Before I can answer, a soft knock interrupts. Saved by the bell. Maude peeks in, her voice smooth and polite.
“Mr.Kozlov, Miss Belova is here, as you requested.”
I nod and motion for her to usher Katya into my closet, which has been converted into a dressing room for the fitting. Katya steps inside, confidence pouring off her in waves, one manicured brow lifted as she glances between Mikhail and me.
“We’ll talk more at the bachelor party,” he murmurs, clapping me on the shoulder before leaving with Maude.
On his way out, he catches my eye, and the look we trade is equal parts warning and amusement. The door clicks shut behind him.
