Page 1 of Bratva Prisoner
Chapter 1 - Maksim
Three months of peace feels like a fucking miracle after the war; my family has barely survived.
I lean against the mahogany bar at Nightfall, watching the crowd moving in time to the bass that vibrates through my chest. The club belongs to my old friend Viktor, and tonight I’m here for one reason: to forget that I spend most of my days coordinating shipments and managing territorial disputes.
The Thorne situation nearly destroyed everything we built—a months-long war that started when Evan Thorne tried to use his daughters as pawns against our family and ended with his death in a shootout that could have torn the city apart. My brother Dimitri married one of those daughters, Cecily, in what began as a strategic alliance and somehow transformed into the kind of love story that makes the rest of us question our bachelor status. But we came out stronger, with new alliances and the kind of peace that lets me spend my evenings in nightclubs instead of keeping watch.
The Bratva life is brutal, even for those of us born into it. My brothers and I can finally breathe without looking over our shoulders every five minutes, and I’m enjoying the hell out of it.
“Another whiskey, Maksim?” Viktor appears beside me, already reaching for the bottle of Macallan he keeps reserved for special occasions.
“Keep them coming.” I down the remainder of my glass and set it on the shiny surface. “I’m celebrating.”
“Celebrating what exactly?”
“The fact that nobody’s tried to kill me this week.”
Viktor laughs and pours. “Low bar, even for you.”
I wince as the whiskey burns its way down my throat. Around me, bodies move in various states of intoxication and lust. Women in barely-there dresses grind against men in expensive suits, and the whole scene reeks of money and temporary satisfaction. I’ve sampled plenty of both over the years.
“See anything you like?” Viktor jerks his head toward a brunette near the VIP section who’s been batting her lashes my way for the past hour.
I follow his line of sight and grunt. She’s attractive enough—long legs, pouty lips, and the kind of curves that promise a good time. Exactly my usual type. But tonight, she barely registers as more than background noise.
“Maybe later.”
Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you turn down easy prey?”
Since never, actually. I built my reputation on being the Barkov brother who never met a willing woman he couldn’t charm out of her clothes. But lately, even the most eager candidates leave me feeling empty afterward. Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe I’m tired of meaningless encounters that all run together into one forgettable blur.
Or maybe I just need someone who can actually keep up with me for more than one night.
The thought has barely formed when I see her.
She’s sitting alone at a high-top table near the dance floor, and every instinct I possess goes haywire. Strawberry blonde hair settles in loose waves just past her shoulders, catching the club’s neon lights like spun gold. Her skin has a warm glow that makes me want to trace every inch with mytongue. She’s petite but filled out in all the right places, wearing a black dress that latches onto her body, showing it off without being obvious about it. When she smiles at something on her phone, dimples appear in her cheeks, and my heart stutters in my chest.
But it’s her eyes that stop me cold. Even from across the room, I can see they’re the color of emeralds, bright and playful and a little bloodshot from the drink in her hand, no doubt. She looks like trouble and salvation wrapped in one perfect package.
Viktor follows my stare and clicks his tongue. “Now that’s more like it.”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to figure out why this particular woman has turned my brain to mush. She’s beautiful, sure, but I’ve been around plenty of beautiful women. This feels different… I just can’t figure out why.
“You know her?”
“Never seen her before in my life. But I’d definitely like to change that.”
“Back off,” I warn with a little too much heat behind it. “I saw her first.”
Viktor grins and slaps my shoulder. “Easy, friend. She’s all yours.”
I straighten my tie and abandon my drink. Time to find out if she’s as interesting up close as she is from a distance.
The crowd parts as I make my way across the floor. Years of commanding respect in boardrooms and back alleys have given me a presence that most people respond to, whether they realize it or not. But as I approach her table, I notice she hasn’t looked up from her phone once. Either she’s completelyoblivious to her surroundings, or she’s intentionally ignoring me.
Both possibilities intrigue me more than they should.
“Is this seat taken?” I gesture to the empty chair across from her.
