Page 7 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

Viktor

Petr kicks his feet up on the corner of my desk and leans back in his chair, arms behind his head. If he was anyone else, I’d kick his feet off the table and threaten to break his kneecaps. As it is, he’s not only my consigliere; he’s mine and Fedor’s only living cousin. I trust him more than almost anyone else in the world.

“You never checked in last night,” he says accusingly. “I had to call the maid to make sure you came home.”

“Since when do I answer to you?” I ask, the words harsher than my tone.

“Since you decided to go on solo missions and handle shit your enforcers should be taking care of.” Petr raises a brow, meeting my gaze without fear.

I can hear my father’s warning in my ear—Don’t let anyone challenge your authority. It’s weakness.—but I ignore it as I so often do. “The guy was middle-aged, fat, and alone. If I can’t handle him on my own, I don’t deserve to be the head of the Bratva.”

Petr laughs, showing off the front tooth he chipped in a wrestling match gone wrong with Fedor when they were teenagers. “That’s true.”

I lean forward, hands folded on the desk. “But I guess you’re here to tell me that certain people don’t think I deserve to be head of the Bratva, anyway.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell them about the fat old man you killed. That will change their minds,” he says in a teasing voice as he drops his feet to the floor and sits up. Petr has a hard time being serious about serious things. But then his smile fades. “People are upset.”

“When aren’t people upset?” I growl. “I swear, half of my job is making sure people’s feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Fedor is in prison, and they worry who’s going to be next. It’s a legitimate concern.”

“No, it’s really not.” I stand up and run a hand through my hair. When I turn back to face Petr, he’s looking at me like I’m an animal he’s afraid will jump the barrier and escape the enclosure. “Fedor put himself in prison.”

I don’t often speak the truth about my brother. Definitely not to the Bratva. I don’t want people to look at Fedor and feel sorry for him. Or roll their eyes at him. I don’t want people to think he’s a complete joke. Even now, I’m trying to protect the reputation he has spent most of his life trying to destroy. “Fedor acted recklessly, didn’t cover his tracks, and refused to leave the city when I ordered him to. He was arrested because of his own arrogance,” I say. “As long as no one else behaves that way, they won’t be arrested. I’ll protect them.”

Petr nods. “I know, but—”

“But what?” My voice is loud and sharp, and Petr flinches.

“The witness,” he says, meeting my eyes and then looking back at the floor. “A witness stood on the stand and identified him. That has never happened before and—”

“And I took care of it last night.”

“That’s too late,” Petr says, quickly adding, “according to a lot of people, anyway. He should have been taken out before the trial.”

“I didn’t know his fucking name before the trial.” I flop back down in my chair and swivel back and forth, full to bursting with nervous energy.

“I know.”

The words leave an unspoken echo in the room. Your father would have known his name.

That’s what everyone thinks, no matter how much I’ve done for the Bratva. We have strengthened our ties to the Mazzeo family, something my father worked hard to establish and I’ve worked even harder to maintain. Though, I admit our alliance with the Mazzeos might be on shaky ground.

There are whispers that the head of the family wants me to marry his beautiful, vivacious, and out-of-control daughter, Maria. As attractive as she is, I can’t imagine marrying her. I can’t imagine marrying any woman.

I have doubled the Bratva’s profits and fostered a sense of respect and partnership with our various business associates. Yet, I fear I will never be as good as my father in the eyes of my men.

My father was feared. He called it respect, but to him, the words were interchangeable. As long as people cowered and gave him what he wanted, he was pleased.

I want more than that.

I want to live a life where I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting to be taken out by a rival or one of my own men. I want my men to be loyal to me because they respect me, not because I’ll kill them if they aren’t—though I certainly will do that if I’m betrayed. When I took over after my father’s death, I wanted to build an actual family, and maybe I have done that. My father always said families were nothing but heartache. The Bratva has certainly been that and then some.

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to meet them in the middle,” Petr suggests.

I raise a brow. “What does that mean?”

“Half of your men are uncertain of the future of the Bratva. They need to be reminded that you’re on their side. Let them cut loose. Have some fun. Terrorize some people.”

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