Arranged Bratva Love

Adelaide

A kiss.

That was all he asked. A single kiss. Not a peck on the lips, but a proper kiss. I remembered his terms and it was so easy to think that a kiss would be just a simple brushing of lips, nothing too hard or strenuous. But it wasn’t that simple.

To most people with experience, it meant nothing. I had never kissed anyone, other than Andrei at our wedding, and did that really count? It was part of the binding. Husband and wife, that kind of thing.

This was … horrible.

The penthouse apartment was driving me crazy. It was a beautiful place to stay but I hated it. I needed fresh air. Freedom. I’d never been trapped for so long.

Andrei wasn’t wrong about teaching me. At least, if he called what he did most mornings a teaching. There was no lesson. He told me that Ivan was a Pakhan, the boss, and I had to show him respect. That was lesson one. Great, as if I didn’t know that. Lesson two, I got to know the main brigadiers. I knew him and Slavik. Then there was Ivan-but we referred to him as Ive-Yahontov, Victor Abdulov, Peter Orlov, and Oleg Pavlov. I couldn’t remember meeting them.

Each lesson was pointless. They didn’t give me the rules and he was doing it on purpose.

Ivan’s words came back to haunt me: “That is not a man who hates you, Adelaide. I am going to give you a piece of advice. He has probably already told you what he needs for you to have more freedom. Andrei doesn’t trust easily.”

I shouldn’t care about him.

Andrei could handle himself, but even as I thought it, I couldn’t help but wonder about the man I’d married. What had made him this way? Why didn’t he trust easily? Who had hurt him in the past? Why did it bother me? It’s not like he was a good person. This was the man he wanted to be. Who he chose to be.

But that didn’t mean I couldn’t wonder about him.

He always got in late. The last couple of nights, I heard him arrive home, but I chickened out of kissing him, pretending to be asleep, until I finally drifted off before he even made it to bed.

Tonight, I’d drunk coffee-a lot of it. I enjoyed coffee but usually I gave myself a cut-off time so that I wasn’t wired all the time.

He didn’t come to the bedroom. For a good twenty minutes I lay in bed listening, waiting for him to arrive, but nothing.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Pushing the blankets off, I slid my feet into my slippers and went to find him. I wore a pair of pajama shorts and a tank, quite modest compared to the negligees neatly folded in the drawers. Stepping out of the bedroom, I waited a moment, unable to hear him. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. The dining room was clear, which left the small library, study, his office, or the spare bedroom.

I decided to check his office, and sure enough, that’s where I found him, standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, enjoying a glass of liquor, staring out across the city.

The moment I entered, he pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at me. I froze into place. This was the first time a gun had been pointed at me. I held my hands out in front of me.

“You shouldn’t be sneaking around,” he said.

“I wasn’t.”

“Why are you awake?”

“I … er … I heard you come in.” This wasn’t going according to plan. I had hoped he’d come into the bedroom, get ready for bed, and I could kiss him quickly and swiftly in the hope of getting out of the penthouse tomorrow.

This was confrontation. This required me to look at him.

“Do you know what today is?”

“No?” I asked. He didn’t need me to be smart with him and tell him the date, month, and year.

“This is the anniversary of my father’s death,” he said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

He burst out laughing. “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to be sorry for that. I was the one who killed him.”

I’d never been privy to his past. I’d never heard of him doing anything wrong, at least not before tonight. There was always the hint in the news, across the media, and amongst the circles my parents were part of. This was … I didn’t know what to say.

“The bastard had it coming,” Andrei said.

How the fuck should I respond to that?

“You do know the Bratva isn’t some childish gang where we share secrets with one another. It’s a blood loyalty.” He put his glass on the edge of the desk and moved toward me. I stayed perfectly still, watching, waiting.

Button by button, he started to open his shirt, revealing his muscular and heavily inked chest. The only time I’d seen him up close was out of the corner of my eye in the shower, but I’d not faced him. Not as he washed himself. I’d kept my back to him, trying to keep my body covered, from my husband. It wasn’t how I imagined a marriage to be.

The shirt fell to the floor.

“You can’t see it, but you can still feel.” He reached for my hand, pulled me close, and put my hand on his arm. “This is where he slashed me for breaking his fucking vodka bottle. I nearly died because of it.” Next, my hand went to his stomach. “He beat me so hard, I was pissing blood. Here is where the buckle of his belt slashed me.”

He ran my hands over his body, which was covered in scars, most of them from his father. Tears filled my eyes as I imagined Andrei as a scared little boy.

“So, when the opportunity came to kill him, I took it.” He held his arms open wide. “I am the only surviving Belov, Adelaide. The only one of my line and I’m loyal to Ivan Volkov. The bastard son of the previous Pakhan. You want the rules to survive. You’re loyal to him. You swear your life to him, and to me. You don’t see or hear anything. You see me covered in blood, you help wash it off. You bear my children. You belong to me, and in return, you will have a life you only ever dreamed of.” He dropped his hands. “That is what your father wanted. To have our wealth and power, and to do it, he gave us you. Betray us, and you will long for death before I grant it.”

I’d never seen him like this. “Is this to scare me?”

“Not to scare, to make you aware. I’ve got many enemies. Ivan has many enemies. There are plenty of people in this world who will want us dead, and they would have no qualms about using you to get what they want.”

This was the reality. He was giving me exactly what I wanted to know and yet right at that moment, I wasn’t sure if I could handle it. My husband was warning me. Telling me that if I didn’t learn to accept this life, then I was dead. There was no way out. I was to stay by his side, be loyal to him and to Ivan, until I either died or was killed. There were no cops to save me.

Andrei would kill me if I betrayed them.

My parents had done this because they couldn’t stand to be penniless. They handed me over without a bat of the eye. None of them thought I could handle this. Anger filled me.

“Do you keep your word?” I asked.

“What?”

“When you make deals or promises, do you keep them?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“Then I promise you, Andrei Belov, that I will never turn my back on you. I will never seek out anyone to hurt you or to hurt Ivan Volkov.” I take a step toward him, knowing that my words don’t matter, not really. Andrei doesn’t trust. Loyalty to him must be shown and earned.

Even as every single sense within my body repelled and told me to run, to get as far away from this man and this life as physically possible, a part of me, a small, tiny sliver, didn’t want to.

Andrei intrigued me.

He terrified me in equal measure, but there was no doubt in my mind that I also liked him. This was stupid of me to even think that. He’d shown no inclination to like me or care for me. I was not the woman for him.

And yet, sleeping beside him, night after night, feeling his arms wrapped around me, was comforting. Even down to the fact he locked me up in this penthouse suite to protect me, I wasn’t sure. There was a lot I didn’t know or understand.

I was within touching distance now. All I had to do was reach up, put my hands on his chest, and feel him, but I didn’t do that. I simply held myself completely still.

His naked chest was so tempting. Why did I hold myself back?

I lifted my hands and moved to touch him, but he grabbed my wrists and stopped me.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

To tell him I was going to kiss him seemed a little lame to me, and totally out of place. Nibbling my lip, I glance over his shoulder, trying to think of the right thing to say. Instead, I step toward him so he has no choice but to move our hands, or have them against his skin. Did he hate me touching him, or just touch in general?

“I’m here to give you payment,” I said.

We were going to be in a constant vicious cycle if one of us didn’t give in, and I was not ashamed to need my space. Kissing Andrei would mean something to him, but I imagined he’d been with plenty of women whose kisses didn’t matter. Just a physical action to him he’d done thousands of times, if not more. I had to learn to keep my emotions in check. This kiss wouldn’t mean a thing. I hoped.

“You’re not a whore,” he said.

I flinched. I couldn’t help it. “You were the one who said I had to kiss you to get out of this damn apartment. I don’t have to be insulted by you. I’m not a whore. How dare you!” If he didn’t hold my wrists, I’d have slapped him right across his smug, arrogant face. As it was, he had my wrists and as I tried to tug them free, it was pointless. He was the one who held all the power.

Growling, I was about to raise my knee when suddenly my hands were released, but I didn’t have time to react because within the next seconds, his lips were on mine. The kiss started out soft, a simple brush of our lips, and I expected it to be over. It certainly would have been a lot easier if it had, but Andrei had other ideas.

His hands sank into my hair, holding me close, gripping me tightly as his tongue traced across my bottom lip. A whimper escaped me and that was all he needed to gain entry. He plunged inside, making me moan as he deepened the kiss.

This was a real kiss.

Not sweet or gentle, but an all-consuming passion that stole my breath and made me hate and crave him just a little bit more.

Who was this man, this husband of mine? I had no idea, but with kisses like that, I knew I would happily follow him into hell.