Forced Mafia Bride (Yezhov Bratva #2)

Chapter 8 – Nikolai

“Ace did good with this place. He probably didn’t want to answer queries concerning the money Niko put into it.”

Anatoly laughed, baring full teeth as he threw his head back to take down a shot from a full tumbler, and though he found it amusing, Timur barely allowed a smile to grow on his face while he reshuffled the crystal-flared shooter glasses on the table to refill them. His biceps flexed under his coffee-brown suit, and the dancing lights from the flashbulbs bounced off his buzz cut.

The mood was light, the energy was high, and it made the men loosen up a bit.

“How much did he give ‘em?”

“Almost a hundred grand.”

Timur was impressed, and this time, he didn’t hide it. He straightened on the velvety sofa with a smug grin. Anatoly stretched for another refill. “He’s practically the owner.”

“You could say that.”

I glanced at the Rolex strapped on my wrist, and my eyes snapped to them. “You both know I am in the same fucking room, right?”

Strobe lights pulsed like a frenetic heartbeat, casting an otherworldly glow over the VIP lounge. The music was alive, the deep bass of the music throbbing like a heartbeat and the drums pounding out a hypnotic rhythm. Anatoly shook his head, not meaning any disrespect.

“I’m just letting him feel the taste of your power.” It was strange to see the big guy teasing in a gruff voice. “Soon, the Pahkan is going to entrust more responsibilities into your hands because everyone knows you’re doing a great job.”

Hearing that, Timur snickered, and I flipped him the middle finger. He rolled his eyes and tipped his drink at me, transporting us back to past times.

No one would have believed that I wiped the snot from this man’s nose when we were kids. This same man with shoulders and a chest twice my size.

While the adults attended to pressing matters, Timur and I were left alone in the hands of maids to channel our inner child. There was nothing we didn’t do together. We only had two years between us, but that had always been for records. We were the closest cousins in the bunch.

With the attention on Egor, mingling with the older men, and executing business, Timur and I had more time to explore the clubs, women , and anything else we could blame on youthful exuberance.

Once, we’d tried Formula One racing, and when that went down rather roughly, we bought superbikes. Our schedules weren’t as strict as the older male relatives, so more often than not, we lost track of time and got queried for being the irresponsible duo. But when our strengths were tested, there was nothing we couldn’t handle.

Until we both grew up.

Timur was sent off to Mexico to monitor our operations there, and Egor needed me here in L.A. Fast-forward to the present moment, and those recollections were nothing but memories.

Like Anatoly, Timur had tiny dark tattoos inked around his fingers. A dark heart, a broken skull, and daggers. I remembered the day he got it. It was one day after we watched his father shoot a teenage girl, the bullet flying through her heart in front of her parents.

Thick red blood soaked through the midnight blue butterfly prints on her T-shirt, and we both watched silently as the life faded from her eyes.

Nothing spectacular happened after she stopped moving. Her parents screamed, cursing us, but his father only tossed his gun and was more focused on forcing out information from them with more creative techniques.

That night had been a solid reminder of who we were and what was expected from us. We weren’t good people; we didn’t do nice things. The only way we survived was if we decided to because the world wasn’t designed to hand us bright and hopeful dreams on a platter.

Timur handed me a glass, but I turned it down. “I’m not drinking tonight.”

On the sofa beside mine, Anatoly’s low, menacing laugh echoed through the air like a warning bell, signaling chaos to come, and before he spoke, I knew the content.

“That reminds me, Timur. There’s something else you don’t know. Trust me, this one will blow your mind.”

“Nothing has in a long time. I doubt that this one will.”

He spoke like a man who’d rather be outside punching faces than sitting in a club listening to exclusive gossip. He took a sip from his glass, swirling the Vodka with a bored frown. Although, deep down, we both knew he wanted any scoop on the recent buzz in L.A. He missed the action we experienced as a team as much as I loved it.

I lay back and allowed Anatoly to do the talking. He was more than eager anyway.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the current Irish heir, Ronan Gallagher. His brother, Sean, passed away about a week ago, leaving the lunatic in the seat of power. So, he’s the one running things, and the first major thing he plans to do is marry off his sister to Tristan.”

Timur’s ears perked up like sharp antennas, and the wry curve of his lips was the sign Anatoly needed to know that he had my cousin’s undivided attention.

Timur dropped his empty glass on the table with a swag and crossed one leg over the other with his arms spread out on the rim of the sofa.

“Pause. What do you mean, a sister?”

Anatoly nodded, squeezing a slice of lemon into his mouth. “Half-sister.”

“And he wants her to get married to the beast?”

For reference, “the beast” was Tristan’s nickname back in his hometown. He was well known there for his callousness and brutality.

Anatoly affirmed with another curt nod, impatiently rushing through his narration to hit the nail on the head. “Wants her? Shoving her up the old man’s ass is more like it. But that’s not where the story gets all juicy.” He smacked his tongue, hissing at the intense sourness of the fruit. “The Irish princess needs a knight in shining armor to save her from the beast.”

Razor-sharp brown eyes left the narrator and settled on me. “She met you?”

“More like almost bought her way to see me.”

“So, she met you.” He raised a questioning brow. “And you granted the damsel audience?”

“More like she granted him an audience,” Anatoly generously added. “Candle lights, dinner, and red wine.”

For the first time tonight, Timur laughed, and suddenly, I became the guy who wanted to be outside punching faces rather than sitting down listening to gossip.

My cousin swiped a finger over his brow and said, “You fucked her, didn’t you?”

I did.

I fucked Ronan’s half-sister.

But unlike before, when we’d rate our conquests and decide whether or not to see them again, that night with Rosalyn felt… like nobody else’s fucking business . I remembered that darn concern in her eyes, her naivety, and the soft shudders of her breath in my ears, and I got hit with an unexplainable urge of protectiveness.

When I kept mute, he deduced his own answer and fired off another question. “How exactly does she want you to save her?”

“She wants me to kidnap her before the wedding day.”

Suspicious masked his expression on his face. “She asked you to kidnap her?”

Irritation flooded my chest and rose in my throat like bitter bile.

“Am I supposed to repeat myself?”

He leaned forward, dropping his glass to show me how dead-serious he was. The corner of his lips turned to a firm, disapproving frown, and in that split second, he looked a lot like his father.

“Niko, that’s madness. There’s nothing logical about the sister of an enemy willingly offering herself to be kidnapped. Don’t tell me you are considering it.”

I had an answer ready, but someone called my name over the noise, forcing my mouth shut.

“Niko!”

Our heads turned to the tall brunette with the bright red lipstick dancing her way toward the VIP lounge.

“Anatoly. Timur,” she acknowledged off-handedly and crooked forward, her breath tinged with cherry and gin as she brought her lips to my ear, whispering in Russian. “Come on, Niko, let’s go dance. The floor is boring without you. We came here to have a good fucking time.”

I brushed off the short strands of hair falling over her eyes and tipped her chin up. “No, we came here to observe.”

Katherine Davis was one of the very few women I could stomach, for obvious reasons. She was hot, ruthless in the business sector, and fucking smart. She invested time into underground digging, pulling up statistics just to convince me to invest in Ace’s new club, Onyx. Today was just the opening, but it showed prospective signs for bigger deals.

She hiccupped, ran a finger down the buttons on my shirt, and gave that look through hooded eyelids that meant she was already soaking wet between the thighs. “Still. That doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time. I can’t remember the last time I had a good time.”

My eyes followed her suggestive nail-picking on one of my buttons, and I snatched her wrist.

“Fine.”

“Great!”

She glowed and happily led me away from the men to the cramped dance floor. She wrapped my arms around her waist and threw hers around my neck, pressing her body against mine till I felt all the dip and sharp edges of her curves.

Her hips moved in rhythm to the beat, and she threw back her head, swaying to the music but maintaining eye contact. She nibbled on her lower lip.

“We can go to my hotel room later tonight. My husband is out of town.”

I looked above her head, watching a group of gyrating friends who didn’t look older than twenty-five, and remembered when I was like them: free, young, and ready to fuck any woman I wanted. Years later, Katherine’s offer was almost nauseating.

“Exactly. You’re married.”

She blew a scoff, disappointed at my rejection, and swirled around, roughly grinding my front with her backside. “Since when has that stopped the great Nikolai Yezhov?”

Katherine and I were business partners. We fucked when things got tense, when I was bored, when s he was bored. It was all a game. One that ended a week before her wedding. With a rough flip, I moved her ass away and turned her to face me.

“Fucking married women comes with unnecessary trouble. I don’t have time for unnecessary trouble.”

She smiled. She wasn’t giving up easily. “But you want me, don’t you?”

What— who— I wanted had long red hair, innocent eyes, and a mouth I believed I could kiss for days. A look of worry cast over Katherine’s face when she searched my eyes, and I forced myself to stop thinking about her .

How am I still thinking of her ?

Since that night, she’d been stuck in my head, her voice replaying itself over and over again like a broken record I didn’t get tired of listening to.

“ Do you like it?”

“Niko....”

With reflex, I pulled away from Katherine. Even my body rejected hers. But she pinned herself in my arms, reattaching my hand over her waist as she leaned into me. “Hey, is everything okay?”

No, everything wasn’t.

“I told you I didn’t want to dance.”

Her lips formed a pout at my annoyance; regardless, she slowly led me away from the floor, probably to return me to the VIP lounge. We were halfway there when another couple stepped into the club. Those that were oblivious to their personalities walked around them, continuing in fun, and to those, like me, that knew who they were— especially after fucking one after a glass of wine —we paused.

My feet stopped moving, and Katherine noticed.

“Normally, I don’t say this to men like you, but you’re beginning to get me worried, Nikolai.”

I ignored her, keeping my gaze locked on the spotlight couple prancing in from the entrance. With a hand stashed into my pocket, I nodded toward them. “Tristan Gomez is here.”

She followed my eyes, and a wobbly smile appeared on her face. Almost no one liked Tristan, but he was a business mogul, so a good number were willing to put up with him as long as the cash kept rolling. Swiftly, she smoothened the creases on her dress and touched her hair, making sure she was at least presentable.

From across the room, Tristan must have sensed the attention on him because his head moved, and his eyes met mine. Like Katherine, he flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, he murmured to one of the men beside him, and his bodyguards began paving the way for him, his steps changing course toward me. His arm candy, however, was the object of my scrutiny.

The princess that wanted to run away so badly looked rather comfortable snuggled up to the side of the beast. We made eye contact, and she blushed, her cheeks assuming the fiery color of her hair. I struggled to keep my eyes on her face when all they wanted was to feast on that illusion gown that hugged her body like second skin. Every dip and curve and decent show of skin revved a sudden interest, a sudden burning sensation that threatened to drive me insane. When her gaze touched my arm wrapped over Katherine’s waist, she froze.

“If it isn’t the notorious Nikolai Yezhov himself.” Tristan’s extended hand reminded me that he was present. I took his wrinkly hand in a firm shake and let go. “I heard about Onyx’s opening but never expected to see you here in person. I see you came here to unwind then.”

His eyes lingered on Katherine. “This is Katherine Davis, a friend and business partner.”

It might have been a figment of my imagination, but the princess visibly relaxed after I introduced my companion.

“Business partner, huh?” He cackled. “It must mean something if she is working with you.”

Every man in our circle of business understood the dynamics of operations and the importance of confidentiality. Our world had proven over time not to be a woman’s world, but only a few, like Katherine, proved themselves to be smarter than average.

I stole another chance to eye the princess dangling on his arm. “And I see you came here unwind as well.”

She offered a shy smile, and I blocked a smirk, returning my attention to Tristan, who was too eager to introduce her to us. “This is Rosalyn Gallagher. My fiancée. I would have extended an invite to the wedding, but the whole world knows the enmity existing between the Bratva and the Irish. I don’t want bloodshed on that special day.”

I smiled brighter than I’d done all night. We weren’t friends, Tristan and I, so even if the Bratva and Irish were allies, he would not hesitate to fish out another reason why he withheld an invitation to his wedding. His excuses were subtle strategies to keep me at arm’s length.

“I heard the rumors,” I gestured to her. “She is a beauty. Too bad, it seems the Gallagher family sells more than just stocks now.”

Her head snapped up to mine, and I caught the unmistakable glow of hurt and anger. I blinked, mirroring a triumphant grin as I dragged my eyes back to her husband-to-be, watching as he laughed more pathetically. He coughed, dragged her closer, and groped her ass. Her eyes widened, and she shifted uncomfortably, but he groped her harder, snuggling his face into her neck.

“Oh, I paid a hefty price for this one. Gallaghers don’t come cheap.”

A string tightened around my neck, and my chest squeezed and puffed like hot air in a balloon. My smile faltered, and my first instinct was to slice off one of his fingers for touching her, but then I began to imagine the look of horror on his face if he found out that I’d molded that soft ass, felt her bare skin, and breached the entrance between her legs before him.

Maybe he would finally die from a heart attack.

Rosalyn whispered a quick excuse to the bathroom, and with her eyes lowered and purse clutched to her side like life support, she scampered away before he could say no. My eyes trailed her as her silver heels clicked and her hips moved with precision, and with every step farther she took away from me, I felt disconnected from reality.

“Katherine?”

She smiled up at me. “Yeah.”

“Take Mr. Gomez here to one of the finest reservations there at the lounge.”

“But....”

I didn’t wait long enough to entertain her protests. My own feet needed to move.

****

She stood by the sink, her manicured fingers under the rushing faucet. When I locked the door behind me, she looked up, meeting my eyes with a disinterested look on her face. She didn’t move or utter a word. She just stood there, washing her hands like the clock moved to please her. The golden ceiling lights blessed her skin with a celestial glow, and the rich red on her hair enhanced her enchantment.

Because that was the only possible explanation as to why our sudden connection felt like a magnet pull.

In that short span of time, I realized that I liked watching her. I liked seeing the volume of hair pour down her shoulders when she moved forward and how she took extra time to arrange the unruly strands when she straightened up. I liked watching her retouch her makeup. It seemed more meaningful than when Katherine did it. And when she was done, she smacked her lips, cat-walked away from the skin, and stopped by the hand dryer on the wall.

“You really enjoyed humiliating me, didn’t you?”

Her voice bounced off the walls, sounding guarded yet filled with unexpressed emotion. The hand dryer hummed loudly and clicked off, but she didn’t move away from the wall.

“Well, if I am going to kidnap you, we can’t act like best friends. I can’t have anyone suspecting me. So, it’s better to act like I don’t see you.”

“Even if you do.”

Heated blood rushed from my veins to my groin. I saw her. I saw every inch—I w anted every inch of her. Without thinking, I closed the distance, keeping her locked in between the wall and me, and when my palm touched her hip, the rest of me came alive like a ferocious inferno aiming to lick and devour every obstacle on its path.

She felt it, too. The way she pressed into me, eyed my lips, and exhaled ragged breaths told me just how much she wanted me, and I remembered the old man’s hand on her; the mix of anger to this budding infatuation set off combustion.

“You let him touch you too easily, princess. You need to learn how to reject intimacy when you don’t want it.”

I traced the smooth junction of her hip, letting my hand glide to the perfect curve of her ass. When I squeezed her soft mound, I could barely control the harsh pounding of my heart or short intake of breath. I leaned in to smell her, fighting to reign dominance over the insane urge to fuck her hard right then and there against that wall.

“Kiss me, Niko,” she pleaded, and I pulled back, stunned at the desperation in her voice. “Please, kiss me.”

Rosalyn didn’t know it, but she didn’t have to beg twice.

I cupped her chin, tasting her breath, before devouring her mouth hungrily. She sighed into my mouth, and my nails curled against the wall behind her, a futile attempt to grasp the sliver of control slipping away. I licked her tongue, nipped on her lips, and tasted the faint tinge of berries on her breath. Our teeth clashed, breath mingled, and when her fingers slid into my hair, I lost it.

My hands slid to her thighs, almost hoisting her from the ground, when a zap of bolts shot up my arm. I hissed, and my eyes flew open to see her waving a black Taser in front of my face. Her brows were drawn in an angry scowl, and she glared at me before shoving me aside.

“I don’t need anyone teaching me how to protect myself, especially you.”

The locks turned, and the door slammed shut behind her. I swiped the taste of her lips off mine with a smirk, feeling strangely satisfied by her display of anger.

Well played.

But it left me wondering just how genuine the feisty princess was. One day, she couldn’t stand Tristan Gomez, and the next, she didn’t pull out a Taser on him when his hand smacked her behind.

In the end, maybe Timur and Anatoly were right. Wherever Ronan was involved, our actions and decisions became a game of chess, and Rosalyn could just turn out to be another pawn in his crooked game.