Mafia King’s Bride

2. Dmitri

TWO

DMITRI

“Mr. Pavlov is waiting in your office,” Jakob, my secretary, says as I stride in.

I nod, not breaking pace, and push open the door.

Igor Pavlov, the pakhan of one of the New Jersey Bratvas, stands as soon as he sees me. His massive hand stretches out, and I grasp it firmly. “Orlov,” he greets me with a smirk. “You could’ve scheduled this for another time.”

“Why would I?” I drop his hand and move behind my desk, letting my briefcase hit the floor with a thud.

He shrugs, watching me with sharp, calculating eyes. “You just got married. Figured you’d be on your honeymoon. Or are the rumors true?”

I arch an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair. “Rumors?”

Before he can answer, there’s a knock. The door swings open, and Alexey steps in, another pakhan, with a reputation as unpredictable as his temper. He doesn’t bother with formalities, taking a seat next to Igor like he owns the place.

“Roman won’t be joining us,” Alexey informs us, lighting a cigar with a flick of his lighter. “He’s dealing with some...unpleasantness.”

I loosen my tie, ignoring the blatant disrespect. This meeting is delicate. Patience is key. For now.

“I trust you will relay my message to him,” I say coldly. “Let’s get this started.”

Alexey takes a slow drag from his cigar, blowing the smoke in a deliberate circle. I could snap his neck for the sheer insolence, but today’s not the day. No, today requires tact. We’re here to talk about power. Mine, to be exact.

I reach into my drawer, pull out a document, and slap it onto the desk. “Here’s a list of the territories our organizations control. It’s extensive, as you both know. But I’m here to propose an alliance.”

Igor’s frown deepens and Alexey’s eyes narrow.

“An alliance?” Igor leans forward, disbelief etched on his face. “Why would you want that?”

Alexey nods, puffing on his cigar, his expression skeptical. “You’ve got more than all of us combined. More money. More connections. Hell, you came to this country later than we did and still outran us. Why do you need us?”

I let the silence hang, their doubt filling the room like the stench of Alexey’s cigar. Only then do I speak. “I’ve heard whispers. Some gangs think the Bratva doesn’t belong here. They plan to run us into the ground, starting with the largest groups. I don’t take threats lightly, and we’ve all seen our power challenged before. We may have our differences but we’re brothers. We should solidify our dominance before they make their move.”

Alexey takes another slow puff, his eyes calculating. “If you’re really doing this for the Bratva, why not involve the other pakhans ? Like your father-in-law.” He sneers at the words, pushing a clear button. “Nikolai Petrov might be disgraced, but he still commands respect on his side of the city. You gonna work with him?”

I feel my jaw tighten, the muscle twitching with the effort it takes to remain composed. My hands clench under the desk as his words slice through the air.

Nikolai Petrov. The traitor.

“Never,” I hiss, the word cutting the air like a blade. “He’s a disgrace to the Bratva, and I don’t work with men who break our code.”

Alexey blows another smoke ring, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “The code? If I recall, Orlov, when someone tries to steal what’s yours, you cut off his arms, his legs, and ensure he never tries again. But you didn’t do that, did you? Instead, you married his daughter. To the rest of the world, you’re partners with the Petrovs now.”

He’s poking at an open wound, and he knows it. The truth is, in the Bratva, a marriage between two families is seen as a strengthening of bonds. A sign of unity.

But that’s not what this is. Not for me.

I lean forward, locking eyes with Alexey, my voice low and dangerous. “I didn’t marry Anastasia to strengthen anything. I married her to destroy him. I took the one thing that matters to Nikolai Petrov. His daughter is mine now, and when he dies, there’ll be no one left to inherit his empire.”

I see the flicker of understanding in their eyes as the truth settles in.

This isn’t about partnership. This is about annihilation.

Igor chuckles, shaking his head in admiration. “I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming. Taking the one thing he cares about? That’s cold, even for you, Orlov.”

Alexey leans back, taking a final drag of his cigar before stubbing it out on the edge of my desk. “Clever. Ruthless.” He pauses, a smile tugging at his lips. “And here I thought you’d gone soft after marriage. But I’m in. It’d be stupid to say no, considering your new...influence.”

I let a slow, predatory smile creep across my face. I’ve won them over. I’ve got them right where I want them.

Before the wedding, Alexey would have fought me tooth and nail, and Igor would’ve stayed on the sidelines, waiting to see which way the wind blew. But now? Now that I have Anastasia Petrov under my thumb, now that the world believes I’m in league with her father?

I hold all the cards.

They think they’re aligning with me for power. They don’t realize they’re just pawns in my game. And once Nikolai Petrov is gone, every last piece of his empire will fall to me. No one will dare challenge me.

The game isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

Hours later, with the sun already sunk beneath the clouds, I pull into the driveway of my mansion on Long Island, the weight of the day pressing heavily on my shoulders. The headlights sweep across the pristine lawn as I park the car near the house, killing the engine with a press of my finger. My valet is already there, stepping forward to take the fob from my hand without a word. I nod in acknowledgment and head inside.

The door swings open before I even reach it, and Janet, my housekeeper, greets me with a polite nod, her posture rigid and professional as always.

“Welcome, sir.”

“Thank you, Janet,” I reply, shrugging out of my coat. She takes it from me with a practiced motion.

I move swiftly through the foyer, my footsteps echoing through the expansive hallway, heading past the grand double staircase. My room is on the third floor, and Ana’s is located on the second. A deliberate arrangement. I wanted distance between us. Enough privacy to avoid unnecessary run-ins because there’s no reason for us to interact more than necessary. She’s my wife only in name, nothing more.

“Your dinner is ready in the dining room, sir,” Janet says as I reach the base of the stairs.

I shake my head, not even slowing my pace. “Not tonight. Just bring me water.”

“Yes, sir.”

My foot touches the first step, but something stops me cold. A thought that sneaks in, unwelcome and persistent. I turn my head slightly, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them.

“Janet.”

She pauses, looking up. “Yes, sir?”

“My… wife.” The word feels foreign, uncomfortable. “Did she eat?”

Janet’s expression shifts, a slight crease forming between her brows. “Mrs. Orlov hasn’t left her room all day, sir. I tried taking her meals up, but she refused them.”

My frown deepens. “She hasn’t eaten since I left?”

“Not since last night,” she clarifies gently.

That’s almost twenty-four hours. What is she playing at? Is this some kind of childish rebellion? Starving herself to make it look like I’m some monster who locks his wife away without food? I rub my temples, trying to shake the irritation bubbling beneath my skin.

“Take a plate to her room.”

Janet hesitates, her lips parting as if to protest. “I’ve tried, sir. She wouldn’t answer the door.”

“Try again,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “Do as I say.”

Without waiting for her response, I continue up the stairs, my steps heavy with frustration. This ends now. If she thinks she can pull some stunt to make me look like a villain, she’s sorely mistaken. She’s lucky I don’t demand more from her—she could be working for me, earning her keep, but instead, she does nothing but sit around all day.

I stop in front of her door and make a fist, knocking firmly.

No answer.

I knock again, harder this time. “Ana. I need to talk to you.”

Silence.

Panic flickers in the back of my mind, unwelcome and ridiculous. Has she fainted? Is she lying unconscious behind that door? I press my ear to the wood, listening for any sound, any indication that she’s in there. My heart picks up its pace.

“Ana, answer me.” My voice is sharper now, tinged with an edge I rarely show. “Ana!”

Still nothing.

Without thinking, I brace myself, ready to kick the door in if necessary. My foot is poised when the door suddenly creaks open. I stumble slightly, surprised, and straighten, clearing my throat to mask the moment of weakness.

She stands in the doorway, her appearance disheveled and raw. Her dark hair falls in tangled curls around her face, her eyes rimmed with smudged black makeup, and her lower lip is swollen like she’s been biting it all day. For a split second, I’m hit with an image I shouldn’t be thinking of—a post-coital haze that lingers after a night of passion. The thought catches me off guard, and I shake it off.

“What?” she asks, her voice flat, emotionless.

I stare at her, trying to remember why I’m here. Her appearance has thrown me off, but I quickly recover. I narrow my eyes, my voice cold and clipped. “Janet told me you haven’t eaten all day.”

She shrugs, a flicker of defiance in her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

A problem? The sheer audacity of her words leaves me momentarily speechless. Is this a game to her?

“If you don’t eat, you’ll get sick,” I say, my tone hardening. “I won’t have you playing these tricks.”

She cuts me off before I can finish. “Tricks? You think I’m doing this to get back at you for threatening to kill my father?”

The bluntness of her words knocks the air out of me. For a second, I don’t respond. She knows exactly what I’m capable of, and she’s daring to challenge me.

I step closer, and when I see the flicker of fear cross her face, I stop short. “Would you rather I expose your father’s betrayal to the world? Do you know what happens to traitors in our world, kotyonok ?” My voice drops, laced with danger.

Her chin lifts defiantly, her eyes burning with hatred. “First off, I’m not your kitten,” she snaps. “And yes, I know what happens. But you act like you’re any better. You’re feared, Dmitri, but not respected. You don’t inspire loyalty—you inspire terror. And there’s a difference.”

Her words are sharp. Alexey’s taunts from earlier echo in my mind: What other choice do I have?

I close the distance between us in one swift motion, my hand shooting out to grab her chin. My fingers grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me. “Don’t push me, Ana,” I say quietly, my voice dark and dangerous. “Your father betrayed mine—betrayed my family. He tried to take what was mine before my father’s body was even cold. Be thankful I didn’t end him right there.”

Her eyes widen, and I see another flicker of fear flash across her face. For a moment, I think I’ve broken through her defiance. But then she composes herself, forcing her features into a mask of calm.

“And what guarantee do I have that you won’t betray me?” Her voice is low, almost a whisper. “You’re not a man to trust, Dmitri. You’re a man to fear.”

I release her, letting my hand fall away. She stumbles back, but there’s something almost proud in the way she recovers, in the way she stands there, facing me with her chin held high. Almost admirable.

Almost.

I turn my head as Janet’s footsteps echo up the stairs, and she appears with a tray of food in hand.

“Janet went through the trouble of making you dinner,” I say, my voice flat and final. “Don’t let it go to waste.” Without another word, I turn on my heel and leave, heading toward my own room.

As I climb the stairs, I flex my hand, trying to release the tension coiled in my fingers. I didn’t expect her to get under my skin like this. It usually takes more for someone to rile me up.

But Ana managed to do it effortlessly.

Still, I’ve made my point clear. If she tries anything else, I’ll show her exactly who she’s dealing with.

Because when I exact revenge, I leave no one standing.