Mafia King’s Bride: A Dark Bratva Arranged Marriage Romance
Mafia King’s Bride: Chapter 15

“Do you know what time it is?” Yelena’s voice pops into my office like a bright, yellow ray of sunshine.

I glance up from my paperwork to see her head peeking around the door, a grin already plastered on my face. “What time is it?”

The door swings open wider, and there she is, in all her mini-skirt glory, her arms thrown wide like she’s about to announce a surprise party. “Shopping time!” she declares, as if it’s a national holiday.

I laugh, shaking my head and pointing at the mountain of paperwork threatening to swallow my desk. “I’d love to, but I’ve got work, Yelena. Crime doesn’t take a day off.”

She plops down into the chair opposite me, dramatically sighing like I’ve just told her there’s no wi-fi. “These papers will still be here tomorrow, but the perfect handbag? The statement shoes? They’ll be gone. Come on, let’s take the afternoon off.”

I pull my hand away from her outstretched one with a regretful smile. “As tempting as that sounds, I can’t. I think my bosses might frown on me neglecting my legal duties for retail therapy.”

Yelena’s eyes twinkle mischievously, and I narrow mine. I know that look.

“What did you do?” I ask, already dreading the answer.

She leans back in the chair, twirling a strand of her hair like a schoolgirl caught red-handed. “Oh, nothing much. Just told your bosses you were working on a super important case for my brother and me. Might have mentioned unless you could meet with us all the way in Long Island today, the Orlov family would have to take their legal business elsewhere.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands.

Of course, she did.

“Yelena!” I drag out her name but can’t help my curiosity. “What happens when they ask me about this ‘case’?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Easy. I’ll get Dmitri to send one of his guys to you. They’re always in some kind of trouble.”

Oh, God, no. The last thing I need is Dmitri’s involvement. I can practically hear him now, lecturing me on the dangers of working too late and refusing to quit my job. He’d probably toss in something about how it’s bad for my health and terrible for his image.

“Bad idea,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “It’s not good to mix business with . . . whatever it is that my life has become.”

She sighs dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Fine. But after work, you’re coming with me. Dmitri won’t let me do anything fun at his office, and I’m dying of boredom over there.”

I chuckle despite myself. “Alright, after work. But what are you going to do until then?”

She stretches like a cat, her smile full of carefree mischief. “Oh, I don’t know. Find some trouble to get into. Have a little fun.”

I can’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy as I watch her glide out of my office, her carefree attitude so effortless. Yelena seems to breeze through life, and while I know there’s more to her than meets the eye, I sometimes wish I could borrow that lightness of being.

But my life is complicated. My work, my marriage to Dmitri, my estranged father—it all weighs heavily.

I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Screw it,” I mutter, standing up and grabbing my bag. I might not be as free as Yelena, but I can take one afternoon off. “Work can wait.”

“What do you think of this one?” Yelena holds up a brown Hermes bag for inspection, her eyes gleaming.

I tilt my head, trying to appreciate it. “It’s nice, but not really me.”

She huffs, taking it back. “Yeah, I figured. Too drab for you. If I’m going to spend that much, it better scream when I walk into a room.”

I laugh. “Agreed.”

Yelena’s energy is infectious, and I find myself enjoying the time away from work, letting her drag me from store to store.

She waves her hand toward a display of shoes. “Pick something you like, it’s on me. After this, we’ll grab coffee, and then I’m getting you flowers.”

“Flowers?” I raise an eyebrow. “Why flowers?”

She shrugs, grinning. “Why not? Everyone deserves flowers.”

A soft smile tugs at my lips. When was the last time anyone gave me flowers?

A few minutes later, Yelena’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I’ve been meaning to ask—do you have any siblings? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone come by the house.”

I nod, running my fingers over the buttery leather of a black Prada bag that catches my eye. “I have a half-brother. Viktor.”

Her eyes widen. “You do? Why haven’t I met him?”

“He doesn’t live in the country,” I say, pausing to admire the bag’s craftsmanship. “We don’t have the same mom. My father had… well, I guess you’d call it a ‘past life’ with Viktor’s mother. She never wanted anything to do with the Bratva, refused to raise her son anywhere near it. So she stayed in Europe, kept Viktor with her in London, away from all this.”

Yelena strokes her chin thoughtfully. “And your father let her? That doesn’t seem… typical.”

I let out a soft laugh, glancing at her. “No, it’s definitely not. But he let them go when he met my mother. He was so wrapped up in her, he didn’t fight it. He just… left them both alone.”

“Wow. That’s…” She trails off, clearly trying to process it.

“We talk regularly,” I add, offering a small smile. “But Viktor’s world is different from mine. He’s always been the one who got away, the one who wasn’t marked by all this. Sometimes I think he got lucky.”

She gives me a curious look, as if trying to see beneath the layers I don’t often show. “Do you ever wish you had that option?”

I shrug, glancing away as we start toward the shoe section. Her question hangs in the air between us, making me wonder about her own family. Dmitri doesn’t talk much about their shared history, and it leaves a lot of blanks.

“What about you?” I ask, turning the focus back on her. “Does Dmitri talk to your mom?”

She snorts, holding up a pair of kitten heels. “My mom? She wishes. She’s obsessed with the idea that Dmitri is somehow her son by default, just because she had an affair with his father.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s something underneath the nonchalance—something heavier.

Before I can dig deeper, a voice interrupts us.

“Hi.”

Yelena and I turn, and my gaze lands on a blonde woman dressed in pink with a sneer that could cut glass. Her hand is on her hip, and she’s staring right at me.

“Hi,” I say slowly, unsure of what this is about. “Can I help you?”

The woman smirks, her tone dripping with condescension. “Oh, darling. I doubt you could help me with anything. I just thought it was time we met.”

What the hell?

“Um, okay? I don’t know who you are, so⁠—”

“I’m Lucia,” she says, her voice sickly sweet. “Lucia Bianchi. Dmitri’s lover.” She rolls her eyes as if the title bores her. “Well, ex-lover. That’s the downside of falling for a man who’d rather stay in a loveless marriage than enjoy life.”

My stomach tightens. Lover? I’ve never heard of this woman, but the jealousy that stirs in me is undeniable.

Yelena steps forward, her tone ice cold. “Get lost.”

Lucia smirks, unbothered. “Oh, Yelena. Still bitter about the man who used you? How’s your broken heart? And your body?”

I see Yelena’s fists clench, and I step in, gently pushing her aside.

No one talks to Yelena like that.

Not while I’m around.

Lucia wants to play games? Fine. Let’s see how she handles it when I’m standing toe to toe with her.

“Look,” I say, my voice low, steady, a tone I reserve for moments when I refuse to be rattled. “I don’t care about your past or present relationship with Dmitri. That’s between you and him. I don’t see you as competition, and frankly, you’re not even worth my time.”

Lucia’s sneer deepens, her chest puffing out as she tilts her head back like she’s about to deliver a crushing blow. “Oh really? You think I don’t know the reason why he married you? Your father—” she scoffs “—a pathetic man, lost his daughter in a game of chess. My father and Dmitri are business partners, and there’s more respect between them than Dmitri will ever have for your family.”

Her words hit hard, right in the chest, like someone took a swing and found my weakest spot.

Papa. A reminder of the weight I’ve been carrying, the guilt, the constant uncertainty about whether Dmitri sees me as more than just a pawn in some elaborate game. But I refuse to let her see how deeply she’s cut. I lock my jaw, steady my breathing, and force my expression into something cold and distant. She won’t see how much it stings.

I let out a breath, slowly, purposefully, before meeting her gaze again. “What exactly do you think this little performance is going to achieve?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You think you’re going to intimidate me? I’m the one with his last name,” I continue, my confidence creeping back with each word. “You claim to know why he married me,” I pause, letting my words linger in the air before the punchline hits, “but why didn’t he choose you? If he wanted you so badly, I think we both know he’d have found a way.”

I see the shift in her, the crumbling of that arrogant front. Her arms, once cockily crossed, slowly drop to her sides as the reality of my words sinks in.

She’s scrambling.

I step in closer, my voice soft but sharp. “Spare me the theatrics, Lucia. I’m very secure in my position as Dmitri’s wife. If you want to be his mistress,” I shrug casually, “go ahead.”

Lucia’s face contorts with fury as she spits out her parting shot, “You’ll regret your words when I’m moving into your house and sleeping in his room, right under your nose.”

With that, she turns on her heel and storms off, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, the sound ringing in the aftermath of her departure.

Yelena steps forward, eyes wide, mouth agape. “You—you’re a beast!”

I manage a smile, but my hands, still trembling from the exchange, are hidden behind my back. My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest I can barely hear anything else. A beast? No. I don’t feel like one. I feel vulnerable.

“You’re the best sister-in-law ever,” Yelena gushes, throwing her arms around me in a tight hug. I return the embrace, but I can’t shake the unease settling in my stomach.

I said what I had to say to Lucia, but her words are still echoing in my mind. What if there’s something I don’t know? What if, despite everything, she is right about Dmitri? If she’s had him once, what’s stopping him from going back to her?

We might share a home—we might have fucked once—but there’s no real commitment between us. Nothing binding him to me except a last name and a contract. If he decides to see other women, I won’t be able to stop him.

The real question, the one that gnaws at the edges of my confidence, is what I’ll do if I find out I’m not the only one sharing his bed.