Page 100 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

“My lips are sealed.”

She smiles, and it transforms her face. For a moment, she looks almost young, carefree in a way I’ve never seen her.

Lev drops into the chair across from us, his own glass in hand. He’s loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, and there’s a relaxed quality to his posture that I haven’t seen before.

“So,” he says, looking at me. “You’re one of us now. How does it feel?”

“Weird,” I admit. “Good weird, I think, but weird.”

“It’ll take some getting used to.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Roman’s not an easy man to be married to, I’m sure. He’s stubborn and controlling and he doesn’t know how to ask for help even when he needs it.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“But he’s loyal,” Lev continues. “Once he decides you’re his, he’ll move heaven and earth to keep you safe. You’ve seen the evidence.”

I did see it. “I know,” I say.

Lev nods, satisfied. Then he raises his glass. “To new beginnings,” he says. “And to kicking Anton’s ass.”

I laugh, surprising myself. “To new beginnings.”

We drink and for a little while, the weight of the day lifts.

The night deepens outside the windows. At some point, Oksana refills her glass and starts telling stories about Roman as a boy, how he cried for three days when his dog died, despite claiming his whole childhood that he hated animals.

“He was twelve,” she says, her voice slightly slurred. “Tried to pretend he wasn’t upset, but I could hear him through the door. Sobbing like his heart would break.”

Roman appears at my shoulder, having finally finished his conversation with Artyom. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that,” he says, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

“It’s a good story,” Lev says. “Shows you have a heart under all that brooding.”

“Brooding is my brand.” Roman settles onto the couch beside me, his hand finding my knee. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I say. “Oksana’s been telling so many embarrassing stories about you.”

“Traitor,” he says to Oksana, but he’s smiling.

She raises her glass in a mock toast. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

The conversation continues, but I’m only half-listening. My attention keeps drifting to Roman. He sits, and I can feel his hand warm on my knee.

Eventually, the evening begins to wind down. Oksana is yawning behind her hand, and Lev has migrated from whiskey to coffee, a sure sign he’s done drinking for the night.

Even Artyom, who has barely spoken all evening, seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him.

“I think we’re done for the night,” Lev says, glancing around at the group. “We should all get some sleep.”

There’s a murmur of agreement. Oksana rises and collects the empty glasses, refusing my offer to help. “You don’t clean,” she says firmly. “Go. Rest.”

I let Roman lead me down the hallway to the bedroom at the back of the house. It’s small but cozy, with a queen bed covered in a soft quilt and windows that look out over the garden.

He closes the door behind us, and suddenly the room feels very quiet.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is soft, almost tentative. “Really okay?”

I turn to face him. “I think so. I’m still processing everything, but... I think so.”

He nods, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he’s not satisfied with that answer. He crosses the room and cups my face in his hands, tilting my head back so I’m looking up at him.