Page 53 of Owned By the Bratva

“So many. Six, at the very least.”

I can’t help but laugh, breathless and dazed and feeling lighter than air. “Come on then, husband. What are you waiting for?”

He spills into me with a heated grunt, kissing me so hard I swear he might try to devour me whole. I hold onto him tight, some strange part of me too afraid to let go. This all feels like such a wonderful dream. Maybe if I hold on a little tighter, I can ignore this sinking feeling brewing in the pit of my stomach.

I’ve long since learned that happiness—or anything close to it—can never last. It’s just a matter of waiting for the shoe to drop. It’d be best if I didn’t fool myself. If I don’t allow myself to believe I’ve stumbled into a happily ever after, I can save myself from a world full of anguish.

Chapter 22

Pyotr

Invitations are coming in left, right, and center, more than I usually receive. Despite my best efforts to have those pictures taken down, whispers have already spread far and wide. Events I’m usually not invited to as well as one I’ve gone to every year are filling my inbox and mailbox. Bad press means press coverage, and right now, we’re a hot topic.

Inconvenient, but unsurprising. All RSVPs are returned with cannot attend.

Alina and I are going to have to work double time to fix our tarnished reputations—even though none of this was our fault to begin with.

“Your invitation to Gabriel Schuster’s golfing weekend has arrived,” Merrybell says gravely. “I already sent a no. Not that you would have gone, anyway.”

“Thank you,” I comment dryly.

I rub my temples and pray my headache goes away. Moments like these, I really miss my twin, Dimitri. Before he decided to follow Mikhail to Moscow to be his right-hand man, Dimitri was the head of the PR department. His charm and wit made him perfect for the role. No crisis was too big or too small to manage. He was the go-to guy whenever CyberFort had even the tiniest smear article in the latest copy ofBusiness Today. My twin had a way of getting on everyone’s good side—even Richard Eaton Jones, believe it or not—but now I’m a one-man-show doing his best to put out every little fire that pops up unannounced.

Beside me, Alina scrolls through a company-issued iPad I’ve loaned her. Merrybell has wheeled in her own chair, at my request, giving her the left side of my desk to work on.

“What about this library fundraiser?” she asks, pointing at an old invite that almost got lost in my personal secretary’s never-ending inbox. “It’s scheduled for tomorrow but marked as undecided.”

“We have to think of it from a branding perspective,” I say firmly. “What’s a cybersecurity company doing at a public library fundraiser?”

She arches a skeptical brow at me. “Oh, sure, but hitting golf balls all weekend with some guy is somehow a higher priority?”

“I never go, but Schuster is a client. It’s clear why I would go.”

Alina shrugs. “Still. I can think of a couple of ways you can spin it for the press.”

“Go on.”

“Donate two or three new computers,” she suggests with a smile. “Maybe also bring attention to the outreach program you’re so fond of. Public library spaces are a great free place for young minds to come and learn, championing the way forward for future tech entrepreneurs and the like.”

I find myself smiling as she speaks. Damn, that’s a good way to put it. “What else?” I ask, curious about what she might say next.

Alina nibbles on her bottom lip as she continues to scroll through the list of remaining events on the list. I am intrigued by the slight crinkle of her nose, a sign—I’ve come to learn—she’s deep in thought.

“This wedding invite,” she says. “John Ackerman?”

The name rings a bell. “Ackerman? I went to business school with the guy.” I glance at Merrybell. “Why didn’t I know about this invitation sooner?”

“My apologies, Mr. Antonov. Some things get lost in my spam folder.”

“When’s the wedding?” I ask Alina.

“This Saturday.”

“Probably too late to let them know we’re coming. I’ve seen enough episodes of Bridezilla to know you should never crash a wedding.”

Alina smirks. “Bridezilla?”

“It’s a trashy American television show.”

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