Ruthless Mafia King: A Dark Bratva Arranged Marriage Romance

I’m so eager to leave Russia that I hire a doctor to fly back to New York with us. He patches up my wounds to the best of his abilities before turning his attention to Ivan.

Back home, I have three men ready to escort me from the private jet back to my townhouse on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. Still, it doesn’t ease the feeling of having my life threatened.

During the flight, I made countless calls to my investors. They all insisted on having no knowledge of the assassination attempt on me. I’m not sure I believe them, but I also have no other choice but to let it go. At least until I find solid proof. Once I do, the person who put a target on my back will wish they’d never been born.

When I arrive home, I go straight for the shower.

This place has always been my safe haven. The security systems are top-notch and the around-the-clock guards are loyal and trustworthy. They have their own servant’s wing and a backup system in case something happens to the electricity. It gives me a sense of safety. I designed it this way after the love of my life was killed in a freak car accident along with my mother.

I take a quick shower to get rid of the sight and smell of blood on me. In two minutes, I’m out of the shower, and I let the warm air in the bathroom air dry the droplets on my skin.

I look at my bruised body in the mirror. The fresh scar next to my right eye is an angry red color. My left leg has been stitched up, and I put a new bandage around it. There are some scratches along my torso, but nothing serious.

With a groan, I run a hand through my hair before wrapping a towel around my waist. My body and mind need rest. That’s the only thought circulating inside my head as I close the distance from the master suite’s bathroom to the bed.

Unfortunately, I can’t afford to stop. I can’t even slow down.

Instead, I walk past the bed and into a walk-in closet. Without wasting time, I pick a suit, opting for a navy one paired with a white button-down shirt. An elegant choice that will show my enemies that I’m still in control.

When I get downstairs, Ivan stands to attention. His hulking shoulders seem slightly broader now that we’re alone.

“Ivan,” I greet him with a nod as I approach the table. Different kinds of guns and magazines are scattered on it.

“Nikolai,” he replies.

“You know I don’t like having those things in my living room,” I comment softly.

“You’re right,” he confirms. “I’m sorry.”

“I need to go see Dimitri Sokolov,” I say, changing the subject. “Be ready in ten minutes. I want three cars to protect me along the way. I can’t afford another assassination attempt.”

Ivan grabs his own gun, loads it, and secures it in his shoulder holster. I follow his example, fastening the weapon around my torso. I’m not walking into the lion’s den unarmed. Dimitri Sokolov might be my ally at the moment, but I also forced him to give me his daughter. A man like him is known to hold grudges.

After I step out of my safe haven, one of my security guards, who went out for supplies earlier, parks a black Corvette in front of us.

He opens the door to the passenger side, and I nod at him as I slide into my seat. Ivan follows a second later, taking the wheel and pulling out onto the tree-lined West 80th Street.

Ivan skillfully navigates the busy traffic as three other cars follow us. I sit back to contemplate my next move. I don’t have much time to come up with a plan.

Before we arrive, I remind Ivan, “Put a guard on his front gate and another on the intercom. No one enters the property unless I clear it.”

“Absolutely,” he confirms with a nod and starts to divide the others.

I watch my men standing around my car for several minutes before returning my attention to my main reason for coming here. The two-story, beautiful Victorian mansion rises before me as I walk up to the entrance. Two guards stand at either side of the door.

“Gentlemen,” I greet them in Russian.

“Mr. Volkov, we are not permitted to—” the guard on the left stutters.

“Tell Dimitri Sokolov,” I interrupt him, keeping my tone pleasant, “that his future son-in-law has arrived.”

The guard clears his throat and takes a step forward, positioning his body firmly between me and the door. With a frown, I watch him defy me.

“Sokolov says to let him in,” the other guard tells his partner, speaking in low tones. His hand is pressed against his earpiece.

“That’s better,” I sneer at him, still smiling.

He swallows, turning pale as he falls a step behind. His comrade opens the door. I wipe the scowl off my face and stroll inside.

The new guard hesitates and then closes the door behind me.

The scent of dried and potted flowers fills the air, but I keep walking without looking left or right. The butler leads the way into a small parlor, where Dimitri sits on a leather sofa. Irina is reclining on a chair, reading a magazine.

Katarina sings in Russian from somewhere in the house. I suppress a smile upon hearing her lovely voice.

“Ah, Nikolai,” Dimitri says cheerfully. “Come in.”

“We need to talk,” I say coldly. My eyes briefly dart toward Irina. “Alone.”

Dimitri nods and gets up. “Let’s go to my office.”

After he murmurs something to his wife, the pakhan takes me deeper into the house.

“Vodka?” Dimitri asks me as I shut the door.

I shake my head.

“Suit yourself.”

“We have a problem,” I cut to the point as I sit down in front of him. “Someone ordered an attack on my oil rig. It almost cost me my life and everything I spent years building.” I pause and glare at Dimitri. “Do you have any idea who would be so stupid as to attack me directly?”

Dimitri shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and I narrow my eyes at him. I can’t help but wonder if this man will stab me in the back the moment I let my guard down.

“You have to know that I had nothing to do with it,” he mutters and shoots me an apologetic look.

“Tell me who the hell is desperate enough to take me on!” I hiss, leaning closer.

Dimitri takes a sip of his vodka. The pause grants my imagination time to get the better of me. Flashes of memory from when multiple people tried to take my life make my thoughts run amok. Dimitri puts his glass back down and meets my eyes. There’s nervousness swimming in them. But also hope.

“Sergey Gargarin is the only logical answer,” he replies at last. “He must’ve heard that you agreed to supply me with more guns. My guess is that he wants to wipe you off the board, so he’ll have an unobstructed and direct path to me.”

I don’t trust Dimitri’s words. Someone else is planning this. Someone close enough to him. As far as I know, it could even be him.

I’m too exposed to my enemies and allies to truly determine who it was. I need to make our alliance bulletproof.

“Call Katarina,” I say with authority. “The three of us need to talk. Now.”

The Bratva leader narrows his eyes at my order. I half expect him to argue and try to assert his own dominance, but instead, he calls for his butler and asks for his daughter to be fetched.

As the doors open and Katarina steps inside, I swallow the anger and focus on her for a moment. Even though my heart squeezes painfully tight, my body releases a sigh. She’s even more breathtaking than I remember.

I purposefully raise my brow as I blatantly drag my eyes down her body. My gaze focuses on her legs. They’re shapely and toned, the source of all my fantasies whenever I’m lucky enough to see them.

As she enters the room, her shoulders pull back in a confident stance. Her body is clothed in a pencil skirt that reaches just above her knees, a short-sleeved sweater, and a pair of black heels. She sits down next to her father and crosses her legs, revealing smooth skin and a hint of muscular thighs. The effect makes my balls tighten, and I force myself to think of anything other than getting her underneath me.

“She’s here,” Dimitri says cooly.

His voice brings me out of my trance, and once again, I’m filled with only one emotion. I turn the power of my glare to the Bratva leader, letting him take the full force of my fury.

“I demand that Katarina and I get married right now.”