Arranged By The Bravta King

14

Mikhail

She's like no one I've ever met.

I sit beside Maria's bed and watch her sleep, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. A soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminates her sleeping form, creating an almost ethereal aura around her face. Her expression, contorted with pain earlier, now displays a tranquil expression.

In this light, she has the look of a princess. I can almost forget the glimpse of the fierce hellcat underneath.

Almost.

I admire her courage. Foolish but definitely brave.

Her long, curly, auburn hair fans out like a halo on the silk pillowcase. A dark bruise mars her soft cheek, and a bandage is wrapped tightly around her wrist. All because of me. It takes every fiber of my being to not reach out and caress the wound. But something tells me that if I so much as feel her skin against mine, then all semblance of control will burn away like mist on the morning sun.

I force myself to look away. Guilt, desire, anger, and other emotions that I cannot—or dare not—give form to begin coiling inside me like a venomous snake. My thoughts churn with conflicting emotions. I'm overwhelmed with a desire to protect this woman from the darkness that stalks me every waking moment. But the moment I feel that desire, I fight the urge to laugh at myself.

How can I protect anyone from the very darkness that I have caused?

Instead, I force myself to focus on why she is here. Her father, the traitor. But what was his crime? My brigadiers have said nothing, and Budanov is not a name that I'm familiar with.

I must keep my focus sharp and my goal in sight. I cannot be distracted by the temptation she offers.

Maria... I think. The name suits her. In this bed, she is the perfect image of tranquility and beauty. Yet nibbling at her in the shadows is a serpent who won't hesitate to corrupt her.

Alive, she's worth something to the Bratva. But dead ...

It wouldn't be my first failure. But something tells me it would be one that weighs more heavily than all the rest.

I can't allow that. I have a job to do, and these warring emotions will not jeopardize my mission.

Something dragged Maria into this life, just like it dragged me. Our lives are now intertwined, bound together by fate and circumstance, no matter how hard she fights me on it. I have learned how to thrive under it, and she will either learn to thrive or, next time, there won't be a second chance.

She murmurs in her sleep, breaking the train of my thoughts. Her brow furrows, and I wonder if she might wake. Will she scream when she sees me hovering over her like the insidious serpent in the garden? Will she try to be brave?

But she does not wake, and I do not receive an answer. All I know now is that our lives will never be the same. Not anymore.

"Mikhail Ivanov," Rurik whispers as he enters the room. His eyes dart to Maria before settling on me. "A word?"

"Of course." I rise from the chair and follow him into the hallway. My eyes blink against the strong natural light. The curtains are drawn in Maria's room, and I forget that it's already midday. Wisely, we choose to have the conversation away from her door. The floating risers on the spiral staircase echo with our steps as we head toward the living room.

"Are you sure this is the right course of action, Kolya?" Rurik's eyes bore into mine, searching for any sign of weakness. He is the only one of my brigadiers that I allow such familiarities with.

I know what he's thinking. But this is very different.

"Have you spoken to my sister yet?" I look him hard in the eye. "I hate to interfere in your marriage ..."

"Of course I have," Rurik replies, his voice tense. "And you know I never tell her anything that will endanger her or the Bratva. But this plan of yours ... I don't like it."

"Then I imagine she'll come rip my head off for it in your stead." I smile and pat his shoulder with a brotherly affection that I can only experience in memories. "You know Lara. Full of charm and smarts."

Rurik closes his eyes briefly, a smile ghosting on his lips. "I married her for those very things." When his eyes open, they are deadly serious again. "But this girl, Maria, has already proven to be trouble, even without Ippolit's crazed plan in place. And if what they claim is true ..." His lips narrow into a thin line of concern. "It's dangerous."

"I've asked Dominika to keep an eye on her," I tell him. "She will not be a problem."

"A pit bull would make a better companion," Rurik scoffs. His pale blue eyes catch the light, and he looks much younger than his forty years. "I suggest you treat her like a guest instead of a captive. The girl is frightened. Gain her trust, and I believe she'll talk willingly."

"And if she won't?" I ask pointedly.

"Then have Larissa or Dominika ply her with questions." Rurik spreads his hands. "One with gentleness and grace, and the other with bluntness. Much better than to have a repeat of what she's already gone through."

I know what he's talking about. The other brigadiers will want to question her. And even though I've warned them already to be gentle, I know they have no concept of the word.

I should've confided my thoughts to Rurik sooner. He rose through the ranks to first become my sister's husband, and then my father's trusted man. And now, he is one of my trusted brigadiers who might balance against the likes of Gunsyn and Ippolit.

And in spite of the gossip about him and Larissa, he has earned all honors with love and loyalty.

Rurik walks away and unlocks the elevator with his key. "Remind Dominika to be kind. Tell her to treat the girl like her favorite dog. That will work."

"I will," I reply. "Did you find a phone in the limo?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head. "I told my men to check the gallery as well, but this girl isn't lying."

I smile as Rurik leaves and then head back upstairs. He's right—treat her like a guest. The door to her bedroom can remain unlocked. The ladder that she used to reach the terrace has been removed. She will need a key to the elevators to escape, and the fire exit is inaccessible unless she's in my bedroom.

Which will never happen.

I turn my gaze back at the door, and my c**k shamefully swells at the memory of her body close against mine. How can I be the serpent in the story if she is the one who tempts me by her very existence?