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Book:Arranged To The Bravta King Published:2024-11-11

Mikhail
I walk across the floor of the warehouse, and the hollow sound of my footsteps reverberates throughout the space. The walls were torn down during a renovation that was started years ago but never finished. Gunsyn claimed the space and decided not to put them back up except for where he built a private office in a far corner.
As I walk past, fresh recruits stand stiffly at attention, guarding boxes of forged invoices and receipts that could land all of us in jail. I don’t like having dirt so concentrated in one place, but this arrangement is necessary.
I make my way to the office, ignoring the dried blood on the floor and the sickly smell of vomit. As I approach the open metal door, the stink of cigars camouflages the rude smell. If Alexander bought the damn things, they’re probably expensive.
I hate it here. But it’s necessary.
My eyes adjust to the sunlight as I enter the small cube built of sheetrock and studs. The three brigadiers sit around a steel desk with key locks on each drawer. Gunsyn sits in a wing back chair while the others sit on folding chairs, sharing a bottle of premium vodka in a crystal skull. Smoke from Alexander’s cigars fills the air, and he is careful not to get the ash on his royal blue suit.
“Mikhail Ivanov!” Gunsyn acknowledges my presence with his bulldog smile. “We were just discussing your lovely fiancee, Maria. You two looked like the happy couple, the small accident at the shower notwithstanding.”
“Cut the bullshit, Gunsyn,” I reply sternly and remain standing.
“Of course, pakhan.” He smirks.
“So, someone came for her at the shower,” I glare at each of them in turn, and they wisely wipe the haughty grins off their faces. “But no Budanov. Just another Lanzzare trying to take what belongs to me. I’m starting to think that the three of you are lying to me.”
The brigadiers exchange glances, then wolfish grins reappear. Zhanna’s warning echoes in my mind, and I clench my fists to keep myself from saying something else.
“Have you fallen in love already, my pakhan?” Alexander asks, his voice dripping mockery as he takes a long pull on his cigar.
“Love?” Gunsyn guffaws, shaking his ugly face. “No, he’s just like his father. Always got eyes for a nice perky ass. And that girl has a nice? -”
“Enough!” I seize Gunsyn from the chair, twisting the collar of his shirt so he can’t breathe, and then shove him against the window. The lower half swings outward under his weight as he struggles. I slam him into the glass again.
Ippolit jumps up and grabs my waist. Recruits peer through the open door to investigate the shouting, but Alexander waves them off and shuts the door. Gunsyn lifts his hands in submission, his face almost purple and the neck of his T-shirt stretched out. I release him and he doubles over, coughing forcefully. Silent and smooth, Ippolit hands him a glass.
“Just like his father.” Gunsyn takes in a deep breath, collapsing onto the folding chair closest to him. He hacks and wheezes until he can catch his breath, and his eyes water from the exertion.
“I told you, Gunsyn.” I rip the glass from his hand and drain it in one gulp. “You’re an old man.”
Gunsyn shifts his body away from my hand and eyes me with contempt and plenty of resentment.
“Pakhan, please,” Alexander motions toward the large wingback chair. “We have business to discuss.” He looks at the other. “You’re wasting time quarreling with us. There is nothing to prove here.”
I’d have preferred a folding chair than to sit in Gunsyn’s stink, but I lean back on torn fake leather mended with frayed duct tape.
“I need to know,” I say to them calmly, “everything that there is to know about Budanov. I’m supposed to believe he’s a traitor, but I know nothing other than a name. So, you will tell me why he is a traitor, or I will continue thrashing you until none of you can walk.”
Alexander glances over at Ippolit, whose inscrutable gaze stays on me. Sighing, he decides he will be the one to take the bait. He stands and sits in the chair beside me, careful to check for stains on the seat. His bespoke suit stands out in the squalor of the warehouse office like a peacock in the mud.
“Zakhar Budanov,” he starts, “was the Avtoritet before he turned against your father.”
The room falls silent, and the calm delivery of those words stuns me. There hasn’t been an Avtoritet in the Ivanov Bratva for decades. The traditional power structure of the Bratva has room for someone who held tremendous sway and power, a right-hand man, if you will.
But the title of the Avtoritet is something far beyond that. To bestow this rank upon a man of the Bratva is to signal your absolute trust in him. A pakhan trusts his Avtoritet with his deepest secrets, ones that not even his family knows.
For as long as I’ve known, Father never had one. And neither I nor Desmier were given this title. I myself have never considered granting that title to anyone else. Not even to Rurik.
My heart pounds as I try to process this revelation.
“Impossible.” I try to deny it, but my voice fades. “There would’ve been signs. There would’ve been-” But before I can finish, Zhanna’s cursed voice starts echoing in my ears again.
Your bride has a dark past.
Is this the past that she told me about? But she also warned me about my own brigadiers. Just what is that crazy old woman playing at? I look at each man in turn, narrowing my eyes as I do so.
More importantly, what are they playing at?
“Yes, my pakhan?” Ippolit secures the window, making sure the latch is locked before he sits down. When I don’t reply, his monotone voice resumes talking while he continues to watch me intently. “Perhaps she’s playing you for a fool as her father did yours.”
“Who?” I tug at the tie around my neck and angrily toss it onto the concrete floor. “Who did Budanov turn to after he betrayed my father?”
“Who do you think?” Gunsyn asks nastily, fully recovered from the fight. His eyes narrow as he points his stubby finger for emphasis. “He went to the only man who could do anything to us.”
The stale air in the room wraps around me like a fist around my neck, choking the air out of my lungs. My hands clench around the armrest of the chair, knuckles whitening with the effort to restrain myself.
“Emilio Lanzzare …” I whisper.
“Budanov knows everything there is to know about us,” Alexander resumes talking. “He was the Avtoritet, after all. Every little detail was hidden in his brain, and his betrayal nearly undid everything.”
My jaw drops at the realization of what Alexander is saying. I know what I must ask next, but I don’t want to hear the answer. Hearing the answer will make it real, and I desperately want it to remain nothing but rumors on the wind.
“My brother …” I look at them, one after another.
Ippolit bows his head and sighs. “Budanov must’ve known that Desmier Ivanov would stand to take your place all those years ago. He must’ve tipped off Emilio about the hit. And in return …” He spreads his hands in feigned helplessness.
I look away, feeling nausea roiling my insides at the revelation.
“How convenient that his daughter emerged immediately after my coronation.” I lean back, and Alexander pours me a glass of vodka. I grasp the glass tightly but don’t drink. “You should’ve told me …” I murmur.
“We tried, Mikhail Ivanov,” replies Gunsyn loudly. “But you stopped us from questioning the bitch the right way.” Gunsyn leans across the desk, and the passion in his eyes vibrates. “And now it’s come to this.”
“But Budanov has revealed his hand,” Ippolit states stoically, sipping his vodka. “The bombing at the gallery was the first attempt, and the incident at the wedding shower was the second. You are now on his radar, and he will not stop until he gets his daughter back.”
“A daughter who is surely acting on her father’s orders,” Alexander points out. “After all, it’s like you said, my pakhan. How convenient that she emerged immediately after your coronation.”
My mind cannot wrap around it as I picture Maria’s wide gaze. She cannot be playing such a dangerous game. She’s too convincing. She’s too innocent.
“No,” I insist as my anger rises. “I don’t believe any of this. She doesn’t know anything. She can’t!”
“Stop thinking with your dick and start thinking with your brain, Kolya!” Gunsyn roars. “Are you willing to risk the Bratva for a pair of legs and a good fuck?”
My chest tightens at the thought, but I push it away. I see what they are doing. I can’t let them manipulate me. I can’t let their doubts seep into my mind. Maria is innocent. I know it.
I have to give her a chance to prove it.
And if she fails to prove her innocence … then I will show her no mercy.