The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

We’ve merged with the American Bratva easily. Hell, I love these guys. I think a part of Maksym wanted to quit for good, but instead he’s taken on new roles and responsibilities. He will never leave The Bratva. Not entirely. It’s his home, his family. But he no longer carries the heavy responsibilities on his shoulders in Russia, and instead is a sort of mentor to the younger recruits.

Nicolai is a brother to me in every sense of the word, Maksym is treated with the greatest respect, and the pakhan, Stefan, gave us a beautiful private apartment attached to their compound.

The men in this group are nothing like the men in my father’s group. Though they are still ruthless—and I know what they do is not at all legal—there’s a decidedly different flavor to their activities. Like Maksym’s sister group in Moscow, they have a code of honor that they adhere to.

Demyan calls Maksym regularly and has informed us that The Thieves are silent, and they’ve made no efforts of retaliation. Maksym encouraged me to enroll in one of the local universities here, and I’m glad I did. I’m studying international relations and thriving in the program here.

By day I’m a college student. By night, the beloved of the Bratva’s fiercest brother.

After we settled here, Maksym told me all about the woman he calls his Taya. It broke my heart to hear the story, but it was time. He framed the picture of her and placed it in his bedside table, not on it. I told him I would be okay with it if he wanted her picture in a place of honor, but he shook his head sadly. She was a part of his life he will never get back, and I know that. But I respect that he loved her and I’ll give him that space to hold a place in his heart for her. His love for me will not diminish in the light of his love for her, but only grow. As sad as it is, Taya’s death brought the two of us together.

We drive in comfortable silence back to the compound. It’s quiet here, and beautiful, but hot, and Maksym isn’t quite used to it. But ever since we came, he no longer wakes at night. When he happens to get restless, I soothe him with my hands and voice. He gathers me into his arms, and we both sleep like that. Inseparable.

Ours is an unlikely union, but I can’t question how or why it came to be.

When his hand meets mine, I squeeze it. I belong to him, and he belongs to me.

“You’re home early today,” I note.

“Something told me you needed extra supervision,” he teasingly chides.

“Marissa is a troublemaker,” I mutter.

He sobers. “That she is,” he mutters, but then he shakes his head and smiles at me.

We pull into the back of the compound, and up the private drive where we share a home. I wait in my seat for him to come around and open the door. I could get out myself, of course, but this is something I have to give him. Something he needs.

“Come,” he says, and his voice is strangely soft, his eyes wistful as he leads me to our home. “I have something for you.”

My heart beats more rapidly. What is it? I have theories and hope, but...

But when the door opens, a streak of fur bounds toward us.

“You got me a puppy!” I kneel in front of the adorable little fluffball.

We left Shepherd with Larissa and Demyan in Moscow, and Larissa texts me pictures from time to time. But I miss him, and I’ve been telling Maksym I wanted a dog for months now.

“I did,” Maksym says. “One of our brother’s dogs had a litter, and I claimed this one for you.” He’s kneeling on one knee, patting the puppy’s fuzzy head, when he looks up at me, suddenly sober.

“Olena.”

His deep voice captures my attention.

“Yes?” I ask.

He takes a black velvet box out of his pocket. As soon as I see it in his hand, a lump rises in my throat. I can’t speak. I fall to my knees in front of him.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” he says with a chuckle.

“And you’re not supposed to do that,” I reply, shaking my head. I’m kneeling and crying and laughing while the puppy bounds between the two of us. It’s beautiful, perfect chaos. “I was supposed to graduate college first.”

“And you still can,” he says. “But I want every man who lays eyes on you to know who you belong to. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” I whisper, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Oh, wait. We’re not saying vows yet, are we?”

He laughs out loud, pulls me to his chest, and grasps my hand. His beautiful eyes come to mine and he smiles, both wistful and hopeful, his eyes a little misty.