Conquered Bride (Belaya Bratva 1)

“On one condition,” I replied, walking to the door that connected the bedroom to the living room. “You need to get dressed.”

I didn’t wait for her response, wondering why the hell I felt like I was walking on clouds at making her happy this morning.

Or teasing her.

Or laughing with her.

She was supposed to be a tool.

And now she was going to be my ruin.

When she walked out, I gave her outfit a cursory glance before leading her to breakfast. I had been told that we would be in the formal dining room this morning. When we arrived, it was clear that we were late.

“Good morning, Gavrushka,” Katarina said brightly from her chair, her plate already full of food. “And Sveta.”

Naomi’s hand tightened in mine, and I gave her a brief squeeze as my mother looked both of us over, her sharp eyes betraying nothing.

“Good morning,” I said as I led Naomi over to the chair, pulling it out for her. “I trust that you are all well?”

“What about you, Gavrushka?” Aleksandra stated, arching a brow. “Are you well? Did you get enough sleep last night?”

Naomi’s cheeks pinkened and I scowled at my sister, knowing full well what she was going after. It had been a long time since I had brought a woman home. And we hadn’t exactly been quiet last night.

A long time. “I slept like a baby,” I told her, winking as I took the seat next to Naomi.

My mother cleared her throat. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”

My sisters dutifully did as they were told, but I lounged in the chair instead, watching as Naomi was handed a plate.

“Gavril,” my mother stated firmly, displeasure on her face. “What about your breakfast?”

“I’m waiting for my wife to eat her fill,” I told her, and poured a cup of coffee for myself. “She needs it for strength.”

Naomi coughed and reached for her water, but I kept my eyes on my mother. She wanted to intimidate my wife, but I wasn’t going to let her. I wasn’t going to let her feel like she had some sort of power over me either.

I was no longer the child who clung to her skirts whenever I skinned my knee. I was the Pakhan of the Belaya Bratva. And it was high time she was reminded of that.

“Enough,” my mother barked. “Eat.”

“Konechno, Ma,” I replied. But inwardly I smirked as I rested my arm on the back of Naomi’s chair so that my fingers could graze the bare patch of skin at the nape of her neck. I felt her shiver under my touch, and it made me feel like a fucking king.

Because that was what Naomi did to me.

She made me feel.

***

“This is your boat?” she asked as I helped her board my boat.

“One of many,” I told her. It was one of many smaller boats I owned, perfect for cruising down the canals of the Neva.

That, and I didn’t need any additional staff to do so.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said.

I went through the checks, watching out of the corner of my eye every move that Naomi made. She had changed into a blousy top and a pair of shorts that showed off her already tanned legs, her hair down around her shoulders, and a big pair of sunglasses on her head. The weather was warm enough for a bathing suit, but I didn’t think I could take the tease of her having wear one right now.

After undoing the ropes that kept the boat tied to the dock, I fired up the engine and backed it out from the dock and steered it toward the open waters of the canal. The wind whipped at my hair, and I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders as we got further away from the house.

Naomi came to sit next to me in the passenger seat. I waited until we were a good distance away from the other boat traffic before I idled down the engine and reached under the wooden cabinet next to me for the fridge.

She arched a brow as I handed her a beer, topping off the top for her. “You really have thought of everything, haven’t you?”

I sat in the captain’s chair as the boat bobbed in the water. “I’ve been known to be prepared for anything.”

Naomi laughed, tipping her beer toward me. “Well then. I can’t complain about that, nor can I let it go that you look like a normal person right now.”

It was my turn to arch a brow. “A normal person?”

She gestured toward the clothing I was wearing. I had traded the suit for a pair of khaki shorts and a gray T-shirt, my loafers beaten up from many years of wearing them. I also had on a pair of aviator sunglasses, but unlike Naomi, I was still fully armed, an array of knives tucked into my shorts in case we came across someone who might want to do us harm.

Anatoly had balked at me going on the boat alone. But I wanted to be alone with Naomi for a little while, to return the smile to her face after my mother had tried to erase it.

“I am nowhere close to a normal person,” I finally said.

This elicited another peal of laughter from her. “You know. Normally, I’d agree with that statement. But why didn’t you ever tell me that you were a musician?”

Fuck. My sisters had been running their mouths again. “Because it didn’t matter.”

“You were apparently supposed to be famous,” she continued. “Why didn’t you continue with your music, Gavril?”

I slid a hand through my hair, staring out over the water. “Because it didn’t fit any longer. Those thoughts died with my father.” I remembered the day I had destroyed my cello in a fit of rage, hating that the future I had dreamed of was nothing but that. A dream.

I hadn’t picked up an instrument since.