Bratva life is simple:
You steal from the brotherhood, you pay with your life.
But the thief is a woman, and she’s too beautiful to die.
My wedding band will be her collar.
Our vows will be her shackles.
She will be my captive bride.
“What?” she asks, frowning. I don’t like her tone of voice and wonder what’s gotten into her. “You know I know some Russian,” she says. “Don’t you? Tell him I’m ready.”
She grows too free with her speech.
“She’ll be ready,” I tell them, though my gaze is fixed on her.
“I think you should nail Amronov’s wife,” Vladak tells me with a smirk. “And she’ll make sure you get what you need.” Calina tenses.
I scowl at him, and no one laughs. Fucking the Prime Minister’s wife is a good way of getting assassinated.
“Why not?” Filip asks. Maksym sits with his arms crossed, and says nothing. He was the one that alerted me to the fact that Amaranov’s wife asked for me, but he doesn’t approve of this plan. I don’t like it either. There’s something unsettling about it.
I watch Calina’s knuckles whiten when she fists them in her lap.
She heard the other men suggesting I sleep with Amronov’s wife and she doesn’t like it.
“I have better means of getting what I want,” I tell them and Calina has the gall to snort derisively.
“Perhaps she isn’t sufficiently trained,” I tell them, a clear warning to her.
She lifts her face and juts out her chin. “Sufficiently trained?” she snaps.
The room grows quiet. My men expect her to obey me, and she’s anything but obedient right now.
“Enough, Calina,” I warn, but she doesn’t heed my admonition.
“I don’t know,” she says, her voice rising. “Maybe you need to snap a metal collar around my neck. Take me for a walk so I can pee in your garden. Perhaps if you—”
But she doesn’t get any further. When I rise from my chair, panic flits across her features and she bites her lip. She knows she’s in trouble. She knows she’s crossed a line. What she doesn’t know is how badly I want to punish her with an audience. How my cock aches with the knowledge of what she’s pushed me to do. It seems last night’s lesson didn’t make the impact it should have. I shouldn’t have given her the attention afterward. Or perhaps she simply needs a further demonstration.
I take her firmly by the arm, yank her to standing, and haul her bodily over the table while my men watch in stoic silence. Papers flutter to the floor. No one says a word. None are amused. They know what’s at stake.
None even flinch when I slam my palm across her ass. They’re an audience of soldiers who would lose respect for me if I didn’t do just this. If I didn’t teach her a lesson in obedience for all to see. If I’ve taught them well, any one of them would do what I have to do now.
“Demyan,” she protests. “Please! I’m sorry,” But I ignore her complaints and push her flat across the table with a firm palm on her lower back. I crook a finger to Maksym, since he’s the largest, strongest man in our company.
With a scowl, he rises. Though Maksym has a tender spot, he knows what’s on the line. He’d be the first one to tell me to punish her, so when I give my order he doesn’t flinch.
“Hold her down,” I instruct.