Page 37 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

This has to be a nightmare.

I’m probably still asleep on my couch back home.

Any second now, I’ll wake up wrapped in my blanket with my back and neck aching.

But Lukyan reaches the door, opens it, and steps outside.

The door shuts softly behind him.

The sound echoes through the enormous penthouse.

And slowly, terrifyingly, it dawns on me that this may actually be my new reality.

Chapter 4 – Lukyan

There’s booze and laughter around me, and usually it grates my nerves, but with my brothers it’s a little easier to bear.

We’re in Sebastian’s house, inside the private lounge he built into the top floor. Dark walls. Low lighting. Expensive leather furniture scattered around the fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city glowing beneath the night sky.

The room smells faintly of whiskey, smoke, and expensive cologne.

Normal.

As normal as things ever get with the Rusnaks.

I called this meeting an hour ago after leaving Sofia in my penthouse, and now that I’m here, part of me wants to lock myself inside one of Sebastian’s guest rooms and avoid this conversation entirely.

Because I already know what they’ll think.

That I’ve lost my mind.

Maybe I have.

But I don’t want anyone convincing me otherwise.

The dormant accounts are my responsibility. The Rusnak financial network has always fallen under my control, my management, my oversight. If there’s even a chance to recover what we lost sixteen years ago, then it’s my duty to pursue it.

No matter how irrational the situation becomes.

Samuel is stretched out on one of the nearby couches, a drink dangling lazily from his hand. He’s twenty-nine and only recently returned from Los Angeles after spending most of his life there. Unlike the others, Samuel is my actual blood brother.

Not that it matters here.

The Rusnaks stopped separating blood from loyalty a long time ago.

If you’re Rusnak, then you’re ours.

Simple as that.

Sebastian sits near the fireplace, nursing whiskey, while Konstantin and Timofey argue about something pointless involving weapons shipments. Dimitri remains quieter than the rest, leaning back in an armchair, observing everyone with the same calm attention he always carries.

Samuel glances around the room, finally, before his gaze lands on me.

“Okay,” he says suddenly. “Is nobody curious why Lukyan called this meeting?”

That earns a few looks.

Samuel points toward me with his glass. “This man avoids gatherings like the plague. He barely attends family meetings unless someone is bleeding or laundering millions.”