The Bratva's Arranged Marriage: Surprise Pregnancy Dark Mafia Romance (VARKOV BRATVA Book 3), page 1
THE BRATVA’S ARRANGED MARRIAGE
Surprised Pregnancy Dark Mafia Romance
Varkov Bratva Book 3
Rina Lawson
Copyright © 2023 by Rina Lawson.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of the book only. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form, including recording, without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Epilogue – Laurel
Chapter 1 - Andrei
Chapter 2 - Laurel
Chapter 3 - Andrei
Chapter 4 - Laurel
Chapter 5 – Andrei
Chapter 6 – Laurel
Chapter 7 – Andrei
Chapter 8 – Laurel
Chapter 9 – Andrei
Chapter 10 – Laurel
Chapter 11 – Andrei
Chapter 12 – Laurel
Chapter 13 – Andrei
Chapter 14 – Laurel
Chapter 15 – Andrei
Chapter 16 – Laurel
Chapter 17 – Andrei
Chapter 18 – Laurel
Chapter 19 – Andrei
Chapter 20 – Laurel
About the Author
Epilogue – Laurel
~ Present ~
I woke up, stretched, and yawned as I reached over to the sexy guy from last night. My hand touched the air and to make sure I wasn’t just imagining his absence; I patted the sheets twice. But nothing; he wasn't there.
Strange.
I turned my head to the side and blinked rapidly as I tried to process the empty space beside me. He really wasn’t there. The warmth of his presence was now replaced by the cool emptiness of the sheets. I sat upright on the bed, squinting against the morning light that fell through the curtains as I leaned back against the headboard. I reached out again and placed my hand in the empty space, refusing to believe that it could have all just been a dream.
It couldn’t have been.
I lifted the soft blankets over my naked body and peeked out from under the covers. The slight ache between my legs gently reminded me that last night was real. I could still smell a faint trace of his cologne, a blend of pure masculinity mixed with the scent of leather and cigars.
I remembered his strong arms as he held me tightly to his broad chest, his rock-hard abs as he claimed my body like a wild animal. His piercing blue eyes were lustful and dangerous at the same time. And when he brushed his lips light as a feather over my neck and breasts, how a fierce heat raced over me like flames through a dry forest.
He was a stranger; an older man I knew nothing about, but with whom I willingly spent the night. He was mysterious, sexy as hell and rough.
Amid my admiration for this stranger, I couldn’t help but feel pangs of guilt and sadness. I wondered if the night meant as much to him as it did to me; I wondered if, when he touched me, kissed me, he thought deeper about our intimate connection. I know I did; I mused over every touch, every kiss, every moan, and every sigh. But I couldn’t vouch for him.
What if he had just taken advantage of my vulnerability? What if he just used me? The weight of that realization pressed on my heart.
I glanced at the clock on the nightstand; the morning was far spent. A gasp escaped my lips. I knew what this meant; my family, especially my father, would be frantic by now, wondering why I had not yet joined them for breakfast. I jumped up, shook off the fluffy comforter, and hurried to the bathroom.
After a quick shower, and a swift change into a semi-formal outfit, I went to the dresser to fix my hair and put on a light coat of makeup. When I was done, I stared at myself; confusion, regret, and longing brewed in my eyes. It was pointless to deny the strong attraction I felt towards this man; I still felt his presence in the room. Each step I took down the winding staircase brought back memories of the night before. The flash of passion, the sensation of his touch, and the warmth of his breath on my skin; all remained vivid. I wondered if I would ever cross paths with this attractive man again.
The quiet conversations from the fancy dining room were getting closer and closer. I had to push aside all thoughts of the stranger to prepare myself to slip into the role of the quiet and obedient daughter who listened and agreed with everything her father had to say.
I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath as I reached the last step.
Well, here it goes...
Chapter 1 - Andrei
~ One week ago ~
Loud music blasted from the speakers and my head bobbed up and down following the beats as the band let loose their lyrics. The classic AC /DC’s rock and roll, “Highway to Hell,” was too good to be ignored. It was my absolute favorite song to play whenever I wanted to kick back and relax, or in moments like this when I was feeling good. I lifted my phone to read Roman’s message:
Roman: Boss, we got him.
I grinned, turned up the music, mouthing the words while taking a cigar from the humidor in the passenger seat. I stared at the brown box and smiled as I clamped the thick stick between my lips and stuck the cap into the dancing flame of my lighter.
The box was a gift from my boss on the day of my promotion and I treasured it. It meant a lot to me that he, Vlad Varkov, the powerful and highly revered leader of the Bratva, trusted me enough to promote me to head of operations in Brooklyn, New York.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in the headrest to process the excitement of the evening. When the song faded, I took a long drag and let the heat of the cigar warm my insides before exhaling and expelling the smoky rings from my nostrils.
After another puff, I turned off the ignition and opened the car door. I stuck out a leg, accidentally squashing a crawling cockroach on the concrete as I made a discreet safety check. The area was clear.
The cool, crisp air tickled my hair as I stepped outside, adjusted my suit, and locked the car behind me. I stood outside staring at the building with the shiny silver lettering on the roof: Club Auroura. It was one of the best nightclubs in Brooklyn.
There were undoubtedly remarkable places. But this one was a posh nightclub for the elite. The atmosphere was always exciting. There was an air of exclusivity, with valet attendants in sharp uniforms ready to offer their services, and not everyone was allowed in. Only those who could prove a reservation or membership were let in. Just before I reached the entrance, the door was yanked open. Its hinges nearly shattered as the door swung backward and slammed against the hard wall beside it. A group of four men rushed out, led by a tall man with a buzz cut. His steely eyes darted from one corner to the other, only coming to attention when they were fixed on me.
“Boss,” he greeted with a curt nod.
“Roman,” I acknowledged, “gde on? [where is he?]”
He stepped aside and the two men behind him roughly pushed a man forward. He fell to the concrete with an “Oomph!” and struggled to get up, but Roman put his leg on his back and pushed him down hard.
“Jesus! Do you fucking want to paralyze me, you fucking cunt?” the man screamed, and I and nodded at Roman. He stepped down harder. “Argh! Fuck!”
“Podobrat’ yego, [Pick him up],” I gestured and the two brawny men behind Roman picked the man up off the ground.
One look at him made me laugh my head off. He was nothing more than a scrawny prick with pale skin and shifty brown eyes. And he reeked of alcohol. “You're Carter Davidson?”
He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists, no doubt taking offense at my mockery. His steps were uncoordinated, but he tried to steady himself and put up a bold front.
“What the hell, huh? Yeah, I'm Carter fucking Davidson, and I'm the fucking king of Brooklyn. Just ‘cause I am not as suave as you—Mr. Henry Cavill—doesn’t make me nobody, understood?” he slurred, and I chortled.
“Understood?” I spared a glance at my men and back again at Carter. “You’re one crusty little motherfucker, aren’t you? And still, you don’t get it.”
“I don’t get what?”
I smiled and looked up admiring the starry sky and the creative graffiti on the wall of the building next to the nightclub. I stared at Carter, and he winced as we made eye contact. What he didn’t understand was that all of Brooklyn was mine.
Vlad trusted me very much, and he put me in charge of all the operations in the city, including the arms business. Carter happened to be dealing in the same business and had recently moved to Brooklyn to expand. He ran an illegal gun manufacturing operation and supplied products to very patronizing customers in the underground economy.
The problem was not intimidation; I could not be afraid of him even if I tried. But we, the Bratva, would never back down or share space; we dominated everywhere we went.
“When I heard about you, I thought you were worth my time,” I began to say, fumbling the cigar between my fingers. “But as it turns out, my men could have handled this with a snap of their fingers.”
“Man, fuck you,” he said, and Roman reached for his gun.
I shook my head and his hands relaxed. When Carter began to speak again, he made no effort to hide his anger.
“What, you
“If we came here to kill you, you'd be six feet under by now. So, calm down.” I said, beaming. “I'm here to issue a simple warning: Stay the fuck away. I can’t have an asshole like you meddling in my business. Brooklyn is mine, you understand?”
“Yeah nah, fuck it," he shook his head. “This hood is mine. And if you're not going to go along with it, why don’t you piss off, asshole?”
Roman did not wait for permission; but swung an arm and struck. His fist hit the man’s cheek, and a sickening crunch, as if bones were breaking, filled the air. He was my right-hand man, just like I had been to Vlad Varkov, the head of the Bratva, years ago. Vlad sent him to work with me in Brooklyn and to protect me. This included silencing every evil tongue that railed against me.
Carter screamed and staggered. But he was no pussy as I had judged him to be. He wiped his bloody mouth with the back of his hand and assumed a fighting stance, his eyes blazing. “You’re going home in a body bag tonight, you fucking cunt!”
He struck with tightly clenched fists, but Roman dodged, caught his punch, and delivered another jaw-breaking blow to his face. Carter staggered backward and fell. He tried to get up, but my other two guys were faster. One kicked him and the other swept him off the ground with a leg kick, he stumbled beside a dumpster and fell to the ground.
We heard loud laughter behind us, and then a group of three girls and two guys came out the back door. Our eyes met theirs and there was sudden silence as they took in the scene. Their eyes widened in horror, and they almost wet their pants when Roman took a step forward. Frightened, they scrambled back into the building to safety.
The playful smile disappeared from my face as I walked over to Carter’s slumped body on the concrete. He was coughing and splattering blood on his shirt, but I didn’t feel sorry for him. My eyes narrowed as I pulled the dagger from my belt and crouched down to his level.
I rubbed the tattoos on my neck and unsheathed the dagger. I placed the shiny point under his chin, turned the blade, nudging his head upward. His face was battered and his eyes bruised.
“This fucking city already belongs to the Bratva, and that includes Brooklyn. I don’t want things to get any worse than they already are. So do yourself a favor and don’t try to fight back. If you do, I guarantee you’ll be the one going home in a body bag.”
Carter’s lips moved and it took him a while to form words. “Fine,” he murmured, and I leaned in closer.
That was too easy.
“Good,” I said, exchanging a glance with Roman and the other men. I didn’t trust the scrawny man, but I had to let him think I did.
I looked back at him and stood up. “Wise decision. Our work here is done. Get the hell out of here before I decide to use this blade on you.”
Carter gripped the empty dumpster next to him and fell a few times before finally getting back to his feet. He clutched his side and groaned in pain as he braced himself against the wall, breathing heavily. He spat on the floor and slowly moved away.
“What is this?” I arched a brow. “A slow-motion movie?”
“Asshole!” He flipped his middle finger as he disappeared down the alley, panting and cursing.
“What an idiot,” I scoffed and turned away.
We walked back to the entrance of the nightclub, me staring at the building and Roman looking at me. “Do you want to chill at the club for a bit?” he asked, and just then, before I could say anything, two older women walked by, looking like they belonged to the elite. Their eyes lingered on me, and I noticed how they whispered.
I didn’t need to get closer to know what they were saying or what they were thinking in their dirty heads. I could see in their eyes that they wanted one thing: me.
If they wanted physical satisfaction, I could give it to them, if I were attracted to them—which I was not. God knows how much I liked a good fuck.
But that was all; I was incapable of anything more than just pleasure; and being in the Bratva was not the only reason I could feel no passion, no desire, no love. My past had a lot to do with it, but I figured it was better to accept Roman’s offer and enjoy myself than to think about the shadows of the past. I could do that another time.
I shrugged, dusted my suit, and began walking.
“Okay. It’s been a while since you took some time off from work, boss,” Roman grinned as he led the way. “I've heard a lot about Club Auroura, and the ladies here are hot. Give me a minute and I’ll arrange something for you. Just wait and see. You're going to have the best night of your life.”
Chapter 2 - Laurel
Grace’s sleek black Honda Accord pulled up in front of the brightly lit entrance to Brooklyn’s most famous upscale nightclub. I'd heard nothing but the best about it— - on blogs, where people’s five-star experiences were posted to annoy the rest of us. I saw on social media, where there was a plethora of movie reels and shorts that gave a taste of what was going on there.
Everything about Club Auroura sounded perfect, but I never had the opportunity to see it in person, until now. Thanks to my friend Grace Emery—who had successfully persuaded me to sneak out of the house—I was about to experience a club party for the first time in my twenty-one-year-old life. It was also thanks to our friend Vanessa that we had made reservations here. She was what we called a “social butterfly.” She claimed to have connections and contacts with very influential people, but we didn’t believe her. Looking at the building again, we finally had to put our words into action.
We got out of the car—Grace was even more excited than I was—and she handed the key to the parking attendant. We walked to the main entrance, which was flanked by lush velvet ropes to keep people out while they checked their reservations and memberships on a tablet.
I tugged at the hem of the nude slip dress Grace forced me to wear and slipped a finger under the silk shoulder strap to pull the fabric higher across my chest. I was wondering how my friend appeared so confident in the skimpy black dress she was wearing.
She turned and sensed my discomfort as we waited in line. She raised an eyebrow, and concern lit up in her green eyes as she held my hand and intertwined our fingers.
“You good?” She asked.
I nodded and flashed a small smile. “I’m trying,” I said. But the look on her face told me she wasn’t buying it.
“Laurel,” she sighed, “your fingers and legs haven’t stopped fidgeting since we got here. You look like you've been put in a sack full of ants.”
The facade fell from my face. The line moved forward, and so did we. “My father is going to kill me. What if he found out? You know how he is; what if he found out that I snuck into a nightclub? What are we going to do then? And I feel like this dress is going to come off any minute.”
“Yeah nah, you are not doing this right now,” Grace groaned and threw her head backwards. “Stop buggin’—I already told you; you look perfect, Laurel. You’re going to get a lot of attention tonight, you know? And I know you are not used to it, but it is going to be awesome.”
“But...”
“But nothing. Quit worrying already.”
“Says you,” I pointed at her outfit. “You look like a freaking movie star.”
She was stunning. Her smoky makeup was flawless, as was her luscious blonde hair, which fell in sweeping curls over her shoulders. Grace wasn't particularly tall, but her black six-inch lace-up heels made up for it.
“And so do you, Laurie,” she countered. “Don’t worry about your father; you’ll be back before he realizes you're gone. We’ll just meet up with the gang and hang out for a bit.”
I rolled my eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
The line moved and it was our turn. Our reservations were checked, and the velvet ropes were lifted to let us in. As soon as we were inside, I felt transported to another world. Exclusivity and exquisiteness were normal here.
The bar caught my attention first. Against a mirrored backdrop, skilled, burly bartenders created custom cocktails and poured premium spirits. The shelves glistened with an impressive collection of rare spirits and champagnes. I had never tried most of them—in fact, I wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol at home. But Grace didn't exactly fall into the good-natured daughter category like me. So, whenever she could, she introduced me to different flavors of alcohol.
