Silken Chains (Bond by Morozov Bratva Book 1) (Bond by Morozov Bratva Series)

EVERY HEAD in the room turns.

My cousins let out dry coughs, their wives glaring at them for their obvious reactions as Laura steps into the room hand in hand with Eli.

For a moment, it’s as if everything slows down.

There she is.

She’s fucking stunning, draped in a flowing beige chiffon dress that accentuates her every movement, her skin glowing in the soft light.

I can’t help it—my skin prickles with something akin to pure desire as I watch her approach. Laura’s self-assured steps falter just slightly, her eyes meeting mine across the room.

I stand up, almost robotic as I pull out her chair.

Weird. I’m acting like she’s got me under some damn spell.

The scent of jasmine and vanilla hits me like a punch to my cock. It’s impossible to ignore the throbbing between my legs as I inhale her intoxicating aroma.

Goddamn, she makes me horny as fuck.

I let my hand glide over her shoulder, a raw, intimate gesture. “You’re late,” I say bluntly.

Her body stiffens, and she inhales sharply. I can tell she’s biting back some snarky response.

“Late? Maybe because no sane person speeds to their own kidnapper,” she whispers fiercely.

Giving her a smug smile, I lean toward her, close enough to catch that intoxicating mix of jasmine and vanilla again.

“Sit,” I growl, eyes locked on hers, observing her closely.

Her dress is decent enough, but it hugs tight against her plump tits, drawing my gaze downward. Her skin is flawless. Knowing that I will soon have the privilege of unwrapping her and exploring every inch of her body makes my groin tweak.

“I’m not your pet.” Her cheeks flush, but her chin lifts, defiant. “What’s going on here?” she breathes, her gaze sweeping quickly across the table.

Grudgingly, I drag my eyes back up to her face.

“Tradition. Family meets before the wedding.”

Laura halts halfway to sitting. Her gaze on me, wild. She gulps, her throat working hard over words she can’t seem to let out.

Right then, a server slides in, breaking the ice without even knowing it. “Wine, ma’am?” he offers, oblivious to the standoff.

Her eyes flicker to him, then around the room, suddenly clocking the audience for this little drama, including the old man at the end of the table—the pakhan, giving her the once-over.

“No, no…thanks,” she mutters to the server, finally taking the seat next to me, a reluctant surrender. “Water will do, please.”

Papa leans forward, his eyes softening as they meet Laura’s.

What the hell?

This is new to me.

Seeing him like this, with that soft look in his eyes and an easy smile on his lips, throws me off. He’s always been the epitome of a strict and no-nonsense father, never showing any sign of weakness or vulnerability. I can’t help but wonder when he started going soft.

“Hello, I am Andrey, Andrey Morozov,” he introduces himself. “Victor’s father.”

Laura’s body stiffens next to me, her hands squeezing the napkin on her lap as if it’s my neck.

I smirk.

That’s my girl.

Truth is, anyone else would be a mess, probably scared shitless. But here she is, standing strong, barely letting the fear show. It’s a shock how well she’s handling this madness.

I should be parading her around, doing the whole meet-and-greet. But honestly? I couldn’t give a damn. These so-called cousins, they’re just here for show. Been leeching off my father’s success forever, twisting our family’s wins into their own gains without lifting a finger.

“Hello,” Laura replies, her voice little more than a whisper. “I-I’m Laura,” she stammers, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route.

The whole table goes quiet, like someone farted in church. I mean, no one saw this coming.

I guess no one expected the pakhan to react this way to a girl not from the mafia or business blood tie. Now I know why Ksenia warned Laura not to tell anyone about our arrangement. The whole goal here is to get this stubborn old man to consent to his surgery.

“I’m… I… guess… I’m… Victor’s…”

Before Laura gets more tangled in her words, Eli, with all the honesty a kid can muster, cuts in.

“She’s Victor’s bride, dedushka!”

A few chuckles ripple through the room, more polite than genuine. My father’s laughter breaks through, hearty and loud.

“Well, Eli, thank you for spelling it out for everyone.”

Ksenia remains quiet, gulping down her wine with dark eyes. I can almost read her thoughts: she’s betting Laura won’t last a day here—let alone a year—once she gets a real taste of our life.

I watch as Laura’s cheeks flush a deep crimson as she chugs her glass of water. She tries to force a smile that barely conceals her embarrassment and discomfort.

I signal to the server to refill her glass and then quickly reach for her hand. I give it a small squeeze, silently communicating for her to stay calm. As I release her hand, I place my hands back on the table and cut into a slice of salmon, taking a bite and savoring the flavor.

“So, Laura,” my father continues, eager to know more, “how did you two meet?”

Laura turns, and when our eyes meet, a jolt of electricity shoots through me.

Laura’s eyes dart between me and Papa, then lock onto mine. Her expression is a comically exaggerated mix of fear and panic, silently begging me for help. I can’t hold back a silent chuckle at her ridiculous face, trying to hide the absurdity of the situation from the old man who sits clueless in his chair. Laura looks like a trapped animal, pleading with me through her wide eyes. I give her a subtle wink, reassuring her that I’ve got this under control.

She glances back at Papa. “We… uh… It was at the club,” she stammers out while I confidently state: “At her bookstore.”

Quickly jerking her head around, staring at me intently, her lips press together. It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at her expression.

This little interaction might just be the highlight of my day.

One eyebrow arched in amusement, Papa asks, “So, it’s the club? Or the bookstore?” His gaze shifts between me and Laura.

Taking another sip of my wine, I feel it burn a trail of heat down my throat.

I lean back and start to spin a tale. “I was hunting down a debt owed to us when I stumbled into her dingy bookstore,” I say, bending the truth just a bit. “Then, she ended up at my club.” I continue, stealing a glance at Laura.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nervously take a sip of water. I press on with the story. “That’s where she fell for me, like a fool,” I say, a smirk playing on my lips. I catch Laura trying hard not to roll her eyes at me, a vein in her neck standing out as she restrains herself.

“So, I proposed, and she said yes.” I struggle to hold back my laughter when she nearly chokes on her water but manages to catch herself just in time. She quickly dabs at her mouth with a napkin and shoots daggers at me with her eyes.

“And just like that,” I declare, the smirk fully formed now, “we’re getting married in three days.”

I look over at Eli, noticing her gaze fixed on me, her eyes wide with fascination. She’s hanging onto every word, thinking this is some kind of epic romance. I give her a playful wink, and she responds with a bright, innocent giggle.

“Sure you did,” Papa scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief at my brief summary of our “love story.” He then shifts his focus to my soon-to-be wife, who seems to be wishing for the floor to swallow her up.

Turning his attention fully toward her, he asks, “So, you own a bookstore?”

“I assure you, Papa, she will fit right in with our family,” I cut him off, looking for a way to switch gears. “How about we start with dinner?” I pivot to Eli.

“YES!” Eli’s excitement cuts through the tension. She rubs her belly, lips pressed in anticipation. “I’m starving!”

“Indeed, the kitchen is ready to impress, especially for you, Papa,” Ksenia adds, smoothing over any remaining awkwardness.

Our father exhales a tired sign and gives a nod of approval, and I catch a server’s eye, nodding to bring in the feast.

A knot twists in my gut as I catch sight of the old man, so fragile after the stroke. It’s like the backbone of our family is bending, about to snap. He’s got to get back on his feet, and soon.

Derr’mo, it’s on me now. Can’t let anyone see the worry, the crack in our armor. It’s bigger than just him; it’s about keeping the empire from smelling fear.

Right then, my phone vibrates. I pull the device out of my suit jacket, and a message from Misha flashes on the screen: “Eyes on the prize at Dockside Warehouse. The goods are there.”

Misha’s reliable, as always.

Just as I’m about to stash the phone away, another message blinks into view:

“We lost track of Dave Jankowski.”