All Chapters of THE BRATVA’S BRIDE: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

MOSCOW, RUSSIA (MIKHAIL'S PENTHOUSE)Mikhail didn’t say a word on the drive back. The car was silent except for the low hum of the engine, but his grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale. Beside him, Donatella sat stiff, her body still trembling from the night’s events. Her fingers dug into her dress, her breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls.When they finally reached the mansion, he stepped out first and came around to open her door. “It’s okay, Ella,” he said, his voice unusually soft. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, steadying her. “Just take a deep breath… and relax.”She tried to pull away, but his hold only tightened. “I’ll take you to your room.”His arm stayed firm around her waist as they climbed the grand staircase together. She didn’t protest again—her legs felt like they could give out at any moment.In her room, he all but ordered her to take a bath. “You need to warm up,” he said, placing a fluffy towel in her hands before disappearing into the

SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (ALEXEI'S SUITE)The club haze still clung to Alexei’s skin—sweat, perfume, and the faint tang of expensive vodka. He’d been drinking since sunset, drowning in neon lights and bass that rattled his bones, but the buzz did little to drown the one thing he couldn’t get rid of.Arianna.Sweet, soft-eyed Arianna De Luca, who had no business taking up this much space in his head. He’d sworn off women for a few weeks now—starving himself, trying to shake her out of his system. Tonight, he’d gone out with the intention of curing himself the old-fashioned way—loud music, a couple of willing beauties, maybe a good threesome to remind him of who he was.Only… it hadn’t worked.Even when two perfect blondes pressed up against him at the VIP table, laughing into his ear, his body stayed stubbornly unresponsive. Unless he thought of her. Then—like clockwork—his body reacted, heat pooling low, a hunger curling in his gut. It was ridiculous. Maddening. And, frankly, a little

MOSCOW, RUSSIA (MIKHAIL'S PENTHOUSE)The first thing Donatella felt when she stirred awake was heat—solid, warm, and pressed against her side. Her lashes fluttered open, and there he was.Mikhail Morozov.His arm lay heavy across her waist, his dark hair tousled in a way that looked infuriatingly perfect, like he’d stepped out of a magazine instead of just waking up. Even in the pale light filtering through the curtains, his features were unfair—sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, lips that looked far too tempting for this early in the morning. He looked older somehow, more assured, and it stirred something in her chest she didn’t want to name.She should have looked away. She didn’t.Her fingers moved before she could stop herself—lightly tracing the arch of his thick brows, the bridge of his nose, lingering over the sculpted curve of his mouth. When she reached his lower lip, her touch slowed.And then—without warning—his mouth parted.Her index finger slipped between his lips.Mikhail’s

SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (THE BRATVA'S EMPIRE)The De Lucas had already arrived in Moscow’s empire of steel and blood. The Bratva compound still trembled under the weight of scandal, whispers slithering through its gilded halls like smoke no one could clear. Guards doubled at every corner, security feeds looping endlessly, and yet the air remained poisoned.Through that storm walked Nikolai Morozov—his presence sharp enough to cut silence itself. Beside him moved his shadow, Igor, broad as a wall, with a string of Bratva guards trailing like predators on a leash.The De Lucas suite was heavily guarded, Italian men in tailored suits holding the hall with grim precision. When they saw Nikolai, they hesitated—then stepped aside, recognizing the inevitable. The doors opened, and the clash of two empires filled the room without a word spoken.Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating. A silence that was not peace but a storm before thunder.At the center stood Capo Ivan De Luca, his expressio

POVONETS KARELIA, RUSSIA The forest had its own kind of silence. Not the silence of cities at night, heavy with secrets and sirens. Not the silence of Bratva halls, where footsteps always carried whispers of death. This was different. It was honest. The kind of silence that came with pines stretching toward the sky, with wind sifting through branches, with water lapping against the edge of the lake.Mikhail had not felt such stillness in years.He leaned against the wooden railing of the bungalow’s balcony, the smoke from his cigarette curling upward, vanishing into the chill night. Behind him, the warm flicker of lamplight spilled from inside, soft and golden, wrapping Donatella’s shadow as she moved about the little cabin.For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine this life as real. No Bratva. No debts. No blood staining his hands. Just her. Just them.The door creaked open.Donatella stepped out, her bare feet padding against the wooden floor, her dark hair falling loose down