Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance

“I’m pretty sure our father would disagree. The man with the crown can have no weak points in his armor—even you remember him repeating that over and over again.”

He sighs like I’m missing his point. “Of course I remember. Don’t think I don’t know that’s why you let Camila disappear into witness protection.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wanted her to be safe. But you also wanted her to disappear from your radar. So that you could go back to having no weaknesses.”

I’m angry but with no outlet for it. So I sit back in my seat and glower at my smirking brother.

“What?” Bogdan asks when I don’t stop looking at him.

I shrug and exhale my unspent anger. “Sometimes, I forget how perceptive you are.”

“Don’t forget handsome.”

I laugh. “Top two of the Vorobev brothers.”

He gives me the finger, but a moment later, that serious gaze is back on his face. “I’m just saying, you can be both, you know?” he says. “You can be a good husband and a good don. One doesn’t have to come at the expense of the other.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No. Of course not.”

I wave a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter anyway. The title of husband holds no real weight here. It was a power play, a way to needle Maxim. Another revenge plot. It’s not real. The marriage is not real.”

Bogdan snorts at that one. “Hate to break it to you, sobrat, but whatever’s between you and Camila… there’s nothing fake about it.”

I frown. “What do you know about it?”

“As you so aptly pointed out, I am extremely perceptive. There’s a definite connection between you two and it’s not one-sided.”

I consider that for a moment. Given how Camila had reacted to my kiss upstairs, I can’t pretend that I don’t already know that what he’s saying is true.

But just because she may have feelings for me doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings for Maxim, too.

Two things can be true at the same time.

“Where’s Vlad?” I ask, changing direction.

“Downstairs, monitoring the tails,” Bogdan replies. “Why?”

“I want him to accompany Camila out of the manor tomorrow,” I tell him. “Edith will be joining her.”

“Where’s she going?”

“Shopping trip,” I say. “All the clothes she has are what I’ve picked out for her. She resents the amount of control I’ve exerted on her life.”

“So you’re trying to make a peace offering.”

I snort. “Trust me—a shopping spree won’t cut it. She’s not the type of woman who’s going to be satisfied with expensive clothes or fancy dinners.”

Bogdan looks at me knowingly. “You know that’s why you’re so attracted to her, right?”

“The attraction will fade. It always does.”

“It only takes one woman to change that.”

“She’s not it,” I say adamantly. “No woman is.”

“You have to get married at some point. You’ll need children.”

“Why?” I demand. “If we’re talking successors, you are mine.”

Bogdan places his hand over his heart. “Big brother, you flatter me.”

“Stop being precious about this.”

Bogdan grins. “I’m not suited for that seat you’re in, Isaak. You know that.”

“I didn’t think I was, either.”

“Bullshit. If any man was born for this life, it’s you.”

“That sounds like a fucking insult.”

Bogdan laughs. “Only partially.”

“If I marry, I’ll marry a woman who can take on the role of being a Bratva wife,” I say firmly. “And Camila is not that.”

“No?” Bogdan asks. “She certainly has the fire for it.”

So he’s noticed. I have, too. Out loud, though, I say, “It’s not the same thing. She’s a normal girl who’s led a normal life—"

“Up until six years ago,” Bogdan interrupts. “Up until she met you.”

“Yeah, and she’s hated every minute of it. She hates me for the sacrifices she was forced to make because I decided I had to talk to her that night.”

“Love and hate aren’t so far apart, you know.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you campaigning so hard for this?”

Bogdan shrugs. “You’ve come alive in the last few weeks. It’s no mystery why.”

“It’s because I’m closer than ever to wrangling the motherfucker who killed our father,” I say firmly. “Nothing else.”

Bogdan raises his eyebrows, clearly disbelieving, but he doesn’t argue with me.

Which, as I’m sure he knows, just annoys me all the more.

“Just tell Vlad to accompany her tomorrow,” I say sternly. “And take a full team with him. I don’t want anyone getting to Camila. For all we know, Maxim has eyes on us, too.”

“No one’s getting anywhere near her,” Bogdan assures me. “Just one question, though.”

“What?”

“Why aren’t I accompanying Camila on this shopping trip?”

I get to my feet and head for the door. “Because,” I say, trying to suppress my smirk, “you talk too much.”





20





Camila





“What do you think about this one, Miss Camila?”

I sigh and stare at the cashmere dress that Edith is holding up for me. It’s nothing short of stunning, but I have less than zero interest in trying it on or buying it.

“No, thank you.”

The three salespeople that surround me look positively distressed. Apparently, my complete lack of interest is reading like disapproval, and they feel the need to compensate for that.

“Champagne, ma’am?” an impeccably dressed man named Trevor asks, offering me a tray filled with golden flutes.

“No, thank you.”

His face falls immediately. “If you don’t want champagne, I can bring you something else?” he suggests. “Handmade truffles, perhaps?”

“You have handmade truffles in a clothing store?” I ask incredulously.

“Well, no, but there’s an artisanal chocolatier just down the street. I can whip down there and bring you a box.”

I shudder. Jesus. “That’s kind of you. But no thanks, I’m fine.”

He steps back and looks at his manager helplessly.

Lachlan steps forward. He’s my own personal jailer, masquerading as a bodyguard. He certainly looks the part. He cuts an impressive figure in his black suit and wired earpiece. A “don’t fuck with me” type straight out of Central Casting.

The wrap-around sunglasses are maybe an unnecessary addition considering we’re indoors. But I can’t deny that it completes the look.

“Thank you all for your help,” he says in his strong Scottish accent. “I think Miss Camila is just feeling a little overwhelmed. Perhaps you could give her a little time to make some choices.”

“Of course,” the manager says with a low bow. “We’ll give you some space.”

The sales team backs out of the carpeted, circular room we’re sitting in. Edith and Lachlan are the only two that remain. But I know there are two more men standing right outside this room. Not to mention two armored cars parked right outside this building.

The looks I received when we descended on this luxury couture boutique almost made me laugh. They gawked like I was some sort of foreign princess. Curiosity and envy alike.

If only they knew the truth.

“I don’t need space,” I tell the bright-eyed Scot. “I just want to go back home.”

“If you’d rather head back to the manor—”

“The manor is not my home,” I snap immediately.

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