The Bratva's Forbidden pregnancy

Twelve

Vlad
Well, hello," Kostya said, whistling low and flashing a flirtatious grin at a female stripper walking by.

She smiled back and wiggled her fingers at him as she continued down the steps away from the lounge where we were seated.

His light blue eyes trailed her until she was out of sight, blending with the crowd downstairs, where the DJ's lively beats filled the air and dancers moved to the rhythm.

I leaned back in the plush chair, with a glass of whiskey in my hand; Fyodor and Simon, who were beside me, exchanged glances and smirked as Kostya silently roamed his eyes downstairs, searching for her.

"What?" He turned to face us. "I like beautiful things. And she is beautiful."

I smirked and slipped my whisky.

Kostya was my cousin: a dashing, tall young man with dark hair and a chiseled physique that always got the ladies' attention. He was charming and witty, with a great sense of humor. However, once crossed, his demeanor would change in an instant, revealing a very dark and ruthless side. Everyone in the mafia world knew not to mess with him; he was, by the way, a Wolkov.

Kostya had recently moved from Mexico to New York on Maksim's command to take care of business here, just like me. Being the type that loved being around beautiful women, it had been his idea to chill and enjoy the evening in this high-class club.

I was still dealing with the Sienna situation, and this was a perfect distraction. The last time we'd been out, a couple of days ago, it didn't necessarily help much, but it wasn't bad either.

Kostya sipped his vodka and crossed his legs, relaxing in his seat. "You've only been here a couple of weeks, but I see how the business is already booming. Well done, cousin," he said to me.

"And it will be even better now that you're here," I replied. "With our combined efforts, our profits will be off the charts."

"Cheers to that," he said, nursing his glass. "I guess Pakhan always knows what to do when it comes to business." He had a sly grin on his face.

I nodded.

"I've seen the numbers, Vlad. The Bratva is in good condition here, and we must ensure it stays that way," he said, sipping his vodka.

"I've met with a couple of our associates in the city. Trust me, it will stay that way," I replied.

A smile played on his lips.

"Mr. Wolkov," a voice called softly.

I raised my eyes to see the man standing in front of me in a blue suit and a flashy red tie.

"Oh, come on; be more specific next time. There are two Wolkovs here tonight," Kostya quipped, realizing the man was referring to me, not him.

"Apologies," the man said to Kostya and faced me. "Nice to see you again."

My eyes narrowed at him as he sounded like we'd met before, but he was a complete stranger to me.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" he asked, his expression blank.

Indeed, I didn't.

He stretched out his hand. "My name is Andy. We met back in Russia some time ago."

My gaze flickered to his hand, then back to his face. He didn't look remotely familiar in any way. "Don't recall." I shook his hand.

"It's okay," he said. "Wasn't expecting you to."

There was a look in his eyes that I couldn't quite place, a familiar expression that I was yet to understand—like a memory that was out of reach.