Page 8 of Bratva Prince
Something flickered briefly in his dark eyes then.Approval, perhaps, or anticipation.Neither possibility comforted her.
Matteo moved toward the hallway, and Sofia followed beside him as the conference room doors shut quietly behind them.The atmosphere outside felt immediately colder, more crowded.
Marino guards stood stationed along the corridor while hotel staff hurried nervously through the distance pretending not to stare.Sofia could still feel Dimitri’s presence lingering behind her somehow, even with several feet and a closed door separating them.
How annoying.Matteo waited until they reached the private elevator before speaking again.
“Well?”
Sofia glanced toward him.“Well what?”
“What did you think of him?”Matteo asked.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.They stepped inside together.Matteo pressed the lobby button before folding his arms across his chest.“Can you handle him?”
Sofia stared at her reflection in the mirrored elevator wall for a moment.Her makeup remained flawless, her expression was calm.There were no visible cracks.
“He won’t be a problem,” she said evenly.
Matteo studied her carefully.Years ago that scrutiny used to make her nervous, but now she met it without blinking.
Finally, he nodded once.“Good.”
The elevator continued descending in silence.Deep down, beneath all her carefully constructed composure, Sofia knew she was lying to both of them.Because Dimitri Volkov absolutely would become a problem, she just didn’t yet know what kind.
Chapter Three
Rain hammered softlyagainst the stained-glass windows of Saint Constantine Chapel, turning the colored light bleeding across the marble floors dark and distorted.Black cars lined the winding driveway outside like a funeral procession waiting patiently for a body.
Dmitri Volkov stood near the altar in a perfectly tailored black suit while armed men disguised as wedding guests watched every entrance to the cathedral.
His wedding day.The thought felt strange enough to almost amuse him.Nothing about the atmosphere resembled celebration.The chapel overflowed with wealth and power, but warmth was noticeably absent.
Politicians mingled beside smugglers.Members of crime families exchanged handshakes that looked dangerously close to threats.Bodyguards stood at attention beneath candlelight while pretending not to scan the room every few seconds.
Half the men attending Dmitri’s wedding had either threatened his family before or buried bodies for them.Probably both.His attention drifted automatically toward the upper balconies again.
