Bratva Prince: An Enemies to Lovers Russian Mafia Romance (Kozlov Brothers) Standalone Series by Misty Winters

Author:Misty Winters [Winters, Misty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Misty Winters
Published: 2022-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

“Willow!” I screamed, rushing toward her. Shoving one of the seats to the side, she was curled underneath, her head tucked beneath her arms. Good stance.

With her big, blue eyes, she looked up at me and smiled, holding out a bottle. “I saved the wine.”

We collected our findings and headed back to camp to eat and patch up. “If we need to, we could probably use those seats as a cushion for a bed. I’ll search the front of the plane for tools.”

“And maybe for dinner, we can drink the wine,” Willow suggested with a devious smile.

“Sure,” I agreed, laughing at her expression. “Why not.”

She pranced back to the camp, her steps lighter than air as she bounced happily, no longer affected by injuries. I shook my head, limping to keep up.

“So, where did you learn to climb like that?” I asked.

“When I was a child, I used to hide out from my father by climbing the trees at the estate.”

The mention of Arman made me seethe, but seeing the somber expression on her face as she said it kept my rage at bay. Confliction tore me apart as I couldn’t decide if I felt sorry for her, or was glad that she’d suffered.

I wanted to laugh in the face of her trauma, jeering and taunting her until she fell apart before me—but I couldn’t. For some goddamn reason, I couldn’t find it in me to make her feel worse, despite how desperately I wanted to.

Because I wanted her to feel the pain that I’d felt knowing she betrayed me.

But I also couldn’t bear to see her in pain.

Life was a bitch.

Needing some time to myself, I told Willow I’d be back after a while and dug a grave for Andrey. It wasn’t easy without a shovel, but I didn’t stop until it was done, pouring buckets of sweat in the process.

When I’d finished, I searched for a few wildflowers, snatching up some white and yellow flowers, and arranging them next to the gravestone I’d made from a piece of metal that tore off the plane.

“Andrey… You did it, ol’ buddy. You dead-stuck the landing. I’m proud of you. I owe you my life, man. It’s my fault you’re dead and I’m so, so sorry, Andrey. I should’ve never made you fly the jet. You were a good man, and I’m going back to celebrate your life with a bottle of wine. I just wish you were here to celebrate with me.” I patted the grave, mumbling, “Rest easy, buddy,” before heading back to the camp.

My eulogy was short, and wasn’t overly sentimental, but it didn’t matter. My intentions were pure and honest.

When I got back, Willow was waiting with two flasks, filled with wine, holding one out to me with an eager smile. But it wasn’t enough to brighten my melancholy mood. I’d just attended a one man funeral for a guy who deserved the entire bratva to be there.

“I know it’s not your typical wine glass, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

“Uh, sure,” I responded, only half paying attention.

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