Page 32 of Scarred Bratva King

Maxim’s deadpan voice cuts through the moment. “I’m hilarious.”

The faintest smile tugs at Victor’s lips, but he hides it well. “And what about you, my boy? What do you see in this American?”

Maxim doesn’t hesitate. “She’s funny. Smart.” His voice softens slightly, just enough for me to notice. “And she doesn’t back down, even when it’s in her own interests to do so. She’s stubborn, like me.”

The words hang in the air, heavier than I expected. I glance at him, but his gaze is fixed on his father, unreadable.

Victor nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Being too stubborn can get people killed. What about grandchildren? Have you made plans?”

“A boy and a girl,” I say quickly. “Though we’re still deciding on names.”

“Two?” Victor says, his eyebrows raising. “Good.” He glances at his watch. “Unfortunately I have many meetings this morning. The work of a Pakhan, even a temporary one, is never done.”

He gets to his feet. “A pleasure, Veronica.” His eyes suggest it’s anything but.

Once he’s gone, Maxim visibly relaxes, picking up the coffee pot and pouring out two cups. “You did well,” he says. “Two kids, huh? When will you have time for the bookstore?”

I take the coffee mug he offers me. “I thought about saying ten but didn’t want to spook the guy.”

“It would certainly scare me to think of ten children running around here. We’d never get anything done.” He pulls out his cellphone. “Take a look at this.”

“What is it?” I ask, examining the screen.

He gestures to the photo that’s on display. “You wanted a bookstore. If this all works out, that one will be yours. Owner retired many years ago but left everything in situ. Needs clearing out and repainting but the building is good and the area’s got a lot of footfall.”

I blink, stunned. The picture is dated, showing a charming little storefront, its window display lined with books and a faded sign above the door that readsThe Reading Nook.

He flicks to the next picture, showing grimy windows and a peeling door. I see through into the interior, picturing how it used to be.

A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it. “This looks perfect,” I whisper. The word feels too small for what I’m feeling. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, a tangible piece of a future I thought I’d never have.

But then reality creeps in, cold and cruel, and the smile fades. My grip on the photo tightens as the familiar weight of fear settles in my chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing at once.

“There’s no point if Marco’s still out there,” I murmur. “I can’t move on until I know he’s been dealt with.”

“Marco can’t touch you,” he replies, his voice a deep rumble. “He won’t touch anything that matters to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

I turn to face him, the conviction in his words too much to bear. “How can you be so sure?”

He doesn’t hesitate, his voice steady. “No one hurts you again. Not while I’m alive.”

I don’t know who moves first, but suddenly his lips are on mine, and the world crumbles under my feet. The kiss is fierce, and I’m powerless to stop it.

His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and I gasp against his mouth as the heat between us turns into an inferno.

He lifts me onto the table with an ease that makes my head spin, his lips trailing down my neck as my head tilts back. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Someone could come in.”

“Let them. We want to make this engagement believable. Don’t we?”

A laugh escapes me, breathless and shaky. “This is your idea of believability? Your ass going up and down when they come to clear the table?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, his mouth moving lower. “You should trust me on this.”

His hands are already sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher and higher until it bunches at my waist.

His fingers dig into my hips as he steps between my legs, his face inches from mine. “You want to show me how well you can act?” he asks, his tone daring me to keep pushing.

---