Page 77 of Scarred Bratva King

She’s wearing a loose sweater that falls off one shoulder, her jeans hugging curves that shouldn’t have the power to distract me the way they do.

I watch as she stacks a new shipment of books onto a display table. She pauses occasionally, picking up a novel and flipping through its pages, her lips moving silently as she reads a passage.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling until Ivan’s voice crackles through my earpiece. “Boss, you’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes. Want me to send the car?”

“No.” My answer is immediate, sharper than I intended.

There’s a pause, and I can hear Ivan’s confusion. “You sure? You’ve already missed two meetings today.”

“Reschedule them both,” I snap, ending the call before he can argue.

I know I’m neglecting my responsibilities. I know my men are questioning why their boss, the man who’s supposed to be the most dangerous person in the room, is suddenly so distracted. But none of it matters. Not when she’s right there, a world away and yet so painfully close.

The truth is, she was right. I am feeling things for her. But what kind of world can I offer her? One filled with blood?

I wanted her to hate me for using her as bait, hoped that would prove to her that I’m a monster. But all I saw in her eyes was pity.

It’s after hours, and the bookstore is dark except for the warm glow of a lamp in the reading nook. She’s curled up in thearmchair we picked out together, her legs tucked under her, a blanket draped across her lap.

The sight of her like this, so at peace, is almost too much to bear. She’s reading one of the books I ordered, her fingers absently twisting a strand of her hair as her eyes scan the pages.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I ignore it, my focus solely on her.

She doesn’t know I’m here, that I’ve been here almost every night this week. Watching her is the only thing that makes sense anymore. It’s obsessive, I know that. But it’s the only way I can keep her safe.

She’s laughing with Elena today, her head thrown back as she gestures animatedly about something. Her smile lights up the entire room, and I feel it like a punch to the gut.

I lean back against the wall of the alley across the street, lighting a cigarette as I watch her through the window. I shouldn’t be here. I should be putting plans into motion. Vito’s coming back to the States soon. I just know it.

But the thought of not seeing her—even for a day—is unbearable.

She’s not in my head anymore. She’s everywhere.

The bookstore is quiet tonight, the last customer having left a half hour ago. She’s sitting at the counter, her chin resting on her hand as she stares out the window, lost in thought.

I wonder what she’s thinking about.

Is it me? Does she miss me at all? Or has she already moved on, grateful to be free of the man she thought she could love but never really understood?

The thought burns, and I crush my cigarette underfoot, my jaw tightening.

I know this can’t last. I can’t keep watching her like this, pretending to be part of her world when I’m the reason she’s in danger in the first place.

But every time I tell myself to walk away, to focus on the war, I find myself right back here, unable to stay away.

It’s late, the city settling into its usual lull of dim lights and muted sounds. I’m in my usual spot, leaning against the side of the building across from the bookstore, the glow of her lamp in the window the only light that matters.

She’s there inside, her shadow flitting across the blinds as she moves through her space. I can feel her presence even from here, as though the air shifts whenever she’s near.

She steps out onto the street, Elena beside her. They walk together in the direction of the bar down the block, Veronica’s arms crossed tightly against the chill in the air.

I follow, sticking to the shadows.

They don’t go inside. Instead, they settle at a table on the sidewalk patio, a small heater glowing red above them. I position myself out of sight but close enough to hear.

Elena leans back in her chair, her expression teasing. “So, what’s with the sparkling water? You’ve turned down wine twice already this week. That’s not like you.”

Veronica stiffens, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “I… I can’t.”

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