Page 90 of Scarred Bratva King

He groans, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “Elizabeth and Darcy? Are you trying to make our child sound like they stepped out of a BBC miniseries?”

“Better than Raskolnikov,” I shoot back, grinning. “What’s next? Dostoevsky? Tolstoy? Woland?”

“Tolstoy has a nice ring to it,” he says, his smirk widening. “Strong. Memorable.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Our child is not going to be named after a Russian novelist’s last name.”

“Fine,” he says, his tone mock-serious. “We’ll compromise. How about Alexander? Strong, timeless, and works in both Russian and English.”

I pause, considering it. “Alexander’s not bad. But what about Alexandra if it’s a girl?”

“Deal,” he says, his hand finding mine again. “But if we have a second boy, it’s Konstantin.”

“Still trying to sneak that one in, huh?” I tease, squeezing his hand. “I’ll tell you what. We get a dog, you can call it Konstantin.”

The corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Deal.”

42

VERONICA

One week later…

I’m perched behind the counter, flipping through one of the Russian novels I’m using to learn the language. The bell over the door jingles. I glance up, expecting another customer, and my heart does an involuntary flip.

Maxim strides in, his dark coat trailing behind him, commanding the kind of attention that stops the world.

His eyes lock on mine immediately, and the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly, like he knows exactly what effect he has on me.

“You know,” I say, pretending to be unaffected as I set the book down, “this is a bookstore, not a Bratva strategy meeting. No guns or brooding bosses allowed.”

He raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he approaches the counter. “Relax, Veronica. I left my gun in the car. For now.”

“Reassuring,” I deadpan, but my smile betrays me.

He leans on the counter, his gaze softening as he takes me in. “How’s business?”

“Busy, thankfully. Not everyone waits for the movie to come out. Who knew? Want to hear something I’ve been practicing?”

I grab the book, flipping to a marked page. His eyes narrow slightly, intrigued but suspicious.

“What are you up to, Veronica?”

“Just sit back and enjoy,” I say, clearing my throat dramatically.

I start reading aloud in Russian, stumbling over some of the longer words but doing my best. It takes him about ten seconds to realize I’m reading an erotic passage.

His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening as I continue, doing my best to keep my tone playful and innocent.

“Am I saying it right?” I ask, pausing mid-sentence, batting my lashes at him.

His voice drops an octave as he steps closer, his hands bracing on the counter. “Close enough to drive me insane.”

He reaches across the counter, pulling the book from my hands and tossing it aside.

“Maxim!” I protest, but it’s half-hearted, the fire in his gaze already consuming me.

“You think you can tease me like that and get away with it?” he murmurs, his voice rough as he comes around the counter, his presence overwhelming. “The place is empty. No one can see.”

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