Page 36 of Obsessed Bratva King

Then I walk into the restaurant.

10

CORA

The sharp crack of wood against the wall makes me jump, my grip tightening on the damp cloth in my hand. My pulse jolts.

Everything stops.

Ivan.

He stands in the doorway like he owns the place, bleeding, dangerous, furious. Outside, people are shouting, running, cars screeching to a halt.

His suit is ruined, black fabric torn, soaked in blood that hasn’t dried yet. His jaw is clenched so tightly I think it might break, and his broad shoulders rise and fall with slow breaths.

But it’s his eyes that hold me captive.

The instant they lock onto mine, the rest of the world disappears.

The only thing left is him.

My breath catches, my chest tight.

It’s been weeks since he told me to forget him.

Weeks since he touched me, since he ruined me, claimed me, broke me apart—then left.

And now he’s here.

His voice slices through the tension, sharp and demanding.

“Got a table for one?”

I barely process the words.

I force myself to breathe.

“How did you find me?”

His expression doesn’t change. “Far too easily.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

I don’t know what’s more dangerous—the blood on his hands or the look in his eyes.

“What does that mean?”

He steps forward, closing the distance like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like I should have expected this.

“Men are coming for you. Luckily, I got here first.”

“Second time of asking, how did you find me?”

“I’ve been stalking you,” he says smoothly, voice dropping lower. “Tracker in your heel.”

“You realize that’s insane, right?”

“What? Keeping you safe? Making sure you got this job? Getting your rent lowered?”

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