Page 96 of Obsessed Bratva King

“No need,” he replies. “I bought you a restaurant in New York and it would be a hell of a commute from there.”

27

CORA

One week later…

The scent of new wood, fresh paint, and something warm fills my lungs the moment I step inside.

This isn’t the restaurant I left behind when Ivan dragged me out a lifetime ago.

The floors gleam, polished to perfection. The walls are freshly painted. The old, battered bar has been fully restored, its deep mahogany surface shining beneath the soft overhead lighting. The kitchen—where I spent hours dreaming of something bigger—is spotless, upgraded, ready for something new.

My fingers tremble as I reach out, trailing them along the smooth surface of the bar. It doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream, like something I should wake up from any second now, only to find that the floors are still cracked, the walls still broken, my dream still hanging by a thread.

My pulse pounds as I turn sharply, the air rushing from my lungs when I see him.

Ivan.

He stands near the far end of the bar, arms crossed, his broad frame casual, at ease, like he’s just another customer waiting for a drink. Like he hasn’t just single-handedly brought my dream back to life.

His face is impossible to read, his cool blue eyes watching me carefully, like he’s measuring my reaction.

Like this is nothing.

I can’t find my voice at first. My throat is too tight, too full of emotions I don’t know how to name. When I finally manage to get the words out, they come quiet, breathless.

“You—?”

Ivan shrugs, the movement lazy, effortless.

“You got out of hospital a week ago. When did you have time for all this?”

“I know some people. They’ve been working on it since you joined me.”

I gape at him, searching for something in his impassive expression, something that makes sense. An explanation. A reason.

“Why?”

His voice drops to something low, quiet, intimate.

“Because you want to own a restaurant.” He pauses, tilting his head slightly, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “And I don’t want you under my feet all day. When your morning sickness fades, you’ll want to get back to work, right? Ormaternity leave more your kind of thing? Say the word and I’ll hire staff to run the place for you.”

Something inside me breaks.

I clench my jaw, trying to keep myself together, but it’s too much.

No one has ever done something like this for me.

No one has ever believed in me enough to give me this.

No one has ever simply given me something because I wanted it.

It was always conditional. Always something to be earned, something to be fought for.

I exhale sharply, forcing down the lump in my throat, trying not to let the tears burning behind my eyes spill over.

I meet his gaze, lips pressed together, my fingers curling into fists at my sides.

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