Page 12 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

When he raised his head, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that I wanted to rip out with my bare hands. “You, of all people, know better than anyone else that Amelia will seize this opportunity to boss me around in the name of therapy. She’s going to drink this up worse than a beer pong champion.”

“That might have happenedifshe was handling the sessions herself.”

“She’s not?”

He shook his head. “Her hands are full, she said. Or maybe she knows better than to cross paths with you and rub shit on your face. But she’s handing your file over to someone else.”

“And that someone else is?” I couldn’t not press.

“Still under her supervision. Come on, Miron. You have to be there soon.” He kicked back his chair, threw a glance at the mess of broken tumblers by the wall, and left my office without another word.

Ay, Goddammit.

***

Damir went over to Amelia’s office to sort outwhatever it was that needed sorting outwhile someone else ushered me to the office of the other person who was handling my file.

The young man with a low cut and nervous smile opened the door and led me in, and the first thing that hit me was the warmth and serenity of the room. There wasn’t much to it, but the ambiance was peaceful. The walls were painted a soothing light gray, which conveniently provided a backdrop for the rich, earthy tones that filled the space. Bright photographs of nature hung on the wall, there were two blooming flower pots stationed beside her desk, and as for the desk, it was neatly arranged, with no over-the-top pictures, awards, or shit like that.

“Miss Sinclair says you can wait here. She won’t take long,” I heard from behind me. The man must have been waiting for some kind of acknowledgment or expression of gratitude, and when he realized he wasn’t getting any, he shut the door quietly on his way out.

I walked over to the plush green velvet chair and lowered myself with controlled disdain. Every part of me itched to leave immediately. It felt like being forced back into a nursery, except this one was coated with more mature paint. Here, I was the student, waiting for the teacher. And I couldn’t remember the last time anyone keptmewaiting.

Settling back into the chair, I threw an arm over the rim, ready to dig out my phone, when the door quietly clicked open, and someone else walked in. My head snapped toward the door, and our eyes locked. More likejammed.

This time around, it was a young woman with the brightest pair of hazel eyes I had ever spotted from a distance, a sharp contrast to her porcelain skin. The impact that stirred from acknowledging her presence in the room made me look way longer than I was supposed to. Smiling warmly, she adjusted her plain white shirt and smoothened a crinkle on her black pants, and instead of letting my gaze drift to the fullness of her thighs shaped by those pants, I kept my eyes on her face.

She couldn’t be older than twenty and definitely had to be an intern at the clinic or a recent college graduate. Either way, she looked too young to be of significance.

I frowned. “If you’re also here to tell me Miss Sinclair won’t take long, you can shove that information—”

“I’m her,” she rushed to say before I completed my sentence, cheeks slowly glowing cherry-red as her black court heels clicked closer to the couch. She stretched forth a hand. “I mean, it’s me. I am Hazel Sinclair, the therapist assigned to handle your file. And my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Yezhov. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The last time anything surprised me was more than a decade ago. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be startled and astonished at the same time, but this….

I ignored her small outstretched hand and looked past her soft, appealing—deceitful—features, past the luscious bundle of chestnut brown hair falling in a long ponytail down her back, the shiny red paint coating her full lips that called immediate attention, the smooth curve of her jawline, the perfectly portioned structure of her nostrils at the center of her face, and especially those eyes that could reel anyone in like a baited fish on a hook.

“You’rethe therapist?” Disbelieving, I shook my head, making sure to scoff aloud. “Is this a fucking joke?”

Chapter 6 – Hazel

“Excuse me?”

I didn’t mind that my smile instantly slipped off my face; what bothered me more was that I did not one hundred percent take Amelia’s warnings literally. Maybe I might have gone home that night thinking that, being a part of his family, she must have thrown in more than a pinch of exaggeration when she warned aboutthis manbeing a lot to handle.

Up close, he was more charming than the photograph attached to his profile, with his hair extra inches longer, his frame and presence more intimidating. He was morereal.

But I clearly saw it now, all of Amelia’s warnings blinking like traffic lights: the way his jaw flexed stubbornly, his thick, dark eyebrows arched, and firm-looking lips pinched into a thinner, irritated line. “I said, isthisa fucking joke?”

In short, what he meant was that he thoughtIwasa joke. Blue eyes took their time to rake my entire appearance from my head but didn’t stray below my face, and they grew cloudier with undiluted indignation.

“I’m not sure I understand, but try not to be upset. Whatever your concern is, give it some time, and we will work it out.”

“Hmph.” Those blue eyes dangerously narrowed to slits, and he withdrew his arms from the rim of the chair, straightening up with his elbows on his knees. “Let’s start with the most important question for the day.”

Usually, I asked the questions around here, but I knew a man like him would not want that information to be stuck to him. Sucking a deep breath, I forced a wobbly smile on my face. “Sure. What will that be?”

“How old are you?”

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