Page 14 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

“Tell me, is there anything unsettling in your life?”

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeats.

Three….

Silence.

I looked up from my notes to see Miron staring outside the window, with his arms stretched out on both sides above the rim of the chair and his feet bouncing on the floor with the impatience of a man who’d rather be anywhere else but here.

I didn’t intend to, but my gaze lingered too long on the stretch of his white dress shirt across his broad chest and taut biceps and the perfect fit of his black pants against the length of his long legs.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Yezhov?”

“No.” He didn’t look at me, but his voice sounded like it came from far away. “There’s nothing unsettling in my life. Everything is under control.”

“Okay….” Uncertain, I slowly lowered my eyes to take more notes. “That sounds great. And what keeps you calm?”

“Finally, an actual question. That’s easy: money, good sex, more money. More sex. What can I say? I’m a simple man.”

I didn’t dare raise my head, but a nagging voice at the back of my mind said he was smirking and looking straight at me. Another attempt to fluster me. In fact, I thought I could feel the heat of his stare burning a hole in the center of my head.

After scribbling, I muttered something but didn’t know it was loud enough for him to hear.

“Simple men don’t ram a hundred-thousand-dollar bottle of wine across someone else’s head and leave him writhing in his own blood.

“Are therapists supposed to be judgmental?”

Crap.

There was no anger or reservation in his tone, so if I trod carefully with my response, I could come out unscathed.

“I was not being judgmental, only stating a fact. A simple man wouldn’t do what you did, but you say you are a simple man who doesn’t believe in mantras and has nothing unsettling in his life.”

Miron lifted a brow. “And what’s your conclusion on that?” It was my turn to ignore his question. Needless to say, the animalistic growl at the back of his throat was a sign that it upset him. “Does my time here include that thing you’ve constantly been doing?”

Absentmindedly, I asked, “What thing?”

“The writing.”

“Oh. Yeah. It’s standard procedure that I take notes.” I shrugged. “I observed that you prefer being in control, and I understand that it is normal, or expected, for people in your position. Powerful people like yourself.”

“Why do I feel like you’re mincing words? That’s not everything you’d like to say.”

He was right; I was mincing. For him, it was beyond just having control; there was a dangerous obsession with power lurking behind those blue eyes. In my opinion, however, it was a mirage.

I smoothened the edges of my hair. “I only tell the client what is necessary. Unless my opinions will be relevant during sessions, I keep them at bay.”

“I see what you’re doing, trying to sound like a professional.”

“Iama professional, Mr. Yezhov, and that’s why I’m posing this question to you: Would I be wrong to say that the definition of control is more subjective than people would agree?”

Miron paused for a full minute, as if he had taken the time to think about the question before deciding I wasn’t worthy enough for an answer. The hardness in his eyes returned, and he resumed working the muscles in his jaw.

“You’re wrong for even thinking to ask me that. I’m paying thousands of dollars to be seated here. You’re the therapist; you should have the answer.”

I squared my shoulders and tipped my chin. “Again, for the remaining parts of our session, I need you to cooperate. But since you really want to know what I think, fine, I’ll tell you. In my opinion, the subject of ‘control’ has more to do with acceptance rather than exertion or demonstration. In other words, control starts in the mind, the simple concept of being able to restrain oneself and regulate your emotions, actions, and reactions. That brings me to this: our major goals for the sessions we’ll be having.”

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