Page 43 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

My stomach fluttered. “It was right in front of my door; how could I miss it? Are we starting the session before or after dinner? Because you know we still have to make up for the one you missed today.”

He seemed to consider it. “After. Dinner is prepared already. So, the sooner we start eating, the better. Come this way.”

I might have been imagining things, but there was an edge to his voice and tension in his shoulders when he led us to the beautiful dining area.

We got seated across each other on the small table, and he barely even looked at me.

He filled our glasses, and I sipped my wine, feeling an odd mix of confusion and something else coil in my chest. The soft clinking of glasses and ceramics became uncomfortable, prompting me to lighten the conversation.

“Did you prepare all of this?”

He scratched the bridge of his nose with his little finger, looking like someone on the brink of impatience. “No, I didn’t. It’s a direct order from La Vine, the restaurant.”

Wow. I wasn’t really expecting that brutal revelation.

“Uh, okay. But the note was definitely your handwriting, right?”

“I had one of myemployeeswrite it.”

Dumbfounded, I stayed mute, finding it hard to process what he said, and he looked up from his plate, tilting his head to the side. “That was a joke.”

“You know you’d have such a bright future in comedy, if you consider it.”

I waited for the smallest smile, but Miron’s lips were pulled tight. Instead of returning to his food, he reached for something under the table and slid it across.

It took a moment for my gaze to adjust under the bright lighting. It was a picture. Three, actually, with the same targets.

The glossy prints reflected dim café lights. My fingers hovered over them before I dared to pick them up.

I froze. That face—I could recognize it even in my sleep.

Nathan?

There he was, laughing, his hand resting a little too comfortably on the waist of a woman I didn’t recognize.

“New York University School of Law,” Miron grunted from across the table. “One week before he came back here.”

My tongue was parched, as dry as sandpaper. But I swallowed to find my voice. “What…what is this?”

I flipped to the next photograph. It was zoomed in, a closer shot.

They were smiling at each other, with Nathan leaning in, taking something out of the woman’s eye. She was young and pretty, with perfect hair and a smile that screamed sunshine and rainbows.

“Her name is Piper.”

“So? What use is her name? She could be….” My breath was faltering, my head swimming. “She could be a friend or colleague,” I said more firmly. “I don’t know all of his friends.”

There was that insinuation in his eyes again, that hint that I didn’t want to hear him say aloud. “You know goddamn well that she’s not hisfriendor colleague.”

“Miron….”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but that is proof that your absentee boyfriend has another girlfriend in New York, and if you’re not convinced, I have a lot morework-relatedoutings to show you.”

Rising to my feet, the chair scraped backward, and I slammed my napkin down on the table, once again struggling to keep my breathing in check.

It was hard.

I’d never known what dying felt like until now as I stood there, gasping for air and fighting so hard to keep the stinging tears away.

---