Page 35 of Forbidden Bratva Virgin

Digging up more information meant involving Damir. He had his way of trailing and picking the tiniest speck of information on people.

“Hazel Sinclair.”

“Got it.” He started out the door, then stopped. “Wait, Miron. That’s…that’s your therapist.”

He would have known because he handled the therapy treatment discussions with Amelia and took note of every single detail, including the name of the therapist handling my sessions. But I didn’t fucking care about what he thought. He didn’t have to deal with the Hazel-syndrome; I did.

Ignoring him, I buried my face in my hands. “I need reports, not fucking questions.”

“On it. And, before I forget, it’s Amelia’s birthday next week. It’s a formal event. Suit, tie. That kind of shit.”

“So?”

“So, it means you know you can’t miss it. Not where Amelia is concerned, anyway. I have your invite, and she sent one over to Alina.”

“Separate invites, huh?”

“Just in case you think you can ditch. Alina’s backup to ensure you’re there. Smart woman,” he said and turned around to leave.

Then, he stopped. Again.

“Miron?”

“Jesus. Yes, Damir. What the fuck is it?”

This time around, when Damir spoke, his voice was heavy and quiet. I didn’t see his face, but, like me, the energy that radiated off him when he was serious was different.

“I know you didn’t ask, but I’m going to say it anyway because I always fucking blurt at the most unexpected moments. About this current assignment, it’s not advisable. What you’re asking me to do will only feed that obsession, and you know it.”

My fingers curled tightly around the glass, and I remembered that I’d nearly blown his head off earlier today. “You’re right; I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion. Reports, and not questions or heart-to-hearts, Damir. That’s all I need.”

“Sure.”

I heard his retreating steps and was left alone to deal with the intrigue that had taken root.

Severely undeniable and persistent.

And no matter how hard I tried to unravel it, my attraction to her remained.

Chapter 14 – Hazel

Elena said it was the perfect dress. And I completely agreed.

In the mall, the second my eyes fell on it, I knew it was the one. How could it not be? I’d gone into the fitting room to try it on and stepped out with the brightest beams.

The maxi bodycon dress draped effortlessly, hugging my body in all the right places like a second skin. It was a bold, shimmering blood red, featuring a low neckline that revealed a glimpse of cleavage. The material was soft yet structured, with a daring slit that rose high above my knee. I had worried about showcasing my waist curves and full hip dips, but no dress in my wardrobe instilled confidence like this one.

I spent the money; I selected it. And it was just flawless. Modest, but not too modest. The best pick for Amelia’s thirty-fifth birthday party. A standard VIP formal event, and I’d gotten an invite. To me, that was a very big deal.

I went all out with my hair. I used the hot iron to shape each roll into full, shiny body waves, arranging some over my shoulder and leaving the rest dangling behind my back. My makeup was at the barest minimum, with dark eyeliner, mascara, and only a bold red lipstick to complement the dress. Elena had preferred a pair of strappy heels, but I picked the suede red pointy stilettos to finish the look.

And all night, from the moment my boyfriend drove by my house to pick me up, I’d held my breath, waiting for the smallest compliment.

“Nate,” I whispered, clutching his arm tightly. “Nathan, you’re doing it again.”

“Crap. Babe,” he murmured, keeping the phone aside only long enough to mutter another tasteless apology before leaning in to brush a kiss on my cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s important, but I’ll be done with it soon so we can enjoy the night together.”

It was the third time he said the exact same thing since we arrived at Amelia’s grandiose celebration hall over an hour ago, and all the while, there’d been no improvement. He hadn’t taken a full minute to notice me, even once.

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