Page 11 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
“You might as well have been,” he says, running a hand down his hair, beginning to look frustrated. “If I hadn’t saved you—”
“Saved me?” I shriek with a short, sarcastic laugh. “This isn’t saving me!”
“Answering my questions is better than death, princess. Don’t you think?”
“God, I’m so tired of you calling me that,” I can’t help but roll my eyes. For a brief second, I see his lips upturn into a smile, but he covers it up quickly with that ice-cold look he levels my way. It’s strange, but being up so close, seeing how warm those honeyed eyes are, the cold doesn’t seem to suit him.
“I’m so tired of you playing dumb,” he says, and begins to circle me. I crane my neck, watching his every move. Once again, I remind myself not to get caught in his jaws. I’m just a fish, and he’s a shark.Tone it down, Arina.
“Where are your brothers?” he asks from my left.
I turn to face him and shrug. “I don’t know. Working. They work late.”
“What are they working on?” he fires right back.
I roll my eyes. “They run restaurants. Restaurants close late. Then they have accounts, restocking, and staff issues. There’s a lot that goes into feeding people, you know?”
“I’m not here for a lesson in the restaurant business,” he snarls. “I want to know what your brothers do!”
“That’s what they do!” I insist. “Viktor, our cousin, used to run a bunch of them, and when he died, it all fell on my brothers. Before that, they helped him out and did their own thing.”
“Their own thing?” he asks, suddenly sounding interested.
“Yes. I’m not sure what. Tikhon was into import-export. Andrei and Alexey sometimes helped him, and Alexey really likes marketing. He freelanced for a bit.”
“Really?”
“Yes!” I throw my hands into the air in exasperation. “They’ve always travelled a lot. They’ve got clients all over the world.”
“And now?”
“They still travel.” I look at him like he’s grown two heads. “It’s hard finding the right ingredients.”
“Will you please stop talking about ingredients and restaurants?” Ilariy’s face turns nearly red. “You expect me to believe that Tikhon Sokolov spends his time thinking about cheese and wine?”
“I don’t know what he spends his time thinking,” I cry out in helplessness. “He’s…Tikhon. He’s just as ordinary as anyone I know. He can barely kill a spider! He calls on me to do it!”
“Right.” He steps closer, so close that his chest brushes against mine. For a brief moment, I see his eyes flicker, feel my heart race, before he steps back, just an inch. “Tell me where they are now.”
“Like I said. I don’t know. If you’d let me call them…”
“You can call them when I say you can call them.” His voice is strong, commanding. I feel like I could wither beneath it, but for some reason, it only makes me more defiant.
“Tell me,” I ask, “Does believing what you want make you think it becomes true? I told you already. You’ve got the wrong family!”
Something in Ilariy’s expression shifts, almost like he’s pondering my words. I take a deep breath of relief, believing I might have gotten through to him when he crosses his arms over his chest, and my heart begins to race again at the sight of those rippling muscles.
My mouth goes dry. What the hell am I thinking?Finding him hot?I must have truly gone insane.
“Your brothers,” he says slowly after collecting his thoughts, “have been part of the Bratva for years. They’ve been an ugly thorn on our side for years now, and I intend to put a stop to it.”
I shake my head vehemently, and my anger rises fast. “You’re insane. My brothers are businessmen. Just because we’re Russian doesn’t mean we’re in the mafia! And whatexactlyhave my brothers done to hurt your family?”
“They—” he freezes, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t. Then, he meets my glare. “They’ve taken from us. Your cousin Viktor stole from us.”
“Stole what?” I ask.
“Shipments. Truckloads of money. You won’t dare imagine,” he glowers and watches for a reaction.
