Page 31 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
I scan the room for Yelena, but she is gone. The air feels lighter without her, but the relief is poisoned by dread. I have just become the center of the story, the focus of a hundred eyes… enemies and allies both.
Adrian has made his claim. He has marked me as his. There is no way out of this now. Not for him, not for me.
As the crowd closes in, as the celebration swells around us, I let myself lean into his side, as if for comfort. In truth, I am bracing for whatever comes next.
I don’t feel like a queen. I feel like a pawn who’s just been moved into the most dangerous square on the board.
The party is a blur of lights and glass and voices that do not quite sound real. Every conversation is a performance, every smile sharpened by suspicion.
I make it through on autopilot, nodding, laughing, clinging to Adrian’s side as the room revolves around us. His hand never leaves my waist, as if he’s staking a claim in front of every Bratva wife, every rival, every pair of eyes hungry for gossip or blood.
At last, the crowd begins to thin. The chandeliers burn lower, the air thick with the aftermath of too much champagne and too many secrets. Adrian barely gives me a chance to say good night to anyone.
He ushers me out with a few clipped words, the force of his grip leaving no room for argument. We move through the marble foyer, the cold night air biting at my bare shoulders,the weight of what’s happened pressing down harder with every step.
An armored car waits outside, black and implacable, windows tinted to pitch. Adrian opens the door, all smooth control, and gestures for me to get in.
I hesitate for a single breath, heart hammering, but I obey. The door thuds shut behind me with a mechanical finality.
The world outside is cut off; the silence inside is absolute. I hear the locks engage, the sound heavy as a tomb.
We are alone. The lights of the ballroom recede, leaving nothing but the hush of the engine and the cage of the back seat.
It’s too much. Too sudden. My control shatters. “What do you think you’re doing?!” My voice comes out louder than I mean, raw and edged with panic. “What the hell was that in there? You can’t just—” I break off, breath coming fast. “You can’t just decide things for me. I’m not your… anything.”
He does not answer. He doesn’t look at me, not at first. He opens a narrow compartment built into the armrest beside him and pulls out a pistol.
Sleek, black, silent as a secret. He handles it with practiced care, checking the slide, the weight, all with deliberate calm.
My words dry up. My blood runs cold. The car feels suddenly much smaller.
He doesn’t point the gun at me. He holds it loosely, almost absently, then drags the cool metal along the line of my jaw. The touch is light, clinical, almost gentle. Still, it’s unmistakable, terrifying.
I freeze, every muscle in my body coiled tight. My heart thuds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
Adrian finally looks at me. There is no mask now, no charming veneer. Only the raw, relentless core of the man I have been circling all this time.
“I know you’re up to something,” he says, his voice soft but implacable. “I don’t know who you’re working for. Or what exactly you want.” The pistol tilts, forcing my chin up, making me look into his eyes. I can barely breathe.
He studies my face, searching for the lies I’ve hidden so carefully. His expression does not shift, but the intensity in his gaze makes the air between us crackle.
He isnotbluffing. I believe, with every inch of my body, that if I give him the wrong answer he will end me right here, locked away from the world.
My breathing goes shallow. I try to swallow, try to steady myself, but the gun is a living thing, cold and merciless against my skin.
He leans in, the barrel of the pistol still under my chin. “But I don’t care,” he says, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re mine now.”
The words hit me like a blow. Everything in me stills, the panic crystallizing into something sharp, something close to surrender and terror both. There is no smile on his face. No pretense. No game.
Only the truth of him, the threat and the promise together. The gun, the grip of his hand, the certainty in his voice. He’s flipped the board, rewritten the rules, and there is no way to predict what comes next.
I stare at him, chest heaving, lips parted around words that will not come. My mind races, cataloging every mistake, every risk, every moment when I thought I could handle him, manipulate him, use his desire to get what I needed. Theevidence. The answers about Eli. The proof that would let me destroy him.
Now I realize I was never in control. Not really. Not with him.
His eyes never leave mine. His hand is steady as stone. “You wanted to play dangerous games,” he murmurs. “Now you’re in one. Understand?”
I nod, once, almost imperceptibly. I don’t trust myself to speak. My body is trembling, heat and fear and something else churning in my gut. His thumb brushes my cheek, almost soft, but the gun never moves.
