Page 41 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
Why isn’t he asking? Does he trust me, or is he just waiting for me to slip?
I walk away before I can hear more. My feet lead me to a sunlit corner of the house, a small sitting room overlooking the gardens.
I sit in the window seat, coffee cooling in my hands, staring out at the roses and the iron gates beyond. I think of last night. Of the way his hands shook as he touched me, the way he watched me sleep, as if he could keep the world at bay just by keeping me close.
A part of me aches to see him now, to ask for answers, for a sign that I am more than just a liability. Another part of me is furious. If he suspects me, why won’t he look me in the eye and say it? If he doesn’t, then why does he let them tear me down behind closed doors?
Maybe it’s easier for him this way. If I am just a pawn, he can move me across the board without regret. If I am more, then every risk he takes becomes his own.
I turn the ring on my finger, feeling the cold metal bite into my skin. It is proof and prison all at once. The marriage was meant to shield me, to draw a line around us. But today, Ifeel more exposed than ever. Alone in a house full of enemies, unsure whether the man I married is friend, foe, or something in between.
I hear footsteps in the hallway, a burst of laughter—nervous, short-lived. The world continues outside this room. Men are making plans, counting loyalties, choosing sides.
No one comes for me.
I press my forehead to the glass and close my eyes. I want to believe I’m strong enough to weather this, that I can stay hidden in plain sight until I find the truth.
Right now, all I feel is the sharp ache of being outnumbered, untrusted, and unseen.
Still, beneath it all, I wonder,why isn’t Adrian afraid of me? Why does he not demand answers?
The question settles in my chest, cold and heavy, as the day moves on, and I wait.
I’m lost in the shifting flash of distant lightning when the door swings open without warning. Miroslav enters, silent as a shadow, not even the courtesy of a knock to announce himself. The only sign of his presence is the faint scent of cold air and gun oil that always seems to cling to him.
I stiffen, curling a little tighter in the window seat, coffee untouched and long gone cold. “Ever hear of knocking?” I snap, letting my irritation show. “Or does that rule not apply to you?”
He doesn’t answer right away, only closes the door behind him and plants himself in the middle of the room, arms crossed, every inch the enforcer. His eyes move over the room and land on me, flat and unimpressed.
“Adrian wants to speak to you,” he says, the words clipped, not quite a request. Not even really an order. More like a fact he’s decided I’ll live with.
I set the coffee cup down on the sill, too hard. “Maybe I don’t want to speak to him.”
Miroslav’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of cold amusement in his eyes. “That’s not my problem. He’s waiting. Now.”
I glare at him, pushing to my feet, the old anger simmering in my veins. “You’re very loyal, Miroslav. For a second-in-command, you seem to spend a lot of time running his errands.” I let the words hang, hoping to sting.
He only shrugs, the faintest quirk of a smirk twisting his mouth. “You’re wrapped around his finger too. Don’t fool yourself. Just because you wear his ring doesn’t mean you’ll get special treatment. I’m just as strict, just as nasty to you as I am to anyone else in this house.” His voice drops, all threat, no warmth. “Don’t mistake your place. Not now.”
It’s meant to get under my skin, anger me, frighten me, break down whatever willpower I have left. I hate how well it works. I can feel my cheeks flushing, my pulse racing. He stands there like he’s waiting for me to argue, to show fear, to crumble just a little bit.
I cross my arms, matching his stance. “If this is how you treat family, I can’t imagine how you treat your enemies.”
Miroslav doesn’t blink. “You’re not family. Not to me. You want my respect, you earn it.”
His words sting, but not as much as the knowledge that he’s right. In this house, nothing is given for free.
Not trust, not safety, not even the illusion of belonging. I force myself to look away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how unsettled I am.
He nods toward the door. “Adrian. Now.” There’s no room for negotiation in his tone, just the inevitability of consequence if I refuse.
I follow him out, every step down the corridor burning with resentment and something sharp, something closer to fear than I want to admit. His pace is brisk, his silence heavier than most men’s shouting. I trail behind, bracing myself for whatever comes next.
“You know,” I say, my voice low, “you could try being less of a brute. Might make you more friends.”
Miroslav doesn’t look back. “I don’t need friends. I need people who know their place.”
I hate him for the way he says it, the way he makes me feel smaller, more fragile than I ever want to be. I hate that he’s good at it. That, for all his bluntness, he’s not stupid. He knows exactly how to push my buttons. I hate even more how much I want to scream at him, or shove him aside, or run anywhere but toward Adrian’s office.
