Page 10 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
She is a mystery, one I want to understand. To break open, perhaps, or to see how far she can bend before she snaps.
Chapter Five - Talia
I meet Jessa on a Wednesday, in a coffee shop crowded with art students and people pretending to write screenplays. The windows fog from the steam of the espresso machine.
I press my hands around a chipped mug and listen to her talk about her new apartment in Brooklyn, her job at a start-up that burns through interns like paper, and her latest crush—a DJ with bad tattoos and worse opinions.
For a while, it’s almost easy to slip back into being the girl I was before New York was a mission, before everything I did was shadowed by fear.
Jessa doesn’t ask why I called, just grins when she sees me. She hugs me tight, the way she always has, squeezing until something in my chest loosens.
“You look tired,” she says, flopping into her chair. “Like, impressively tired. Have you eaten anything that didn’t come from a vending machine this week?”
“I had a salad yesterday,” I say, trying to sound light.
“Lettuce doesn’t count. You need a burger.”
I laugh, grateful for the normalcy. For a few minutes, we talk about classes, bad landlords, and the merits of sleeping through entire weekends. I tell her I’m still working at the news foundation, leaving out the specifics. I make no mention of Sharov or the estate.
I can’t tell Jessa much, but I need the anchor of her presence. She’s been my best friend since high school, the one person who never flinched when Eli vanished, who let me sit in her room for hours, silent and shaking, offering tea and gentle jokes. She never pushed. I think she knows, even now, that there are things I won’t say.
Still, I need to talk about something. Anything. My nerves are wound so tight I can barely swallow.
“So,” I say, swirling the dregs of my coffee. “There’s this guy at work. Well, a higher-up. Technically my boss’s boss’s boss, I guess.”
Jessa grins. “Oooh, is he hot?”
I snort. “That’s not the point. And yes, objectively, I suppose he is. But he’s—God, he’s impossible. The kind of person who just… controls every room he’s in. He barely talks, but when he does, it’s like everyone snaps to attention. I can’t figure out if he’s a genius or a dictator.”
“Maybe both? That’s very Russian villain of him.” She grins, not knowing how close she’s landed to the truth. “What’s he like?”
I hesitate, not sure how much to share. I choose my words carefully. “He’s sharp. Cold. The kind of guy you’d cross the street to avoid if you saw him coming. He’s supposed to be running the charity branch, but everyone knows he’s got his fingers in everything. He’s always watching, always ten steps ahead. You know how some people just… make you feel like they see more than you’re saying?”
Jessa leans in, eyebrows raised. “Are you saying he’s psychic, or just a control freak?”
“Both, maybe.” I rub my temple. “He makes everyone nervous. Even the other execs. There’s just something about him. He doesn’t even have to say anything, people just give him space.”
She grins wider. “Is this a rant, or are you secretly into him? Because it kind of sounds like you’re into him.”
I choke on my coffee. “Oh my God, Jessa, no. He’s terrifying. Like, genuinely intimidating. I can’t get away from him.”
She makes a sympathetic noise. “Yikes. So what, does he glare at you all day? Or are you getting the silent treatment?”
“It’s worse,” I say, voice dropping. “He just… watches. I’m pretty sure he looks at me through the cameras. He never misses anything. It’s like playing chess with someone who already knows how the game ends.”
Jessa sips her chai, pretending to consider. “He sounds like the kind of guy who could make a therapist rich.”
“He’d eat a therapist alive.” I try to laugh, but it comes out strained. “He’s not just scary, though. He’s—” I cut myself off before I say too much. “Never mind. I just… I can’t tell if he wants to fire me or kill me, or see what I’ll do next.”
Jessa grins, teeth flashing. “I’m still stuck on theobjectively hotpart. Is he, like, older? Rugged CEO vibes? Or more mysterious bad boy?”
I groan. “He’s in his late thirties, maybe? I don’t know. He’s all sharp angles and quiet power. Not the kind of guy you’d flirt with unless you had a death wish. He has a fiancée, anyway, or so everyone says. I’ve never seen her, but the rumor is she’s untouchable.”
Jessa makes a face. “Of course. Well, if he gives you too much trouble, you know where to find me. Or where to send the police.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We fall into silence for a moment, watching the barista scowl at a jammed blender as a couple in the corner argues quietly. I feel a weight lift, just a little, for having said something out loud—even if it was only a fraction of the truth. There is acomfort in ranting about Adrian as if he’s just another nightmare boss, not the man whose shadow I live in now.
