Page 29 of Innocent Plus-Size Bride of the Bratva
I glance at Yelena one last time, letting the cold finality settle between us. “Enjoy your evening, Yelena.”
She drops her hand, still smiling, but I can feel the promise of revenge simmering just beneath her flawless exterior.
I follow Miroslav through the crowd, the weight of her warning clinging to me like a second skin. The game is shifting, and everyone can feel it.
My eyes seek Talia’s face once more, already needing the next move.
Chapter Thirteen - Talia
I take my time getting ready for the ball, letting the ritual soothe my nerves. The estate’s guest quarters are unusually quiet, the usual bustle of staff replaced by a hush that feels almost reverent.
I drape the black satin dress across the bed, running my fingers over the smooth fabric. It’s not a showstopper, but it fits me perfectly, hugging my waist and hips, skimming over my thighs. Sophisticated, understated, bold enough to feel like armor.
I don’t wear it for Adrian. That’s what I tell myself, again and again. I wear it because I want to feel strong, unshakable, impossible to ignore.
Still, I know he’ll be there. I can picture him already, immaculate in a tailored suit, Yelena poised at his side, the two of them playing Bratva royalty for the benefit of the room.
I roll my eyes as I line my lips with the deepest red I own, the color making my mouth look more dangerous than soft. Let them both watch me tonight. Let them wonder.
My hair takes longer, but I leave it loose, curls defined and glossy, spilling over my shoulders. I slip on the simple diamond studs Eli gave me for graduation, the only jewelry I can bear.
I smooth the dress one last time, square my shoulders, and force a slow, steady breath. Tonight, I am not background noise.
Tonight, I will be seen.
The ballroom is already alive when I arrive, all glittering chandeliers, polished marble, and an undercurrent of danger dressed in diamonds. The crowd is dazzling—men and womenwho know exactly how to hold a room, every movement choreographed, every smile sharpened by secrets. The air hums with wealth, with old grudges, with the electricity of deals and threats yet to be spoken.
A familiar voice calls my name, cutting through the chaos. “Talia!” I turn to see Dmitri from logistics, a young man with a crooked grin and a knack for making the most tedious tasks sound like adventures. He wears a classic tux, hair slicked back, the faintest hint of cologne clinging to his collar.
“Look at you,” he says, eyes wide with genuine appreciation. “If you get any more glamorous, you’ll put the rest of us out of business.”
I laugh, feeling a flicker of real pleasure at the compliment. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Dmitri.”
He offers his arm, and I take it, letting him guide me into the heart of the ballroom. Why not? Tonight, I want to be a part of the spectacle. I want to enjoy this. At least the parts that aren’t soaked in danger and suspicion.
It doesn’t take long for me to spot Adrian across the room, as if I’m tuned to some private frequency that vibrates when he’s near. He’s dressed in black, classic and severe, the crisp line of his jaw made even sharper by the tension in his posture.
Yelena is there, radiant in red, her hand resting possessively on his arm. She plays her part perfectly, laughing at something a family elder says, but Adrian isn’t paying attention to her.
His eyes are locked on me.
Even across the distance, his gaze is unmistakable: cold, assessing, but so intense it makes my skin prickle. I meet his stare and hold it, letting my lips curve into a slow, deliberatesmile. I don’t look away. The air between us sparks, electric and dangerous. I can feel Yelena watching too, her expression gone brittle at the edges.
Perfect. Let them both watch me.
Dmitri steers me toward the edge of the dance floor as the orchestra swells, couples spinning in elegant circles. “Care to dance?” he asks, his voice shy but hopeful.
I glance at Adrian again, then back to Dmitri. “I’d love to.”
The music wraps around us, sweet and dizzying. Dmitri’s hand settles at my waist, his steps careful and practiced. He’s not Adrian. There’s no dark pull, no threat humming beneath the surface, but I’m grateful for his kindness, for the normalcy of his touch.
“So,” Dmitri says as we move together, “how does it feel to be the best-dressed woman in the room?”
I laugh, spinning away and then back. “Flattering, and a little dangerous.”
He grins. “That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”
As we dance, I let myself relax for the first time in weeks. I feel the weight of Adrian’s stare, heavy as a hand on my skin. I imagine what he’s thinking, what he’d say if he were the one holding me. I force myself not to care.
