Page 39 of The Bratva's Forced Kidnapped Bride
“I’ll call you in a day or two with an update,” I said, not committing to anything, though I knew what the best option was.
Ending the call, I headed back up to the bedroom to deal with my biggest problem.
Chapter 29 - Masha
It took a long time to calm down, and my feelings were still in a jumble of confusion. When I looked in the mirror, I was a mess, wild-eyed and frazzled, my lower lip swollen from where I bit through it in the fall and still tingling from Anatoli’s kisses. I dabbed at the small cut and ventured out of the bathroom, ready to face whatever he had in store for me.
He was no longer in the bedroom, and the door was once again locked. The clothes I had on the day before were rumpled but surprisingly free of any blood, so I put them back on. It seemed like a lot longer than a mere twenty-four hours had passed since I shot Enzo, and I was tired after the fitful night’s sleep. Hanging Anatoli’s robe on the hook behind the bathroom door, I slid my hand down the soft fabric, half leaning toward it to breathe in his scent.
There was no way I was going to feel bad for the low blow, because there were no rules in a fight for survival. I had every reason to hate Anatoli, and yet there were too many moments when I forgot them. Maybe it was because he’d been giving me reasons not to hate him.
Saving my life in Volgograd was one thing; intervening when one of his own men turned against him to harm me was another. But he didn’t hand me over to an enemy faction, and that could cause huge, massive, atomic levels of trouble for him once they connected the dots about Enzo’s death—and they would. No matter how hard he tried to pin it on my family, instead of turning me in.
That should have worked me up all over again, but there was nothing I could do for them at the moment, and I needed to keep my wits about me. Especially when Anatoli shoved throughthe bedroom door looking like he was finally ready to be done with me, most likely by wrapping his hands around my neck and slowly squeezing.
He stood in the doorway, his eyes flaring, his hair looking like he’d run his hands through it so that it stood out in all directions. I twitched like a rabbit caught in a predator’s gaze, my muscles aching to run, but with nowhere to go and my pride the only thing left to cling to, I stood my ground and stared back at him.
He blinked first, shaking his head slowly. “I’m hungry,” he said, shocking the hell out of me. A low chuckle erupted from his throat. “You’re not on the menu, but I suspect you could probably do with a meal, too.”
To my even further shock, I discovered I was famished. Constant fighting and worry had me worn to the bone. Getting attacked by Diego seemed like a year ago, and everything in between was a blur. If Anatoli was going to be civil, I’d go along with it. No, I had no choice, but it was a nice break from having my guard up all the time.
He looked me over suspiciously, then reached out his hand as if we were divided by a chasm instead of just the space of the bedroom. “Are you all right?” he asked. I had no idea why.
“Are you?” I asked in return, remembering my sleepless night with a scowl.
It was one thing to forget I hated him when he was saving my life, but another to actually worry about the man’s life being in danger, when that was exactly where I should have wanted to put him. There. That was it. I didn’t want Enzo’s father to kill him because then I wouldn’t be able to. That made so much more sense than being concerned for Anatoli. His answer was only a raised eyebrow. So it seemed he was fine.
“Did you actually meet with Julio Santino?” I asked as I slowly advanced toward him. He stayed locked in position in the doorway, eyeing me. At this rate, we’d never get downstairs to the kitchen.
“No, I spoke with his second in command, Enzo’s uncle.”
I groaned at the growing list of family members who would want to avenge Enzo. At least Anatoli was talking to me, and in full sentences instead of grunts. When I reached him, he touched the edge of my lower lip, his fingertip skating around the small cut. Then he glanced down at my neck, his eyes narrowing as if he was remembering his faithless guard’s hands around it. My own eyes inadvertently lowered, and I opened my mouth to apologize for kneeing him in the balls, but closed it again.
Better not to bring it up while he was being somewhat friendly. Side by side, we made our way downstairs, and Anatoli shooed away the eager cook who wanted to make us something elaborate.
“Perhaps for dinner,” he said, setting about pulling sandwich meat out of the refrigerator.
As he sliced bread, I ducked behind him to look over the vegetable selection in the crisper, asking if he wanted a little salad.
“Or sliced fruit?” I asked, spying a plump mango.
“Whichever you prefer.”
I couldn’t stand the stiff formality. “I’m sorry,” I choked out.
He made a noise that could have been a laugh, but was just as easily a growl as he turned to look at me. “For what?”he asked with so much feigned confusion I couldn’t hold back a smile.
“Take your pick,” I told him, my open hands raised as if making an offering.
He made the sandwiches while I sliced pieces of mango, and after the plates were on the table, he turned and pulled a bottle of white wine from the rack on the marble counter. He raised his brows in question.
“Why the hell not,” I said, easing into my seat.
“Why the hell not, indeed,” he echoed, finding a corkscrew in a drawer.
The delicious sandwich, layered with ham and turkey, cheese and crisp lettuce, was calling to me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Anatoli’s sure hand as he twisted the corkscrew, the other hand holding the bottle steady on the table. His shirtsleeves were pushed up, revealing his muscular forearms. The same ones that had me pinned down on the bed not even an hour ago.
The cork came up with a satisfying pop, and I impatiently grabbed my glass and took a swig to cool the sudden burst of very much unwanted desire. He was doing it again, perhaps not intentionally, but I was falling under his spell.
