Page 5 of A Bride for the Bratva Boss
She swallows, gaze dropping to the Cyrillic tattoos revealed by my unbuttoned collar.
I wonder what she thinks I am. A fighter? A killer? A Monster?
All three things are true.
“I wanted to thank you,” she murmurs. “Most people just…look away.”
I step closer, slowly, giving her space to retreat. She doesn’t.
“I don’t look away,” I say, voice low, almost a growl. “I see you.
Her breath hitches. And then she asks a question I didn’t expect. “What…what’s your name?”
“Danyl.” My voice comes out even rougher than I intend.
“Danyl,” she repeats softly, like tasting it. “I’m Liza.”
I roll it over in my mind. Liza. Sweet. Soft.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. A nervous habit, both adorable and dangerous.
I want to take her face in my hands. Tilt her chin up. Kiss her until she forgets the fear that bastard caused. But I stay still. Barely. “If you’re okay, you should get back to your shift,” I say finally. This isn’t the end of our conversation, but it’s also not the place for it. We need to continue in private. And I don’t want her to lose her job because of me.
She nods, something like disappointment flashes briefly in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can make certain that’s what it was.
Before she turns away, I speak again. “If he ever touches you again,” I tell her quietly, “you come find me.”
Her eyes widen. “But how will you know”
“I’ll know.” I’ll make fucking sure one of my people watches her from now on.
She hesitates, but something in my voice convinces her and she nods slowly. “Okay.” Then she slips back through the kitchen doors and vanishes into the restaurant.
I stand in that hallway a long time after she’s gone, pulse still pounding, hands still itching for violence. When I finally leave, I know two things with absolute certainty.
I’m going to see her again.
And if anyone tries to touch her again?
I won’t just threaten them.
I’ll go for the kill.
2
LIZA
Even on a regular night I hate closing the restaurant. Cleaning crumbs and spilled food from the dining room carpet is back-breaking work. The vacuum handles the crumbs okay, but the wetter stuff needs a stiff brush and a cleaning solution. Meridian’s owner is too cheap to buy a wet vac, which would cut the cleaning time in half. Instead, I’m blotting and scrubbing and then blotting again to get the worst stains out of the carpet. And through it all, the scene from earlier plays through my mind.
Since it’s a work day, most of tonight’s customers were men. Business men closing deals, or bragging to their colleagues. I don’t know where business women go on work nights. Probably home to put their feet up and have a glass of wine with some take-out, far away from men and their nonsense.
It was a usual night of customers ordering fancy cocktails, snapping their fingers, and demanding my attention beyond just serving them food. I usually know to smile and laugh, no matter how offensive their comments are.
Dad taught me when I was young, said men pay more if you laugh at their jokes. And he was right.
I even know how to slide away from wandering and grabby hands. But tonight I was off my game because of worry.
This term’s tuition deadline is days away. Dad claimed me on his taxes, again, and so there are no grants available. And I’ve already taken out enough loans for repayments to last years beyond graduation.
