Page 35 of Dark Bratva Christmas
Pussy is pussy.
But the look on Caterina’s face has me rethinking my own fucking thoughts.
“I promise you’re the only woman on my arm tonight.”
She scoffs. “I better be; it's already going to be bad enough hearing what people have to say about us. The last thing I need is rumors about you cheating, too.”
For a moment, I detect a hint of jealousy in her voice. I almost point it out, just to torture her, but instead, I keep my mouth shut and escort my wife into the ballroom.
I wrap my arm around her waist and hold her close while we hand in our invitation, all eyes turning to look at us—the two heirs to the most prominent bratva families in the city walking arm in arm, a wedding ring with a thick diamond on Catarina’s finger.
The room quiets as everybody takes in the sight, realizing the weight of what they're seeing. Some of them are probably shocked we’re together, and others are shocked we had the balls to show our faces here.
“Do you think we have their attention?” Catarina whispers under her breath as a few people turn and stare, immediately whispering about us when we're ahead of them.
“I’d say so.” I lead her to the dance floor, where a few other couples are not paying us any attention as they waltz together to a jaunty classical music melody played by the live band.
I hold a hand out for her with a smile, and she places it gently in mine. “Shall we dance?”
“We shall,” Catarina says, eyeing me. “But don’t think I want to.”
“Trust me,” I grunt. “I don’t want to.”
You’re lying.I jar myself with the thought, and then push it away. Fuck that. I’m just here for the performance. Nothing more.
I twirl Catarina in rhythm with the music, not letting my guard down once. My men are surrounding us, but I still feel the vulnerability here. We’re sending a message, and my fucking back is exposed to the world in the middle of it.
As is my child’s.And my wife’s.
But she’d rather be here with him.
Fuck!
Why is my head spinning around this? I knew this when I agreed to marry this woman. I knew she’d always yearn for someone else.Why the hell is it bugging me now? Because I fucked her?
Goddamn, I need to get my head on straight.
As the song ends, I grab a hold of Catarina's hand, our fingers linking with each other while I guide her through crowds ofpeople. I spot Peter and one of my enforcers, Bogdin, and pass her off.
“Keep an eye on her,” I grit out, grabbing a glass of champagne and downing it. “I need to get some air.” I don’t bother to see what her reaction is going to be. I don’t give a shit.
I slip back through the crowd, grabbing another glassful on the way to the outdoor patio. I step through the door and let the harsh winter air slap me across the face. I fucking hate the way I feel right now.
And once again, it’s herfault.
“You’re away from your wife?” a voice calls out from behind me. I turn to see Mauricio Vitale, in the flesh, joining me alone outside.
“Well, if it’s not the Italian-Russian mutt joining me,” I mutter, not bothering to hide my fucking disgust.
“Here I am.” He doesn’t blink at the insult. His dark hair is slicked back like mine, his bright blue eyes giving away the Russian, but his strong Italian nose remains. I’ve heard rumors he’s vicious.
But he hasn’t reached his full potential at only thirty-four.
And also doesn’t know the potential he has with his birthrights.
The more I look at him as he downs his drink, the more I realize he might have a bigger target on his back—and might be my greatest enemy. And those only approach in public spaces like this.
“What do you want?” I demand, taking a long draw of my drink. “You should know better than to fuck with me here.”
