Page 41 of The Bratva Bosses' Surrogate

“In your dreams,” she retorts with sass, yanking her arm away from my grasp. I laugh. A low, guttural sound that has the staff turning their heads our way. They know better than to linger though.

Despite her bravado, Sofia’s eyes dart nervously around the room, a rabbit amongst wolves. A predator like me can smell fear miles away; it’s exciting.

I lean in close, my voice dropping an octave as I drawl out each word deliberately. “Darling, you should know by now. My dreams have a nasty habit of becoming reality.”

She blinks at me for a moment before rolling her eyes. Fuck if that defiance doesn’t make her more appealing.

“You’re such a cliché, you know?” she quips, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. It’s playful yet guarded, a mix of fear and curiosity.

I chuckle, leaning back into the plush seat. “Cliché or not, it works for me.”

She crosses her arms, looking around nervously. “So, what now? Are we just going to sit here and stare at each other all night?” she challenges, her voice a mix of defiance and pleading.

I shrug, a sly grin forming on my lips. “If that’s what you want.”

She lets out a small sigh and rolls her eyes. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as Sofia’s challenging words echo in my ears. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you’ve just signed up for,” I respond. The way she raises an eyebrow at that makes my blood rush. Goddamn, she’s a fiery one, and I can’t help but want to tame her.

“Bring on the surprise then,” she retorts, leaning back in her chair trying to mask her curiosity, but I can see the anticipation in her eyes.

“No worries, love. Your wish is my command,” I reply, signaling the waiter with a flick of my wrist. A six-course meal is prepared just for us tonight. Every single dish is meant to impress her, make her taste buds dance with pleasure. The same pleasure I plan on giving her later tonight.

Then comes the waiter. New face. I don’t like new faces, not in places I frequent. He’s young, too eager, and his eyes linger a bit too long on Sofia’s cleavage. My gaze locks onto his, a silent warning. One more wrong move, one more lingering look, and it’ll be his last.

I let my gaze drift over Sofia’s form, vision darkening at the way her dress clings to every curve. I’m fucking hard just watching her squirm under my look; the slight flush on her cheeks betraying her unease, but also a hint of arousal. She’s a fucking vision and every inch of her screams she’s mine.

Ignoring the itch in my pants, I motion for the waiter. Geno, his name tag reads. A slimy little shit who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, approaches us. I can’t blame him; he’s seen firsthand what happens when someone crosses me.

“Your drinks,” Geno stammers, nervously placing two crystal glasses in front of us. The amber liquid shimmers in the dim lighting, my favorite Russian vodka.

“No alcohol for the lady,” I say firmly, my gaze shifting to Sofia. I don’t want to make choices for her, but I need to look out for her, for the baby.

She’s been watching me, her gaze intense. “Um, do you have lemonade?” she asks, turning to Geno.

Geno’s reaction is a mix of disbelief and poorly masked disdain. “A lemonade?” he repeats, his tone dripping with condescension. I feel my patience fraying at the edges. His attitude is wearing thin on me; it’s taking all I have not to react more forcefully. My hands clench involuntarily, a silent testament to the controlled anger bubbling within me.

Geno’s smirk starts to waver, shrinking under my intense glare. “You heard what she asked for,” I say, my voice low and steady, yet carrying an unmistakable edge. “Bring her alemonade. Now.” My command is final, leaving no room for further insolence.

He nods, the arrogance finally wiped off his face, and he turns to carry out the order. I watch him go, feeling Sofia’s calming touch on my arm. Her presence, so gentle and reassuring, contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions within me.

I realize then how tightly I’ve balled my fists, my knuckles white. It’s Sofia’s touch that breaks the tension. Her soft hands, so gentle against my calloused skin, bring an immediate sense of calm.

I watch Sofia, her lips parting slightly as Geno heads off to get her lemonade. The sight of her, so vulnerable under my watch, stirs something primal within me. I can’t help but fantasize about tearing that dress off her, claiming her in the most carnal way possible. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, my cock throbbing at the mere thought of it.

She blinks at me, confusion flickering across her face. “What?”

“Nothing you should be concerned about, sweetheart,” I assure her with a smirk. My eyes roam over her body once again. She’s fucking beautiful and she’s all mine.

“Enjoy your...lemonade,” the idiot server says to Sofia, emphasizing the word mockingly.

My blood boils at his disrespect. For a moment, I visualize snapping his fucking neck. My grip tightens around my glass, knuckles turning white.

He takes a step back and instinctively raises his hands up in defense. That does nothing to quell the rage bubbling within me. I promised myself no one would disrespect her.

She senses the tension and lays her hand gently on top of mine. Her touch instantly cools the fury in me, bringing me back to reality.

“Thank you,” she softly tells Geno before turning towards me with a soft smile which makes my heart pound. She fucking owns me.

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