Page 5 of The Bratva's Hostage

“Here you go, love,” the attractive barman said. “There’s enough vodka and gin in there to knock out a baby elephant. You’re welcome.”

I was about to reply, but a deep rumbling voice sounded behind me, interrupting me, and filling me with a thousand tingles all over. “A peculiar choice of drink. I hope you’re not driving tonight?”

I turned to look at a handsome man with a square jaw and forest-green eyes. His thick brown hair was disheveled, but that only added to his style. He towered over me even though I was sitting on a high stool. He smiled and put his glass of whiskey down at the bar next to me, oozing a primal sex appeal.

“You look familiar,” he said, his eyes glinting with flirtation.

I laughed behind my glass. “Oh wow, that’s a rather cliche line.”

The man shrugged, his broad shoulders catching my attention and making me think they would be a nice place to rest my legs. What’s wrong with me? I looked at him again. He looked familiar, but I was distracted by those prominent cheekbones and that gorgeous face.

“You’re beautiful,” he said without preamble.

I took a sip of my drink and smiled back, thinking of how to respond to his brazen flirtations. I found his Russian accent intriguing—

Russian accent…

I turned back to the man and my stomach flipped as my brain finally stopped thirsting and connected the dots of recognition. It was a face I had only seen in blurry photos on my father’s table… and recently in the glint of the moonlight in a shadowy office.

Maksim Wolkov, the Pakhan of the Wolkov Bratva was sitting next to me. They were the sworn enemies of our family, and he was the last person I thought I would meet here.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, a hint of worry on his ridiculously attractive face. He didn’t seem to know who I was. Good. I could use this to my advantage.

I nodded and took a long sip from my glass to calm my nerves. I smiled a coy smile at him. “Nothing is wrong… I’m just wondering what would happen when the owner of that seat you’re in returns.”

A cocky grin spread over his face. “I assure you; you’d love to find out. I’m not leaving unless you tell me to do so. So, should I leave?”

I watched him over the top of my glass, enjoying the hunger in his eyes. “You can stay if you want,” I teased. “But I refuse to be held responsible for whatever comes next.”

He laughed boisterously then emptied his glass. He gestured for the barman to top up his drink and turned back to face me. “I assure you, kitten, that I can handle myself. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

I shrugged noncommittally and took a sip from my glass. It was quite a strong drink, and I felt its effects rushing through me, leaving a slight buzz in my head. I turned to find him watching me intensely.

“I apologize,” he said, “It appears I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Maksim…” He leaned forward, dropping his voice lower than a whisper. “Maksim Wolkov.”

I took another sip. “You might be treading dangerous waters, Maksim Wolkov.”

He chuckled, still not catching on to my veiled threats. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

“I’m not afraid. But it’s cute that you worry about me.” He said the words like he was reading me a love letter.

I leaned even closer. I had him right where I wanted him to be. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe I just wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. In a voice even lower than his, I whispered, “And what if I told you the man you spoke of was Don Armando Moretti?”

The grin faded from his face and his eyes shot up immediately, scanning the crowd quickly. I turned back to my drink, smiling pleasantly with myself as I drained the glass. I gestured for another drink and the barman gave me a charming smile.

I turned to see Maksim frowning. “Who are you?” All the humor had left his voice, and the flirty man disappeared like a discarded mask.

“Elena Moretti,” I said, satisfied.

He nodded. “Ha! I’ve been flirting with Armando’s hidden princess?”

I shrugged again.

“It seems the old man has decided to add you to the fray. Why? Why now?” His tone was musing as if he had forgotten about me.

The barman returned with my drink, and I was about to take a sip when Maksim snapped his fingers. I turned to see a hard, menacing expression in his eyes.

He leaned in dangerously close. “No wonder I recognized you. It all makes sense now,” he snarled. “You broke into my office two weeks ago. I should have known. Your lips… that sweet, little mole.” He stood up, towering over me again. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

---