Page 20 of Forced Bratva Wife

It wasn’t any good complaining now, so I just collected myself, took a breath, and went to the clothes on the bed. At least I could get dressed and not be freezing anymore. As I padded to the bed, naked, of course, the first thing I searched for was underwear.

Every single bag was decidedly lacking in that department.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I’d found a few bras, even a garter and matching stockings, but not a single pair of underwear. I wasn’t about to fish the ones I’d thrown out of the trash, either. Oh, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to—

But I immediately shut down that kind of thinking. Sure, I had every right to be pissed. I still was, but being that worked up wouldn’t serve me. It was like going into an emergency procedure upset or tired. That shit killed people.

I stood at the foot of the bed and breathed deeply, collecting myself. I was great under pressure, and Lev was going to find that out firsthand.

“First things first. Clothes.”

Reaching for the bag I’d knocked off the mattress, I found the simple sheer bra I’d noticed before. I was surprised to see that Lev had basically gotten the size right. It was more of a bralette, truly, with an adjustable, stretchy back. Still, the cups were actually large enough to hold my breasts comfortably.

He did get a rather intimate appraisal, though, didn’t he?

Securing the small clasp at the front of the bra, I maneuvered things around until I felt thoroughly contained by the pale pink fabric. It was soft and wouldn’t show too much behind a thin shirt. I still had the trouble of bottoms, however.

I dug through the bags again and found a thin white blouse. Yanking it on over my head, I was satisfied with how it hung over the bra, so I returned to the impromptu wardrobe for pants or something. They were in short supply, and the pair I did find were more like pajamas or workout attire.

“Of course.” I rolled my eyes, instead pulling out the black pencil shirt I’d seen before.

Slipping it on over my hips, the fit was a bit snug, but purposefully so. It hugged my curves, and as I looked over my shoulder, I noticed the small slit that ran up the back between my legs. It was a dangerous choice, considering the lack of underwear.

Still, all of the clothes Lev had picked would be just as problematic. I debated about tossing the garter in the trash with my underwear but decided against it, settling for pulling on short ankle boots that were included and a slim jacket.

The blazer-like option was thinner than a usual coat, and it fit loosely over the blouse I chose. Regardless, it provided another layer between me and Lev when I did see him again, and I smoothed my hand down the soft tan fabric.

Everything was beautifully made, and I had to admit that it must have cost Lev a pretty penny for all of it.

“Good,” I snarked to myself.

When I was good and dressed, I was ready to face the next challenge that Lev had planned for me. I just wished I had any idea about what it might be.

Chapter 11 - Lev

“Did you deliver the items?” I cocked a brow at Pietor, noting immediately that he glared at me as he shut the door behind him. The resounding click of the door against the frame was loud as I always kept the office silent, and I secretly wondered if he consistently shut the door so hard just to grate on my nerves.

“You know I did. Why are you even asking?” He growled, striding across the room toward my desk. “And I didn’t sneak a glance at your naked guest either.”

Molten surged through my veins at the thought of someone, even Pietor, getting a look at any inch of Parker’s uncovered skin. Still, I swallowed it down, turning my attention back to the books we’d taken from Pavel’s office.

He’d been cooking things for quite some time, and the evidence against him was continuing to pile up. However, they were a scatter of numbers, and keeping up with his “system” was like deciphering code- which had likely been done on purpose.

“Pavel’s office needs another look.” I glanced up at Pietor, nodding down to the chicken scratch accounting records. “This can’t be everything. It’s too squeaky clean.”

Pietor took up his usual spot, sitting across from me on the other side of my desk in the massive leather chair I’d brought to Chicago with me. As he crossed his leg over his knee, his striking, mismatched eyes stared back at me from beneath his dark brows.

“I’m assuming you mean beyond the standard loan shark BS.” Pietor draped his arms over the back of the chair, and my eye twitched ever so slightly as he fidgeted with his damn spinner ring on his middle finger.

We were cut from two very different cloths despite the shared DNA. “Obviously.”

Flipping the ledger closed, I tossed the book at Pietor over the desk, letting it slide across the surface and into his lap. He caught it easily enough and lifted it up to casually peruse the pages. Allowing the silence to grow, I looked around my office, noting more of the purposefully chosen items that I’d brought with me.

New York had an incredibly different aesthetic and atmosphere compared to Chicago. The grit was still there, but it was hidden in its unique ways. Chicago was newer money, transplants from larger families in the east. Pulling a bit of the old world with me via my décor had helped make the newness not so unsettling. It allowed me to feel at home.

And you’re a picky bastard who hated the original design on top of all that.

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