Page 24 of The Lazarov Bratva

Mara’s face darkens immediately as I turn away, but I don’t care.

“You’re just a guest here,” she calls suddenly. “Remember that.”

“So are you,” I call back. “Until he finds someone younger.”

She’s a snake, thinking she can use her good looks and status to get exactly what she wants at a flutter of her lashes, but I know better. I know her, and her flirting is nothing but sandpaper to me.

She’s not the Orlova I want.

2

ALENA

Kristof is here.

I’ve not seen him in months.

Every time he’s here, he consumes me. I want to spend all my time in his presence just listening to him talk, listening to all his stories, and hoping he’ll look my way just once. Every time he’s near, my heart skips a beat and my mind runs with the constant want to be seen by him as if there’s nothing else worth my time. He doesn’t even notice me, not in the way I want him to.

All those desires and more rose to insane levels last year when he saved me from Mikhail and stole my first kiss on my eighteenth birthday.

But then he leaves.

He always leaves as work for my father calls him away, and it’s like light is stolen from my life. My world is darker and quieter, with nothing to distract me but the stories I pour all my attention into. I tell myself that each time I see him is the last time, and I hope that time apart will quell the storm of emotions he creates inside me. I force myself to dream of these things, trying to stamp out the fantasy that he will save me from this life and my impending doom. Sometimes, I’m successful and wake up certain that my feelings have faded.

And then he comes back. One whiff of his leather jacket, one glimpse of those incredibly sexy arm tattoos, and every desire I have for my godfather comes roaring back to life inside me.

It’s not normal. But my life isn’t normal, not by a long shot.

My hurried steps carry me through the house, each foot lighter since I crashed into Kristof and realized he was in the house. Here to see my father, that’s the only reason for these snatched visits, but all it took was that one touch for me to forget all sense. If I weren’t desperately seeking out my best friend and trusted maid, Katja, I probably would have stayed there and stared at him until something took him away.

The solid line of his body I felt from our collision lingers against my skin, and his musk of leather and oil teases my nose with each panted breath. He’s really here. Kristof is here, and excitement bubbles inside me like fizz, and all the feelings I’ve carefully locked up in his absence come bursting forth.

It’s overwhelming, and I can’t keep the grin from my face when I reach the art room. Stumbling inside, I close the door and lock it behind me, then slump against the wood, my heart hammering. Every quiet dream and fantasy of him rescuing me from this prison of a house and my looming wedding floods to the front of my mind. Clutching my book to my chest, I sigh softly and then yelp when something soft thumps against my shoulder.

“Alena!”

My eyes snap open in time to catch the cushion Katja launched at me. She’s seated by one of the easels, another cushion clasped in her lap, and she fixes me with a pointed stare.

“Katja! I’m sorry, I—” Darting forward, I drop to my knees on the hardwood floor and shove the cushion back into her lap as I laugh. “Kristof is here. I ran into him. Literally.”

“Oh, God.” Katja groans and rolls her eyes with a smile. She has spent many nights listening to me go on and on about him. Katja is my only friend, my only light in a house where I’m little more than a chess piece being shunted about for the good of the family.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Rocking back onto my ankles, I sigh and glance past Katja to the windows that show the rolling beauty of the back gardens illuminated by hundreds of small garden lights. “He was so… so him.”

“Remember two weeks ago when you were so over him and determined to focus on Mikhail?” Katja pointed out, prodding me lightly in the chest. “When you were going to be the good little wife?”

I groan low and throw myself backward, lying flat on the floor. “Past me had no idea he was going to turn up here. He smelled so fucking good, and he touched my arm and I— there was a second when I was staring up at him, and all I could think about was that kiss.”

One hand went to the pendant around my neck, a gift from Kristof on the same night he kissed me. I haven’t taken it off since, and it serves as a reminder that someone here saw worth in me, even if it was fleeting.

“It’s been nearly a year,” Katja pointed out gently.

“I know.” Sighing, I close my eyes. “He’s barely spoken a word to me since, not even coming to see me. I mean he has been busy?—”

“But,” Katja cut in, “we agreed that it’s not healthy for you to obsess over him for so long.”

I sit up slowly and eye Katja, who wears her most serious face. A beat of silence passes, and then we both burst out laughing and clutch at each other.

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