Page 34 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

My hand finds its way to his neck, my fingers tangling in his dark, luscious hair. His breathing is ragged, and both of us are breathing heavily. By mistake, my elbow hits his waist, and he moans. Suddenly, I pull back, angry at myself for having hurt him.

“No,” he whispers, trying to pull me back.

My heart pounds wildly in my chest. I don’t want this to stop either, but I look at all the blood, all the bandages, and think better of it. I shake my head wistfully, lean over to kiss his cheek, and whisper, “I think we better make sure you get all better first. We’ve got our whole lives ahead for everything else.”

I see a glisten of promise and hope in his eyes as he registers the words. He nods gently and sits back against the couch to let me finish what I started.

The silence between us is heavy with unspoken questions as I keep working, but the curiosity nips at my thoughts like a persistent itch.

“Damien,” I begin hesitantly, my voice wavering slightly. “What happened to you? How did you get so hurt?”

He looks away, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he grapples with whether or not to share his secret. Finally, he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before meeting my gaze again. “These underground fights can get dangerous. My opponent cheated. He hid something under his gloves... it’s what caused most of the damage.”

I blink, startled by his confession. My mind races, trying to reconcile the image of the cool, calculating strategist with the man who willingly throws himself into such a dangerous hobby. “But why do you do it?” I need to know.

“It started back in Russia,” Damien explains. “It was a way to cope with losing my parents, then it became a way to handle the pressures of our family business, a way to blow off steam. When we moved to America, I just couldn’t leave it behind. It became a part of who I am.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” I ask, unable to mask my concern. “Knowing how dangerous it is, knowing what could happen to you?”

“Of course it does,” he admits, his eyes darkening with a mixture of vulnerability and defiance. “But it’s also exhilarating. It makes me feel alive in a way that nothing else can. And besides,” he adds with a wry smile, “it’s not as if our lives are without danger, even outside the ring.”

I can’t argue with that logic—after all, we both know firsthand the risks that come with being a part of the mafia. But still, I can’t shake my unease. “Promise me you’ll be careful,” I whisper, my fingers tightening around his as if I could somehow anchor him to safety.

Damien’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the weight of his world seems to lift from his shoulders. “I promise,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand. “I won’t let anything happen to me.”

“Good,” I reply, relief washing over me like a soothing balm.

I finish up and return with a glass of water for him. I hand it to him. “Drink,” I order.

“Genevieve,” he says suddenly after finishing the water. “I have a business meeting tomorrow with some important associates. It’s crucial to our operations.”

“Okay,” I reply cautiously, unsure where he’s going with this.

“Given my... condition,” he continues, gesturing at his bandaged torso, “I could use your assistance. Your keen mind might be invaluable.”

“Are you asking me to come with you?” I ask, surprised by the invitation.

“Yes,” he admits, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I admit I was wrong when I thought you couldn’t handle our world, but today, you showed me you’re far more capable than either of us know. I think it would be valuable for you to see firsthand how we operate, and I trust your judgment. Besides,” he adds with a small smile, “We’re married now. It’s only natural we support each other in all aspects of our lives.”

His words send a warm sensation through my chest, and I find myself eager to accept his offer. “I’d be honored to accompany you, Damien.”

Chapter 13 - Damien

I wince as Genevieve and I step out of the warehouse, my body aching more than before from last night’s underground fight. The morning sun pierces my eyes, and I shade my vision with my hand.

“The adrenaline’s worn off,” Genevieve explains kindly, helping me into the back of Lev’s car.

“Where to?” Lev asks from the driver’s seat.

“Home first,” I command. “Then the meeting.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital, Brother?” Lev smirks mischievously.

“Just get me back home,” I insist in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

I notice Genevieve and Lev exchange worried glances in the rearview mirror.

“What?” I ask coldly, keeping my eyes fixed on Lev.

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