Page 13 of Arranged Bratva Virgin

She steps inside the house, and I follow, closing the door behind us.

I watch her face as she looks around, taking the space in.

It is definitely not the luxury she is accustomed to.

She gathers up her dress in her hands. I can see that they are shaking slightly, but she is keeping it together. Should I comfort her? She is so cold towards me—I can’t imagine that she wants my comfort.

She walks through to the living room area, taking a seat on edge of the sofa. I watch her as she pulls her dress up over her legs and leans forward to undo her shoes. Her slender legs look silky and smooth, and I picture myself running my hands over them, sliding my touch beneath the layers of her dress on the inner side of her thighs.

“Who was that?” she asks, pulling me out of my daydream.

“Who?” I ask, confused.

She leans up and glares at me. “The people who just shot at us, obviously?” she says indignantly.

“Leave it alone. I will sort it out.” I don’t want to be dragged into a conversation with her about the threatening phone calls being linked to the attack. She doesn’t need to worry about that kind of stuff. That is for me to worry about and fix.

“I didn’t ask if you were going to sort it out, I asked you who it was.”

I know if I tell her it was one of the people who has been threatening me, she will tell her brothers, and they will either come rushing over here or send a car to fetch her. She is mine tonight; she does not belong to any one else right now.

“It isn’t something you have to worry about, Darya; I said I would sort it out and I will.”

She huffs and turns her attention back to her shoes, slipping her feet out of them and rubbing her hands over her feet to massage them for a moment.

“What are we going to do?” she asks without looking up at me.

I can tell she is still really shaken—despite the coldness in her body language, she looks scared. “Would you like a drink? I am going to pour myself a whiskey.”

She sighs. “Yes, thank you.”

“What would you like?”

“A whiskey on the rocks.”

I chuckle. “You never did strike me as being a whiskey girl,” I grin.

“Just another example of how you know nothing about me,” she replies with a snarky undertone.

I shake my head and walk across the living room to pull out two glasses from the bar against the wall. I pour us each a double whiskey and toss a couple of ice blocks into the golden liquid.

When I carry the drink over to Darya, I notice that she is looking around with her brows knotted together. “Here,” I say, handing her the glass.

She sips it, closing her eyes for a moment as the alcohol burns down her throat. I do the same, letting it warm my chest, and ease away some of the tension from what happened on the drive here.

“How long do you think we should wait before it is safe for us to leave here and go home?”

The look on her face is one of concern, mixed with something else that I can’t read. The way she was taking in this space, I can only imagine that it is because she is used to a far more luxurious surrounding than this. Perhaps she doesn’t want to stay here because it doesn’t meet her usual standards.

“We aren’t going back out there tonight. The car is a wreck. We will stay here, and in the morning, I’ll decide what to do. It isn’t safe to be on the road again anyway. There is nothing wrong with where we are.”

She takes a deep, frustrated breath. Is she really that shallow? This isn’t exactly a luxury villa, but it is still a very expensive and modern space.

“What? It isn’t five-star enough for you?” I say dryly, taking a bigger swig of the whiskey.

“Excuse me?” she sounds confused.

“The place—it isn’t up to your standards? You would have preferred silk sheets and gold chandeliers?” I can’t seem to hide the annoyance in my voice.

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