Page 27 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

“Whatever.”

He walks towards the door and stands waiting for me. Rolling my eyes again, I walk out into the hall, then down the stairs to meet whatever idiots he wants me to meet.

I’ve met all of my father’s clients and ‘friends.’ I know what type of people these mafia bosses hang out with. I guess it’s going to be a similar night to all of the parties my father has thrown. I’ll just stay quiet and wait till it’s over and do the best I can not to be bored out of my mind.

When we get downstairs and walk into his living room, I am surprised to find a family standing there. A guy, a woman and two young children.

The woman walks straight over to me. She looks around my age, maybe a few years older. “Hi, Sasha. I’m Chiara. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Um, you too,” I say, feeling oddly caught off guard.

Chiara is stunning. And she has a warm friendly smile.

“These two little ones belong to me, and this is my husband, Maxim.”

Maxim steps forward to shake my hand. They both seem relaxed and calm. I wonder if they know what is going on.

Chiara lifts her eyebrows towards Maxim. “My love, please watch the little ones. Sasha and I are going to get a drink.”

“Of course,” Maxim smiles.

“Actually. Is anyone hungry? I think we should order some food and sit down and have dinner.”

“I could eat.” Maxim shrugs.

“Me too. I’ll order. What are you in the mood for?” Asshole says.

“Asian. Anything Asian. If Sasha likes Asian?” Chiara turns towards me.

“I like Asian,” I reply carefully.

“Are you sure?” Chiara laughs. “You don’t sound sure.”

Asshole lifts his chin towards me. “You can order whatever you want, Sasha.”

The whole champagne incident at the club flashes in my memory.

“I really do like Asian. The spicy Pad Thai noodles. Or the pork dumplings.”

“Great. You guys can handle that. Come on, Sasha. I need a drink.” Chiara grabs my hands and pulls me out of the living room towards the kitchen.

Once we are alone and away from the guys, she smiles and shakes her head.

“I bet you aren’t having the best day, hey?”

“Um, not really.” I tilt my head, wondering what she knows.

“Leon told us—about the marriage.”

“Leon,” I say, remembering now that was what the priest called him.

“Leon, your, uh, husband. Leon Dubrov.”

“Dubrov?” I say, unable to hide the shock in my voice.

Of course, I have heard of the Dubrov family. Their name is very well known.

They are a powerful family, but I am sure my father hasn’t got any business with them. I don’t think he has mentioned their name for years.

---