Page 8 of Unwilling Bratva Bride

“For the foreseeable future.”

She blanched, her eyes going wide. “Forever? Are you serious?”

I nodded, smirking as I chewed on the toothpick. “Deadly.”

“Can I leave to see my family? Friends?”

I considered it, knowing that once she was living with me, there was no way to keep her in the dark about what I did for a living.

“Yes, permitted that you agree to keep the conversations away from my business and with an escort there to keep an eye on things.”

She scoffed, and Adley rolled her eyes, taking a quick drink. “How am I supposed to play off some stalker watching me? People will notice that.”

I shook my head, the corners of my mouth turning down. “I assure you my men can be very discreet.”

Adley ran her eyes up and down, taking in my own change in presentation now that I wasn’t meeting a client but her. I’d ditched my smart clothes in favor of my favorite pair of jeans, twin holes in the knees, and a simple black tee. My own leather jacket was in place, and hell, welookedlike we could be a couple.

“Discreet, huh? As discreet as you? Because that’s maybe not as great a cover as you think it is.”

Another easy chuckle left me, and I just picked up my vodka and finished it off.

“Next question, sweetheart. We’ll need to be going soon if we hope to close this deal before the end of the business day.”

“Still so fucking cocky,” she replied, and I watched as a determined fire lit behind her eyes, igniting the blue enough to make it sparkle like crystal. “Fine. How exactly do you plan on paying for the bodega’s rent? It’s behind a fair amount, and frankly, you don’t look like you have the cash to handle that.”

This time, when I barked out a laugh, it actually caught me by surprise. Adley was judging me by outward appearances,and while that was understandable, it was hardly the most important determiner of someone’s ability.

“I assure you, I’ll have the payments taken care of. What’s that old saying? Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Adley rolled her eyes, and it took everything in me not to yank that pretty stare back into place.

“Right, except everyone does that.” Adley finished off her double, and despite that self-proclaimed tolerance, I was surprised that she wasn’t at least buzzing afterward. “So, what? I just take you to the bank, and you work your magic? What about keeping the place afloat? It’s not like we’re rolling in customers these days.”

“That’s unfortunate. And essentially, yes. I’ll go with you to settle the debt, and as for the future, I told you. My family and associates need a place to store items, talk shop, that kind of thing. They’ll pay monthly stipend and order food while they’re there.”

Adley’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the cogs turning inside her pretty little head. She was debating whether to say something. The look was easy enough to read. Because unlike my sweet, naïve mouse here, I read people very well. It was part of the job, and I’d gotten damn good at it.

“Spit it out, Adley.”

She grumbled, rolling her eyes before they landed on me again. “Can we please be honest? If you’re going to be my fucking husband, I think I deserve the truth.”

“Fair enough.”

“Good, so these family members of yours, whatexactlydo you mean?”

She already knew I could tell that much, but Adley wanted me to say it. She needed me to be the first one to say it so that her brain could fully process what she was really doing and what she was saying yes to.

“I mean,” I drawled, letting her hang there on the edge because I liked to watch her squirm, “the family-based organization I work for. The one that has purchased a lot of business downtown and offers protection. For a fee.”

Adley ducked her head, lowering her voice to a whisper. “The mob.”

I grinned, leaning in toward her and ghosting my lips over the shell of her ear. “The mob. Specifically, the bratva Russian one.”

She sat back in her stool, widening the space between us, and she looked up at me with the oddest expression. Adley’s face was tilted low, and she chewed on her lip. She blinked slowly, and her breathing hadn’t shot through the roof either.

Trying to work on your poker face? Not bad.

“Thoughts, sweetheart?”

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