Page 1 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

Chapter 1 - Emory

I’d been preparing for this moment for years and was still so nervous that my stomach was in knots. I fast-tracked through school to finish early, put in years of 24/7 all-nighters, and garnered a reputation among my peers as the rising star of my graduating class. And still, I was sitting at a bar, trying to calm my nerves with a drink.

A poor coping mechanism, I’m aware.

Flidding with the ring on my right middle finger, I spun it around until the bartender returned with the beer I’d ordered. It seemed like the best choice, considering I needed to be up early—it had lower alcohol content and waseasier to sip on.

I was sure Dr. Bailey would have a field day if he knew I was out getting a beer to cope with nerves before seeing my first patients tomorrow. But what the good old proprietor of my practice didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Though I’d probably end up blabbing about it to him anyway, Dr. Bailey made you want to spill your guts whenever you were in the room long enough with him, which I supposed was the earmark of a great psychologist. I just hoped that one day, I would be up to his level.

I was a clinical psychologist starting tomorrow, and it was in my plans to achieve psychiatrist status so that I could prescribe medications for my patients after another two years in practice.

You’re fine, Emory. Just breathe. The brain works better when it is oxygen-rich.

It was a familiar mantra, but one that worked thanks to some good old-fashioned conditioning. My father had been thefirst to start saying it to me, and if it worked for the brain surgeon, it should damn well work for me, right?

“Breathe, Emory. Take in the oxygen and breathe out the rest. You just need to steady yourself. Remember, that’s all it takes to get from a tiny house in Milan to America.”

Shaking my head, I took a sip of the beer, trying to forget how disappointed my father would be in me if he saw me here in a bar. I mean, hell, he wasn’t all that pleased that I’d gone into the mental health profession and not “real medicine” like him and Mom.

Okay, you need to get out of your head. Go put on some tunes and relax.

With one more sip, I stood up from the bar and walked over to the jukebox just to the left of the long stretch of wooden bar. But when I got there, the light that usually illuminated the screen was dark.

I looked over at the bartender, raising a hand to get his attention. “Umm, what’s wrong with the machine?”

He glanced over for half a second and gestured at the stage near the opposite end of the room.

“Band’s coming on. No jukebox till after.”

Raising my brows in understanding, I saw a person on the stage getting things set up. After a few moments, they finished, hurrying off the stage as the band in question rushed on.

Before I could even blink, booming music ripped through the bar, filling it to bursting point with a concussive sound that had my ears ringing. I could feel the bass in my chest, and that desire to just sit and relax was promptly squished.

“Well, fuck.”

I couldn’t even really hear myself say the words, so I just ambled back over to my seat at the bar, intent on chugging the remainder of my beer and leaving. However, as I sat down and reached for it, a massive hand came down over the mouth of the bottle, pushing it back down to the bartop before it could hit my lips.

“Excuse me. What do you think you’re—”

Turning toward the person who stood at my right, I came face to face with quite possibly the largest man I’d ever seen. He stood at least six feet tall, and his broad shoulders blocked out most of the scene behind him.

I was struck momentarily, locked in a fascinated stare, trying to take in everything this imposing figure had to offer. He wore a black leather jacket over top of a black tee, the fabric of which smoothed over a muscled abVladen that would put more pro athletes to shame.

My voice caught in my throat, and I found it exceedingly difficult to swallow as the man’s golden brown eyes lasered into me. They were so striking, the color so bright it was almost yellow.

Finally, I found my words as I attempted to take my drink back from the man.

“What are you doing? I can promise you this is my drink.”

The man rolled his golden eyes, sighing in a hard grumble that was vaguely unnerving. However, he yanked the bottle away and set it on the other side of the bar.

“Hello?” My temper flared justifiably. “What’s your problem?”

I was left hanging for several seconds again. The man who’d taken my beer patted the top of the bar, getting thebartender’s attention. When the man walked over, he gestured at the discarded beer bottle, shaking his head as he pointed with his thumb in a distinct “get it out of here” move.

Before I could speak again, the man held up a finger, ordering another one for me. I was utterly confused at this point, and when the drink thief turned back to me, he held up a hand for me to wait.

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