Page 52 of Bratva Knight

“Nikolai, please. Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, Tati.” He picked up his clothes and started putting them back on.

“You’re not?”

“No.” He didn’t look mad, and I knew Nikolai well enough to know when he was angry, so I was inclined to believe him. But he was definitelysomething.

“Then what are you doing?” I asked, watching him closely. “We don’t have to stop. We can still have fun.”

He chuckled humourlessly. “I don’t just want to have fun with you, Tati.” He stood in front of me fully clothed, looking at me with complete and utter seriousness. “I wantallof you. I want every single part of you, not just your body or the parts you’re only willing to give. I wanteverything. The good, the bad and every beautiful, precious moment in between. You’re not ready to give that to me now, and I understand. I do. I broke your trust and you’re scared to let me back in. But hear me now, Tatiana Vera Andreeva. I will never stop trying to get back what we had. What I destroyed. I will wait my entire fucking life for you. Because you’re worth every single second of that wait, no matter how agonising it is.”

Chapter Fifteen

Tatiana Andreeva

“So,youthinkyou’reready to serve your first customer?”

I put on a fake smile as I looked at Belinda, the woman who was training me at Rise and Grind cafe, trying to act more excited than I actually was. I had the worst sleep I’d had in a long,longtime the night before. I was a big, hot, fucking mess. Pent up from all of the sexual activities of our strip poker game with absolutely no relief.

Believe me, I’d tried.

After Nikolai left me sitting naked on that table—something I never envisioned him doing—I retreated back to the safety of my bedroom. He had every right to stop things before they went any further. I couldn’t offer him what he wanted, even though the more time I spent with him, the more my cold heart thawed. Despite the fact that I grew closer and closer to forgiving him for what happened, I still couldn’t bring myself to trust him again. To trust that he would be there for me when I needed him. To depend on him. I wasn’t sure I ever would.

I’d taken a cold shower in the hope that it would quell the burning arousal our game had caused. It didn’t do shit. I went to bed as horny as a man who’d just taken a boatload of Viagra.

In the morning, we acted like the entire thing didn’t happen, avoiding the subject like the plague and going about our day as usual. We made small talk that wasn’t the least bit awkward, despite what happened the night prior. He told me about his plans to check out prospective clients for the Bratva, and I told him about how much I was looking forward to my first trial shift at the café.

We took a quick tour of the grounds at FIT so I could get a feel of the campus. I was surprised he wanted to come with me, to be honest. I really didn’t think it’d be his thing. But he followed me around like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

He showed interest in everything I pointed out, everything I was excited by. He asked me question after question, even though fashion was not something he was even remotely interested in.

Regardless of the fact that he was extremely well off, he dressed plainly—usually in black or greys—and very casual. He wasn’t the type to give a shit about labels, designer clothing. If it fit, he wore it. Plain and simple. His clothes were more for practicality than aesthetics. It didn’t always work out that way, though. He looked good in everything he wore regardless.

After we’d done a few laps of campus and peeked into some of the lectures, he walked me across the street to the café with the promise that he’d be back in the afternoon to pick me up when my shift was over.

I’d then spent the day learning the ins and outs of the café from Belinda. I learnt how to make coffee (which I was shit at) and how to work the register (which I was shit at). And I learnt how to carry a tray properly, so I didn’t spill the drinks or food (which I was actuallygoodat. I had perfect balance).

They were all mundane tasks I’d never really done before. But I had the will and determination to fine-tune those skills, because I hated being bad at something. It was the perfectionist in me.

The café was a boujee little place with lots of high-end furnishings and beautiful décor. The tables were set up nicely in a certain order that soothed that slightly chaotic part of my mind. Scents of coffee, chocolate and freshly-baked pastries filled the air. There was a certain calmness and relaxation to it that instantly welcomed and enveloped you. It made you feel like you were at home, surrounded by the people you loved.

The truth of it was, I kinda liked the place. It was the whole “serving people” aspect that was getting on my fucking nerves. The customers I’d seen come through so far majored in asshole-ry. There were a couple of nice ones, sure. But ninety percent of them were uppity little douchebags who thought being nice was something waitstaff didn’t deserve. And the worst part of it? The waitstaff justtookit, letting people speak to and treat them like trash because they were afraid of losing their tips or their job. That was something I was really going to struggle with. Calling people out when they were being dickheads was something I thoroughly enjoyed.

Belinda nudged me playfully, a smile on her heart-shaped lips. She was the manager of the café, and the one who interviewed me before the trial shift started.

She was definitely my kind of vibe: young, but kind of a hardass, funny, flirty, quick-witted. Her sense of humor matched mine to a tee. She was dressed in the same black uniform as me, an apron tied around her waist. She had beautiful dark skin and long, flowing dark hair.

“Come on, you’ve gotta serve someone eventually,” she joked, pouring a cup of coffee and placing it on a tray. She passed it off to another waitress before turning back to me. “Why don’t you try that couple in the corner booth over there? They look nice.”

Her twat radar must be off because they definitely did not look nice. I clocked them the second they walked in. He was arrogant and obnoxious, and she was rude and bitchy.

“Maybe not.” I knew my limits. There would be no stopping me if they treated me like absolute shit. I’d cut a bitch.

“Well, too bad. You don’t get to pick your customers. Go,” she said sternly, pointing a finger. I groaned, picking up one of the tablets we used to place the orders and making my way over to them.

“Hello, my name is Tatiana. I’ll be serving you today.” Mr Douche looked at me with seedy eyes. It made my skin fucking crawl. “Did you want to start off with any drinks?”

“I want a caramel latte. Cream and three sugars,” Mrs Douche demanded.Because please is too fucking hard to say.“And two slices of avocado toast.”

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