Page 37 of Unleashed

I sigh and don’t respond as he continues. “I have enemies, and so do you. For now, we're keeping our distance. You've got a lot to do around here. You don't know anybody in this house, and before the accident, you had work you were going to do for me."

I feel his heat behind me as he approaches, but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet. “What do you do for work?” I ask. “You said you’re Bratva.”

I see them then. Familiar faces swimming in my mind’s eye. One with tattooed markings along his inner arm, another man so big he fills a doorway. I screw up my face, try to conjure up more vivid details, but it’s gone as fast as it came. A flicker of memory, then.

I want to cry.

“Yeah,” he says behind me. I hear the telltale squeaky sound of drawers opening. “My operations span a lot. Black market shit. Drugs. We own a few clubs and lots of real estate throughout all of Russia, not just Moscow.”

“And Zalivka?”

“In our pockets.”

I nod. “And America?”

“We have property in America, as well, yes, but I prefer staying here in Russia.”

Right. I nod. He manages properties, clubs, and illegal activities that pad his family’s pockets.

I take a deep breath. The scent of cinnamon and coffee lingers in the air, and my stomach rumbles. Someone’s up.

I swallow, staring out the window from my gilded cage. Inside this well-appointed room, I have everything I could desire. It’s a suite fit for a queen. I almost feel selfish asking for more, but it’s normal and natural to want freedom, friends… family.

I let my gaze wander outside. A wall of tall, sturdy pines, as dependable and impenetrable as he is, line the estate.

I hold my head up high and stand to my full height, bracing myself on the windowsill. “You said I’m your wife. Then maybe it’s time you treat me like that.” I turn to face him. “I want out of this room. Crutches. An appointment with the doctor so I can ask my questions.” I swallow hard. “I want to meet your family.”

A shadow crosses his features before he answers.

“There's always a threat, Anissa," he says. "I'm not letting you walk right into danger. You don’t have to work, but I’ve already accepted that you’d want to.”

He’s bare-chested and sexy as fuck, as he prowls over to me.

I turn away from him, purse my mouth, and gaze out at the evergreens. “Very generous of you,” I mutter. “For fuck’s sake. I’m so over—” I gasp when his palm slams against my ass. I turn around, my cheeks flaming.

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

“I just did. Don’t sass me, and I won’t.”

“Oh, is that all?” I ask as his eyes flash at me.

“No. Definitely not.”

I scowl at him and open my mouth to argue—to tell him he has no right to tell me what to do, but something in his expression stops me.

This… bossiness… I’ve encountered it before. This feeling of imprisonment… it isn’t foreign either.

Who else made me feel this way? Was it him? Or someone else? I don’t know.

I cross my arms on my chest, even as heat rises in my belly, and I feel a strange, albeit maddening, attraction to his dominance. "Just so you know, when I get stronger? I amnothelpless."

"I know," he says, his tone softer but still rigid. "But until we know more, you're staying here where I can keep you safe."

This feels familiar… the same story, just a different day. Every response, every feeling… I’ve felt it all before.

The delectable smells wafting from the kitchen make my mouth water. My belly flips. I'm hungry. “Do I get to eat breakfast, or should I wait until you spoon-feed me?”

Why does that narrow-eyed look make me shiver?

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