Page 19 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

On Tuesday, four days after the night of the casino and three after our marriage, she comes into my office one morning. I’m about to head out to tend to business.

Yesterday, Victor and I contacted Luther Winchester, the eldest brother of the three men we encountered, telling him we wanted to discuss the ransom. We, of course, don’t plan on giving him the money. Instead, we’ll get into his head, telling him that Luka is away, but we’ll put in a good word for when he gets back and work something out. It’ll kill us enough time to figure out more about them so we can find out where they’re keeping Riley and then proceed to dismantle their entire syndicate, one by one.

However, Gwen’s presence surprises me, so I can’t help but stay.

“Roman,” she says, her voice firm as she crosses her arms. “I need to go back to campus. I can’t just sit here and do nothing all day.”

I immediately shake my head. “Not a chance. We still don’t have any leads on the people after us, and I won’t risk your safety. You’re staying here.”

She glares at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You can’t keep me locked up like a prisoner. I won’t allow it.”

“Locked up?” I arch an eyebrow, leaning against the counter casually. “You have access to everything here. It’s more of a luxury than a prison, I assure you.”

“A luxury isn’t being married to a complete stranger so you can get your kidnapped friend back,” She argues.

At this, a smile makes its way to my face. Rounding my desk, I close the distance between us, looking down at her.

"Is that what I am to you, Gwen? A complete stranger?" I ask, my voice low and husky. I can see how her breath catches, the slight dilation of her pupils as I invade her personal space. "Because I don't think that's entirely true."

She steps back, but I match it, maintaining our proximity. "What are you talking about?" she asks, her voice wavering slightly.

"I've seen the way you look at me, silly girl," I murmur, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She flinches at the touch but doesn't pull away. "The way your breath quickens when I'm near. The flush in your cheeks right now." I trace a finger along her jawline, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. "You're drawn to me, just as I am to you. There's no use denying it."

Gwen's eyes flash with defiance, even as her body betrays her. "You're delusional," she spits out, but there's a tremor in her voice that tells me otherwise. "I don't feel anything for you, Roman."

I chuckle, the sound low and dark. "Keep telling yourself that, Moya Lyubov. But we both know the truth." I lean closer, my lips barely grazing her ear as I whisper, "You're mine now,Gwen. The sooner you accept that the easier this will be for both of us.”

Gwen's eyes widen, a mixture of anger and something deeper, more primal, flashing in their depths. She takes a step back, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"You're insufferable," she hisses, but I can hear the slight tremor in her voice. "I'm not some possession for you to claim. This arrangement is temporary, nothing more."

I can't help but smirk at her defiance. It's adorable how she thinks she can resist this connection between us. "Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but no words come out. I can see the conflict raging behind her eyes, the way she struggles to reconcile her attraction to me with her desire to maintain control.

For a moment, I don’t say anything. Our faces are inches apart. I can feel her breath on my lips, the heat growing in my crotch, and see the way she begins to shudder under my stare. I’m having fun teasing her this way, proving that no matter how hard she tries to convince me of one thing, her expressions and body tell another story.

I watch as a swallow works its way down her throat. “Please, Roman,” she says quietly, “I’m going insane. I need to study. I can’t afford to fall behind. Please.”

Her plea strikes a chord in me. I can see the fire in her eyes, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. I don’t want to see her cooped up and restless like this.

Still, the fire inside of me doesn’t die down. A smirk finds my face. “I like it when you beg,” I tease, my fingers snaking to rest on her hip. “All right. Since you asked so politely, how aboutwe do this: You can continue your studies online. You’ll have everything you need here. You’re not leaving here, but you’ll get what you want—only this time.”

Her surprise is evident, and for a moment, I think I might have won her over. She stares at me, her expression softening before she nods, though the stubbornness remains. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” I say, brushing her cheek with my thumb. I’d love to stay here and talk to her more, perhaps even get rid of this growing erection of mine, but I have business to attend to shortly. “I’ll be back later,” I tell her as I walk by her. “I’ll get one of my men to stop by your dorm this afternoon and get all your belongings.” With that, I walk away.

***

The neon sign of Rouge flickers faintly in the sunlight, casting an eerie red glow across the grimy sidewalk. Victor and I stand before the weathered wooden door, the muffled thrum of bass pulsing from within. I adjust my cufflinks, the cool metal a stark contrast to the humid Vegas air.

"Remember," Victor mutters, his eyes scanning the street, "we're here to play nice. For now."

I nod, my jaw clenching as I push open the door. The stench of stale beer and cheap perfume assaults us as we step inside. The bar is dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air like a shroud. A few patrons slouch over their drinks, their hollow eyes barely registering our presence.

Luther Winchester sits in a corner booth, flanked by two burly men whose bulging jackets poorly conceal their weapons. His eyes narrow as we approach, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well," Luther drawls, gesturing for us to sit. "If it ain't the Milov boys. Come to talk business?"

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