Page 15 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

Gwen lets out a shaky breath at my words, then tries to pull away, but I hold her firmly in place. "I told you, Roman. I don’t want anything to do with you. Iwon’tdo anything with you."

I can't help but chuckle at her persistence. My lips brush against her ear as I speak, "Is that so? Then why does your heart race when I'm near? Why do you shiver at my touch?"

As if on cue, a small tremor runs through her body. I smile against her skin, savoring her involuntary response.

"You can lie to yourself, Gwen, but you can't lie to me. I see right through you."

With deliberate slowness, I release my hold and step back. I spin Gwen around to face me, my hands still firmly on her waist. Her eyes meet mine, defiant yet uncertain. I can see the internal struggle playing out across her features—the desire to resist warring with the undeniable pull between us.

"You're wrong," she says, but her voice lacks conviction. "This is just an arrangement. Nothing more. I don’t like you, Roman." She puts on a mask of courage. “In fact, I hate you. You scare me. You creep me out. I want nothing to do with you.”

I lean in closer, my lips barely grazing her cheek as I speak. I shrug. "Sure,dorogaya. Whatever you say."

Gwen's hands come up to my chest as if to shove me back, but then she freezes. I can feel the rapid beating of her heart and see the flush creeping up her neck. It isn’t until her eyes reach mine that resilience finally wash over her, and she shoves me away. It doesn’t move me, and I smirk as I do the honor of stepping back myself.

“Sign the papers. I’ll let my brother know what is happening,” I tell her, not waiting for a response as I turn away.

I stride out of the kitchen, leaving Gwen in my wake. The plush carpet muffles my footsteps as I ascend the winding staircase, each step bringing me closer to my office. I step inside, the room a testament to power and refinement, with dark mahogany furnishings and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined with leather-bound tomes. The scent of aged paper and fine whiskey lingers in the air as I make my way to the imposing desk that dominates the center of the room, the city sprawling out before me through the bulletproof windows behind it.

I settle into the high-backed leather chair and reach into my pocket for my phone. I dial Victor's number. He’s not going to be too pleased to find out about the plan I made without him, but he has no choice but to deal with it. The phone rings once, twice, three times. After the sixth ring, Victor's voicemail greeting plays, his gruff voice filling the silence.

“Victor,” I say. “Need to update you on the situation. I figured out a way to give us more leverage. You won’t be toohappy to hear it, but you know you can always trust me on these things. I should also hear back from my men about those guys' names. Call me back when you can.”

I end the call and place the phone on my desk, running a hand through my hair as I contemplate the potential fallout from my decision. The weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, a familiar burden I've carried for years. But this time, it's different. This time, there's Gwen.

I rise from my chair and leave the office, quickly descending to the bottom floor. Shortly after, I make my way to the kitchen.

But Gwen isn’t there.

Confusion sinks in, briefly answered by the distant ding of the elevator, alerting me that someone has boarded it.

My heart races as I sprint towards the elevator, my mind a whirlwind of disbelief and anger. How could she be so foolish? I reach out as I manage to wedge my hand between the doors just as they're about to close. The sensors detect the obstruction, and the doors reluctantly part once more.

I step inside, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The elevator car is empty, but the lingering scent of Gwen's perfume hangs in the air, a reminder of her recent presence. My eyes dart to the illuminated panel, noting that the lobby button is lit. My jaw clenches as I slam my fist against the "Close Doors" button, willing the elevator to descend faster.

As the floors tick by, my mind races through the possibilities. What was she thinking? Where did she even plan on going? I was angry, but the anger bubbling inside me was tinged with a hint of worry. Gwen is severely underestimating the danger this city holds.

And she’s severely underestimating me and the lengths I’ll go to to have her.

The elevator finally reaches the lobby with a soft chime. I burst out, my eyes scanning the space for any sign of Gwen, but there's no flash of blonde hair among the well-dressed patrons milling about.

I stride towards the main entrance, my presence causing heads to turn and conversations to falter. The doorman straightens as I approach, a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

"Mr. Milov," he says, his voice tinged with respect and a hint of fear. "Is everything all right, sir?"

I fix him with a steely gaze. "The woman who just left. Which way did she go?"

The doorman hesitates for a moment, clearly torn between his duty to guest privacy and his fear of crossing me. "She... she hailed a cab, sir. Headed east on the Strip."

I nod curtly, pulling out my phone as I stride onto the sidewalk. The heat of the Vegas sun hits me like a wall, but I barely notice it as I dial a familiar number.

"Alexei," I bark as soon as the line connects. "I need you to track down a cab that just left the Diamond. Blonde woman, heading east. Find her. Now."

I end the call without waiting for a response. My eyes scan the bustling streets, searching for any sign of Gwen or the cab she might have taken. The cacophony of car horns, music, and chatter from passing tourists fade into the background as I focus on my mission.

My phone buzzes in my hand. It's Alexei.

"Sir, I've got eyes on the cab," he reports. "It's headed towards Fremont Street. Want me to intercept?"

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