Page 75 of Brutal Bratva King

“Look, man, I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot going on. I read the email. You can go ahead with that. You’ve done a good job on the report.”

He smiles tightly. “Great. Thanks.” He says, his shoulders dropping a bit as though tension has shifted out of them.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to be an asshole.”

“Seriously, it’s honestly no problem.” Benni nods but still looks nervous.

I sigh and walk away.

My face must look like thunder because that’s how I feel inside.

I head down to my car, wondering how to deal with this situation. Wondering for the hundredth time.

Usually, I can just demand things. I can push and get what I want. Anya is different. I have no idea how to deal with her.

The more I push, the more she pulls away. If I’m nice—she pulls away—if I give her space—she pulls away. All she’s been doing lately is pulling away from me and I’m starting to get really desperate.

I have arranged for the chef to come in this evening because I want to create a romantic dinner at home for her. She’s been spending her free time in the library, so if she’s there again this afternoon, it will give me plenty of time to set up the dining room without her knowing about it.

She’s always there—I sigh.

I miss her so fucking much it’s making me stressed. I never knew a woman would ever have this effect on me. Evenwhen I first saw Anya—from that first moment—the instant obsession I had with her—I never knew it was capable of becoming this intense. This deep.

I need to know what the fuck is going on with her before I explode.

I was right. She’s in the library. She was tucked away in a book and fell asleep on the armchair. Quietly, I close the door so that any noises from downstairs don’t disturb her.

I can have the dining room set up in an hour and the chef kindly did most of the preparation before he arrived, so he also only needs an hour.

If everything goes according to plan, she won’t wake up before then.

I hurry to create a special atmosphere. Stringing fairy lights across the doorway and lighting candles all around the room. There are over fifty candles burning by the time I’m done.

There is a giant bouquet of white Raisas in the center of the table and I smile looking at my own work because it reminds me of our wedding day. It wasn’t the perfect day because Anya wasn’t the most willing of brides—but it was the start of something perfect.

Well—I don’t know anymore.

She might be over it and me and be wanting to throw it all away.

My stomach knots.

The chef calls my name, distracting me from a moment of panic.

“We are ready to set the table, sir.”

“Perfectly timed. You can go ahead and put the food out. I’ll go and fetch my wife.”

I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Nervous excitement rushes through me. I push the library door open and Anya stirs awake.

“Oh, my word. It’s dark already,” she says in horror, sitting up too quickly.

I chuckle. “It’s ok. I closed the door and made sure it was quiet so that you could rest while I set up a surprise for you downstairs.”

“Oh,” she says tightly.

I hold out my hand and she takes it, but she’s stiff and formal.

I pull her against me, hugging her, but the tension doesn’t leave her body.

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