Page 4 of Forced Innocent Bratva Bride

“No, can do, mister,” came my quick response, a faint grimace settling on my face.

“Then I'm afraid you're stuck with me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Now wouldreallybe a good time for Ravyn to show up and save the day because this man was becoming unbearable.

“What's going on here?” A thick masculine voice that sent tremors down my spine and stole my breath came from behind me.

I turned to face the speaker, and my heart skipped a beat as my eyes settled on him. This man, dressed up in an impeccably tailored black suit, stood tall in front of me, his piercing blue eyes locked on me like a hook to a fish. His dark hair simmered under the chandelier's soft glow, his imposing frame accentuating his ruggedness.

With a stern expression, he glared at me, his jaw subtly clenching.

“I…I…I didn't know she was with you, sir.” Geoffrey's words tumbled out of him in a nervous rush, his eyes widening in shock and fear.

His hands trembled as his gaze dropped to the floor, shoulders slumped.

“Beat it,” the man said to him without taking his eyes off me.

Geoffrey dematerialized without a moment of hesitation, and this newcomer, my savior, walked over to me.

I was a little tipsy, but I would always recognize Alexei Tarasov, a high-ranking Bratva boss with a reputation for his mercilessness and ability to hold a grudge. His charismatic presence always commanded attention and respect. The mere mention of his name inflicted fear in the hearts of his enemies.

He was my father's business partner, and we'd crossed paths a few times in the past, but I would never get used to his thick, scary voice. It always gave me the creeps.

“Hey!” I snapped, under the influence of the champagne coursing through my blood, as he grasped me by the hand, pulling me away from the bar. “Let go of me!” I tried to squirm from his hold, but his grip on my wrist was firm.

He didn't stop until we were outside, under the full moon and the distant stars. “Are you out of your mind?” he snarled, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and disappointment. “This is no place for a kid,” he blurted out, his tone harsh and stern. “Andwhy the hell were you drinking? You're not old enough to do that.”

My brows arched at his words, appreciating the irony as an abrupt chuckle burst out of me. “That's rich coming from a man who literally breaks all the rules on a daily basis.”

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as a scowl set on his rigid face, yet he didn't scare me. “You're still a child. You have no business here. You have no business drinking.” His brows furrowed, creases forming between them.

I felt a pang of irritation at his emphasis on me being a kid, and his hypocrisy only fueled my anger. My face contorted into a frown, my jaw clenching. “Oh, please don't lecture me on morality when you have none,” I said, my words razor-sharp. “Don't act like you care whether I'm old enough to drink or not when you don't.” My frown deepened, my gaze never leaving his.

He balled both hands into fists, seething in silence, angered by my disrespect.

In my defense, it was the champagne.

“You've broken more rules than I ever will in my whole life, so don't stand there and judge me like you're some kind of saint,” I spat, my voice laced with venom. I leaned forward and added, my tone dropping to a whisper, “I know what you are, Alexei Tarasov…. I know what you do.” I chuckled, fingers tracing the buttons of his white undershirt.

Alexei grabbed my wrist. “You're drunk. Go home.” He tossed my hand away, his tone harsh and aggressive.

I sucked on my teeth, gazing at him contemptuously as I rolled my eyes and walked away. My head was still spinning, my legs too weak to carry my weight as I staggered, struggling to remain composed.

Next time, I'd stay away from champagne and alcohol. As fearless as a few glasses of champagne had made me feel, I knewthe after-effects would be a hangover and probably have me beating myself up for being so rude and disrespectful.

I would surely live to regret this.

Chapter 1 – Alexei

3 years later….

His labored breaths filled the dimly lit room as he sat zip-tied to a chair, the flickering bulb casting a fleeting glow over his battered face.

Head slumped downward, chin against his chest, he drooled, a thread of saliva and blood hanging off his mouth. His eyes were swollen, purple bruises spreading like blooming flowers.

His bleeding nose was crooked, broken, and his lips were split. A torn shirt revealed wounds and cuts on his torso.

I walked inside with menacing steps—slow and calculated—my shoes clicking against the floor. He gasped in fear, his body jerking at the awareness of my presence. I could almost hear the sound of his heart pounding in his chest as he sat up, stiffening, eyes locked on the shadows that shrouded my form.

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