Page 36 of Bratva Baby

The comment lands as I’m sure it intends, but I refuse to flinch. I don’t look at Grigor out of fear of what his expression might reveal, but I can feel his tension beside me. “Different can be good,” I offer, matching her false smile with one of my own. “Grigor certainly seems to think so.”

Emma’s jaw goes tight for a fraction of a second before she laughs, a lilting sound that grates on my nerves. “Of course,” she replies, stepping closer to Grigor. Too close. Her hand brushes his arm, and a burning heat sears up the back of my neck. “You’ve always had an eye for surprises, haven’t you?”

Grigor pulls away from her attempt at familiarity. “Emma, don’t you have other guests to attend to? Your parents are expecting you to mingle, I’m sure.”

Her smile falters, but she recovers quickly. “Of course. Duty calls.” She casts me one last lingering glance before adding, “Enjoy the evening, Seraphina. And welcome to the family.”

She disappears into the crowd, and I exhale slowly as the tension in my chest relaxes a bit. I glance up at Grigor, who watches her retreat with little interest. “She’s charming,” I mutter.

“She’s irrelevant,” he replies as though he can read my mind. “Don’t waste your energy on her.”

I nod, though the encounter burrows itself in the back of my mind as the evening continues. Grigor introduces me to various guests—men with firm handshakes and harder eyes, women draped in diamonds and fur who greet me with fake smiles and probing questions. I play my part, offering polite answers and leaning into Grigor’s presence when the scrutiny feels too much. It’s exhausting, but I manage.

Excusing myself to the restroom feels like a reprieve, and I meander through the crowd to find one. I’m halfway there when someone catches my wrist. The touch is firm, not painful, but it startles me enough to pull back instinctively.

“Seraphina?”

I turn and freeze. Standing before me is a man I haven’t seen in years, but one I recognize immediately. Dark hair, pointed jawline, and green eyes that once looked at me like I hung the moon. Marco Romano. The son of one of my father’s old friends. We grew up together before he moved to Sicily, and there was a time—brief and distant—when I thought I might have feelings for him.

“Marco,” I greet him, forcing a smile. “It’s been a while.”

He grins, and his teeth are still much too white, too perfect. “More than a while. You’ve grown up.”

“And you’ve moved up,” I reply, gesturing to his expensive suit. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” His eyes roam over me in a way that at one point in time would’ve been endearing. “Though I heard about your… arrangement.”

“Marriage,” I correct. “Not an arrangement.”

“Of course,” he corrects, the grin never leaving his face. “How’s the Bratva treating you? Your husband must be keeping you… occupied.”

I pull my wrist free and step back. “Marco, if you’ll excuse me, I need to—”

“Don’t rush off,” he interrupts, stepping closer. His hand lands on my arm, and I stiffen. “We’re old friends, Sera. No need to be so formal.”

“We were children,” I reply. “That doesn’t make us friends now.”

His grin falls, and something darker flashes in his eyes. “So cold,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “What happened to the girl who used to follow me around, batting those pretty lashes?”

“She grew up. And she doesn’t have time for games.”

Before he can reply, I glance over his shoulder and catch sight of Grigor. He’s standing near the edge of the room with a rigid posture and his jaw clenched. His brown eyes are fixed on me and Marco, and the fury radiating from his direction is palpable even from a distance.

Marco follows my line of sight and chuckles. “Ah, I see. The husband doesn’t like to share.”

I tear my eyes away from Grigor, meeting Marco’s smirk with a cold glare. “He doesn’t have to.”

Marco laughs again, but I’m already stepping past him. Or trying to, anyway. He doesn’t let me get far before he pulls on my arm again.

The weight of Grigor’s stare lingers on my back, and I know, without a doubt, that things are about to get really messy, really fast.

Chapter 16 - Grigor

The stem of the wineglass between my fingers feels far too fragile. I tap my finger against it once, twice, considering all the ways I could make that bastard across the room pay for daring to touch Seraphina. Every move he makes—leaning closer, brushing her arm with his hand—grates on me like shards of broken glass.

I don’t know who he is, but the way Seraphina is smiling at him is enough to make my blood burn. Okay, so the smile isn’t the problem. It’s the way he seems to think he’s entitled to her attention.

My grip tightens on the glass as my thoughts spiral. A knife to his ribs? No, too public. A swift punch to his nose? Tempting. But not nearly brutal enough.

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