Page 4 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

Suddenly, I feel like a fool. God. What is it with this woman rendering me so utterly forgetful? It’s like I’m so lost in how enchanting she is that I forget half the questions she asks me.

“Not really,” I say.

“Then I guess I wasn’t rude,” she says bluntly.

"Fair enough," I concede, inclining my head slightly. "I prefer honesty anyway.”

“Good to know,” she says, and the next I know, she picks up her glass and is about to walk away.

No way am I letting that happen.

“Hey,” I say out, a little too loud. She throws her head back over her shoulder, watching me with a raised eyebrow. “What’s your name?”

“Sofia,” she says without skipping a beat.

My heart roars in my heart. There, at last. I have her name. It’s also an additional moment of joy to realize I’d been right to read who she was all along.

“Sofia Orlov,” I say, toying with her a little. But, to my surprise, what I wished for to be an opening for her to get a little curious regarding how I know her full name and extend the conversation, is shut down just as fast.

She turns to face me fully, and I feel the full force of her gaze. "Well, isn't that interesting? You’re venturing into society after doing his homework. How… prepared of you."

I feel a flicker of irritation at her words, but something about her sharp wit intrigues me. "There’s nothing wrong with a little homework," I say bluntly, taking a sip of my vodka. “It helps me stay ahead.”

Sofia's eyebrow arches elegantly. "How studious of you," she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what else have you learned so far, Vladimir?"

I study her for a moment, noting the tension in her shoulders despite her outward composure. "That you're used to keeping people at arm's length," I state matter-of-factly. "It's easier than letting them in, isn't it?"

A flash of surprise crosses her face, quickly replaced by a cold smile. "My, aren't you perceptive?" she quips. "Next, you'll be telling me my favorite color and what I had for breakfast."

I can't help but chuckle at her sharp retort. "Someone once told me it’s rude to presume," I say, a hint of amusement in my voice. "Though I imagine it wasn't vodka for breakfast, despite the family business." After all, Nikolai’s nightclubs are the source of endless Vodka for all the Russian elites.

For a split second, I see a genuine smile tug at the corners of her mouth before she schools her features back into cool indifference. The brief glimpse of warmth ignites something in me—a desire to see more of the real Sofia beneath the icy exterior.

But then, it ends all too soon.

Sofia turns away abruptly, her pin-straight blonde hair swishing as she moves. "Enjoy the party, Vladimir," she says over her shoulder, her voice a mix of dismissal and boredom.

I watch her retreating form, unable to tear my eyes away. The sway of her hips, the graceful set of her shoulders—everything about her is captivating. My mind races, replaying our brief interaction. There's more to Sofia Orlov than meets the eye, and I'm determined to unravel the mystery.

"You're not getting away that easily," I mutter under my breath, downing the rest of my drink. The burn of vodka does nothing to quell the fire she's ignited within me.

Chapter 2 - Sofia

I stride away from the bar, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The weight of Vladimir's gaze burns into my back, and my heart flutters at that knowledge.

But I try to calm my racing heart. I can't afford to be distracted, not tonight. Not when this is my one chance to stay inconspicuous and spy on the Zolotovs.

We might be in an alliance, but that doesn’t mean I trust the whole lot. My plan to stay on the sidelines and catch glimpses of conversations would have stayed on track…if not forhim.

"Focus, Sofia," I mutter under my breath, weaving through the crowd of glittering socialites and boisterous men.You’re not here to flirt with mysterious strangers.

My heart races traitorously, betraying my cool exterior. I spot the restroom sign and make a beeline for it, desperate for a moment alone to collect myself.

The bathroom is mercifully empty. I lean against the counter, studying my reflection in the ornate mirror. My green eyes are wide, a flush creeping up my neck. I look… affected. Dammit.

"Pull yourself together," I hiss, fumbling in my clutch for my lipstick. The familiar routine of reapplying my makeup steadies my nerves. "He's just a man. An infuriatingly handsome, intense man, but still just a man."

As I smooth the deep red across my lips, I can't help but replay our encounter at the bar. The way his black eyes had locked onto mine and seemed to see right through my carefullyconstructed facade. The low timbre of his voice as he offered me his name.

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