Page 6 of An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva

“Zolotov?” I ask, near-freezing.

“Yes. He’s second-in-charge to Abram. So what was he talking to you about anyway?” Fedor asks, his voice tinged with excitement for gossip.

Okay. I didnotknow that. Of all the people in the world, little did I expect to spend my evening with a Zolotov man. Don’t get me wrong. I love my sisters-in-law, but they’re more Orlov now.

I force a smile, keeping my voice light. "Nothing important. He seemed quite concerned about some abandoned fruit."

Fedor's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? That's… unexpected. Vladimir rarely engages with anyone at these events. In fact, I'm surprised he's here at all, and speaking to you, of all people."

"Oh?" I feign disinterest, though my curiosity burns. "Is he not a social butterfly?"

Fedor snorts. "Hardly. He's practically a hermit—a brilliant businessman, but he avoids the spotlight like the plague. Some say he hasn't been seen at a party since he set foot in New York.”

I process this information, my mind racing. "How fascinating," I say dryly. "Perhaps he developed a sudden passion for family gatherings and cherry-saving."

Fedor gives me a look that says he's not buying my nonchalance. "Just be careful, Sestrenka. Vladimir Zolotov isn't known for taking no for an answer."

I meet my brother's gaze, allowing a hint of steel to enter my voice. "I can handle myself, Fedor. You know that."

Fedor leans in, lowering his voice. "Speaking of handling yourself, have you made any… progress tonight?"

My heart rate quickens, but I maintain my icy composure. "Let's just say I'm laying the groundwork. These things take time, Brother dear."

"Of course." He nods, his eyes darting around the room. "But remember, we're on a tight schedule. The Yuri deal—"

I cut him off with a sharp look. "I'm well aware of our deadlines. Trust me, I haven't lost sight of why we're really here."

Even as I say the words, I feel a pang of guilt. Vladimir's intense gaze flashes through my mind, and I push the image away forcefully. I can't afford distractions, no matter how intriguing. Fedor is the only one who still doesn’t trust the Zolotovs wholly. I can’t risk him thinking I’ve gone soft.

He studies me for a moment. "Just don't let anything—or anyone—interfere with our plans to learn all we can about them. We've worked too hard to get this far."

I roll my eyes, injecting as much disdain into my voice as possible. "Please. You know me better than that. I'm not some lovesick schoolgirl to be swayed by a pair of dark eyes and a brooding demeanor."

"Good," Fedor says, but I catch a hint of doubt in his expression. "Because Vladimir Zolotov could complicate things in ways we can't afford right now."

I straighten my spine, meeting my brother's gaze with steely determination. "Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

I weave through the crowd, careful to avoid any lingering gazes or attempts at conversation. My steps are measured, unhurried. Nothing to see here, just another party guest stepping out for some air.

As I near the exit, a familiar silhouette catches my eye. Vladimir. He's leaning against a pillar, those dark eyes scanning the room. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he's going to intercept me. But he remains still, watching.

I slip past him, feeling the weight of his gaze on my back. My pulse quickens, but I don't break stride.

Once outside, the cool night air hits my face. I inhale deeply, trying to clear my head. I wait until the valet arrives with my car, taking off before saying any goodbyes.

Chapter 3 - Vladimir

I pace my office, unable to shake the memory of Sofia. I run a frustrated hand through my hair, replaying the aloof tilt of her chin, the cool look in her green eyes as she brushed past me without a word. I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots as if I could somehow pull the image of her indifference from my thoughts.

"Dammit," I mutter, pivoting on my heel to retrace my steps. The plush carpet muffles my footfalls but does nothing to quiet the storm in my head.

I've dealt with disinterest before. Hell, I'm the one who cultivated it, perfected it. But something about Sofia's icy demeanor has gotten under my skin in a way I can't shake. It’s like she’s immune to me, and that is as novel a situation as one can get. She’s so different from the simpering women who usually fall over themselves for my attention.

I'm surprised by this pull toward her, by the urge to unravel the mystery of her remoteness. I wonder why she’s so intent on keeping the world at a distance.

Something tells me she doesn’t know it herself. IknowI didn’t imagine her flustered look when I told her I think she finds it easier to keep people at arm’s length than to let them in.

There was a flicker of hope in her eyes, like someone finally understood her.

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