Page 81 of Brutal Promise

“It comes with the territory. It’s why we move about as safely as possible. Dmitry, he’s quiet but smart. The men tend to brood, so don’t push them. They have so much on their mind. Don’t ask for details. They won’t give them.”

“That much I know. My BFF is Alena. You’ll meet her at the wedding. She’ll be my maid of honor. She’s going to be married off, too.”

“Ah, the Russian roommate.”

“Yes, you heard?”

“Bits and pieces.”

“I can tell Dmitry is crazy about you.”

My heart leaps. Is he? Anya would know since they’ve known each other longer.

“How?” I quip.

“He’s got a look about him. He even smiled today, which is unusual. Normally, he’s not happy.”

I’m not surprised. Any man who can stab another in the hand at a bar is used to brutal acts, not loving ones.

“What’s their mother like?” I’m curious about his parentage and home life.

“His dad was a don who ruled with an iron fist, but he loved his sons. Nikolay and Dmitry went to boarding school, but Roman was the baby, and their mother, Natasha, couldn’t bear for him to leave. She’s tough, she’s loving, and, at times, sentimental. She doesn’t have that resting bitch face most bratva wives wear like a shield.”

I chuckle. I like Anya, she has a sense of humor, and if she and Nikolay are in love, maybe there’s hope for us.

“What do you know about us?”

“First, never trust anyone but the inner circle of the Bratva. I know you need protection, and this is the price you pay for it.” She turns to me as the driver pulls up in front of the restaurant. Her serious face has my attention when she flatly says, “Dmitry will never let you go.”

My stomach lurches. The truth is, I know she’s right. He constantly reminds me that I’m his—his possession. I belong to him. And for that, I will be protected.

We get out and head towards the restaurant.

We’re greeted at the door by the maître d’ and escorted to a table near the window. When our waiter approaches, I ask Anya to order for us.

“Ivan, nice to see you. This is Isabella, Dmitry’s fiancé.”

He’s a tall Russian with dark hair and dark brown eyes. His tattoos peek out from under his long sleeves and extend onto his hands. I bet his body is covered with them.

“Nice to meet you.” He smiles, and I feel like it’s forced.

“Hello,” I reply to be polite.

Anya tells him to bring bottled water and food that sounds like Russian dishes.

When he leaves, I ask, “Do we know him?”

“He’s one of ours. Most of the employees are from Russia. I’m so busy I don’t get out much, and Nikolay and I come here often.”

When the food comes, it’s pretty good. I could get used to the beet soup. Anya fills me in on her studies. We swap information about ourselves, as girls do. After lunch, Milan and her guard take us to the family’s store where I’m to try on wedding dresses.

The storefront is fancy, with white and gold lettering. It’s the kind of place I would have walked past in New York because it screams exclusive and expensive.

We head inside, and our bodyguards take positions by the front and back doors. A store associate directs me to a fitting room where pre-selected dresses hang on a moveable rack. They’re all exquisite.

“Take whatever you like. Our gift to you.” Anya smiles at me.

“I can’t accept…” But she prevents me from saying more by interrupting.

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