Page 8 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

“Anytime,” he replied, his elbow resting on the counter's polished surface. “It was interesting watching you change the dynamics of the game in a matter of seconds. That's not a skill you see every day.”

Okay, it was obvious now that this ridiculously attractive man had a way with words.

I pursed my lips, suppressing the full-blown smile itching to reveal itself.

Quietly, I turned to offer him my full attention, ready to give a polite but guarded response, and that was when he ruined the moment.

“Erik Tarasov,” he said, introducing himself.

My heart sank into my stomach at that instant, and a sudden heat overwhelmed my whole body. I swallowed discreetly, clenching my jaw in an attempt to stay composed.

The Tarasov name was a beacon of fear, violence, and chaos. Everyone in this line of work knew how dangerous that twisted family was. And personally, I'd always dreaded ever bumping into one of them, considering the history between my family and theirs.

I wasn't exactly sure when the feud began; all I knew was that my family and the Tarasovs never saw eye to eye. Our enmity had lasted for decades, marked by violence, bloodshed, and betrayal. However, the past two to three years had been calm—no unnecessary killings, no bloodshed. Nothing.

Did he not know that I was an O'Brian? Whatever the case, I'd just play it cool and pretend to be comfortable until he left.

I looked him straight in the eyes and said, my voice as smooth as his despite my discomfort with his last name. “Well, Mr. Tarasov, I think you've overestimated my poker skills.” I sipped my whiskey.

“And I think you're just being modest,” he said, his husky voice teasing my senses.

“There's a fine line between honesty and modesty, Mr. Tarasov,” I said, struggling to appear composed and unbothered by this very conversation.

“Perhaps,” he said, his piercing gaze seeming to study my every move. “But in this case, you're being modest about my honest remark.”

My lips curved into yet another faint grin as I refused to be intimidated by him or his soul-piercing gaze.

“So, tell me,” he began, looking into my eyes, a sly, cutting glint flickering in his gaze. “Why didn’t the O'Brians send a proper representative for such an important event?” An evil smirk spread across his chiseled face, as if he had done that on purpose to get under my skin.

My brows narrowed, forming deep creases between them as a scowl settled on my face. My jaw tightened, and a jolt of resentment surged through my veins.

His condescension fueled my rage, and I cast a stern glare at him. “At least we don't resort to underhanded tactics and backroom deals to get what we want,” I shot back, myvoice low and even. “We have honor, and we take pride in it…something you'll never understand because it's the one thing your organization lacks,” I concluded, my tone dripping with disdain.

“You've got a sharp tongue, don't you…Tessa?” he bit back with venom, his expression darkening.

The way he called me by name sent shivers down my spine. His deep, menacing voice caused my core to tremble.

He leaned closer, speaking in a deadly whisper. “I suggest you bridle that tongue of yours before you make enemies with people far more powerful than you can possibly imagine.”

His warning struck my heart like lightning.

I gritted my teeth, trying to compose myself and mask my unease. If he saw a glint of fear in me, he'd latch onto that and exploit my weakness. So, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me terrified.

“That's all you Tarasovs brag about, isn't it? Power?” I leaned forward, my eyes sizing him up. I even brushed my fingers against his tie. “Well, news flash…” I edged closer and whispered in his ear, “I don't scare easily.”

As I pulled away to catch the look on his face, his lips curled into a smirk like he was intrigued by my defiance.

He held my gaze, his eyes boring into mine, but I wouldn't look away. I wouldn't flinch.

Erik brushed his thumb over his nose, a dismissive scoff escaping his lips. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.” He straightened, reaching into his pocket to pull out a wad of cash.

I watched him peel off a few bills and slap them on the counter with a deliberate flush. “Keep the change,” he said to the bartender and walked away.

I could pay for my own bloody drink, but the asshole just wanted to show off.

As I sat there, watching him leave, my mind raced. Given the ongoing feud between our families, it might have been unwise to challenge him the way I did. Now, I couldn't help but wonder what the consequences of this unpleasant encounter would mean for both our families.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

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