Page 65 of Forced Prisoner By the Bratva

I halted behind him, watching him lower his glass of vodka.

“You've lost your mojo, cousin,” Raziel teased without turning to look at me. “I can feel your presence.” He got off the stool and swiveled to face me.

Raziel's dirty blond hair simmered under the chandelier's warm glow, his light eyes pinned on me.

I spread out my arms, and we both burst out laughing, embracing one another. “It’s good to see you, Raz. What a pleasant surprise.” I dug my fingers into his shoulder in a massaging motion.

“I missed your wedding. Wasn't gonna miss this for anything in the world,” he replied, his tone laced with reverence and respect.

“I appreciate this, cousin. I do,” I said, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

Raziel Tarasov was a cousin of mine who flew all the way from Los Angeles, where he managed the Bratva business, just to pay his respects.

As the night wore on and the festivities began to wind down, I noticed that Tessa had slipped from the crowd, leaving baby Anastasia with the nanny.

Zoya pointed me in the direction of the balcony where my wife was, and I headed over there, a hand in my pocket.

Tessa stood at the railing that overlooked the cityscape, her figure silhouetted against the vibrant lights. She drew a deep breath, inhaling the cool night's air, which carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The distant wail of sirens droned on, hinting that the city was still awake.

Her dark hair danced in the gentle breeze, the loose strands swirling around her face like a living entity. I was drawn—captivated by this beautiful sight of her as she gazed out across the twinkling lights.

“It's like Deja vu all over again,” I said, joining her by the railing.

Tessa glanced my way, a bright smile illuminating her face. “Except this time, we’re not making any future divorce plans,” she said, gazing at me.

“Never,” I replied with a faint grin, watching her chuckle so beautifully.

Our first encounter on a balcony like this two years ago was when we'd decided to nullify our wedding vows when the alliance between our families was solid enough. How ironic.

“You were incredible tonight,” I began, my voice low and filled with sincerity. “Valyria Fashion House is a true reflection of your passion and dedication…and I am so proud of you.” A slight pause came when I drew closer, my hand grazing over hers on the polished railing.

Her smile broadened, and her eyes sparkled with gratitude and joy. “Thank you,” she said, almost in a whisper, glancing away for a brief moment.

“For what?” I asked, indulging her, my gaze never leaving her face.

She raised her eyes and stared back at me, her voice dripping with emotion. “For everything. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for you.” Tessa took my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Erik, you didn't just support me when no one else did; you also believed in me—you believed in my potential.” She took a step closer, halting barely an inch from me.

As she spoke, her fresh breath brushed against my skin, and her rich perfume invaded my senses.

“I'm eternally grateful to you for doing what even my family couldn't do for me.” Her manicured hand flew to my face, a glimmer of emotion shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Erik, for being such a wonderful husband and father. I couldn't have asked for a better partner.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, my heart melting at the sincerity of her words. “I may have supported you, butthis was all your doing.” I paused, my expression softening as I held her gaze. “And I am honored to have been a part of your journey.” My thumb wiped the lone tear streaming down her eye.

As we stood there with the city lights twinkling below, I leaned forward, my nose brushing against hers. She had her arms around my neck as I lowered my head, and my lips met hers in a tender, triumphant kiss.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her tongue danced in my mouth, her breath filling my nostrils. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of us; as our kiss deepened, the world around us dissolved.

*****

THE END

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