Page 25 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

Quinn leans forward, her curiosity piqued. “What was it like? Growing up there?”

I paint a picture for her of snowy winters and lively family gatherings, of the warmth that thrived amidst the harsh realities of our lives. “I moved to New York over a year ago,” I continue, “to help my cousins, Ivan and Boris, with their business. It was an opportunity to start anew, to build something of my own.”

I can practically see the gears turning in her head as she pieces together the fragments of my past. Sharing parts of myself I usually keep locked away is a strange sensation, but there's something about Quinn that makes me want to open up.

Soon after, our food arrives, momentarily breaking the charged atmosphere between us. I raise my glass in a mock toast. “To warm winters,” I say, my voice tinged with irony.

Quinn mirrors my gesture, her lips curling into a wry smile. “If a New York winter is warm, keep me far away from Russia,” she laughs, and we both drink in camaraderie.

***

I lean back in my chair, watching Quinn as she takes another bite of her grilled fish. “So, tell me,” I drawl, a mischievous glint in my eye, “what made a nice girl like you start a high-end dating agency?”

Quinn scoffs, setting her glass down with a clink. “Who says I'm a nice girl?” she retorts, arching a brow in challenge.

I can't help but grin at her fiery response. “Fair enough. But seriously, what made you choose this line of work?”

She shrugs, a hint of vulnerability flickering across her face. “I guess I just wanted to help people find happiness, even if I couldn't find it for myself.”

The admission catches me off guard, and I find myself leaning forward, intrigued. “And why is that? Too busy playing matchmaker to focus on your own love life?”

Quinn meets my gaze head-on, her green eyes sparking with defiance. “Maybe I just have high standards. Not everyone can handle a woman who knows what she wants.”

The tension between us is palpable, and our banter carries an undercurrent of attraction. Just as I'm about to throw out another teasing remark, our next drink arrives, momentarily breaking the spell with the waiter's presence.

As we continue to dig into our food, a comfortable silence settles over us, punctuated by the clinking of cutlery and the low hum of conversation from nearby tables. Between bites, I steal glances at Quinn, marveling at how graceful and poised she is.

She catches me staring and quirks a brow, a half-smile playing on her lips. “What?”

I shake my head, chuckling softly. “Nothing. It's just... I'm not used to this. Having dinner with a beautiful woman who isn't afraid to put me in my place.”

Quinn rolls her eyes, but I can see the blush creeping up her neck. “Or perhaps you’ve been too dense to notice the women who have.”

“Ouch.” I pretend to hold my heart in pain.

She giggles.

We fall back into our easy banter, trading stories of our lives past as we savor our meal and drinks. With each passingmoment, I can feel the walls between us crumbling, the initial hostility giving way to a tentative connection.

Just when I finish placing our order for dessert, a familiar voice cuts through our conversation, shattering the fragile bubble we've created. “Mark? Is that you?”

I turn to see Natasha, an old fling from my wilder days, sauntering towards our table in a low-cut, fitted black dress. She’s stunning, yes, but a bit too wild for my taste. Her red lips curl into a friendly smile, but there's a calculating glint in her eyes as she takes in the sight of Quinn and me together.

“Natalia, what a surprise,” I say, rising to greet her with a polite kiss on the cheek. I can feel Quinn's gaze boring into my back, assessing the situation with a guarded expression.

“It's been ages! How have you been?” Natalia gushes, her hand lingering on my arm just a bit too long.

I give her a tight smile, my body language making it clear that her presence is unwelcome. “I've been well, thanks for asking. If you'll excuse us, we were just in the middle of dinner.”

Natalia's eyes flick to Quinn, a hint of jealousy flashing across her face before she composes herself. “Of course, I didn't mean to interrupt. It was lovely seeing you, Mark. Don't be a stranger! If I remember correctly, you used to call me at all hours of the night!”

With a final, lingering glance, she sashays away, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

I turn back to Quinn, expecting to find her brimming with questions in that curious way of hers. Instead, I'm met with a carefully neutral expression, her eyes shuttered and distant.

“An old friend?” she asks, her tone deceptively light.

“Something like that. Just a fling, actually,” I reply, trying to gauge her reaction. “Ancient history, really.”

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