Page 29 of The Bratva King's Auctioned Bride

“No, my own place. I opened it with all the money I saved during high school and college. I chose every last piece myself, down to the earrings.” I sighed dreamily, remembering those happier times. “I couldn’t wait to get up and get there every morning, just to make little adjustments to the displays, to greet the customers.”

“If you loved it so much, why were you so eager to take over my quarry, then?” he asked.

He really didn’t know I was a massive failure. “It went under in less than a year,” I admitted, the bitterness rising in the back of my throat. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

He snorted. “The first bar I took over went bust in less than three months. I had a loan business that I almost got sent to federal prison for the first year I arrived in LA, because I was stupid about taxes, of all things. And, let’s see, there was the time I dabbled in pain management clinics. Holy hell, talk about a miserable failure.”

All of that rolled off his tongue as if it didn’t matter. “Well, you have way more successes,” I said.

“I’m quite a bit older than you,” he reminded me. “You have plenty of time for your own success. There’s no such thing as failure, Mila. Only lessons, if you keep trying.”

Was he giving me kindly life advice? I almost snapped that I wouldn’t be able to keep trying if I remained his prisoner, but that wasn’t true, was it? I had to go to the meeting, and he was still giving me daily printouts to keep up with the quarry.

That meant he wasn’t cruelly taunting me with the showroom, but took me there because he noticed my love of fashion. Why the hell was he being so nice again? It felt like the rug was about to be pulled out from under me, so I clammed up while he put the car in gear and took off for our next destination.

Still not a nightclub. We ended up at a quaint and cozy winery well outside the city. There was nothing loud about it, and the small stone house wrapped in ivy oozed with old-world charm. It was exactly the kind of place I would have chosen if I were in charge of planning the outing.

Inside, there was the murmur of quiet conversation and the clink of forks and wine glasses. We were seated at a tiny corner table, so small our knees touched underneath it, and since the whole dining area was lit only by candles, we had to lean in to be able to see each other.

The server promised we wouldn’t be disappointed with the special, and Arkadi ordered a bottle of wine from before I was born. The one sip I took of it was like a drop of grape heaven, but I wasn’t about to go back on my promise not to overindulge around him again. Much too dangerous.

What ended up being even more intoxicating than the wine was the conversation. Arkadi was surprisingly funny when he wanted to be, and once I got over the shock of hearing my scary jailer talk about the idiotic things he got up to when he was a kid, I was laughing along with him.

“How did you not get beaten?” After a harrowing story, I asked when he stole an antique machine gun that belonged to his father’s second in command. “You were only twelve? I wouldn’t have been able to sit for a week.

“I don’t believe for one second you weren’t a very naughty girl,” he said, mischief sparking in his eyes. “And believe me, I did get my share of beatings. My father was a tyrant.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said honestly. “My Papa is wonderful. To us, anyway.”

A brief shadow crossed his face, but he shrugged it off. “Tell me the worst thing you ever did,” he urged.

Visions of the wine cellar instantly popped into my head, and heat flooded my face. Thankfully, it was too dark for him to see. I could still hear those feral noises I made, and feel his skin under my fingertips as I clawed at him for more.

“Um, no, I don’t think I will,” I said. Once again, I was enjoying myself way too much. I had to put a stop to it. “What’s going on?” I asked.

He shook his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“We’re enemies,” I hissed.

“We’re husband and wife,” he calmly replied.

“Only because you forced me to marry you. You’re my brothers’ enemy.”

That earned me a long look I couldn’t read, but no answer. No dispute, because how could he? A string quartet started playing as we stared at each other, and some of the other diners rose to dance. But this wasn’t a romantic night out, not for me.

“What do you want out of this?” I asked desperately. “And don’t say you want me.”

His stony face relaxed into a smile that was much too enticing. “Right now, I want to dance.”

Before I knew it, I was swaying in his arms. As the soft music lulled me, Arkadi’s hands roamed down my back, the firm heat making me press closer. I found myself holding on to his shoulders, glancing up at his strong jaw, and quickly glancing away before I got caught up in his searing gaze. I couldn’t let this happen again, couldn’t get swept up in a moment. Stiffening, I jerked away.

His arm circled my back to tug me up against his hard body again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin everyone else’s night with a scene, would you?”

With my hands planted on his chest, I leaned back to look at him. “You really don’t know me at all, do you?”

His response was to grip my hair and tug my head further back, claiming my mouth with a fiery kiss. The sparks between us weren’t a fluke from too much alcohol. The heat between us was as strong as ever, and I mindlessly ran my hands up his chest to tangle my fingers in his hair.

Hello? This wasn’t causing a scene? We were practically making out on the small dance floor. Before I could come to my senses and put a stop to the madness, the kiss was over, and he led me back to our table, holding out my chair for me. I slid into it on boneless legs, dizzy from how fast I’d gone off the rails.

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