Page 17 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
I cut that thought off abruptly. This was business, not pleasure. A means to an end. The fact that Elena Lebedev was beautiful when she gave as good as she got was irrelevant.
Completely irrelevant.
I told myself this as I got back to work, trying to ignore the lingering scent of her perfume in the air.
Chapter 7 - Elena
It has been five whole days since that argument between Gastone and his brothers blew up. I took that day to find a route of escape, yet came up empty-handed.
Seeing as there was nothing more I could have done, I tried to make peace with the situation at hand, at least until one of my brothers came looking for me.
I was certain, to a degree, that Carlo and Dino would have told Larissa what happened. Knowing Larissa, she would have made sure to tell my family.
Gastone hadn’t thought this whole thing about forcing me to marry him through now, had he? Sometimes, I tried to reason with him. But every time I did, it ended up in an argument.
I was going crazy, and not just from having to live here. It was something else that had started to bother me. I realized I might have been going crazy because every time I accidentally bumped into Gastone, I felt my pulse begin to quicken, and I felt a small thrill shoot down my spine at the chance of his company. It made no sense. I hated it. I hated him. But most of all, I hated that I was so damn bored that I almost craved his company.
And as for him, he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Or so it seemed.
Gastone's daily routine seemed designed specifically to avoid me. He left early, before I woke up, and returned late, after I'd retreated to my room. The few times we'd encountered each other, it had gone poorly.
One would imagine he would have wanted some semblance of peace between us, right? I mean, we were living together.
But clearly, he revelled in keeping things tense between us.
Like yesterday morning, when I'd gone into the kitchen for a little snack when I was unable to sleep, I'd found him there, shirtless, making tea. I'd frozen in the doorway, momentarily caught off guard by the sight of him half-naked, and the thing is, I wouldn’t have stared, but his body was a work of art. His entire muscled chest was filled with elaborate tattoos, snaking across his arms, shoulders, reaching for his back.
I’d never seen anything like it. He looked…poetic. Dangerous.
“Take a picture,” he'd said when he caught me looking. “It'll last longer.”
In my eyes, the polite thing to do would have been for him to have ignored making a comment. But it seemed like healmostenjoyed pulling at my strings.
“I'd rather gouge my eyes out,” I snapped back, mortified at being caught staring.
He shrugged. “Bathroom's down the hall. Feel free to find something sharp.”
And that was one of ourmorecivil exchanges.
Or the evening before, when I'd been curled up on the sofa watching TV, and he'd returned from wherever he went during the day. He'd walked in, seen me, and his entire body had tensed.
“That's my spot,” he'd said, like a petulant child.
“I don't see your name on it,” I'd replied, not moving an inch.
“It's my apartment. My rules.”
“Of course, and you make damn sure to remind me I’m your prisoner every chance you get.”
“Not prisoner.Wife,” he said. Something in the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.
We'd stared each other down for a full minute before he'd stalked off to his room. I'd counted it as a win, but the victory felt hollow in the loneliness that followed. Even arguing with him was better than the constant isolation.
Today, however, marked almost a week of me being caged in here, with nothing to do and no one for company. I was starting to feel suffocated. I needed to hear a friendly voice, to have some connection to the outside world.
It was a Sunday, and I was surprised to find the housenot emptyfor a change. I could hear sounds in the kitchen, of Gastone rummaging in the fridge for a meal the part-time maid had cooked and left for us. I could hear the phone ringing, his voice echoing through the hallways.
He was home, meaning I could finally sit him down and explain my situation.
