Page 3 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
The five men take a table near the exit, and that’s when I notice her. She follows them, and when they sit, says something and turns, but one of them grips her hand and leers, pulling her down to sit beside him.
Even from here, I can tell she’s uncomfortable. Her shoulders are rigid, and her hands are clasped tightly in her lap. She’s not dressed for this place, as though she never meant to come here. She’s wearing jeans and a simple black chiffon top, something one would wear while running errands.
I stand and inch closer to get a good look at her, just out of curiosity. Her light brown hair falls around her shoulders, and even in the dim light, I can see her eyes darting around the room, never settling.
Something about her seems familiar. When she turns slightly, and the light catches her face, my blood freezes.
I know those eyes—a unique blue-green that I’ve seen in photographs during our intelligence gathering. I know that face, though I’ve never seen it in person until now.
Arina Sokolov. The baby sister of our enemies.
My first thought is that she’s here on business, but that makes no sense. She looks all wrong for a woman conducting business. There’s no confidence in her posture, no power in her presence.
She looks lost.
I watch more carefully now. One of the Kuznetsov men puts his hand on her thigh. She flinches, but she doesn’t push him away. She can’t. Another man leans in, whispers something in her ear, and her face goes pale.
This isn’t a business meeting. This is something else entirely.
The pieces click together in my mind. The Kuznetsovs have somehow gotten their hands on Arina Sokolov. They’ve taken her.
And now, I know exactly what to do.
Chapter 2 - Arina
I frown as I stand before the wine rack and survey the large collection at The Dirty Goose. Between the four of us, we need at least two bottles. I try to remember what Tikhon likes. Was it Merlot? Or did he prefer the Cabernet? I know what I like! The Riesling. I’ve always been a white wine kind of girl.
Maybe I should make it three bottles? So all my brothers and I can have our pick?
God. I miss them so much. Ever since Viktor died from a heart attack, my brothers have gotten so busy with work. They hardly ever come home, often traveling for days on end. But tonight, I get to see them. Which is why today, I find myself selecting wine alone. My car is parked a little away, since when I arrived, all the good spots nearby were taken.
I decide to grab a Merlot and a Cabernet to be safe, along with my Riesling. I’m so excited for tonight. It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen any of them—Tikhon, Andrei, or Alexey—all of them suddenly too busy with our family business. They have no time to even get on regular phone calls! But just this morning, my cook informed me that my brothers would be coming home tonight.
Which means I get to surprise them with wine and keep them up until the sun rises, until I’m all caught up on what’s happening in their lives. Though, of course, I expect I’ll be the one doing most of the talking. My brothers never talk about work for more than a few minutes. I’ll find it boring, they claim.
I pick up a bottle when I feel someone behind me, standing too close. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Well, look who we have here.” The voice is gravelly, creepy.
I turn to see a man with a sleazy smile on his face, flanked by four others.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to step around him.
Another blocks my path. “You’re Arina Sokolov, aren’t you? The little sister.”
I wonder how he knows who I am. Is he from the restaurant industry? There’s something predatory in the way he says my name, something that already sets me on edge, and for some reason, I find it safer to pretend I’m someone else.
My heart stutters. “I think you’ve confused me with someone else.”
He laughs, and I suddenly notice them forming a circle around me. “Don’t be silly. We knowexactlywho you are.”
I clutch my purse tighter, feeling for my phone. “My brothers are expecting me.”
The first man places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Of course they are. That’s why we’re here—to escort you.”
“I don’t need an escort.” I try to sound firm and shrug him off, but he only holds tighter.
“Your brothers would want us to treat you,” he insists, his eyes not leaving mine. “We’re friends of the family.”
