Page 39 of Pregnant Bratva Wife
“There you are,” I said, sliding my arm possessively around her waist. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Marco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Lebedev. I was just getting acquainted with your lovely wife.”
“How thoughtful,” I said coldly. “But we were just leaving.”
Autumn looked between us, confusion clear on her face.
“So soon?” Marco asked, that smug curl still playing at his mouth. “The night’s just getting interesting.”
“Another time,” I said, voice low. Laced with threat. A promise, if this went any further.
He glared right at me, but nodded as he spoke to Autumn. “Of course. Autumn, it was a pleasure.”
I led her away, my hand resting on her lower back, steering her out of the main ballroom, down a dark hallway, toward a secluded alcove where the party faded to a distant murmur.
“What the hell was that?” she snapped as soon as we were alone, whirling on me.
“What were you doing talking to him?” I said, stepping closer, voice sharper than I intended.
“Having a goddamn conversation,” she shot back, fire in her eyes. “Like a normal adult. He offered me champagne and asked how we met. I told him I was married. That’s it.”
“Stay away from him,” I growled.
“You don’t get to dictate who I talk to.” Her arms folded across her chest, defiant and gorgeous. “I’m your wife, not your fucking property.”
“You don’t know who he is,” I said, voice lowering, body closing in. “What he’s capable of.”
“Then enlighten me, Federico!” she challenged, chin tipped up. “You want obedience? Give me honesty. That was the deal.”
She was right. But I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t risk losing her when she discovered what I really was.
“Just trust me on this,” I said, softer now.
Her eyes searched mine. “Trust isn’t a one-way street.”
The air tightened between us. Her chest was rising fast now. Flushed cheeks. Glittering eyes. She looked like a goddess about to set fire to the room.
“You played the doting wife with Viviana well enough,” I muttered, bitterness crawling up my throat. “Was that so different?”
“That was different and you damn well know it.” Her voice snapped like a whip. “She was pawing at you.”
“Were you jealous?” I asked, stepping even closer. Close enough to feel her heat.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Her voice was sharp—but she didn’t move back.
“Because I was,” I said, breath rough. “Watching him talk to you. Smile at you. Look at you like he wanted to fuck you in the dark.”
She blinked. Her breath hitched.
“It made me want to kill him.” My fingers brushed her hip. “Because you’re mine.”
“On paper,” she whispered.
“Is that all?” I whispered back, pushing her against the wall, my hands braced beside her head. “Then why did it feel so goddamn real when you touched me? When you called medarlingand pressed your body into mine like it belonged there?”
“I was acting,” she said, but her voice quivered, her eyes darted between mine and my lips.
“Were you?” I murmured, catching her wrist gently.
