Page 33 of The Russian's Forced Bride
“Good,” I breathed out, cracking my knuckles.
Chapter 10 – Arlette
When I woke up the next morning, Rafael was once again gone. I had gotten used to him randomly disappearing, but that didn’t mean I liked being kept in the dark about what was happening with him.
He had promised me he’d find Joaquin, but he never told me what was happening, and it made me worried sick. It reminded me of when I worked with my father. He never told me the things that mattered, always speaking in riddles and lying to me, up until he took his final breath.
Rafael wasn’t Dad, but they shared similarities that irked me.
Or was that what it really meant to be part of the Bratva? I couldn’t understand it. Just last week, I saw him on the phone with someone. He sounded tense, and I had never heard Rafael sound bothered by anything before. But when I asked what had happened, he brushed me off, saying it was nothing.
I had been upset and still was, but in reality, nothing he did was any of my business. Just because we had sex once didn’t automatically mean he saw me as someone he could confide in.
Though as much as I didn’t want to care, I did.
The buzzing of my phone from my lampstand caught my attention, and my brows furrowed when I saw it was a message from Brandon—my alleged half-brother. I remembered giving him my number just minutes before my wedding, but I was surprised to see he had texted me, given his claim that he didn’t want anything from me.
Tentatively, I unlocked my phone to view his message, which read:
I’m in Chicago. Can we meet up? Catch up a little bit? If that’s okay, of course.
I raised a brow. Since we hadn’t spoken at length on my wedding day, I still didn’t know a lot about him. I bit my lip as I tilted my head. I knew Rafael would be mad if I left the house without his knowledge, but I wasn’t a baby.
I chewed at my fingernails, pondering hard.
Just for an hour. All I needed was an hour.
Besides, Rafael wasn’t even home, and it wasn’t fair that he got to roam the streets while I remained locked up like a prisoner.
Then I made my decision. For the first time since I got married, I was going to leave the house. I knew it wasn’t safe, and as much as I loved the peace here, being locked up was making me more paranoid every day.
So I sent a quick message to Brandon, asking where he’d like us to meet.
“Beanies,” he replied almost immediately. Then he added,It’s a coffee shop some blocks from Dad’s place. Let’s meet in an hour.
I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, then slipped out of bed and took off my pajamas. I moved quickly, almost as if my life depended on it, because the faster I left to meet Brandon, the sooner I would be back at the house.
I dressed casually in jeans and a turtleneck, throwing on a coat since it was a bit chilly outside. After grabbing my things, I left the house without thinking twice.
The weather in Chicago was windy and bone-chilling, making me hug my coat tightly against my frame as I stepped out of the Uber, which had stopped across the coffee shop Brandon had texted to me.
The skies were gloomy, but not in a comforting way. Maybe it was because I knew what I was doing was more than just careless, but the dullness of the clouds felt like a warning to me.
Or maybe I was just reading too much into things.
Bodies hurried past me, some looking at me like I had grown horns for standing on the sidewalk. It wasn’t until a lady screamed in my face that I realized I had to move. Staying indoors for weeks did that to you. It made it feel like I had just stepped back into the world anew.
Muttering apologies under my breath as I brushed past passersby, I crossed the busy street to the coffee shop, which had the wordBeanieson its signage flashing periodically in neon lights.
I opened the double glass doors and was immediately welcomed by the soothing smell of coffee. The shop had a woodsy ambience to it, as everything was made from cedar beams and brown oak—from the floorboards to the tables covered with brown checkered cloths.
A warm, honey-hued pool of light also flooded the room that was occupied sparsely, along with the barista at the counter, chatting away with a colleague.
It didn’t take me long to find Brandon, dressed in a black T-shirt and a red beanie, sitting by the booths while drinking from a cup of espresso.
I went over, sliding in right across from him and putting my shoulder bag on the table as his head lifted and our eyes met.
His thick brows rose in surprise before he smiled sweetly at me. “You came.”
