Page 8 of Bound to the Bratva
As I enter, one of the impeccably dressed employees greets me with a warm smile and opens the door for me. I make my way to the hostess station, where a young woman stands on the other side. "Good evening, do you have a reservation tonight? If not, we won't be able to seat you." There's a hint of sass in her tone.
"I don't, but the other member in my party does. It will be under Zuyev," I reply, adding a bit of sass in my own tone.
She nods and expertly navigates her iPad until she lands on his name. Her face pales a little bit and she plasters on the fakest smile I've seen in a while. "Ah, there you are. Please, follow me," she says as she leads me through the maze of tables and patrons.
Every inch of the restaurant is touched by an elegant Italian theme - from the rich red curtains hanging from the ceiling to the intricate mosaic tiles lining the floor. My eyes dance over every detail as we weave our way through the bustling restaurant and up a short stairwell.
We walk through a small hallway, adorned with framed photographs of Italy's famed landmarks. With every step, I can feel my anticipation growing. Finally, we reach a set of double doors that lead into a private dining room. Inside, my father sits at the end of a long table set for four with his wife, Tatiana.
I swallow hard, not expecting her to be here. I haven't seen her since I was a child. They're surrounded by soft candlelight and plush velvet chairs. My heart swells with warmth as he stands to greet me with arms open wide, meanwhile, Tatiana stares at me, eyes pinned on my own.
What in the fuck is going on here?
"Hello," I greet them both, making my way over to the table. My heart clenches and an uneasy feeling settles over my entire body. The hostess shuts the door behind me and I'm tempted to turn around and bolt. However, my curiosity is getting the best of me.
I can't, though. I have to know what he wants.
"Aria, you look amazing! Have you changed your hair?" My father beams, laying on his compliment a little too thick.
I shake my head, "No, not really. It's the same old thing."
I make it to the table and he makes it a point to come up to me and engulf me in a hug. Over the course of my entire life, I have never gotten a hug from him. It's tight and full of force, almost like he actually gives a shit.
Has hell frozen over or something?
My mind is racing with questions as I try to make sense of his sudden change in behavior. Why is he acting like this? Does he need something from me? Or, has he turned a new leaf and honestly wants to create a better relationship with me?
He releases me and returns back to his seat, which is next to his wife. Tatiana stares at me coldly, forcing a smile. I used to have so much empathy for her as a child. My father betrayed her by being with my mother. It couldn't have been easy on her, but my mother's choices were her own. There was no reason to punish me or Sasha.
My eyes take in her appearance, capturing every detail. Despite the passing years, she embodies the perfect image of a powerful Russian woman. Her long, straight blonde hair holds not a single strand of gray, giving her an air of eternal youth. Though her face shows no signs of aging, but we all know that's all attached to a hefty price-tag. Her body is thin and delicate, easily fitting into a size four dress. And draped around her like prized trophies are expensive pieces of jewelry, adding to her regal aura.
"Aria, it is so lovely to see you." There's an insincere sweetness in her tone. God, it makes me sick to my stomach.
"Is it?" I'm not trying to be a bitch, but Tatiana has never wanted to see me.
I take my seat and grab the glass of water in front of my plate, taking a much needed sip. Tatiana glares at my father like he should say something to keep me in check, but he doesn't say a word.
"I've taken the liberty of ordering for you already." My father announces, and I'm a bit annoyed by his confession.
"Okay, great." I keep my tone normal and don't bother making a fuss about it.
All I need to do is stay here and figure out what's going on. "So, what's--"
"Oh, joy! The wine is here," My father comments as two waiters come around the table.
"Red, or white, sir?" One of the men asks him.
"White,"
He asks the same of Tatiana.
"White,"
Then it's my turn.
"Red, please. Thank you."
Both of the waiters pour our wine and then exit the room, leaving the three of us to get back to talking. "As I was saying, what's the reason for this dinner invite?" I'm not going to play coy. I want to know what he wants. I'm not the kind of woman who beats around the bush just to keep others happy.
