Page 3 of Plus-Size Bride Forced By the Bratva
Jessica was saying something crude about my sudden exit, but I didn’t listen. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I slowly weaved through the crowd. Before long, I found myself on a balcony overlooking the vast compound below.
My fingers wrapped around the polished railing, and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. The night air was cool, carrying the sweet scent of fresh flowers from the garden below. I exhaled softly, feeling the gentle breeze on my skin.
I rolled my neck in a massaging motion, struggling to calm my racing heart. How could a man’s stare be so cold and lifeless? How did he put the fear of God in me without even trying?
“You shouldn’t be here,” a deep, husky voice spoke from behind me.
I almost flinched at the sudden presence, and my breath hitched in my throat. The voice was unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew he was standing right behind me.
Fuck.
I could hear my heart racing in my slowly heaving chest. My hands trembled, and I had to blink a few times to regain composure.
Quietly, I turned around, my back against the railing as I held his gaze. Fear wasn’t something I wanted him to see in me. No.
“Why is that?” I asked, looking right into those pale, hollow eyes. “This is a party, isn’t it?”
“It’s a fundraiser. Not a party,” he said. “And you’re not supposed to be here.”
I locked my jaw, trying so hard to mask my terror. My throat was dry all of a sudden, making it difficult to swallow.
Again, he wasn’t going to see me scared.
My brows furrowed, expression darkening by a whisper. “Why? Because I’m a woman?”
He paused for a second, staring at me as though he found my statement rather ridiculous. “You’re a girl.” He took a step closer. “This is no place for you.”
My scowl grew deeper as I narrowed my eyes at him. At this point, I was confused, unsure whether this was a threat or some twisted concern.
His gaze swept over my body, then lingered on my face a little longer. I stared back at him, refusing to look away until he broke eye contact and picked up his pace.
I watched him return to the hall with slow, measured footsteps—graceful and majestic.
It wasn’t until he was out of sight that I realized I’d been holding my breath this whole time. A heavy sigh of relief fell from my lips as I held on to the railing for support. My kneeswere weak from the encounter, and my heart was threatening to jump out of my chest, even with the palm placed over it.
Did I just have a short conversation with the devil? Why was I spooked and terrified?
For the rest of the evening, I was unsettled, barely able to stay focused on anything. Even when Viktor laughed too loudly and sang my praises, I still found my eyes wandering the hall as if searching for something in particular. Someone, maybe.
I hated how my thoughts kept drifting back to Lev Tarasov: his looks, the sound of his voice, and the bad energy that oozed out of him. I told myself it was wariness, not curiosity, that kept pulling me back to him.
At the end of the gala, I left with Viktor, and although Lev was gone, he’d left a mark on me. His presence followed me home like a shadow, a ghost I couldn’t get rid of.
For my sake, I hoped we would never cross paths again.
Chapter 2 —Lev
Two Months Later
I stood near the edge of a rooftop terrace at another Tarasov social gathering masked as a gala. To the outside world, it was just another one of those parties the rich and powerful threw to spend some time with one another.
That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Spending time together was never the goal, especially since half the people at this event hated each other. Inourworld, fun and trust were the quickest way to go down.
This gathering wasn’t for fun, and no one here trusted anyone but themselves. The gala was just a front to hide the real underground deals going on behind closed doors.
Men like me from various organizations, such as the Bratva, were present, each with their own personal interests at heart. Politicians, even the so-called philanthropists and humanitarians revered by half the city, were looking to close a deal for themselves.
Those wolves in sheep’s clothing—I hated them. They masqueraded, deceiving the masses, tricking them into believing they were the good guys and we were the bad guys. They claimed to have the interests of the common people at heart when, in reality, they were only after their own pockets.
