Page 16 of Bratva Queen

Without saying a word, I simply watched him.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he took a step forward, straightening his body. “I appreciate your direct honesty in advising me, but let’s not forget who the boss is, Alek. I make the final decision, about this and everything else. I am the king of the bratva. Remember that.”

I stared at him hard, not saying a word. He’d always been spoiled and used to getting his way. He was tough, took no shit. At the same time, there’d always been a charm, a charisma, that he used to get his way. This was different; not the man I knew. Since he started doing business with this new guy, he’d been behaving differently. This idea of him being the bratva king had gone to his head more than usual.

“Trust me,” I said, my tone serious. “I will remember this conversation.”

* * *

Over the next few weeks,Stepan was at the club almost every night. And when Isabel wasn’t working, he took her out. I figured he was making up for the tension that had formed with her the other night, and it seemed to be working.

Isabel’s face lit up whenever he walked into the room. She flew into his lap, flirted with her red fingernail touching his cheek, and shook her ass for him, laughing as he played with her luscious cheeks.

She was his girl. I had no doubt that he cared for her, he just showed it in different ways than… normal, gentlemanly men would. She was a prized possession to him, an object, something to claim and own. It did mean that he would protect her with every ounce of power he had, that I was sure of.

Thankfully, Isabel saw herself as more than an object, which she made obvious in her clever quips to the customers who tried their luck. She valued herself. But how much time with Stepan would change that? How long would it take for her totrulybecome his? The thought made my stomach churn.

Every night, I had to remind myself that this was my job. This was my duty. A long time ago, I was forced into this life, and once you’re in, you never get out. It was my life sentence.

I just wished I didn’t have to see her so often. I wished I wasn’t her damn bodyguard. I wished I didn’t fucking want her so bad.

I wished I didn’tneedher like this.

Chapter7

Isabel

Aleksei’s darkened, crushing stare was becoming too much for me. There was this tightening in my chest whenever I walked out on the stage, putting one alarmingly tall heel in front of the other, swinging around the pole, and carefully searching the darkness of the club floor for his harsh glare.

It was always there, in the back, like two glowing embers in the head of a thick, muscled hunk of a man. His wide shoulders were always relaxed, his chin held high, and his hands clasped together in front. Sometimes I caught myself staring purely because he was such a beautiful man. I now knew what those large hands could do, and I didn’t mean clutch my ass up against a wall until I almost popped—they were dangerous. Lethal.

After the night he beat Boris’s face purple, red, and blue, people around the club gave him a wide berth. And, to be honest, they avoided me as well, because they knew he was there for me. To watch me. Protect me.

But never have me.

I had to physically shove my attraction to him deep down and lock it away because I knew better than to give in to that desire again. Not only because I was technically Stepan’s girl now, but because I refused to be denied like that again. Rejected by the man I most desired, left hurt and alone.

But things got better. Stepan really turned up the charm. He respected my wishes to keep working at the club and even embraced it by coming more often, encouraging me and keeping Boris satisfied with stacks of cash in envelopes delivered to his office.

Aleksei was still around, but I didn’t see him anymore. I only saw Stepan, the sexy blond with the single silver earring and light blue eyes. And he only saw me, never even giving the other girls the satisfaction of a glance in their direction.

None of it even mattered anymore the night Stepan finally claimed me.

He drove me deep into the city, where the elite walked the streets in Bespoke suits and mink coats with emerald teardrop earrings. I looked around in wonder as we entered a hotel that reached up into the clouds while a valet boy drove Stepan’s Aston Martin away, God knows where.

We walked right past the reception desk, and I noticed the glances. People knew Stepan here. Women looked me up and down, and men cast their eyes away in preservation of their lives. Though I was dressed in my simple gray coat and black knee-high heeled boots, I held my head high. I was on the arm of Stepan Koslov, a man wanted and feared by all.

We stepped into the elevator, surrounded by mirrors, and Stepan pulled me into his arms.

“You look like a dream, tonight, my love.”

I just about swooned, relieved that he was holding me upright. “You spoil me, Stepan.”

“Oh no,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

I smiled, feeling drunk on love, and he kissed me with passion. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal an elderly couple looking shocked by our public display of affection. Or, rather, sexual desire.

It was clear that it would happen tonight. I was finally going to feel like arealwoman and take pleasure from a man who couldn’t keep his hands off me. After all, I was 20 years old. It was long past due, but I was so happy that I’d waited for a man like him.

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