Page 6 of Forced & Knocked-Up Bratva Bride
I loved her carefree nature and how she seamlessly blended in with any crowd. A smile played on my lips as I shook my head and shifted my gaze to my immediate surroundings.
Dim lights flickered overhead—deep purples, blood reds, and flashes of silver all cast shifting shadows across the opulent interior. Velvet booths lined the walls, half-swallowed by smoke and secrecy. Directly above the dance floor, a dazzling chandelier refracted fractured lights onto the glittering crowd below.
As my gaze swept across the space, I drank in the sea of familiar faces—sons and daughters born into power and danger. These were the children of the societal elites, heirs to empires built in blood and silence. I moved through the haze like a shadow in silk, my gaze cataloging the faces in the crowd.
Dangerous mafia men camouflaged as influencers sealed deals with crooked smiles and calculated glances, coded handshakes and unspoken words. While the music played on and the crowd danced, I spotted a few men roughing up a man at a corner. No blows were thrown yet, but I knew a life-threatening situation when I saw one.
Judging by the way the victim was surrounded by those men with mean faces and the glint of fear in his eyes, it was clear that he was being warned about something. I had been in this world long enough to understand the importance of minding myown damn business. I knew the rules—Father’s rules: Look but don’t engage.
As gracefully as I could, I headed toward the bar, balancing carefully on my heels. However, while sashaying to get a drink, I sensed a shift in the air around me—a presence. Something so dark and sinister that it made my skin crawl. It was as if an antenna in my brain had picked up a signal, warning me of something dangerous lurking nearby.
I paused in my tracks, eyes discreetly sweeping across the vast, opulent expanse, and that was when I spotted him in the VIP area. He lounged on a couch, a glass of whiskey or vodka in his hand. His blue eyes, cold and hollow, pinned on me like a hook to a fish. His dark hair, styled to perfection, simmered under the vibrant colors flashing across his features.
This man, exuding an air of quiet menace, wouldn’t take his eyes off me, nor would his unreadable expression soften even by a whisper. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip without breaking his gaze.
I felt my heart skip a beat as his intimidating gaze met mine, his frightening eyes boring into my own with a threatening intensity that left me rattled for a moment. I recognized him. He was the enemy, the man who accused my father of stealing his shipment.
Nikita Tarasov.
My jaw clenched, eyes narrowing before I looked away and continued my journey to the bar. The last thing I wanted was to be cornered by that sick bastard. Although I doubted that he even recognized me or knew my name, despite the fact that both our families had crossed paths a couple of times in the past.
I honestly hoped that he didn't remember me and wouldn’t do so later. He was the last person I was interested in tonight, but even as I walked away, I could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering.
Chapter 4 – Nik
I hated places like this: loud and noisy, a safe haven for assholes and little brats with a sense of entitlement. I was surrounded by greedy bastards and arrogant teens, with nothing better to do with their lives than party all night long. I never wanted to be here to begin with—this place didn’t offer the kind of darkness that suited me.
However, when it came to business, it didn’t matter what I liked or hated. Business would always come first. I was trained to put the Bratva’s dealings over my own personal interest; it was a sense of loyalty that ran deep in my blood.
Tonight, I wasn’t here for fun. No. There were matters that needed my attention—business-oriented issues that I was here to take care of. As much as I detested the location, these high-profile clients I was meeting with tonight had an excellent reputation for the organization. If I closed this deal with them, which I would, I’d be shifting the Bratva brotherhood to a higher level up the ladder of success.
I sat there, lounging on the leather couch, resplendent in a black suit amidst a number of half-naked women—strippers. The pole dancers seemed to grab every other man’s attention in the VIP area with the way they moved and swayed their hips. The air was charged with the cheers of impressed husbands and fathers looking to have a “good time.” Idiots!
I was no saint, but there were lines I wouldn’t cross—shit I wouldn’t do once married or with a child, let alone children. But then again, this was a place for people I saw as irresponsible.
As these women shook their behinds, dollar bills floated in the air, rained down by those men enchanted by their moves. Jerry, one of the men, reached out and spanked a stripper’s buttbefore relaxing on his sofa. The young girl giggled, dropped to her knees, and seductively crawled over to him on all fours.
“That’s my little kitty. Meow!” Jerry said, his tone low but ecstatic, eyes watching her approach him.
I glanced at my watch, wondering what was taking my clients so long to arrive. I’d received a message about two minutes ago saying that they were close by. I hated being kept waiting, especially in places like this, but one thing I had in abundance was patience. I’d wait a little longer, at least for the sake of sealing this deal.
A waitress in provocative black-and-white attire that revealed way too much skin—thighs and cleavage—halted before me. “Hello, handsome.” She leaned in, bending over with the tray of drinks balanced in her hand.
Her smile was beautiful but flirty. And as I extended my hand to lift a glass from her tray, my eyes dropped to her exposed breasts before darting back to her face.
“Would you like anything else?” she asked, subtly flashing her titties in front of me, her tone low and sexy. “Maybe, something a little more…sensual?”
Without a word, I picked up the glass and looked away from her, taking a sip of my wine. My gesture was dismissive, a clear indication that I was not at all interested in her or anyone else here. She let out a scoff, her face contorting into a fleeting frown before she vanished.
I stole another glance at my watch, and as I raised my head again, I spotted her in the crowd, her form enveloped by the dazzling lights. Her blue jeans hugged her like a second skin, revealing her shape and curvature as she gracefully weaved through the crowd. She wore a crisp white crop top that exposed her flat and enticing belly.
But that wasn’t the most captivating thing about her, nor was it the way her honey-blonde hair fell in soft waves over hershoulders. No. It was the fire that burned bright in those deep brown eyes of hers. How could someone as innocent as her have such an intense flame blazing in her eyes?
I recognized her at first glance—Alessia Romano, princess of her father’s empire. The girl was gorgeous, and her innocence captured my attention. She was young, most likely naïve—untouched by the reality of life. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, there was a glint of danger in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself.
She was heading toward a nearby bar, disinterested in the pulsating music and the crowd of dancers. At least we had that in common.
My lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible grin as I watched her from the VIP area. As she moved, her gaze swept across the space as if surveying her surroundings. Intrigued by her indifference toward what girls her age found rather fascinating, I focused on her.
