Page 27 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

There are two other SUVs in front of us and another behind us, all the men armed to the nail. Sometimes I find myself forgetting the type of man Igor is, how dangerous and cruel he’s known to be all over Miami.

Hell, sometimes even I’m afraid of him, even though I’d rather have him put a bullet in my head than give him the gratification of knowing that.

We haven’t said a word to each other since we left his mansion, which is partly due to the argument we had about me going with him to the port.

He cited his concern for my safety as the main reason I should stay home, but I know it’s really because he doesn’t trust me yet.

If I’m going to take him down, I need to be around him and his work as much as possible. I need to earn his trust while avoiding his suspicious, because the moment he figures out why I agreed to marry him, this will turn messy in ways I don’t want.

Still ignoring me, my husband scrolls through his phone, replying to a bunch of messages with the fingers on his free hand drumming against his thigh.

It shouldn’t mean much to me, but I lean against the window, staring at the streetlights as they pass by and ruminating on our kiss from earlier.

I hate how my body reacts when he’s close to me. Most of all, I hate how I completely melted against him when he kissed me.

It’s been a year since we were together. A year since I loved him. A year since he shattered my heart with just a few words and that icy coldness in his eyes.

I haven’t forgotten a moment of how I felt. How small and worthless he made me feel. I’ll never forgive him, either.

If only my traitorous body could cooperate with my thoughts.

This man is an enemy and I’m on a mission here. I’ll do well to remember that every time I dangle between lust and self-control.

Half an hour passes, and I’m growing impatient and restless beside the man who still won’t utter a word to me. I’m starting to regret not packing some snacks or something to keep myself busy while on this unexpectedly long trip.

If I didn’t need to know who he’s meeting and how he runs his businesses, I would’ve definitely passed on this irritating experience, but it’s not like I can change my mind now.

Sergei’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror a couple times. For a moment, I wonder if he’s suspicious of me or simply curious about me. Then I notice the motorcycle slipping between cars before settling a few vehicles behind our convoy.

I haven’t been paying much attention, but I’m pretty sure it’s been following us for a while—or at least the driver is heading in the same direction we are.

I squint, trying to see through the headlights.

The rider is dressed in completely black gear, and he or she is also wearing a black helmet that covers every inch of their face.

Usually, that wouldn’t be a problem. I mean, it’s Miami and there are dozens of bike riders who dress the same way. But I noticed the bike when we first hit the road, though I didn’t think much of it. But the look on Sergei’s face shows he’s also suspicious about it.

Or maybe that’s just my imagination.

I’m already pissed as hell and horny as fuck, but mostly pissed from the argument me and Igor had. The last thing I want to do now is spike my adrenaline for no reason.

“Do you usually go out with this many men following you?”

Igor’s finger pauses right above his phone. I can tell he wasn’t expecting me to talk to him. “Not always.”

I’m trying to get as much information from him as I can without sounding too interested in his business, and I could tell something was wrong from the way he rushed us out of the house. “What’s special about today?”

He turns his head and gives me a hard look that makes my pulse go haywire. His eyes aren’t as cold today, yet the hardness in them tells me not to ask any more questions.

Men like Igor don’t trust easily, that much I know. I’m not sure how yet, but I know I’ll have to make him trust me somehow. It’s the only way I’ll truly be able to penetrate his empire.

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. “Did you hate me?”

He returns his attention to his phone but still answers, “Depends on what you’re talking about.”

I want to ask if he felt anything beyond anger when he found out I made that call a year ago. If his heart broke into pieces because he’d trusted me and I betrayed him. I want to know if his chest constricted so hard he thought he would die from the pain, the way mine did when he broke things off between us.

But even asking would mean I think he still has a heart in his chest somewhere. And I know better than anyone else that the only thing in his chest is ice.