Page 53 of Forced By the Bratva

The soft hum of conversation filled the room, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. A string quartet played near the far wall, barely audible beneath the layered chatter.

Heads turned as we moved through the crowd, eyes drawn to Iris on my arm.

I sensed her sudden discomfort and held her close, my possessive arm settling on her waist.

“Ilya,” she called softly through clenched teeth. “They’re looking at us.”

“No,” I replied with the same tone. “They’re looking at you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” I glanced at her. “Perhaps they haven’t seen a beautiful woman today.”

Her cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink, an almost invisible smile perched on her lips.

“I assure you, we haven’t,” Grigori’s voice interrupted us.

He’d appeared out of nowhere, standing before us in his white tuxedo, cradling a glass of wine.

“Grigori.” I extended my hand.

“Ilya.” He took it, his grip firm. He faced my wife and smiled at her. “Mrs. Tarasov, lovely to finally meet you in person.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir.” She shook his hand, beaming.

“Sir?” He raised his brows. “Please, don’t let my gray hair deceive you. I’m not that old.”

She chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Ilya, tell her.”

“He’s not that old,” I whispered to my wife.

“See?” He gestured with his hands.

She chuckled again, quieter this time.

“That accent wasn’t American,” he said, brows knitting together.

“British,” she answered.

“You bagged yourself a British woman?” He teased me.

“British-American, actually,” she corrected.

“Even better.” He looked at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but um…do you say ‘Bo’le of wa’er’?” He mimicked the British accent. “Or ‘Bahdle of wadder’?” This was an American accent.

She laughed. “Both. I say both.”

He turned his gaze to me. “I like her.”

Of course he would. What wasn’t there to like? The woman was a ten out of ten.

After he left us to mingle with other Bratva officials, she met my gaze with that smile and said, “He seems…harmless.”

That couldn’t have been further away from the truth.

“Trust me, he’s not.”