Page 19 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“Because of the exposé,” she says, finding her anger again. “You need to fix your reputation.”

“That,” I agree. “It shuts down the internal questions. The Bratva leadership likes stability. They like alliances. Marrying the sister of a… liability… sends a message. It shows that I can handle my problems.”

“Ayaan is not a liability!” she snaps.

“He is,” I say coldly. “Until he is found, or until the matter is settled, you are the collateral I’m holding onto.”

She recoils as if I’ve slapped her. “Collateral,” she repeats.

“Don’t look so wounded,” I say, watching her closely. “It’s better than being dead, and it’s certainly better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“You don’t want to know.”

She looks away, staring out the window at the passing city. I can see the gears turning in her head. She’s trying to find a way out. She’s trying to find a loophole.

There isn’t one.

The car pulls up to the underground garage of my building. We ride the elevator up in silence. The air is thick with tension. When the doors open to the penthouse, she steps out, her posture stiff.

I follow her into the living space. It’s expansive and minimalist, all gray. Everything is in its place. Nothing is out of order.

She stops in the middle of the room, looking around. It’s the first time she’s really seen it.

“It’s very… gray,” she observes.

“It’s efficient,” I correct.

Walking to the bar, I pour two fingers of vodka. I don’t offer her any. She doesn’t need it.

“It’s late. You can sleep in the guest room tonight,” I say, turning to face her. “Tomorrow, you go home and start packing. After the wedding, you move in with me.”

Her head snaps up. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You will,” I say simply. “We are engaged to be married. We are expected to share a bed. If your room is separate, rumors will start. I won’t have rumors.”

“I don’t care about rumors.”

“I do.”

“I’m not sleeping with you, Nikita,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can drag me to the altar, you can put a ring on my finger, but you can’t make me share a bed with you.”

I walk over to her, stopping inches away. She holds her ground, but I can see the pulse fluttering in her throat.

“We’ll see,” I say softly.

Reaching out, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers trail down her neck to her shoulder. She shivers, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Freya,” I murmur. “You think you’re so smart. You think you can use me to find your brother, but you’re forgetting one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m the one holding the cards.” I let my hand drop, stepping back. “Now, go to your room. I have work to do.”

She hesitates, then turns and walks away. I watch her go, admiring the sway of her hips, the stubborn set of her shoulders.

Alone in the quiet room, I pour the rest of the vodka down the drain. The alcohol isn’t what I need.