Page 60 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“I’m not afraid of death.”

“Then you’re stupid.”

“Nikita?” This comes from Antonio. He’s been watching the exchange with interest. “Is she always this forward?”

“Only when she’s passionate,” I reply.

“Passion is a liability,” Antonio says.

“Sometimes,” I say, looking at Freya, “it’s also a fuel.”

Freya glances up at me. For a second, the anger fades, replaced by something else. Gratitude? Recognition?

Then, the moment is gone.

“If you’ll excuse us,” I say, nodding to Lorenzo. “We have other guests to greet.”

“Of course.” Lorenzo raises his glass. “Enjoy the evening. Watch your back, Gromov. The walls have ears.”

“We always do.”

I steer Freya away, moving toward the edge of the rotunda. My heart is hammering against my ribs. That was too close. She almost tipped her hand.

“What are you doing?” I hiss, once we’re out of earshot.

“Getting answers.”

“You were provoking him!”

“I need to know.”

“Not tonight.” I grip her arms, turning her to face me. “Tonight, you survive.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know that, but Lorenzo is a shark. If he smells blood, he’ll attack.”

“I’m not bleeding.”

“Not yet.”

I look at her. She’s flushed, her eyes bright with defiance. She looks magnificent.

I remember the feel of her skin last night. The taste of her mouth. I want to drag her out of here. I want to take her back to the penthouse and finish what we started on the balcony. I want to lose myself in her.

Duty calls.

“Stay close,” I say, releasing her. “Don’t leave my side.”

“I won’t,” she says.

“Good.”

We turn back to the crowd.

The night is just beginning, and the game is far from over.

Chapter Seventeen - Freya