Page 68 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“He’s small time,” she says, her voice admirably steady despite my proximity. “Smuggling jewelry. Fast turnover, low risk.”

“Is he?”

“He’s not a threat to you.”

“Everyone is a threat.”

I lean down, bracing my hands on the arms of her chair. I box her in. She’s trapped, but she doesn’t panic. Her posture remains straight, her shoulders squared.

“He has a weakness,” I murmur, my mouth inches from her ear.

“His brother.”

“Good.”

“He’s in a wheelchair,” she continues. “Paralyzed from the waist down. Ivanov pays for the best private care in Switzerland.”

“Use it.”

“I already wrote it down.”

She shifts slightly, and her back brushes against my chest. The contact is electric, a jolt that runs through both of us.

She freezes.

I don’t pull away. I lean into it, letting her feel the solid heat of my body. Letting her feel how hard I am for her, even through the layers of our clothes.

“Keep reading,” I say, my voice low.

She swallows hard. She tries to focus on the text, but I can see her hand trembling on the page.

“The next one,” she says, flipping the page with a slightly shaky motion. “Elena Rosetti.”

“Read.”

“Importer of textiles. Mostly from Italy.”

“Go on.”

“She’s… connected to the Colombos.”

I feel her stiffen instantly. Her breathing hitches.

“Distantly,” I clarify. “Through marriage.”

“Does Lorenzo know she’s working with you?”

“She doesn’t know she’s working with me. Yet.”

“It’s a trap?”

“Bait.”

I slide my hands off the arms of the chair. My fingers trail along her shoulders, down her arms. Her skin is hot, smooth.

She shivers, a full-body tremor she can’t suppress. “Nikita,” she warns, her voice a strained whisper. “You’re distracting me.”

“Am I?”