Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Ania and I get in the car behind theirs. My hands fidget together in my lap. There’s no reason for me to be nervous about this. Well, except that it’s just one more day until the wedding bells start ringing. Ania touches my hand. “Not to be a hypocrite, but chill, okay?”
I smile at her. “Yeah, sorry.”
“This is a lot to take in, right? All this change. All this responsibility.”
“That’s an understatement,” I say, nodding. “But today isn’t about that.”
I try not to look at Mikhail during the service, but it isn’t easy. We’re standing right across from each other. He’s got a tortured, confused look on his face as if he doesn’t know how to feel. The sun blazes down, catching the uncertainty in his eyes, the twist of insecurity in his lips. I want to go to him so badly and offer comfort. Instead, I stand with my head slightly bowed, pretending I’m not watching him.
Afterward, we return to the cars and head through the city to the function hall where the wake is held. At least a hundred people are here, with tall ceilings and a somber atmosphere. Mikhail, Ania, and Dimitri all sit at a table near the front, accepting condolences and occasional envelopes, presumably of cash. That’s what happened at the other Bratva funerals I’ve been to, anyway.
Thankfully, it’s only the Vegas Bratva, so I don’t have to put on a show for Dad. Though, if there are spies in the Sokolovs, then word might get back to him. But what can Dad expect from me? Does he want me to seduce Dimitri at his father’s funeral or something? Knowing Dad, I probably shouldn’t let myself be surprised by thoughts like that.
I can’t help but watch Mikhail when he stands up and leaves the room. He walks fast, with broad, powerful shoulders pulled back, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Maybe this is all getting too much for him.
Since I’m sitting alone, I don’t need to excuse myself. Yet the instinct is still there, a result of the times Dad scolded me for being rude and ungrateful when I tried to leave without excusing myself first. I leave the room, walk down the hallway, and find Mikhail leaning against the wall, his hands on his head, his eyes closed.
He’s breathing slowly, deeply, his chest rising and falling exaggeratedly in a way that makes me want to place my hand on him. His posture looks tight, angry, and almost ready for violence.
Then, suddenly, he launches himself at the wall. He hits it twice, making a tangled noise of pure pain. His hair comes loose, wild as it hangs down, making him look like some Viking warrior. He turns to me when I gasp, staring through his loose hair. He smooths it back and then tries to laugh, but it sounds forced.
“Mikhail, you’re bleeding,” I say, rushing over to him. His knuckles are dripping blood.
He holds his hand up and studies it curiously. “Everybody is telling me how sorry they are,” he groans. “Everybody is telling me I should miss him. Maybe I’ve been confused, but hell. I’m not that confused.”
He’s talking like I’m not here and needs to vent what is eating him up inside. He sounds like he could snap again any second. Maybe he notices how I’m looking at him. He sighs sadly. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Mila.”
“You didn’t scare me,” I say softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, at least, okay?”
I reach down and gently take his bleeding hand. When we touch, though, it’s like I forget about what I was going to do. It’s like he forgets about his pain, too. He wraps his hand around mine, holds me tightly, and stares down intensely.
“Why are you making this so difficult, Mila?” he groans.
“Making what so difficult?” My voice comes out raspy. It’s difficult to speak and even more challenging to think. His touch is sending warm pulses of lust and belonging through me.
“Being near you,” he growls, then pulls me toward him as he leans down simultaneously.
I’m so, so ready for this kiss. I didn’t know how ready I was until time slows down, giving me the space to savor this moment and code it deep into my memory. When our lips touch, he makes the hottest groaning noise. It’s a sound of pleasure mixed with relief, like he’s been waiting for this as hungrily as I have.
I slide my hands up his arms, feeling his muscles through his suit jacket, feeling his muscles against my palm. He turns and gently pushes me against the wall, his body locking me in place, letting me feel his manhood pushing through his pants and against my belly.
“This could end so badly,” he growls, breaking off the kiss.
“I know,” I whisper.
“Good,” he groans, then kisses me again.