Page 74 of Silken Chains
“Late? Maybe because no sane person speeds to their own kidnapper,” she whispers fiercely.
Giving her a smug smile, I lean toward her, close enough to catch that intoxicating mix of jasmine and vanilla again.
“Sit,” I growl, eyes locked on hers, observing her closely.
Her dress is decent enough, but it hugs tight against her plump tits, drawing my gaze downward. Her skin is flawless. Knowing that I will soon have the privilege of unwrapping her and exploring every inch of her body makes my groin tweak.
“I’m not your pet.” Her cheeks flush, but her chin lifts, defiant. “What’s going on here?” she breathes, her gaze sweeping quickly across the table.
Grudgingly, I drag my eyes back up to her face.
“Tradition. Family meets before the wedding.”
Laura halts halfway to sitting. Her gaze on me, wild. She gulps, her throat working hard over words she can’t seem to let out.
Right then, a server slides in, breaking the ice without even knowing it. “Wine, ma’am?” he offers, oblivious to the standoff.
Her eyes flicker to him, then around the room, suddenly clocking the audience for this little drama, including the old man at the end of the table—the pakhan, giving her the once-over.
“No, no…thanks,” she mutters to the server, finally taking the seat next to me, a reluctant surrender. “Water will do, please.”
Papa leans forward, his eyes softening as they meet Laura’s.
What the hell?
This is new to me.
Seeing him like this, with that soft look in his eyes and an easy smile on his lips, throws me off. He’s always been the epitome of a strict and no-nonsense father, never showing any sign of weakness or vulnerability. I can’t help but wonder when he started going soft.
“Hello, I am Andrey, Andrey Morozov,” he introduces himself. “Victor’s father.”
Laura’s body stiffens next to me, her hands squeezing the napkin on her lap as if it’s my neck.
I smirk.
That’s my girl.
Truth is, anyone else would be a mess, probably scared shitless. But here she is, standing strong, barely letting the fear show. It’s a shock how well she’s handling this madness.
I should be parading her around, doing the whole meet-and-greet. But honestly? I couldn’t give a damn. These so-called cousins, they’re just here for show. Been leeching off my father’s success forever, twisting our family’s wins into their own gains without lifting a finger.
“Hello,” Laura replies, her voice little more than a whisper. “I-I’m Laura,” she stammers, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route.
The whole table goes quiet, like someone farted in church. I mean, no one saw this coming.
I guess no one expected the pakhan to react this way to a girl not from the mafia or business blood tie. Now I know why Ksenia warned Laura not to tell anyone about our arrangement. The whole goal here is to get this stubborn old man to consent to his surgery.
“I’m… I… guess… I’m… Victor’s…”
Before Laura gets more tangled in her words, Eli, with all the honesty a kid can muster, cuts in.
“She’s Victor’s bride, dedushka!”
A few chuckles ripple through the room, more polite than genuine. My father’s laughter breaks through, hearty and loud.
“Well, Eli, thank you for spelling it out for everyone.”
Ksenia remains quiet, gulping down her wine with dark eyes. I can almost read her thoughts: she’s betting Laura won’t last a day here—let alone a year—once she gets a real taste of our life.
