Page 4 of The Russian's Stalked Bride
I know what she orders at the bar before she gets on stage, and that she tips too much. That she always scans the crowd before she leaves, even if she doesn’t really have any means to protect herself.
As she hits an impressive long note, my pulse spikes, and it’s an impossible task to look away from that face. The one I long to see whenever I’m not actively watching her.
And as those hazel eyes reach the crowd again…
Fuck.
Drawing in a deep breath, I know I shouldn’t be so stuck on her. This should only be about duty, neutralizing threats, and protecting what belongs to my family.
But somewhere along the way, she managed to crawl under my skin without even knowing it.
She’s forbidden fruit in every sense. She’s the very thing I’m supposed to ruin.
But Christ, it only makes her sweeter. More tempting.
I should want to use her and turn her into leverage, like most men like me would do. Yet, all I can do is sit in the dark and let her voice wreck me over and over again.
Chapter 2 - Mila
The restaurant is exactly the scenery change I’ve been needing, but I don’t know why my brother has brought me here.
The tablecloths are pristine and white while warm, natural light washes over everything, and the clientele talks quietly among themselves. It’s the kind of place where nothing happens, since everything costs too much and nobody wants to cause a scene.
For whatever reason, I feel more like a child sitting at the table with Cesare and one of his men, spine unnaturally straight as I push against an unspoken pressure to be quiet and still.
The man laughs at something my brother says, but I don’t catch the joke, or even pretend to. My mind is elsewhere…on stage with a vaguely sticky floor and a microphone that passed through numerous hands before reaching mine.
While it wasn’t one of my first shows, the one from a few nights ago lingers in my mind while I swear I can still feel the thrum of the music moving through me, and the rush of having those eyes on me, listening intently.
It’s not something I should be thinking about here, especially not with Cesare in close proximity, but it’s hard not to. No matter how many times I do it, singing cracks me open in some strange, vulnerable way. It lets me be someone outside of my name and everyone’s expectations.
In a perfect world, I could tell my brothers about my performances. I’d be able to share in that joy with them, and they’d accept it. Maybe they’d even be impressed if they came to a show. But this situation is far from perfect, and if I ever let them know, I could kiss it all goodbye.
Every time I go out could be my last, that is, if Vince ever decides he’s done protecting my secret. Though, since he’s technically complicit now, I have the feeling he won’t squeal on me out of fear of what my brothers might do if they knew he was letting me sneak out.
I hate how that fact alone brings me comfort, but I know it won’t be enough to stop me from going again.
“Relax,” Cesare says, giving me a light nudge with his elbow, breaking my trance. “You look like you’re standing in front of a firing squad.”
I force a smile, as if the gesture might hide my thoughts entirely. “I’m just hungry.”
He gives a huffed breath of amusement. “That’s a first.”
The other man chuckles to himself, but I ignore it, focusing on my glass of wine instead.
It’s a task, but I urge myself to drop my shoulders a bit and to look a little more natural in my seat. Still, tension keeps me coiled tight on the inside, not knowing what to think of this outing.
Ever since Dad died, my brothers have been different. They’ve always been distant, but after the fact, they didn’t leave the house for months, and they definitely didn’t let me go either. We’ve been on some kind of lockdown, and they claimed it was to keep any kind of press from finding us.
Dad had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and was mugged by some thugs on his way home. They said the public would want to know how an important man such as him could be taken down like that, and it has caused an uproar with the public.
They’ve been insisting that lying low was the better way, and they’re just protecting me by doing so.
Yet, we’re here, out in the open. It hasn’t gone over my head that Cesare is currently wearing sunglasses inside, along with a hat he would otherwise never be caught dead in, and I don’t know what to think about any of this.
Something in me doesn’t want to complain, though. This is the first time in months we’ve gone out, and the first time I haven’t had to sneak out to do it.
When the waiter comes over to refill our glasses, my brother orders for me without asking, and even if I want to protest, I let him. It’s easier than fighting over something so small, so I’ve learned.
