Page 23 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
I ignore him. Weave through the crowd, focus narrowed to a single point. The woman’s back is to me now, but the curve of her waist, the way she gestures with her hands when she talks.
I reach her just as she turns.
She has the wrong face, and the wrong eyes. The disappointment hits like a physical blow.
The woman notices me staring, smiles in a way that’s meant to be inviting. “Can I help you with something?”
“No. I thought you were someone else.”
“Story of my life.” She laughs, light and uncomplicated. “Do I look like someone important?”
“You did. From behind.”
Her smile falters slightly at the phrasing, and I realize how that sounded. I don’t bother correcting it. Just turn and walk away before she can respond, before I make this worse than it already is.
I return to VIP, aware that I’ve just made a fool of myself over a stranger who shares exactly one physical characteristic with a woman I haven’t seen in four years.
Felix is watching me when I sink back into my seat.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.
“No.”
“The intern. You thought that was her?”
“I said no.”
He nods, dropping it, but I can feel his attention even as he turns back to surveying the club. Felix forgets nothing, files everything away for future reference. This moment will becomepart of his catalog of my weaknesses, insurance against the day he might need leverage.
I don’t blame him for it. In our world, sentiment is liability.
Oleg returns from whatever he was doing, oblivious to the tension. “There’s a group of women at the main bar. Americans, I think. One of them keeps looking over here. Should I say hello?”
“Do whatever you want,” I say. “I’m leaving.”
“It’s been forty minutes!”
“Emergency came up.”
“What emergency?”
“Does it matter?”
Oleg exchanges a look with Felix, then shrugs. “Your loss. More bottle service for us.”
“Enjoy it.”
I don’t answer. Stand, adjust my jacket, and head for the exit without looking back.
The night air hits cold and sharp, clearing some of the fog the alcohol and disappointment left behind. My driver appears instantly, but I wave him off.
“I’ll walk.”
“Sir, it’s quite far.”
“I’ll walk.”
He knows better than to argue.
