Page 17 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
“That was rhetorical,” I told her around a big mouthful. “Fuck, this is tasty. Eat up, Tati, before it gets cold.”
Her stomach rumbled again, and she tore into the steak, chewing and swallowing a mouthful, unable to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head.
“Good, right?”
“It’s amazing. Great job. Now tell me why you have a grudge against me.”
“I don’t have a grudge against you. Yet. So don’t give me a reason. Like your father.” My hand whipped out to grip her wristas she started to rise. “Stay where you are. Let’s talk. If you really don’t know where Grigor is, perhaps you can help me find him.”
“So you can torture and kill him?”
“I’d never torture an old friend,” I said honestly. Maybe I’d hit him a few times, but telling her that wouldn’t get me what I wanted. “Make me believe you have nothing to do with this.”
“I don’t.” She shook her arm out of my grip and sat back down, tossing back a huge swallow of wine. “You saw him much more than I did, ever since you dragged him to Tokyo.”
“Your father was making money hand over fist in Tokyo,” I said. “No one dragged him anywhere. In fact…” I paused, thinking back. “It was his idea to go in the first place. He was the one who wanted to invest in the new company over there. It was so lucrative, I bought it outright.”
“Then he’d have no reason to steal anything from you, would he?”
I laughed. “There’s never enough money, Tati. Not for people like your Papa or me. Did he never tell you anything at all?”
I was beginning to believe she was completely innocent, but only because I wanted to believe it. The fire that burned inside me, where she was concerned, needed me to believe it.
That was as dangerous as walking into a gun fight armed only with a knife. The sudden blushes on her pretty cheeks, the flashes of sorrow or even anger that darkened or lit up her blue eyes, couldn’t sway me.
“I haven’t seen him in close to three weeks. The last time he visited Moscow,” she said after a long pause. “And he was so stressed out that it wasn’t much of a visit at all.”
“Of course he was. Whatever he had planned would have been in motion by that time.”
“Or he was upset that he ended up on the same hit list as you. Because of you,” she hissed. “He never should have been in any danger of being hunted or killed.”
I snickered, watching her as I took a sip of wine. “I know he kept you sheltered, but are you not aware at all of what he did for a living?”
“I understand about the Bratva,” she told me, blue eyes lit up like the city skyline, and she probably could have powered LA with all her anger. “But Papa had honor. He never would have racked up the amount of enemies you always seem to have. No one ever wanted him dead.”
“Because I shielded him,” I said, absurdly feeling the need to defend myself. “I was always the boss, so I was always the target.”
She shook her head, her hair whipping across her cheek. She brushed it impatiently aside. “No, because you have no honor. You lie and cheat and take what you want. Territory, businesses, other men’s wives.”
“She was only his mistress,” I said, ignoring the way her sharp words cut, trying to lighten the mood.
Didn’t work. She fumed at me, still shaking her head. “Most of all, you show your lack of honor by ever being able to believe Papa would ever betray you.”
“You forget the empty bank account that only he and I had access to. And I didn’t move that money.”
Let her deny that. She couldn’t, and she didn’t try. “If he did take the money, then he had a very good reason. That’s what you should be trying to find out.”
Now it was my turn to stand up. It was too much that she was now basically admitting that Grigor could steal from me, that if he did, it would be fine with her. She would always be on his side. I had to admire that kind of loyalty. But only if it was to me.
No more Mr. Nice Guy, grilling steaks and pouring wine. I shoved my chair aside and loomed over her. She wasn’t telling me the truth, or she was hiding something from me. It was time to find out, by any means necessary.
I loomed over her, gripping a handful of her thick, chestnut hair and tugging her head back so she had to look me in the eyes. She glared at me, refusing to blink; the only sign she was scared out of her wits was the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
I needed to intimidate her, show her who was in charge, so I could get the answers she was hiding, but the need to keep her from harm was warring against me now.
Don’t you fucking hurt her.
Damn it. My grip tightened, and my other hand moved toward her throat, so soft and pale, the pulse visibly throbbing as I tilted her head further back.
