Page 23 of Forced into a Bratva Marriage
I opened the door and stepped out into the night, the cool breeze brushing against my skin. He stood on the other side, as if waiting for me to join him. I did, sashaying like a pageant queen on a runway.
We hadn’t even gotten into the building yet, and I could already feel people’s eyes on me. When I got close enough to him, his hand found my lower back. The contact was minimal but deliberate, grounding and possessive at the same time.
From the look of things, Agata was right. It was a gala.
That’s when it hit me.
I was his plus-one.
Chapter 8 – Karik
I knew she was gorgeous the moment I saw her in that restaurant. But tonight, her beauty exceeded my imagination, and that’s not even an exaggeration.
The red gown hugged her in all the right places, revealing her curves and contours. Her eyes sparkled in a way I hadn’t seen before, and it warmed my stone-cold heart. The professional I’d hired did a wonderful job at transforming my little prisoner into a diva.
We hadn’t walked into the main hall yet, and her presence had already drawn attention. Heads turned as we moved toward the entrance under the silver glow of the full moon above.
She stiffened when I placed a hand on the small of her back. For a second, I thought she was going to slap my arm off. But she didn’t. Instead, she straightened, keeping her head up as we climbed the long steps at the entrance.
The men at the door, dressed in evening coats, acknowledged us with a practiced nod. She returned the gesture with a small smile.
We walked into the main hall, bathed in the chandelier’s warm amber light that made everything seem more valuable than it was. The air was filled with the soft hum of conversation as the city’s most important people lingered in small groups.
Politicians. Humanitarians. Celebrities. Mafia.
They’re all here, dressed in their finest tuxes and gowns. True intentions were hidden behind fake smiles and forced laughs. Because half the people in here hated each other’s guts.
Nobody in this hall was who the world thought they were. Except for the Mafia men. We were the devils in suits—the ones the masses knew and feared. They were wrong. We’re not the ones they should be worried about.
The politicians, celebrities, philanthropists, and activists they loved were their real enemies. They were in bed with men like me for their own gain, regardless of who got hurt.
These men and women publicly denied affiliations with us but licked our shoes in private. They’d mastered the art of manipulation, presenting themselves as saints. And the gullible masses praised them for a few good deeds.
For every problem they “solved,” they created another. They’d learned to take credit for putting out the fire they started. The citizens saw these men and women as their saviors, when in fact they were the devils people should flee from.
I brought Ellie here so she’d see for herself how deeply corrupt the justice system had become. The same system she had hoped would fight for Daniel Vetrov.
Her eyes swept the hall in careful increments, cataloging possible exits and faces. Beside me, she scanned the room, drinking in every detail of her surroundings.
“Champagne?” A waiter appeared at my left.
I took two crystal glasses from his tray without breaking stride and handed one to her. She accepted it but didn’t take a sip. She didn’t comment either. She just held it, the correct instinct whether she realized it or not.
Heads turned as we moved, murmurs rippling through the crowd. I sipped my champagne, one hand still resting on the small of her back. Some onlookers wore jealousy on their faces, while others wore astonishment and sheer surprise.
She didn’t shrink under their gazes; instead, she straightened her spine and moved with the confidence of a woman in control.
“Is it just me, or is everyone looking at us?” she asked, her voice a low whisper. “I don’t like too much attention.”
“Says the girl who chose the one case for her school presentation that drew a lot of attention,” I replied in the same tone.
She stole a quick glance at me but said nothing, her brows knitting together.
I spotted him down the hall, Viktor Lasch. But he had already seen me and was on his way to meet me. The man had an instinct for sensing when influence and power entered the room. This skill had kept him solvent through three administrations and one serious tax investigation.
“Karik. What a pleasant surprise!” He held out his hand, his cufflinks glinting in the chandelier’s warm glow. “I was told you weren’t going to come tonight.”
I shook his hand. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”
