Page 12 of Forced into a Bratva Marriage
Her eyes followed mine while she slipped from her cup, her expression as flat as the one on my face. The look she gave me seemed like a reminder that she wasn’t backing down.
Time reset again, and the vehicle sped past the restaurant in a heartbeat. I wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about this young woman that pulled me in.
Whatever it was, it was as interesting as it was unsettling.
Back at my mansion, Sergei pulled up beside the fountain in the center of the courtyard. He killed the engine, stepped out, and opened the door for me. I climbed down, fingers undoing the button of my coat as I made way toward the entrance.
Once inside, I was greeted by the familiar sound of classical music, so loud it sounded more like a noise than a melody. My face twisted into a frown, and my blood boiled with fury.
The place was quiet when I left this morning, peaceful as always. So who the fuck was unfortunate enough to disturb the peace in my house? Definitely not one of my staff, because they knew better than that.
I ran this mansion on a set of rules, one of which was“No noise pollution. Ever.”No one had ever broken any of my rules, so what was the meaning of this nonsense?
I’d barely taken four steps into the living room when the housekeeper, Maria, approached me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said politely, noticing my displeasure. “I told him to keep the music down, but he wouldn’t listen.”
I stopped before her, my brows knitting ever so slightly. “He who?”
“Your Uncle Pavel.”
Why am I not surprised?
“How long has he been here for?” I asked her.
She paused, as if running the math in her head. “About an hour or so.”
Great.
Uncle Pavel had always been a pain in the ass. The fifty-nine-year-old man was unapologetically loud and lousy for his age and political status.
“Of course it’s him,” I muttered under my breath, then began ascending the curved staircase.
Down the hallway, I loosened my tie as I traced the sound to my study. My shoes scuffed against the polished marble floor, my fingers rubbing my eyes.
The door was slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of the lit interior and the art pieces on the wall.
The classical noise drowned out the sound of the door creaking open. When I stepped inside, my eyes fell on the turntable in the corner, the record spinning lazily beneath the needle.
To my right, Uncle Pavel was helping himself at the minibar, dressed in a white tux. His signature attire.
I crossed the room in a few long strides, lifted the tonearm, and set it back in its cradle. The music stopped, leaving only silence.
“Well, that’s not rude at all,” Uncle Pavel said, pouring himself another glass of vodka.
“I’m not about to let you bring my house down with your loud music.”
He chuckled lightly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little too serious?”
I looked right at him. “No. Never.”
His lips curled into a faint grin as he poured vodka into another glass.
“Uncle Pavel,” I called. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair by morning.”
“You’re always welcome in my house,” I replied. “I’m just wondering what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone.”
