Page 66 of The Wrong Brother

“You’re going to walk back in there and act like you’re mine. Because youaremine, aren’t you, Emma?”

Another nod. I can’t even get the words out. The pressure is building, pulsing, from my clit up through my torso, the overstimulated sensation tugging at my nipples. I want so badly to feel him inside me. I want to leave, drag him back to the hotel, lose myself in the way he touches and fucks me.

Instead, he plays my pussy perfectly. Just the right amount of pressure, the right pace, and I’m coming around nothing—letting out an unsatisfied moan as my legs tremble, Ruslan holding me up against the railing.

He huffs out a contented hum and holds me until everything steadies again.

Then he steps back, letting me turn slowly. And I watch those pale eyes glint as he raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks.

When he holds out a hand, I take it.

And when we walk back into the room, nothing and no one matters anymore. Just the man at my side and the feeling that I’mhis.

It’s a dangerous thought. But one I can live with for tonight.

Chapter 16

Ruslan

When we returnfrom the balcony, the ballroom has shifted. Not visibly, because the chandeliers still glow rose gold against the ceiling and the champagne is still flowing. Politicians and donors still laugh too loudly at mediocre jokes. But the energy underneath it all has shifted.

Everyone is waiting for the main event.

Emma settles against my side as we move deeper into the room again, and I keep one hand firm against her waist. Her earlier uncertainty has dulled somewhat after the balcony, replaced by something steadier. Good.

When Andrei walks through the doors, the room erupts in applause.

Victoria enters just behind him in a fitted ivory gown that probably cost more than most people here make in a year. She’s thin and elegant, with a smile that gleams beneath the lights as cameras immediately begin flashing.

But it’s Andrei I can’t look away from. My half-brother looks exactly how I remember.

Tall, controlled, and devilishly handsome. The dark pit in my stomach understands why Emma fell for him. He has our mother’s bowed upper lip and aquiline nose, his father’s hooded eyes and jawline. Every single one of his movements is performative, as he draws Victoria forward and raises their clasped hands. Her ring glints.

Emma feels the change in me immediately. Her fingers tighten slightly against my jacket as my stomach turns in disgust.

Andrei smiles at someone near the entrance, shakes hands, kisses Victoria’s cheek for the cameras. The entire thing feels manufactured, like watching an actor perform a role he’s played for so long he no longer remembers himself beneath it.

Then his eyes sweep across the ballroom. The distance between us suddenly feels very small. My jaw aches, and I realize I’ve been clenching it.

Years.

Years without seeing him in person, years imagining this moment. Somehow none of it prepared me for the reality of standing in the same room again.

Rage begins curling low in my chest, hot and familiar. I can feel it building beneath my skin with frightening speed, old instincts pressing against the leash I’ve spent years forcing onto myself. Back then he had me by the balls. Despite being in my early 30s and almost a decade into fighting my way into the Bratva’s leadership, he managed to blindside me. A DA and commissioner paid off; half a dozen dirty cops ready to turn on me.

The memories surface bitterly, and a voice inside whispers:

Break his jaw.

Drag him outside.

Make him bleed.

Emma tilts her head up slightly, studying me with growing concern. “Rus.”

I don’t answer.

Across the ballroom, Andrei says something to Victoria that makes her laugh. One of his hands settles against her back possessively as they chat with guests. Something inside me nearly snaps.