Page 69 of Forced & Obsessed By the Bratva King
I’m not sure if that’s advice or a warning, because it makes my stomach churn. Regardless, I force a smile. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”
He smiles back. “Dinner’s ready.”
***
Dinner without Leonid doesn’t feel anything like I imagined.
The meal tastes like something straight out of a five-star restaurant. The vegetables are perfectly crisp, the chicken is seasoned to perfection, and every bite somehow manages to be better than the last.
Under normal circumstances, I’d be too busy stuffing my face to think about anything else, but tonight I keep finding myself glancing at the empty chair at the other end of the table where he usually sits.
Which is ridiculous because a week ago, I would’ve celebrated the opportunity to eat an entire meal without being subjected to Leonid’s infuriating comments and smug smiles.
Instead, the dining room feels strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
I spear a piece of chicken with my fork and scowl at myself.
I don’t miss him. Loving sex with him and being attracted to him aren’t the same as wanting him around me. I just miss having someone to argue with, that’s all.
The distinction feels important.
Unfortunately, even I don’t believe it.
My gaze drifts back to the empty chair, and the will to keep up with the denial leaves me completely.
Damn it, I actually do miss Leonid.
As annoying as he is, he’s somehow become a constant presence in my life. The mansion feels larger and colder without him in it, and the realization leaves a strange ache in my chest.
I bury the feeling beneath another bite of chicken and pretend it doesn’t exist.
By the time I’m done with dinner, Mr. Petrov has a cup of coffee ready for me, which I thank him for before I carry it with me to the home office upstairs.
It’s already fifteen minutes past eight by the time I settle back into Leonid’s chair and prepare to resume work.
The office is eerily quiet without him.
No impossible man standing behind me pretending he isn’t watching everything I do. Just me, a mountain of paperwork, and a cup of coffee that’s probably strong enough to wake the dead.
I spend the next hour sorting through shipping manifests and organizing invoices at the speed of light, making sure I don’t miss anything important.
Somewhere around nine o’clock, a burst of static crackles from one of the secondary monitors, and my attention shifts immediately.
The screen displays one of the mansion’s security feeds.
I frown.
I don’t remember turning that on, but curiosity gets the better of me. Setting my coffee aside, I lean closer and navigate the cursor to display the entire feed.
Several camera feeds occupy the screen at once—the front gate, the east wing corridor, the garage entrance, the grounds surrounding the property.
There’s nothing unusual at first, but then I notice movement on one of the right feeds.
Two guards are speaking near the south entrance. One of them says something into his radio and the other laughs.
A second later, the footage flickers and the guards disappear. Then they reappear on the same feed. In the exact same positions. Repeating the exact same conversation.
