Page 4 of Kidnapped Bride

"You know me. We've been texting for weeks now. Just one dinner, and then I'll have my driver bring you home." I sensed more than saw Yakov watching the exchange in the mirror as Kira softened and dropped her head.

"Okay… for dinner. But then I have to go home."

"Good girl," I praised.

Now, so long as she didn't change her mind, things would work out as I planned.

And soon, her father would be retreating from my territory back to his own hell where he belonged.

What happened to her after that would be her choice.

Only time would tell.

2

KIRA

My hands still shook as I sank onto Niko's couch and he handed me the glass of whiskey with the tiny glass ice cubes.

I had no idea how wealthy he was, but it made sense.

The Tatiana wasn't exactly a low-budget restaurant.

"You still look frightened," he said, sitting next to me.

He sat a bit closer than I thought was appropriate for a first date, but this didn't feel like a first date to me.

We'd been messaging so much, I felt like I'd known him for months.

I leaned into the sofa cushions and cupped my drink with both hands, forcing a smile.

But the smile turned to a half-grimace as I said, "I just really think we should've stayed there. I mean, we were witnesses to a violent crime." A crime I knew my father would've wanted more information about. I knew those men on that corner being shot at. I just wasn't foolish enough to tell Niko about them.

Letting him in on what my father did for a living would only cause a lot of drama.

He probably wouldn't want anything to do with me after that.

"Believe me," he said, nudging my drink so I brought it to my lips to sip. "The police had plenty of witnesses. Your testimony would've just been white noise. Besides, our first date would've been entirely ruined. At least we've salvaged it. "

He smiled as I tipped the glass up higher and finished it.

I wasn't much of a drinker, and my body was primed for getting tipsy fast.

I hadn't eaten since breakfast in an effort to avoid feeling bloated at dinner.

The burn of the drink sat warmly on my tongue and slid into my belly with a comfortable heat that made my cheeks feel rosy.

"So, you said you're a businessman?" I asked him, glancing around his home. There wasn't any indication of what sort of business he was in but every indication of how much money he made.

The rug looked like the Persian rug from my mother's private study, and the Perigold Howard Miller grandfather clock was a perfect mate to one in my uncle's home in Boston.

I loved that old clock, but they never let me touch it when I was little—fingerprints ruined the varnish, they'd say.

"Yes, well I'm into different trades, but I don't want to talk about work." Niko took the glass from my hand and set it onto the coffee table, refilling it from the bottle which he'd brought in the living room when he served me the first one.

His glass sat untouched as he handed mine back to me, but I was too nervous to care.

Going to a man's home on the first date wasn't my style. Moving slower was more my style, so everything that transpired had thrown me for a loop.