Page 44 of The Bratva Sinner

I make it to my room and slam the door behind me, pressing my back against the wood as if that will keep him out. If he wants me, he knows how to get to me, and I can’t stop him.

I can still taste him on my lips.

“Fuck,” I whisper to the empty room.

I kissed him back. I kissed Maksim Sokolov, the man who runs brothels and kills people, and just casually asked me to marry him.

And I liked it.

This is bad. This is so bad.

I’m attracted to him.

“You’re an idiot, Lila,” I mutter. “A complete and total idiot.”

My body is still humming with want. I need to hate him.

But I don’t. I can’t.

12

Maksim

I walk through the streets of Little Havana with Damien beside me. The heat is oppressive, and my shirt is sticking to my back. We’re dressed in all black. We’re here on business and have to look the part.

The cafe is neutral territory. No one faction controls it. The owner is a nice Italian guy who minds his business. He doesn’t mind playing host, but if someone starts trouble, he will not hesitate to handle things. He’s loosely connected to the Italians, but he doesn’t necessarily claim them.

Arlind sits at a corner table with two of his men. His eyes track me as I approach, cold and calculating. He’s pissed, which is understandable. But fuck with me, and I will not hesitate to strike. That’s the mistake he and his cronies made. They assume that because I play nice, mind my business, and stay out of their dealings, I can be pushed around.

It’s their fault they had to find out the hard way.

They see my restraint as weakness.

That’s the game. They never see me coming.

I slide into the seat across from him without invitation. Damien remains standing, his hand resting casually near his weapon.

“Sokolov.” Arlind’s accent is thick. “I wondered when you would come.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries.” I lean back in my chair, projecting a confidence I don’t entirely feel. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer.” He smiles coldly. “You destroy two of my distribution houses and kill eight of my men, and now you want to negotiate?”

“I want to buy her.” I pull out my phone and open my banking app. “One hundred thousand. Cash. Today. You walk away clean and we never speak of this again.”

Arlind stares at me, trying to figure out if I’m joking. Then he laughs, and the ugly sound makes my skin crawl.

“You think this is about money?” He leans forward. “You think I care about a hundred thousand dollars?”

“Everyone cares about money.”

“Not when it comes to matters of honor.” His smile disappears. “You humiliated my man in your club. You took what was mine in front of witnesses. You killed my men. And now you think you can pay me off like I’m a street dealer?”

I feel my jaw tighten. “Name your price.”

“There is no price.” He sits back. “The girl was promised to me years ago. Her father made a deal he couldn’t keep. Her mother ran. We searched for nine years. And just when we get her back, you steal her.”

“She’s not property.”