Page 64 of The Bratva Sinner

“Boss says you do,” he replies.

I try on a dress just to see what it feels like. It’s simple, black, and hits just above my knees. I’ve never worn a dress that I can remember. Mama said dresses were impractical. You can’t ride horses or work in dresses.

But looking at myself now, I don’t hate it.

“You look beautiful,” the saleswoman says when I step out.

I feel my cheeks burn. “Thanks.”

“Is this for a special occasion?”

“No. Just trying new things.”

We buy way more than I intended. Jeans, shirts, the leather jacket, two dresses I’ll probably never wear, tennis shoes, and a pair of sandals because Mike said I had to. I get a pair of badass boots with silver buckles. The total makes my head spin, but Mike just hands over Maksim’s black credit card without blinking.

At the next store, I find myself enjoying this. I pick out clothes I like, try them on, and if they fit, we buy them. No worrying about the price. No calculating how many meals this will cost me.

I feel like a princess. For just a little bit, I allow myself to play make-believe.

I’m at the register paying for a pair of riding boots when the woman behind the counter gasps.

“Oh, my God.” She stares at my left hand.

I look down at the ring Maksim put on my finger. The black diamond catches the light. I’m a little embarrassed by the monstrosity, but he tells me I have to wear it. It feels like a brand, like when we branded horses at the ranch.

“Is that...?” She looks up at me, her eyes wide. “Are you the new Sokolov wife?”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“The black diamond ring. That’s his signature. Everyone knows about it.” She’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh my God, you’re married to Maksim Sokolov!”

I glance at Mike, who’s suddenly very interested in a display of sunglasses.

“Um, yes?”

“I knew it!” She claps her hands together. “We’ve all been dying to know who he married. The rumors have been insane. Some people said it was a model. Others said it was a princess from a country no one has heard of.”

I force a smile. “Nope. Just me.”

Mike takes my bag while George carries the rest. They sandwich me between them as we walk.

I’m still riding the high of my shopping trip as we walk through the parking garage. My arms are loaded with bags—more clothes than I’ve owned in my life combined. Mike is carrying even more, and George trails behind us with the rest.

“This was fun,” I say to Mike. “Thank you for being patient with me.”

“It’s my job, Mrs. Sokolova.”

“You can call me Lila, you know.”

“I know.”

I smile. He’s not going to, but I had to try.

We’re twenty feet from the SUV when I hear footsteps. Before I can turn to see if someone is coming, a sharp pop echoes off the concrete.

George drops.

The thud his body makes startles me.