Page 57 of Bratva Menace

All in good time.

“I would love to, but I have a feeling if I did, you’d run.” With one final look at the table, I nodded, satisfied with the arrangement, and removed my apron.

Beneath it, I wore my nicest dress. A white spaghetti strap dress that flowed out at the bottom. I let loose my hair, the locks of honey blonde tumbling over my shoulders and down to my lower back.

“I wouldn’t run,” Lukyan said, watching me closely, his eyes clear and utterly focused. “I’d kill you.”

A tingly sensation ran down my spine. Oh, you’ll be so much fun to break. “Would you?” I sat down at the other end of the table and fluffed out my napkin before placing it across my lap. “A little harsh, don’t you think? I just went through all this effort to cook us a nice dinner in celebration of our anniversary.”

“Our—our what?!”

“Our anniversary.” My hand reached out and clutched the wine glass next to my empty plate. I brought it to my lips and took a small sip, my eyes never leaving his. “It’s been nineteen months since we met. Do you not remember?”

Confusion and frustration mounted on his face. “What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense! I’ve never met you in my life! Let me go. Let me go now!” Lukyan struggled again, pulling his arms so hard he winced in pain, but he didn’t stop. He grunted and snarled, thrashing his body left and right.

I continued to sip my wine. “Stop. You’re just going to hurt yourself, and seeing you hurt, hurts me, my love.”

“Don’t”—grunt—“call me”—snarl—“that!”

I sat there, watching him continue to struggle. I wasn’t lying. It genuinely hurt to see him like that, seeing his skin redden at the wrists because he was pulling so hard. But there was nothing I could do. He had to find out for himself how worthless it was to try to escape.

After a few minutes, he slumped back into his chair, breathing hard. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but whatever it is, you’re not going to get it.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious what I want.” My eyes ran over him. Slowly. Methodically. I lingered on every one of his features. His sharp jaw. Silky, shoulder-length dark hair. His eyes, which happened to look more turquoise than storm blue in that lighting. His sculpted face and strong chin. I ran my gaze over every inch of him, every fiber in my body taut with possessiveness. “I want you. I’ve done all of this”—I spread my arms out wide—“for you. So we can finally be together. We’re soulmates. I felt it the moment I laid eyes on you. That unbreakable connection. We’re meant to be together, and nothing and no one will stop us. Our hearts are intertwined. Bound together by forces beyond our control. It’s destiny. Don’t you see? Fate.”

He stared at me, mouth slightly agape in what I could only describe as befuddlement. “Oh. You’re like, insane insane.”

“I prefer the term mentally spicy,” I said, taking one last sip from my wine before placing it back down.

“Call it what you want. Crazy is crazy.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d been called crazy. Let’s be real. It wasn’t the second or the third either. We were best friends, crazy and I. We danced side by side, forever teetering along that line together. That was why it never bothered me when people called me crazy.

I was.

And I liked it that way.

My eyes stayed locked with his as I dipped my fingers into my wine glass and brought them to my chest, letting the liquid drop onto my skin. “Don’t pretend like crazy doesn’t turn you on.”

His eyes flashed with heat, his gaze tracking the liquid as it trailed down between the valley of my breasts. He adjusted slightly in his seat. “What turns me on is irrelevant,” he grunted, voice rough.

A feeling of triumph shot through me. Yeah, he was definitely turned on by my craziness.

“You can’t just kidnap me and expect me to be with you. I’m promised to someone else⁠—”

Hot, blazing anger exploded in my chest at the mention of him with someone else. I picked up a knife and slammed it into the table so hard that the tip embedded into the wood with a deafening bang.

He snapped his mouth shut, not saying another word.

Wise.

Just as fast as the anger came on, it disappeared, and I cleared my throat with an awkward chuckle. “Sorry about that,” I said, smoothing my hair. “I’m spontaneously violent.”

“Spontaneously violent,” Lukyan repeated, blinking slowly.

“Yeah. But don’t worry. It’s not like, all the time. Just when people piss me off.” I plucked a few pieces of meat from the variety of trays in front of me and put them onto my plate. Something suddenly occurred to me. “Oh, how silly of me! You can’t eat restrained like that. Here, I’ll help you.” One hand on my plate, I stood and made my way over to him. Lukyan watched me with narrowed, suspicious eyes, tracking my every movement as if he feared what I would do.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, sitting down in the empty seat to his left. There was some lamb, turkey, and beef on the plate. I was most proud of the lamb, so I chose that, spearing some with my fork and holding it up in the air. Lukyan remained still as a statue. “Eat,” I insisted. “You must be hungry. You’ve been out for the better part of a day, and I know you didn’t eat breakfast on our wedding day.”