Page 15 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

Ashley clears her throat. “Okay,” she says carefully, “nobody died. That’s good.”

The man says nothing.

His attention remains on me.

Steady.

Uncomfortable.

Too observant.

And for some reason, standing this close to him makes me strangely aware of everything.

The cold air.

The wet books in my hands.

My heartbeat.

The fact that his presence feels far too large for the space around us.

“Let’s go,” Ashley murmurs, touching my arm. “Come on.”

The stranger’s gaze remains fixed on me.

Steady.

Cold.

Like he’s waiting for something.

I hate that it affects me at all.

Even though I still have several hateful things I would like to say to him, I let Ashley guide me away. Mostly because this isn’t like me. I don’t argue with strangers. I don’t snap at people. I definitely don’t stand in the middle of the street, exchanging insults with terrifyingly attractive men in expensive coats.

But something about him gets under my skin almost instantly.

Like irritation sharpened into awareness.

We cross the street, my pulse still uneven from nearly being flattened by a luxury vehicle. The cold air bites against my cheeks as Ashley keeps talking beside me, probably trying to distract me before I spiral into embarrassment.

I barely hear her.

I can still feel him behind us, a strange pressure between my shoulder blades.

The feeling vanishes only when we turn onto the next street.

The moment the bookstore block disappears from view, I finally exhale properly.

Relief loosens my shoulders.

“Dang, Sofia,” Ashley says after a moment of silence. “That’s one very fine man.”

I shoot her a look. “Terrible attitude, though,” I deadpan, refusing to admit I noticed anything else about him. “I hope I never see him again.”

Ashley snorts.

“It’s New York,” she says. “You probably never will.”