Page 90 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

Never pretending to understand things he doesn’t.

When I finally stop talking, I realize he’s been completely focused on me the entire time.

No phone.

No distractions.

“What about you?” I ask.

He leans back slightly. The movement feels careful. Measured. He’s deciding how much he wants to give away. “My childhood wasn’t very interesting.”

I immediately snort. A man like Lukyan has never been uninteresting a day in his life.

His eyes narrow. “I’m serious.”

“You’re impossible to imagine as a child.”

That earns a genuine laugh. My stomach does a strange little flip.

“I was a normal kid.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I climbed trees. Did everything other kids did.”

I blink. “You climbed trees?”

“Frequently.”

Now I’m staring. The image is so absurd I can’t help it.

Lukyan notices. He looks mildly offended. “What?”

“I just can’t picture it.”

“I went through the toddler, preschooler, and middle childhood stage, Sofia. Not born forty.”

I laugh loudly. The sound escapes before I can stop it. For a second, I freeze. Because I realize this is the first time I’ve laughed like this since coming here.

Hours seem to pass without me noticing.

The conversation shifts from one topic to another. Travel. Food. Childhood disasters.

At some point, Lukyan admits he once broke his arm trying to jump from a shed roof, and his brother Samuel helped snap it back in place. I laugh so hard I nearly spill my drink.

His expression suggests he regrets telling me. Which only makes me laugh harder. The strange thing is how natural everything feels. There is no tension. No power struggle. Every minute that passes makes it harder to hold on to the version of him I’ve spent months believing in.

The cold man. The controlling man. The man who ruined my life.

He’s still those things. Part of him, anyway. But tonight I see something else too. A man capable of patience. Humor. Kindness. A man who listens more than he speaks. A man who arranged a dinner simply because he wanted to know me better.

That knowledge unsettles me. It changes things.

Eventually, the conversation slows. Neither of us seems eager to end it. I glance across the table. Lukyan is already looking at me. The candlelight catches the sharp angles of his face.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence feels different now. It’s softer. Something shifts inside me. A feeling I’ve been trying not to examine too closely. Something warmer. Something that makes my pulse stumble whenever he looks at me for too long.

I don’t have a name for it yet.