Page 98 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

Ashley rolls her eyes, though a smirk plays on her lips as she nudges me off her. “Your husband is a multi-millionaire, and you’re bringing me to a regular old bookshop?”

I laugh, the sound feeling incredibly light and foreign after weeks of being cooped up. “You love this bookshop, and you know it.”

“Yes, but let’s go spend some real money,” Ashley says, waving her hands in the air. “In books, when the dark, brooding hero finally gives the heroine this type of freedom, she goes and shops to her heart’s content. She buys out the whole avenue!”

I let out a snort. “Excuse me, ma’am, but this is real life.”

We both laugh, the familiar ease of our friendship wrapping around me like a warm blanket. We slowly start to browse the aisles, running our fingers along the familiar spines.

Ashley stops by a display of new releases, turning her head to give me a sharper, more serious look. “So, why exactly have you been under house arrest this whole time anyway?”

I pick up a thriller from the shelf, skimming the blurb on the back before setting it down and reaching for a historical fiction novel. I keep my voice casual, though my heart does a little stutter at the reminder of the danger lurking outside Lukyan’s walls.

“It wasn’t house arrest, Ash,” I tell her gently. “It was protection.”

She hums, clearly not entirely convinced, but she lets it slide for a second. “Sofia, you really are living the life of a book heroine. Sometimes I just sit in my apartment and think to myself that your life actually isn’t real. I still can’t believe you’re married to a freaking mafia man.” She pauses, dropping her voice to a dramatic, whispered tone. “Are you okay? Is he treating you right?”

I roll my eyes at her theatrics, but a sudden warmth rushes into my cheeks as the memory of Lukyan’s soft touches and protective arms from last night flashes in my mind.

She gasps, her eyes widening to the size of saucers as she points a finger at me. “Wait… Sofia, are you in love?”

A chaotic swarm of butterflies instantly erupts in my stomach, fluttering wildly against my ribs. “Are you crazy?” I rush out, my voice squeaking slightly as I heat up. “In love? That’s crazy. Absolutely crazy.”

She hums, not looking entirely convinced by my denial, but her expression softens into something genuinely protective. “But really… is he treating you right?”

I nod immediately, not even having to think about it. “Yes. He treats me very right.”

Ashley lets out a long, relieved sigh, her shoulders dropping. “Well, that’s better. I suppose everything turned out well after all.”

“Yes,” I say, a small, genuine smile slipping onto my face. “It did.”

The serious moment breaks the second her eyes land back on the shelves. She grabs a thick paperback off the display and lets out a loud gasp. “Oh my god, this is a why-choose trope! One of my absolute favorites!”

Without a second thought, she throws it into the wire basket in her hand, then looks up at me with a mischievous grin. “You’re paying, right?”

I laugh at her lack of shame and shake my head. “Yes, my treat.”

She squeaks with pure delight and dashes off to the other side of the aisle, eager to take full advantage of my generosity.

I chuckle as I wander over to check out some lighthearted meme books. But as the laughter fades, I become intensely aware of a certain tightness stretching across my skin. It’s a heavy, suffocating realization: I don’t feel safe outside Lukyan’s walls.

It’s so weird because before I met him, I never felt this way. I used to go anywhere I wanted, at whatever time I liked, and I never thought twice about my safety. The world was just the world.

But now, I’m actively fighting the urge to constantly look over my shoulder. For some reason, the hair on the back of my neck is standing up, and I feel like I’m being watched. It’s a strange, unsettling sensation. I try to mentally chide myself—like, who the hell do I think I am? A secret agent?—telling myself that I’m just being incredibly paranoid, and that it is entirely Lukyan’s fault for rubbing his dangerous lifestyle off on me.

“Sofia?”

Ashley is suddenly standing right beside me again. The excitement is gone from her face, replaced by a worried frown as she studies me. “Why do you keep staring at that particular spot over there? You look completely frozen.”

I freeze for a fraction of a second, realizing I’ve been boring a hole into the fiction section aisle without even seeing the books. I know if I don’t give her a plausible answer, she’ll keep badgering me until she uncovers my panic, so I quickly fabricate a lie.

“I’m just trying to remember the title of a book I wanted to buy,” I say, forcing a frustrated sigh and tapping my temple.“But for some reason, the name is just completely slipping my mind.”

She relaxes, accepting the explanation. “Okay. Just pick something else for now. I’m sure you’ll remember the title later when you’re not actively stressing about it.”

“You’re right,” I say, offering a tight smile.

To prove my point, I reach out and grab the closest book my hand can find. I glance down at the cover; it’s a historical thriller. I shrug internally. I don’t mind. It actually sounds like a genuinely interesting trope, and right now, a fast-paced mystery is exactly what I need to distract myself from the phantom eyes I can still feel burning into my back.