Page 42 of The Russian's Bought Bride

I narrow my eyes at him slightly. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“No.”

At least he’s honest, I guess.

“But,” he continues after a moment, more like he’s offering one without saying it out loud. “I understand the feeling.”

Some of the flickering irritation leaves me at that, and while I consider the energy that goes into anger, it doesn’t feel worth it right now, especially not after how hard I’ve tried to return myself to a normal headspace today.

So, I pull a cookie apart absently and watch as steam curls from the center instead. “So your family really had no idea what you were doing?”

“Nope.”

“Why keep it secret?”

He looks thoughtful for a second, gaze drifting toward the window as the light starts to shift into something more golden. “I didn’t want it tied to our business, and I didn’t want opinions on it. My brothers have a way of inserting themselves where they aren’t needed.”

I consider that for a moment, finding myself annoyingly curious about his family, but I push it down. I don’t need to get invested in any way.

“That sounds lonely.”

Nikolai’s eyes flick back to mine, and something shifts there briefly before he schools his expression. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m trapped in a house with a mysterious criminal,” I point out. “Questions feel reasonable to me.”

That actually earns a quiet laugh from him…a real one this time. It comes out low and rough enough that it catches me off guard completely, and it changes his whole face.

God.

That’s unfairly attractive.

Internally, I immediately resent myself for noticing, especially when I have no business seeing something human in this man.

“What?” he asks, catching my expression.

“Nothing.”

“Mm.”

I narrow my eyes as I pick up on the slightly sardonic tone. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look at me like you know what I’m thinking.”

A faint smirk tugs at his mouth now, and while subtle, it’s definitely there, and absolutely doing more to me than it should. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Liar.

The thought comes automatically, but strangely, it doesn’t hit with the same bitterness it did earlier. That should probably concern me, but right now, I don’t have the chance to dwell on it.

I lean back against the counter and study him more openly now. “So…how does someone even end up in the Bratva?”

There’s no judgment in the question this time, and he seems to notice that too.

“I was born into it. Most of us were.”

“‘Us’ meaning your brothers?”