Page 66 of The Russian's Bought Bride

Choosing to ignore that part, relief settles low in my chest. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies dryly, swallowing back another mouthful of whisky. “You’re still going to owe me for this.”

“Being extorted by family should be surprising, but somehow, it isn’t.”

He chuckles. “It runs in our blood.”

Regardless of everything weighing on me, I find myself glancing back toward Dani again.

Vera is talking animatedly beside her while the violinist plays somewhere on stage, and for the first time in days, Danielle actually looks relaxed. She isn’t being careless about it, but it’s enough for the tightness in my chest to ease slightly.

Whether Artem can help me or not, I know with absolute certainty that I’m going to end this for my family and anyone involved. More importantly, for her.

And maybe one day those will stop feeling like separate things.

Chapter 20 - Dani

I feel painfully underdressed, especially next to Vera.

She guides me through the lounge with effortless ease, weaving between low velvet couches and softly glowing tables as if she belongs here in a way I never could. The entire place looks expensive in that understated Las Vegas way where nothing screams for attention because everyone already knows it costs too much.

Meanwhile, I’m trying not to look like I accidentally wandered into a place I have no business being in.

Regardless of feeling completely out of my depth, Vera keeps chatting casually beside me as if this is all perfectly normal. As if I’m not the random girl her cousin has been secretly housing after dragging her out of an organ harvesting operation.

The absurdity of my life nearly makes me dizzy if I think about it too hard, so I choose to focus on following as well as I can.

“This way,” Vera says brightly, steering me toward the lower level near the stage.

A live band is performing beneath the soft, intimate lights, and the singer’s voice is liquid smooth while jazz music drifts through the crowded lounge. The atmosphere is tender yet not too quiet, full of low laughter, clinking glasses, and people leaning close together in conversation.

It’s strangely nice, since for the first time in weeks, I’m somewhere other than Nikolai’s house or trapped in my head.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I almost feel like a normal person again, all things considered.

Vera settles beside me near the railing overlooking the stage and crosses one elegant leg over the other before handing me a drink I didn’t even see her order.

“I promise it’s not poisoned,” she says with a hint of mischief in her hazel eyes, accentuated by long lashes.

I snort softly before I can stop myself. “That’s reassuring considering your family.”

“You already understand us,” she chimes with a genuine grin, still faintly teasing.

Despite my nerves, I laugh quietly into the rim of the glass, and Vera’s grin is riddled with satisfaction.

She’s beautiful in a sharp, scary kind of way with dark hair falling in shiny waves over one shoulder, and an immaculate black dress she wears so easily. Confidence practically radiates off her skin as if she has never known a day without it.

She reminds me a little of Nikolai in the eyes, with the same intensity, and the same feeling that she notices far more than she lets on.

And yet somehow she’s also surprisingly easy to talk to. She’s not necessarily soft, but the warmth she does allow to slip is genuine, and admittedly, disarming.

“I know this is probably a lot,” she says after a moment, her tone softening slightly.

That’s definitely one way to put it.

Glancing back toward the upper level instinctively, where Nikolai and Artem sit in one of the private booths talking quietly, I catch the serious pinch in Nikolai’s shoulders again, and his attention is fixed entirely on whatever Artem is saying.

Even from here, he looks like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.