Page 4 of Reclaimed By My Ex’s Bratva Brother

I didn't dare move too obviously—his stare burned with an intensity I couldn't meet head-on. It swept from my lips, lingered on my chest, then slid down to my hips, making me feel stripped bare.

I tensed my heating stomach without thinking. I had to say something to break this suffocating atmosphere. Otherwise, someone in here was going to run out of oxygen.

And it wasn't going to be the silver fox in front of me.

"Why did you say you'd make up to me for Makar?" I watched him tap his phone screen, leaning forward slightly, trying to close the distance between us.

He looked up. His steel-gray eyes flickered as they caught my neckline.

Shit. I realized my movement had left it completely open. My cleavage was on full display, the edge of my black lace bra barely visible. Blood rushed to my head.

Just as I started to straighten up awkwardly, he finally spoke.

"Makar's my younger brother." Clean and simple.

I froze.

"What, you're Makar's brother?" My voice shot up as I sucked in a breath. "Varlam Petrov!"

The legendary bratva Pakhan?

Makar always said his brother was brutal, remorseless—dangerous and violent as hell. I should've been terrified. Should've panicked and run. Not sitting here staring at him, doing nothing.

But the man in front of me wore a tailored suit, moved with elegance, and treated me like a gentleman. As if the only dangerous thing about him was that face—heartbreaking enough to drown in.

Honestly, I had a hard time connecting him to the cold-blooded tyrant Makar described.

"I think you should return the favor and tell me your name." He leaned forward too, closing the gap to just inches—close enough I could see the texture of his skin.

I licked my lips, nervous.

"Briony. Briony Cox."

"Briony Cox." He repeated my name, and I had the strangest feeling he'd been rolling those syllables on his tongue a thousand times already. "Beautiful name, Briony."

The corner of his mouth lifted in the sexiest smile I'd ever seen. My shoulders relaxed slightly. He wasn't the type to enjoy humiliating people.

"You're nothing like him," I said quietly. "He's arrogant and rude, mocking me in front of everyone at the wedding. But you're gentle, a gentleman. You helped me."

I couldn't understand how Makar and Varlam could be brothers and yet so different.

"Gentle? A gentleman?" He laughed softly, his voice brushing my ear. "You'll find out that's a misjudgment."

Heat flooded my face.

"Still, my idiot brother and his woman did cause you considerable trouble. I'll have a word with them when I get back." He said. "And your dress—let me compensate you for a new one."

"I hope they realize how awful they were." I sighed. "But forget the compensation. You didn't do anything wrong."

The humiliation from the wedding had mostly faded. I could face what happened relatively calmly now, though I still wanted to punch those two assholes.

But none of that was Varlam's fault. He'd rescued me, made them apologize. I was already grateful.

"You have to accept." He stood, trapping me against the couch. "Or do you want something else?"

He emphasized "something else," loading the simple question with danger and innuendo. Like that "something else" could only mean him.

My heart slammed twice.