Page 52 of Forced By the Bratva

***

Tonight, I had a gala party to attend at one of the Tarasov properties, and I almost went alone. Then I remembered that I was married to the most beautiful woman in the world.

There was no way I would pass up the chance to show her off. I had Natasha take the new dress and jewelry I had gotten to my wife’s room. She was to tell her to be ready at eight because she was going out with me tonight.

It wasn’t a request. So she couldn’t exactly say no.

By 8:30, she still wasn’t ready, and I was pacing the length of the living room, waiting. I glanced at my watch every five minutes, wondering what was taking so long.

I caught the scent of her perfume before I heard her. The floral smell filled the room, threading ahead of her footsteps.

I turned my head toward the staircase and found her descending, and for a second my heart stopped.

Her black gown fit her body perfectly, the fabric highlighting her curves and contours. The neckline dipped low enough to give a teasing glimpse of her cleavage.

A slit ran high along the hem, showing her alluring leg with every step down. A diamond sat at her throat, catching the light from the chandelier above.

Her makeup was flawless, blending seamlessly into her skin, nothing overdone except her mouth—painted a bold, deep red that drew the eye straight to it.

My goodness!

Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, effortless in a way that had clearly taken effort.

When she moved, her heels clicked against each step, slow and deliberate, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

I stood there, almost frozen in place—unable to take my eyes off her.

Her manicured fingers clutched her designer purse as she closed the distance between us with a few elegant strides.

I was tempted to say how gorgeous she was, but I couldn’t. Instead, I said simply, “You’re late.”

“You said to be ready by 8:30.” Even her voice was smoother and softer tonight.

“No, I said to be ready by 8:00.”

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. “I guess I heard wrong.”

I turned around and began toward the door.

“Where are we going?” she asked, walking beside me.

“Somewhere important.”

A pause.

“Yeah, that’s not vague at all.”

My lips curled into a small grin.

***

We walked into the grand hall together, her hand resting lightly on my arm, heels clicking beside my own measured stride.

She wore a faint smile, plastic but beautiful, enough to sell the idea that we were a perfect couple.

Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, throwing warm light across marble floors polished to a mirror shine.

Waitstaff moved through the crowd with trays of champagne, weaving between clusters of Chicago’s wealthiest, the crème de la crème of society. All dressed to impress.