Page 79 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

“No?” He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers are cold. “I think you know a lot more than you let on.”

I flinch, pulling away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Or what?” he challenges, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’ll tell your husband? I’m not afraid of Nikita Gromov.”

“You should be.”

The voice is low, dangerous, and comes from directly behind me.

I turn to see Nikita. He’s standing there, seemingly out of nowhere, his presence a sudden, chilling void in the glittering chaos of the party. He doesn’t look at me. His eyes are locked on Antonio.

“Antonio,” he says, his voice flat. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”

“I’m a friend of the gallery,” Antonio replies, not backing down. “I go where I please.”

“Not here.”

Nikita steps forward, moving me subtly behind him. It’s a small gesture, but it’s absolute. He’s claiming his territory.

“Is there a problem, Gromov?” Antonio asks, his hand resting on the gun holstered under his jacket.

“There will be,” Nikita says, his voice dangerously quiet. “If you don’t get your hand off your piece and walk away.”

Antonio hesitates, his eyes flicking between Nikita and me. He’s weighing his options, and for a moment, I think he’s going to make a move.

Then, he smiles. It’s a cold, calculating thing.

“Fine,” he says, holding up his hands. “The lady is clearly not in the mood for company.”

He turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.

Nikita watches him go, his body a coiled spring.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“Fine,” he says, turning to me. His eyes are dark, burning with a cold fire. “We’re leaving.”

“But the event—”

“It’s over.”

He takes my arm, his grip firm, and guides me through the throng of partygoers. People part for us, sensing the danger that radiates from him in waves.

The ride back to the penthouse is silent. The city lights blur past the tinted windows, a smear of color against the darkness.

Nikita sits beside me, his body rigid, his jaw tight. He’s staring out the window, but I know he’s not seeing the city. He’s seeing Antonio. He’s seeing the threat.

“He was probing,” I say, breaking the silence.

“He was testing.”

“For what?”

“Your loyalty. My weakness.”

“What did he find?”

“That you’re a liability,” he says, his voice flat.