Page 83 of The Cold Bratva King and His Forced Curvy Bride

I watch her go, the sway of her hips hypnotic in the dim light. I want to follow her; I want to peel that dress off her and lose myself in her body until the world outside ceases to exist.

I have work to do.

I go to the kitchen and pour a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light from the window. I sip it slowly, letting the burn settle in my stomach. I need to clear my head. I need to focus.

She’s getting under my skin. That’s dangerous.

Before I can think further, I hear footsteps. I set the glass down on the counter and turn.

Freya stands in the doorway. She’s wearing one of my shirts, the silk hanging loose on her frame, her thighs peeking out from under the hem. Her hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends.

She looks incredible.

She walks into the room, her movements hesitant. She stops by the island, her fingers tracing the granite countertop.

“The training,” she says, breaking the silence. “It looked… intense.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Is it, all of it? The guns, the drills, the… violence.”

“It’s the only language Lorenzo understands.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you understand any other?”

I walk around the island, stopping in front of her. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, her breath catching.

“I understand a lot of things,” I say, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I understand that power is the only currency that matters. Mercy is a weakness you can’t afford, and protecting what’s yours requires sacrifice.”

“Yourself?”

“If necessary.”

“Me?”

“Especially you.”

The admission hangs in the air between us. I see her eyes soften, just a fraction, before she looks away.

“You don’t have to protect me,” she whispers. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” I say. “You shouldn’t have to.”

I reach into my pocket. My fingers close around the small, velvet box. I’ve been carrying it for days, waiting for the right moment.

There is no such thing as a right moment in my life. There’s only now.

I pull the box out and set it on the counter in front of her.

She looks at it, confusion flickering across her face. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

She hesitates, then lifts the lid.