Page 12 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

LUKA

“ I s she okay?”

I turned toward Alexsei as he approached me outside the dining room.

“I heard about Petyr coming back shot up and drugged. He was looking for you to give you a head’s up about the activity uptown, but he found her in her room.”

I nodded. “She was startled.”

“But unharmed?”

I nodded again.

“Good.” Then he furrowed his brow and glanced at me. “That is good, isn’t it?”

I sighed, peeved to be questioned like this.

“Sorry, Uncle. It’s just that none of us can tell what your plan is with her.”

Count me in on that. I was just as confused. “Neither do I.”

“She’s not…” He frowned again. “You’re not going to have her be a whore?”

Fuck no. I couldn’t even imagine letting anyone see her, let alone touch her.

“Then are you going to sell her?”

I winced, not a fan of that option either. The more time I spent near her, the more reluctant I was to give her up.

“I don’t know what my plan will be for her.” I gave him a stern look. “Leave it at that.” A man could be undecided from time to time.

At the sound of her coming down the steps, wearing one of those skeptical frowns, I had a fleeting desire to see her smile.

It occurred to me only then, while my nephew walked away, that she hadn’t given me one yet.

Gabriella hadn’t given me anything.

And I couldn’t shake this nagging interest in her.

I didn’t want her to give me something .

I wanted her to submit and give me everything .

Stop. Listen to yourself. What is this bullshit? Just stop.

As she approached, I walked toward her and snapped my fingers. “Change of plans.”

She raised her brows, stopping on the last step of the staircase, putting her slightly higher than usual.

“Let’s enjoy this on the balcony.”

She shrugged and gestured for me to lead the way.

“I thought you agreed to no more silence.”

“I thought you dictated that it wasn’t allowed.”

There. That’s better. I relished her spunk and fire.

Taking her hand, I nodded at the staff to move our dinner placement to the private balcony on my floor.

The sounds of the city would reach us, but that never bothered me.

It was still private and sheltered, too high up for anyone to see us in that particular space.

“For the record,” she added dryly as we headed to the elevator, “I’ll never ‘agree’ to anything you want.”

“You think so?” I let her enter the elevator first.

“I know so.” She gave me a haughty look.

“Hmm. What about if I offered you a chance to reach your dreams?”

She scowled. “You don’t know what my dreams are.”

“Then tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t care enough to make them come true.”

I watched her lean against the elevator wall, curious. No, that wasn’t true. She fascinated me, fighting me at every turn. It was the ultimate taunt, pulling me under her spell.

“What if I could?”

She lowered her gaze. “Let’s say you could. You have no vested interest in making my dreams come true. You kidnapped me, remember? I’m a thing to you.”

“Then what’s the harm in telling me your dreams?”

“Because it’s something secret that you can’t have.”

“But I do. I have you. You’re mine to own.”

She crossed her arms and gave me the start of a coy smile.

And fuck if that wasn’t the last straw. Taking two steps toward her, I caged her against the wall and stared down into her brown eyes. Her breasts pushed against my chest as her breath quickened. Her lips parted in surprise.

“You almost smiled.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you trying to goad me into being happy about being here?”

I traced the line of her jaw, excited when she seemed to shiver from my touch. There was no missing the heat in her gaze.

“Would you be happy if I made your dreams come true?” My stomach continued to react to the rise of the elevator, but this giddiness was all due to her. This thrill. This intrigue. Hell, she really was getting to me.

“Why would you care if I’m happy?”

“Weren’t you the one who critiqued the concept of answering a question with a question?”

She opened and closed her mouth, stumped.

We reached the floor, and the doors opened.

I took her hand and led her out. “What are your dreams? To dance?” I pulled a chair out for her at the table while the servers brought dishes out from the other end of the balcony, coming up on their service elevator.

“Yes,” she replied glumly.

“To be on the stage?” I guessed as I sat across from her.

“Yes.” She said it with a glum reluctance. “I’ve always wanted to get into Juilliard. Then be on stage.”

“A performer at heart.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mock me.”

“Don’t try to tell me what to do.”

“So, I have to sit here and let you mock me about my dreams? Yet, also convince myself that you want me—your thing—to be happy? Sure. Why not embrace this oxymoron?” She made a face before reaching for her water glass.

“I’m not mocking you.” I meant that. But her hurt expression lingered. “How did you get into dancing?”

She lifted her face. “I’m still not dancing for you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

She opened and closed her mouth.

“How did you start dancing?” I asked again.

After letting out a heavy sigh, she explained her interest and how she was mostly self-taught.

It was a drastic departure from her previous silent treatment.

While asking her to talk about ballet and her passion for dance opened her up, she was still holding back.

I could tell. She was factual about her experiences, or lack of them.

But she wasn't enthused about the matter.

The next day, at lunch, I asked her about it again. She didn’t disappoint, sharing more about how she taught herself from videos.

The following day, she told me about the studio where she was supposed to be taking classes.

She talked. But she wasn’t lowering her guard.

Keeping her near me at home messed with my head.

Even if she was trying not to allow any connection between us, it was inevitable.

My reluctance to give her up or sell her worsened.

I didn’t need Ivan or Emil to comment on my interest in her.

It was implied. With great difficulty, I had to be honest with myself and admit I was getting too interested in her.

Don’t. Just don’t even think about it.

The last time I allowed myself to be interested in a woman—to truly desire their company, and not just for sex—I’d lost her. I’d lost the last woman who’d genuinely captured my interest. My wife had given me this same drive to learn about her. And I’d lost her.

Missing Maria faded long ago. What I suffered the most from now was the loss of companionship.

Admiring a portrait I’d ordered to be painted of my late wife back when Emil was just a toddler, I sighed and tried to remember what she sounded like when she spoke. When she laughed. I focused on the artist’s image of her and strained to recall what she felt like. How small her hand was in mine.

Gabriella would never replace her.

She would never compare to the docile sweetness Maria gave me in her short life.

Stop.

I couldn’t let my thoughts go down this path.

Hanging my head, I shook it and sighed.

Gabriella was too caustic. Too spirited. She was just a challenge to entertain me until I’d get rid of her.

Right?

If that was the truth, I wouldn’t be energized to be near her. If she was nothing more than a thing to preoccupy me for a while, I wouldn’t be so hesitant to see her unhappy.

And if she was supposed to be a pastime, a temporary presence in my home, I really wouldn’t be rushing to find her.

Pausing outside her room, I lurked in the shadows and spied on her.

Stalking her like this was becoming second nature.

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stay away.

I’d learned too quickly that if I nudged her door open an inch, she’d be too lost to the music playing from her ear buds to notice she had an audience.

So I’d watch.

I’d admire.

And I would inch that much closer to caving completely.

Would it be so bad to spoil her for just a bit before I’d get rid of her?

Would it be so terrible to give her a taste of something good before I sent her to someone else?

She wasn’t an ideal partner for me. Not in the long run.

She was too young. She was too full of hopes and dreams. She wasn’t hard enough to withstand the violence of this life, as evident by her fear when Petyr crashed into her room.

She’d suffer away from me. I could treat her so well here. But she wasn’t destined to stay as mine forever.

That was all life was—suffering. Suffering with slight rewards along the way.

Oblivious to how I watched her, she carried on like the artist she was. Spinning, twisting, jumping, and bending. Her body was the paintbrush of motion through the canvas of the air. Despite her admittance of no proper training, she was a treat to watch. A gift to treasure.

I turned away and got my phone out. It was time to reward myself. And if ordering a private dance studio to be made for her was the reward of my choice, then that was how it would be.

Contacting Allen first, I requested him to find me the contractors to make this impulsive idea a reality. All the while, as I considered the project, I wondered if this was what it would take to truly make Gabriella break. I had to imagine how she would react.

And I dreamed that this would finally net me a smile from her.

A real one.

Regardless of how foolish it seemed to care.