Page 45 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

Kaz.

Adrian’s best friend.

Dark hair, darker eyes, and the kind of face that belongs in both nightmares and fantasies. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit with the jacket unbuttoned, shirt rolled at the sleeves. Calm. Powerful. Dangerous.

Even from the terrace, I feel the ripple of presence that rolls off him.

I turn away from the railing and hurry downstairs, something unsettled shifting in my chest. I don’t know why—I just know something is happening. Something important. I take the stairs two at a time, barefoot and silent.

By the time I reach the hallway, I see Adrian at the door, greeting Kaz with a handshake that lingers too long. It’s not a welcome—it’s an exchange. A conversation without words.Adrian leans in, says something low in Russian, and Kaz nods before glancing around the house.

His eyes scan, his body perfectly still. That’s when he sees me.

And then, he smiles—lazy, confident, the kind that knows it’s dangerous and enjoys it anyway. His fingers flick up in a wave like we’re not standing in the middle of a heavily guarded estate. Like this is a casual Sunday brunch.

I stiffen. My fingers tighten around the edge of my dress, but I don’t break eye contact. I won’t give him—or Adrian—the satisfaction.

Adrian’s eyes, hard and heated, snap straight to me. He looks seconds from breaking someone’s neck.

“Get inside,” he says. Low. Firm. Dangerous.

I don’t move.

My pulse stutters, but I hold my ground. My voice comes out cold, even as my stomach twists. “You don’t get to bark orders at me.”

His jaw clenches. He takes a step toward me, his whole body coiled with fury.

“Jennie.”

One word. A warning.

Kaz lets out a quiet laugh beside him, clearly enjoying the show.

“Inside,” Adrian growls again, his voice like steel wrapped in fire. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I swallow, pulse thudding in my ears. He doesn’t shout—but he doesn’t need to. There’s a warning laced through every syllable, a barely leashed violence that makes the air around him feel heavier.

Then, without waiting to see if I obey, he turns to Kaz.

“Come on.”

Kaz tosses me a wink before following Adrian into the drawing room like this is all some kind of game. Adrian doesn’t look back, but the last glare he throws over his shoulder hits me like a slap.

I know I should go back.

The look Adrian gave me before stepping into the drawing room was a warning—sharp and serious. His voice had dropped low, cold with command. “Inside,” he said. And then, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Most people would’ve backed off. His glare alone could freeze blood. But something in me, something reckless and stubborn, refuses to obey. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve had every choice ripped out of my hands. Maybe it’s the quiet ache inside me that needs to know what’s going on behind all these locked doors and unreadable stares.

So I wait until he disappears inside with Kaz, and the guards retreat to their usual posts. Then I slip out, careful not to make a sound. My fingers skim the wall for balance as I creep toward the hallway. The door to the drawing room is shut, but their voices slightly seep through. I press my back to the wall, holding my breath.

At first, their tone is light. I hear Kaz laugh, a deep chuckle. Adrian’s voice follows—lower, quieter, but still relaxed.

I can almost picture the way they sit, probably with whiskey in hand, Kaz leaning back like he owns the world, Adrian brooding beside him with his unreadable stare.

But then something shifts.

Kaz’s tone drops. The words grow tense, clipped. The laughter stops.