Page 13 of Forced & Pregnant Bratva Bride (Tarasov Bratva #13)

Tonight, I had three of my cousins over to hang out and just have a good time. It was a welcome distraction from the crazy thoughts that had been etched in my mind lately. With each passing day, it became more and more difficult to keep it together—I wanted Leona. I craved her body, mind, and soul.

In my dreams, I fucked her real good, kissed those cherry lips that seemed to always invite me in. It took everything in me to practice self-control, to keep myself from launching at her like a starving beast.

Everything about her drew me in like steel to a magnet—her laugh, her voice, and the way her green eyes lit up when she smiled. Leona had slithered her way into my stone-cold heart; she’d ignited a fire within me that I couldn’t put out.

The more I tried, the more I failed woefully.

She was in my head, all day, all night, and I couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than her.

It was almost as if, with each passing day, she glowed, radiated in ways that I didn’t think possible.

She was no longer the rigid, average girl she was when I brought her here.

No.

Leona was someone else—a better and more sophisticated version of herself. She was more womanly now: did her nails, had her hair done, and wore lipstick more often. Watching her walk about the house in skimpy dresses and not being able to claim her was harder than I thought. It was torture.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was doing this on purpose, a deliberate yet subtle act of seduction. But to what end? She hated me; that was for sure. So, why pull a stunt like this? Was she trying my patience? Was this some kind of test to know how long it would take before I lost control?

She was playing with fire, and those who played with fire often got burned.

I no longer trusted myself around her. The girl was just so irresistible, and if she continued on that path, she would unleash the beast in me.

Clearly, I’d been blind this entire time—that was the only logical explanation as to why I never noticed how gorgeous she was. I didn’t think she’d creep into my heart and mind so early; I didn’t see it coming, didn’t anticipate the invasion.

But then again, there was a lot that I didn’t see coming, a lot that made her more and more interesting. Leona wasn’t just a pretty face with a fiery spirit; she was brilliant, resilient, smart, and really talented.

That being said, she was dangerous—the kind of danger that had me fascinated.

She played her part as my wife a little too well. Her skills and enthusiasm were beyond my expectations. I could sense that something was off, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.

Honestly, I didn’t want to go digging because for the first time, I was afraid of what I’d find.

I liked this version of her more, and perhaps I should let things flow naturally.

“Egor!” Valerian’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife, snapping me back to reality.

I blinked once, eyes shifting across their faces.

“Damn,” Pavel said, leaning back on a sofa, fingers deftly solving a Rubik’s cube. “She’s so deep in your head, isn’t she, your bride?” A corny smirk played on his lips.

Anatoli laughed, cradling a glass of whiskey.

“I bet the sex must be exceptional,” he teased, his voice tinged with a hint of the Russian accent.

“American women are wild, from what I gather.” He subtly scratched his beard, those hazel brown eyes pinned on me.

“Considering how distracted you are, I’m guessing she fucked you real good, yes? A night to remember….”

“Hey, asshole, that’s his wife you’re talking about,” Valerian chipped in, seated across from me, legs crossed with a cigar between his fingers.

“What?” Anatoli shrugged his shoulders defensively. “I’m just saying—I mean, look at him, he can barely focus.” He gestured at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Pavel laughed. “I never thought I’d live long enough to see the day when the almighty Egor would be tamed by a woman.”

“A foreign woman, to be exact,” Anatoli chuckled.

“Clowns,” I said, reaching for a half-empty glass on the low table in front of me. “You’re all clowns. Fuckin’ idiots.” The last statement was added under my breath.

“Hey, man, I’m on your side here.” Valerian dragged on his cigar, his voice deep and calm.

He was a stark contrast to Anatoli and Pavel—those two were the real clowns. Especially Anatoli. The man talked too much for a Bratva enforcer, had a really good sense of humor, and could be fuckin’ annoying most of the time.

But he was just as ruthless as the rest of us. Anatoli was the kind of devil who’d send you straight to hell with a smile on his face. He was slow to anger; however, each time he lost it, the outcome was always catastrophic.

One time, he bashed a bowling ball into a man’s face and didn’t stop until he painted the floor with his victim’s brains. And he did all that while laughing so hard.

People called him “The Joker” because he was just as crazy as the fictional character.

Pavel was a more reasonable version of Anatoli. Good sense of humor, talked a lot. But he was more reserved and much calmer in his dealings.

Valerian, on the other hand, was the exact opposite.

He was the ice to my fire, a master strategist colder than Arctic water.

Valerian was brooding and intensely private.

The man was unreadable and very surgical in his work.

He sat quietly, flashing occasional smirks at Anatoli’s jokes, his steel-gray eyes always calculating.

Valerian—Ian—had a sharp, sculpted face with a shadow of stubble and a lean, coiled frame built for speed and precision.

Smoke curled toward the ceiling in lazy spirals, the air thick with the sound of our banter. Half-empty bottles of whiskey and bourbon stood tall on the table. Anatoli and Pavel slouched in chairs, laughing like they fucking owned the place.

As loud as those two were, gatherings like this were never completed without them. Especially Anatoli; he was the life of the party, as annoying as he was most of the time.

Our jackets were long abandoned, sleeves rolled up, collars loose, cigars and glasses in hand.

In the midst of all that noise, I sensed a shift in atmosphere, a sweet scent that lingered beneath the aroma of whiskey and bourbon.

Her perfume.

And then—

Leona appeared.

Barefoot, fresh from a bath, her hair damp and curling softly at her shoulders. She wore silk navy shorts and a loose white tank top, no makeup, no armor—just soft skin and quiet grace.

She didn’t see us right away. Her eyes were on the staircase railing, her hand grazing it gently as she descended.

Voices fell silent instantly, all eyes turning her way.

She stopped in her tracks, breath catching in her throat, her stunning green eyes darting across our faces.

Her cheeks flushed briefly, a flicker of embarrassment shining in her gaze.

She clearly wasn’t expecting to find my cousins dominating the living room—the shock in her expression said it all.

“Damn!” Anatoli exclaimed softly, his gaze pinned on her like a hook to a fish. “She’s a fine wine.”

My face contorted into a frown, my gaze shifting from her to him.

“You hit the jackpot on this one, cousin. She’s hot,” he added, lust flickering in his eyes. “And those legs…hmm.” His gaze swept across her body as if already undressing her in his mind.

Asshole.

My jaw locked, blood boiling with fury. Moved by my rage, I sprang to my feet, fingers curling into a fist.

“Egor, wait,” Ian called, his voice dripping with caution and urgency. He knew exactly what I was thinking—what I was about to do.

Too late.

My fist connected with Anatoli’s jaw on the first strike. And while he was trying to process the situation, his nose cracked at the impact of my second strike.

“Egor, stop!” Ian stepped out between us, hands pushing against my chest.

Pavel rose to his feet, confused as to what had just happened.

“What the fuck, man?” Anatoli cursed, hands flying to his bleeding nose. “Jesus!”

“Keep it together,” Ian stressed the whisper, a scowl settling on his face as he poked his finger against my chest.

“You crazy son of a bitch—you broke my nose!” Anatoli rose to his feet, fuming, blood dripping from his face.

My expression darkened, fists tightening at my sides as I cast him a stern glare. I glanced in her direction, but she’d already gone—perhaps she left the moment the chaos erupted.

“Get out,” I muttered, clenching my jaw.

“What?” Pavel turned to me, shocked.

“I said…get out,” I repeated, voice low and venomous.

“Fuck you, Egor,” Anatoli growled, snatching his jacket from the couch’s headrest.

As he left, Pavel followed immediately, leaving just me and Ian.

Ian was pissed by my reaction; the scowl on his face said so.

“I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of sending me out of your house,” he said, a glint of disappointment flickering in his eyes. “Get your shit together.” And with that, he too picked up his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out.

My blood boiled with rage, my chest rising and falling with slow, uneven breaths.

I tightened fists, locked my jaw—pissed at myself for reacting the way I did.

I should’ve exercised self-control. However, Anatoli needed to be put in his place—that was my wife he disrespected, and such foolish behavior wasn’t tolerated under my roof.

This wasn’t our first falling out, and sadly, it wouldn’t be the last. We always found a way to fix things without needing to apologize to each other. We just weren’t wired that way.

I headed back upstairs, still upset about what happened. And when the door creaked open, she came into view, sitting by the window with her head pressed against the glass. Leona was reading a book—or at least pretending like she was. The frown on her face was clear as crystal.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.