Page 12 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #14)

I stand nervously before the mirror and apply a final coat of lip gloss.

Tonight, I’m wearing a dress Ilariy presented me with this morning, since I had nothing formal for a private dinner.

The maid made sure to pack more sundresses and bikinis than I knew what to do with, but forgot that one important dress every girl must carry.

And for some reason, Ilariy cared to ask if I had something to wear this morning, only to get me one when I answered in the negative.

I step back and barely recognize myself. The dress, a gorgeous deep pink chiffon, has a halter neck and is fitted to my waist before flaring to my ankles. The back dips dangerously low, showing glistening skin in large volumes.

My heart races. This isn’t just any dress. It’s the kind of dress a girl wears when the night means something. Does Ilariy think tonight means something?

I think back to the kiss yesterday in that apothecary studio. I dreamt about that kiss all night. Once again, my heart races, and I remind myself that the kiss meant nothing.

But for some reason, it feels like my heart now pounds in anticipation. I nervously check my reflection once more, put on some highlighter on my neckline for some extra oomph, and suddenly pull back when I realize my efforts make no sense.

He kidnapped you… Remember, Arina?

So why the hell do I care if my hair is just right, if the brown shade of lipstick I have on shines just right? I don’t know, I have no answers, but I decide to put on mascara.

I’m doing it for myself, I tell myself. I want to feel pretty.

But I know that couldn’t be further from the truth.

***

Fifteen minutes later, I hear a knock on my door, and I quickly rush to get it.

I nearly stumble in my heels, but find my footing before opening up to see Ilariy standing before me, wearing dark trousers and a crisp white button-down with the sleeves rolled up.

The shirt stretches across his chest, falling softly across the muscles on his arms. The way he stands, holding a jacket casually over his shoulder with just this thumb and forefinger, makes my mouth go dry.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his eyes skimming over me.

“Thanks,” I manage as I step out and close the door behind me, trying to look indifferent. “You clean up well yourself.”

He smiles, and I find myself transfixed by that dimple, on the dips and crevices of his chin. My heart flutters when he offers me his arm.

I sling my purse over one shoulder and take his arm. “Where are we going tonight?” I ask.

“Like I said, somewhere private,” he says.

“I know that.” I raise an eyebrow. “But where?”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he mutters.

“I doubt dinner is going to kill me,” I roll my eyes in annoyance, and he smirks.

***

Once again, Ilariy manages to surprise the socks right off of me. Not that I’m wearing any, but you know what I mean.

I thought he’d take me to a quiet, fancy restaurant.

But this is something entirely different.

He walks me up the path lined with tiki torches, through a small private gate, right to the beach, where I find myself staring at a lacy tent decorated with the most beautiful flowers—orchids, dahlias, and white roses.

There are so many flowers, intertwined with twinkling lights. On a beautiful evening like this, with the sun hanging low on the horizon and the sky in the prettiest shades of oranges and pink, I swear I think I’ve reached heaven.

He leads me up to a table beneath the tent, laid out for two, and helps me into my seat. When he takes his, I lean forward excitedly, my eyes darting out toward the ocean to see all the colors, the sights, the beauty. “Oh my god, Ilariy! How did you manage this?”

“I told you I’d take you for a private dinner,” he says nonchalantly, but I can tell he’s pleased with himself.

Between the private jet, that gorgeous villa in the previous hotel, the suite in this one, and gestures like this, I’m starting to wonder who exactly he is.

I’m going to get answers from him tonight; I promise myself that. But the night is long, and he’s pouring me champagne from the bottle in the ice cooler next to our table, so I decide to enjoy the evening as much as I can too. There’s time for all those questions.

“So,” he asks, looking up from the menu. “What should we eat… what should we eat?” He furrows his brows and looks so adorably confused that I let out a laugh.

He looks up at me in surprise and then, with mock offence, passes the menu to me. “Why don’t you decide?”

“For you too?” I ask, my brows hitting my hairline. I’ve been on dates before, but the men I’ve been with hardly allowed me to order for myself, let alone them.

“Yes,” he says in earnest. “You’ve got good taste. We can share.”

I find my neck heat at the simmering look he’s giving me, at what he implies, at how easily I compare this night to previous nights. There’s something intimate about this gesture, ordering for him, agreeing to share… but for some reason, it feels comfortable and natural.

“How about…” I suggest, a little afraid of being shot down. “We order some sushi, guacamole, and chips to start with, and for mains, we can do the fish tacos?”

I watch for a hint of disapproval, but he smiles and motions at someone behind me.

I hadn’t even realized that there was staff in the distance.

This place feels so very private. The waiter takes a minute to reach us, coming over from a distance where he stands at attention, and Ilariy places the order without even questioning it.

When the waiter leaves with our order, Ilariy leans forward and pours some more wine.

“Did you enjoy the hotel today?” he asks with keen interest. “I know it wasn’t as good as the last one.” He frowns like he’s willing to burn this place down if I say I didn’t have fun.

“It was wonderful,” I speak honestly and begin to tell him about the three different pools I went to, the massage I got, and everything in between.

He listens attentively, his eyes unwavering, and I find it easy to speak without stopping, not once doubting if he’s truly keen.

He hands on to every word. The food soon comes, and we dig in.

“Mm,” I say, closing my eyes as I bite into the guacamole. “I swear they use magic avocados here.”

When I open my eyes, I find Ilariy staring at my mouth. Quickly, I swallow and reach for my champagne. I’m already feeling a little drunk, but it’s so very bubbly and fresh and delicious.

“How was your day, by the way?” I ask, passing him the sushi. “How was your…meeting?”

A flash of nervousness crosses his face, and I realize we can’t avoid the conversation forever. But for some reason, he isn’t as keen on talking as he is on listening.

“Ilariy…” I sigh. “You promised you’d give me answers.”

“I promised we’d talk,” he says.

“Don’t be like that,” I say, feeling annoyed. “How was the meeting?”

“It went fine. We had to broker a deal. We did that.”

“What…deal?”

“We exchange some of our resources,” he offers.

“What resources? Like nuclear weapons?” I joke and he laughs.

“What’s it to you? Can’t you just enjoy the evening?”

“You don’t want to answer questions about your business,” I ask, sitting up straighter now. “That’s fine. But tell me why we had to leave the hotel last night.”

“Oh look,” Ilariy’s eyes suddenly blast open, and I hear movement behind me. “The tacos are here!”

The minute the plates are set down, he reaches over and puts one on mine.

“Eat, eat,” he says like an order, already digging in. “Before they get cold.”

I can’t argue with that, and the first bite in itself is an explosion of flavors, textures.

“Oh my god,” I moan, biting into the crispy tacos, the cold salsa, the warm fish.

“Good?” Ilariy watches my reaction with those gorgeous, simmering eyes, looking pleased with how happy I am.

“The best,” I admit, then quickly add, “But food won’t distract me forever. Who were those men yesterday? And what did you mean when you said the hotel was compromised?”

He buys time, sips his champagne. “Arina. Running a business in Mexico isn’t always easy.”

“What does that mean?” I frown. “What kind of business are you talking about?”

“Look,” he sighs and takes another bite, taking far too much time to swallow, and I feel mildly annoyed.

“Ilariy?” I ask, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“Okay. Look,” he sighs. “The thing is, I have interests in many countries. Some of them are corrupt, and we have to grease palms, do things we aren’t proud of. Sometimes, things can escalate.”

“Okay, fine,” I say. “You bribe people. Big deal. But why would you be afraid enough to change hotels? Why would someone try to take me in the middle of the wretched street?”

“Because I’ve made people angry,” he admits, looking a little sad at the admission. “Let’s just say… There are people in this country who don’t appreciate my presence. Not everyone plays fair here.”

“Why? What did you do? And what people?”

“I don’t want to drag you into it,” he says immediately.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Ilariy,” I hiss. “You already have.”

He looks like I’ve struck him across the face.

Just then, the waiter comes to ask if we’d like some dessert, and Ilariy shakes his head, like he wants nothing more than for this night to end.

“Just the check, please. Thanks!” he says.

“Wait, what?” I screech, not wanting our conversation to end until I have answers. “What if I want dessert?”

“Do you?” he asks. “You haven’t ordered dessert a single night we’ve been here.”

That’s true. He noticed. I don’t exactly have a sweet tooth.

“Fine, just the check,” I admit sheepishly, but turn to Ilariy. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

“I told you everything,” he protests, topping the last of the champagne into our glasses.

“But—” I try to protest, but Ilariy breaks into a smile.