Page 14 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession (Vadim Bratva #12)

Though we had come together, there was no chance I would allow Gastone to hover around me like a fly that night. When we pulled up at the club’s entrance, I noticed Gastone waving off the driver as he approached my door to help me out.

Without waiting a beat, I opened the door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind me. Gastone raised an eyebrow in my direction. “What?” I huffed. “I can manage to get out of a car by myself.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, and then his eyes roved over my body appreciatively, from head to toe—in that same manner they had in the trial room today.

I'd bought the dress, of course. After that moment in the dressing room, after what almost happened between us, I had something to prove. I didn’t buy it because he suggested I do, but because of what he’d insinuated earlier.

To show him I didn’t care if he thought he possessed me.

But his gaze as I emerged from my bedroom earlier this evening made time stand still. Made me wonder whether it truly would have been such a bad thing to be his?

I felt heat creep down my neck, but kept it held high as I walked past him toward the club. How he looked at me weakened my knees, making me heady and out of control. I hadn’t wanted that. Not that night.

He took long strides and caught up with me, gently grabbing my arm to make me stop. “So,” he said, “we’ve got a table tonight too, should you want it.”

I whirled on the spot, tugged my arm free, and crossed my arms over my chest. His gaze travelled with the motion, and a memory rushed back from the boutique earlier that day—how close he had stood, the irrevocably stupid mistake I had nearly made when I almost kissed him.

Had that assistant not interrupted, we would have crossed into a region from which there was no return.

With him standing so close to me again, I once more felt that sharp gravitational pull—that heat between my legs. “You might have invited yourself to my party,” I said, glowering. “But make no mistake. There is no our table.”

We were at a nightclub, for goodness’ sake.

I knew what could happen when the drinks flowed and inhibitions lowered.

I had every intention of letting loose, which meant high chances of making morally questionable decisions.

If I had allowed him near me that night, I would have failed to overcome my instincts.

Failed to keep my hands out of his hair.

Failed to resist the feel of his lips on mine.

The very thought made me take a step back, needing space between us. I scuttled for excuses in my mind, deciding my life had become so dull that kissing Gastone Ajello had started to seem like a reasonable fantasy.

I needed to have fun. I needed to get out of my head.

And most importantly, I needed to keep a pole’s length distance between the two of us.

“Well, if you tire of the terrible company you find inside, ask for my table,” Gastone said, then took a step back.

“I won’t,” I said confidently, and turned to head inside.

***

The music was so loud and the bass so deep, I could feel every sound reverberating through my body. Instantly, my mood lifted. That golden glow of possibility began to thrum in my veins. I was out for the night, and it was going to be insane.

Of course, I wished I had my girls with me, but the truth was, this was a novel concept.

I had never been out alone in my entire life.

My brothers had always been too protective.

I’d never had the chance to sit at a bar and sip a cocktail with nothing but my thoughts for company.

And while I knew Gastone was probably around, watching from a distance and ready to pull me out if things got too wild, this was still the most freedom I had ever tasted in my entire life.

I dared say the night was looking exceedingly promising. Without wasting a single moment, I pushed past patrons and made my way to the bar. It was packed beyond belief, and I knew I’d have to fight for attention.

I hopped onto the bar foot rail to appear taller and leaned over with my hand outstretched to catch the waiter’s eye. I was prepared to wait a while, but was far too surprised when he appeared within seconds.

“What will you have, miss?” he asked with a grin, his eyes dropping briefly to where I was leaning. Was he... flirting with me? I immediately straightened but kept on a polite smile. “A white wine, please. House is fine,” I screamed over the music.

I would’ve loved a Sauvignon Blanc, but with no table service, I didn’t want to complicate things.

In my experience, complicated orders often led to strange deliveries.

Within seconds, he was back with the wine.

I reached for my purse, but he waved me off.

“Pretty lady like you? First one’s on me.

When you want your next, come find me, will you? ”

“Oh my god, thank you!” I squealed with delight. I didn’t need the free drink, but now I knew for sure he was flirting with me. I’d been so unsure about this dress—having never worn one that showed so much skin, yet now I felt more confident.

I walked into the crowd and found a spot on the edge of the dance floor, my eyes surveying the scene before me.

There, in the corner booth, I saw Gastone.

He wasn’t looking at me, though, and I made no effort to draw his attention or even ask for his company.

Let him sit at the VIP booth all night if he wanted. I was here to dance…alone.

I felt like I could do anything, pretend to be anyone. There was no one watching me. No one hovering. No one dictating. I knew I shouldn’t have, but I realized that for the first time since Gastone took me, I was glad to be away from my family.

Ironically, there was something more liberating about being here with Gastone than there ever had been when I'd gone out with my brothers.

They usually always killed my vibe with their glowering and over-protectiveness.

Honestly, when I was with my brothers, people usually stayed away from us.

Tonight, I wanted to drown myself in a sea of strangers.

Gastone, for all his faults—and there were many—was at least giving me space. Yes, he'd insisted on coming along, but he was hanging back, letting me have my moment. It was a strange realization that the man who had kidnapped me was somehow giving me more freedom than my own family typically did.

Maybe that's why I didn't fight harder when he said he was coming tonight. Or maybe it was the memory of how close we'd come to crossing a line in that dressing room, how much part of me had wanted him to close that final inch between us.

I shook my head and decided I shouldn’t waste these precious moments. I was there to enjoy myself, not psychoanalyze what could have happened and what it meant. Gastone didn’t bring it up. Maybe it was a mistake in the making, and somewhere, we both knew it.

With that, I decided to instead let the music flow over me.

The music was good, incredible, easy to move along to, actually.

After three songs, I was fully in the zone, sweat glistening on my skin, my hair sticking slightly to my neck.

I hadn't felt this good in weeks. Months, even. Just me and the music and the dancing.

“You're incredible,” a voice said close to my ear, startling me out of my rhythm. I turned to find a man standing there, tall, dark-haired, and conventionally handsome in that Wall Street finance bro kind of way.

“Thanks,” I replied, not breaking my rhythm.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, moving closer, trying to match my movements.

“I'm good,” I said, gesturing to indicate I was still dancing. He moved with me, apparently taking my response as an invitation to continue the conversation.

“I'm Mark.”

I didn't offer my name in return, just smiled politely and kept dancing, hoping he'd get the hint.

He didn't.

“You come here often?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

I shook my head, moving slightly to create more space between us. “First time.”

“Lucky me,” he grinned. “Finding the most beautiful woman in the club before anyone else could.”

I forced a small smile. His comments were flattering enough, but I wasn’t looking for anything and needed him to know that without being rude. It wasn’t his fault he landed on me, and I was certain I could let him down gently.

“Thanks,” I said, pulling back.

He took a step closer, closing the gap I'd created. “You're not very talkative, are you?”

“I'm here to dance,” I said pointedly, gesturing around us at the dance floor. “I’m not looking for company.”

“We could dance together,” he suggested, reaching for my waist, ignoring what I’d just said.

I stepped back, avoiding his touch. “I'm good on my own, thanks.”

His expression turned into a sneer. “Come on, don't be like that. I'm just trying to be friendly.”

“And I'm just trying to enjoy my night,” I replied firmly. “Alone.”

I turned away from him, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

“Wow, stuck up much?” he said, moving around to face me again. “You're not even that hot.”

I simply rolled my eyes and turned, ready to walk off the floor.

But the next thing I knew, he had his hand on my arm and tugged me back.

“I mean, look at you,” he continued, his voice nastier now.

“You think you can afford to be picky with a body like that? You should be grateful I even noticed you.”

I stood there, shell-shocked as his words registered. For a brief moment, I felt triggered, felt the same shame I felt growing up as a young woman when girls in school made fun of me, but I forced it down.

I straightened my spine and met his gaze directly. “I'm not interested. Let go of my arm.”

“Fat bitch,” he spat, loud enough that a few nearby dancers turned to look. “You're begging for attention in that dress, but you're too good to talk to me?”