Page 10 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession

“Guess your brother is the same,” I shrugged, and she glowered, knowing she lost that one.

The elevator doors opened directly into my penthouse, and I gently pushed her forward into the foyer. She stumbled slightly, probably because of those ridiculous heels she was wearing, and I automatically reached out to steady her. She jerked away from my touch like I'd burned her.

“Don't touch me,” she warned.

I raised my hands in mock surrender. “As you wish.” I gestured around us. “Welcome to your new home.”

She barely glanced at my penthouse, her eyes automatically darting to the front door.

“Don't bother,” I said, reading her thoughts.

She whirled on me, her face flushed with anger. “So, I'm a prisoner?”

“Well, yes,” I deadpan.

“You’re nuts, you know that? Someone should lock you up.”

“Well, they haven’t, and you’re here now,” I replied simply. “So you might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Without warning, she sprinted past me for the front door, her hand reaching for the panel beside it. I was there in an instant, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against my chest.

“Let me go!” she yelled, struggling against my grip.

“Not a chance,” I said, my voice low in her ear. “You're not going anywhere.”

She went still for a moment, and I could feel her rapid heartbeat where my arm wrapped around her. Then she stomped her heel directly onto my foot.

“Son of a bitch!” I released her, hopping back.

She took advantage of my momentary distraction to make another dash for the door, frantically pressing buttons on the panel.

“It won't work,” I said through gritted teeth, the pain in my foot sharpening my irritation. “You need a fingerprint and a six-digit code.”

“Open this door right now,” she demanded, facing me.

“No.”

“I swear to God, Gastone, if you don't let me out of here—”

“You'll what?” I stepped closer, towering over her. “What exactly do you think you're going to do?”

She lifted her chin. “I'll make your life a living hell.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” I said. “But your family trained me well enough to deal with hell.”

“Oh, poor baby,” she mocked. “Did someone hurt your feelings? Is that why you're acting like a complete psychopath?”

I leaned in until we were almost nose to nose. “Careful, Elena. You're pushing your luck.”

“And you're pushing my patience, you overgrown, tantrum-throwing, dictatorial man-child.”

Her words were like matches, igniting something dangerous inside me. The alcohol from earlier was wearing off, leaving me with a dull headache and a shorter fuse than usual.

“Are you done?” I asked quietly.

“Not even close, you self-serving, vengeful jerk. You think this hurts my brother? All this does is prove what kind of coward you really are.”

“Coward?” I repeated, feeling my control slipping.