Page 31 of The Bratva’s Innocent Sold Bride (Fokin Bratva #9)

I was about to ask him what for, but realized he meant for checking his phone during dinner. It was surprisingly sweet and old-fashioned in a good way. After that, I couldn’t bring up work, not when he was looking at me as if I were the most important thing in the world.

Once again, I remembered Masha’s drunken words. What if…

No, better not get carried away. Not fighting was enough. It had to be.

We caught up on local gossip, since he had been keeping me apprised of the reverend who had somehow been engaging in human trafficking while still remaining an upstanding local leader. It seemed like the cops were closing in, but Mat refused to take credit.

“Don’t mistake me for a hero, CJ,” he said, too seriously.

“Sounds like something a hero would say,” I told him, starting a game of footsie under the table.

We spent the rest of the delicious dinner talking about his family in Russia, who were busy running his empire there.

I was fascinated by it all, not just the minuscule bits he shared about the Bratva, but the fact that there were so many Fokins and they all loved and cared for each other no matter what.

We didn’t talk about my family because it was basically the opposite of that, and it would have put me in a bad mood.

After dinner, we headed to the club, which was known for live music.

The band playing that night was local legends, and the crowd was wild.

We stood at the outskirts and danced with the other couples who didn’t want to bother with the crush around the stage, and when the band took a break, a DJ started playing slower songs.

Mat pulled me close, swaying with the music, leaning down so I could hear him. “Should I cancel the deal or go ahead and buy the place?”

“You have to buy it,” I said. “For our date nights.”

He kissed me so deeply I forgot where we were, and I wrapped my arms around his middle to pull him tight to me, grinding against his rock-hard body. Moving me further from the other dancers, we ended up in a hallway that led toward the backstage area.

No one was around, and Mat nudged me up against a wall, his hands roaming up my sides to brush against the bottom of my breasts. He’d been driving me crazy all evening, being charming and funny and attentive. Whatever had been bothering him, he’d pushed to the side for me.

I stood on my toes, sighing when our tongues collided, moaning when he ran his thumbs back and forth across my taut nipples.

The backstage door slammed open, and the members of the band poured out, ready to go onstage again.

I could have cursed them, but Mat leaned close to promise there’d be more of that at home.

“Then let’s go home,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the exit.

He was more than fine with that, lifting me off my feet as soon as we were outside and carrying me to the car.

“Work seems to be agreeing with you,” he said, reaching for my hand over the center console. “It makes me happy to see you like this.”

“I love it,” I said. “I really do. Thank you.” All the bitterness from the last several days had vanished. Once again, we were getting along. Better than getting along, we were in perfect sync. I was so happy that I decided now was the time to tell him what I found out about Terrence.

“I didn’t send everything in today’s report to Delta,” I said as we pulled into our long drive.

“Oh?” he asked warily.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make a habit of it, but I wanted to tell you this myself.” Who was I kidding? I wanted to see his eyes grow wide with appreciation for my extreme hacking talents. “I found some Russian ties, which I thought were odd since, as far as I know, Terrance isn’t Russian.”

Mat was in the process of opening the front door, and he stiffened, rushing me inside and slamming it behind us like someone was out there other than his army of guards. His eyes narrowed as he nodded for me to continue.

“One name in particular kept cropping up, and apparently he’s got a brother in Moscow who’s in the same line of work as you are.”

“CJ,” he said, but I was on a roll.

We were almost to our bedroom, and I expected him to sweep me into his arms when I was done. “Ovinko,” I said. “Ring any bells? The one man Terrance kept getting linked to is Anatoli Ovinko.”

It obviously rang a bell, but there were no congratulations, no look of wonder, no sweeping me off my feet. He was suddenly ice cold, looking angrier than he did when I first got home.

“You’re done,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re done with the project. No more going to the office, no more helping out. I don’t need any more information.”

“But I was able to get into his personal cellphone. There’s so much more to find out. And I think this Anatoli is—”

“Enough,” he interrupted, his voice hard and low. “I’ve told you that you’re done.”

Confused, hurt, and furious, I slammed myself into the bathroom and locked the door. I expected to hear his fists pounding on it, or for him to yell at me to come out, but there was only silence on the other side. He didn’t need to argue, only to order me around.

Well, I wasn’t going to stand for that. I flung the door open to face him down, but he was gone.