Page 17 of The Russian’s Forced Bride (Kamarov Bratva #2)

When I woke up the next morning, Rafael was once again gone. I had gotten used to him randomly disappearing, but that didn’t mean I liked being kept in the dark about what was happening with him.

He had promised me he’d find Joaquin, but he never told me what was happening, and it made me worried sick. It reminded me of when I worked with my father. He never told me the things that mattered, always speaking in riddles and lying to me, up until he took his final breath.

Rafael wasn’t Dad, but they shared similarities that irked me.

Or was that what it really meant to be part of the Bratva? I couldn’t understand it. Just last week, I saw him on the phone with someone. He sounded tense, and I had never heard Rafael sound bothered by anything before. But when I asked what had happened, he brushed me off, saying it was nothing.

I had been upset and still was, but in reality, nothing he did was any of my business. Just because we had sex once didn’t automatically mean he saw me as someone he could confide in.

Though as much as I didn’t want to care, I did.

The buzzing of my phone from my lampstand caught my attention, and my brows furrowed when I saw it was a message from Brandon—my alleged half-brother.

I remembered giving him my number just minutes before my wedding, but I was surprised to see he had texted me, given his claim that he didn’t want anything from me.

Tentatively, I unlocked my phone to view his message, which read:

I’m in Chicago. Can we meet up? Catch up a little bit? If that’s okay, of course.

I raised a brow. Since we hadn’t spoken at length on my wedding day, I still didn’t know a lot about him. I bit my lip as I tilted my head. I knew Rafael would be mad if I left the house without his knowledge, but I wasn’t a baby.

I chewed at my fingernails, pondering hard.

Just for an hour. All I needed was an hour.

Besides, Rafael wasn’t even home, and it wasn’t fair that he got to roam the streets while I remained locked up like a prisoner.

Then I made my decision. For the first time since I got married, I was going to leave the house. I knew it wasn’t safe, and as much as I loved the peace here, being locked up was making me more paranoid every day.

So I sent a quick message to Brandon, asking where he’d like us to meet.

“ Beanies ,” he replied almost immediately. Then he added, It’s a coffee shop some blocks from Dad’s place. Let’s meet in an hour.

I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, then slipped out of bed and took off my pajamas. I moved quickly, almost as if my life depended on it, because the faster I left to meet Brandon, the sooner I would be back at the house.

I dressed casually in jeans and a turtleneck, throwing on a coat since it was a bit chilly outside. After grabbing my things, I left the house without thinking twice.

The weather in Chicago was windy and bone-chilling, making me hug my coat tightly against my frame as I stepped out of the Uber, which had stopped across the coffee shop Brandon had texted to me.

The skies were gloomy, but not in a comforting way. Maybe it was because I knew what I was doing was more than just careless, but the dullness of the clouds felt like a warning to me.

Or maybe I was just reading too much into things.

Bodies hurried past me, some looking at me like I had grown horns for standing on the sidewalk. It wasn’t until a lady screamed in my face that I realized I had to move. Staying indoors for weeks did that to you. It made it feel like I had just stepped back into the world anew.

Muttering apologies under my breath as I brushed past passersby, I crossed the busy street to the coffee shop, which had the word Beanies on its signage flashing periodically in neon lights.

I opened the double glass doors and was immediately welcomed by the soothing smell of coffee. The shop had a woodsy ambience to it, as everything was made from cedar beams and brown oak—from the floorboards to the tables covered with brown checkered cloths.

A warm, honey-hued pool of light also flooded the room that was occupied sparsely, along with the barista at the counter, chatting away with a colleague.

It didn’t take me long to find Brandon, dressed in a black T-shirt and a red beanie, sitting by the booths while drinking from a cup of espresso.

I went over, sliding in right across from him and putting my shoulder bag on the table as his head lifted and our eyes met.

His thick brows rose in surprise before he smiled sweetly at me. “You came.”

I shrugged. “You wanted us to meet up. Why?”

He leaned against the booth, draping one hand over it. “Needed to see my big sister. I know I said I didn’t want anything from you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get to know you.”

My brows furrowed. I still wasn’t into the whole idea of suddenly bonding with my half-brother, but I did have to admit that I was curious about him.

“Your mom,” I began saying, “where was she from?”

Brandon shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he took a sip from his espresso before answering me. “Barcelona. She had dark hair. Like cocoa.”

“And Dad? You said he abandoned you both? How did you know about me then? Were you in touch with him?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Brandon laughed, gesturing with his hands to calm me down, but I didn’t have time, and I needed as much information from him as I could get. I couldn’t just blindly trust him because we were related.

“First of all, our—” Brandon made an inclusive gesture, pointing from me to him. “Our father was a dick. Second of all, he did abandon me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t a curious little shit. I knew his name, and believe it or not, Dad’s actually pretty famous.” He chuckled.

“Right…” I drawled. Dad was popular, so it couldn’t have been hard to find out where we lived.

I shook my head and bit my lip as I thought hard.

I was searching for loopholes that Joaquin had used to trace Dad all the way to the Kamarov mansion.

I was looking for clues—anything that might help me find Joaquin.

And my curiosity toward Brandon wasn’t just plain curiosity. It was a heavy suspicion.

“You don’t still trust me…do you?” Brandon asked, snapping my attention back to him. The smile that had been plastered on his face had now faltered, leaving a blank expression on his dark features.

He leaned forward, placing his arms on the wooden table between us. “You think I had something to do with that bastard’s death…don’t you?”

I gulped hard as I held his gaze. It was strange seeing him look so serious since I was used to him smiling and grinning all the time.

But there was no need to deny it anymore.

“Yes, everything about you is suspicious,” I admitted.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And if I did admit that I killed our father, what could you possibly do about it, Arlette?”

The air around us suddenly thickened with tension, filling me with unease.

It was the kind of tension that made the hairs on my arms stand on end with fear.

He was right. If he admitted he was responsible for our father’s death, what could I do about it now?

It felt like walking straight into a trap.

I couldn’t be killed here. Eyes were watching. But that didn’t change the fact that I was wary.

What if this whole coffee shop was in on it, too?

Shit.

Brandon’s hysterical laughter pulled me out of my thoughts.

When I looked at him, he mimed a gun with his finger, aiming it right at my head.

I knew it was fake, but it still made my lungs tighten in fear.

Then, still laughing, Brandon moved his fingers like he was really shooting at my head—and I flinched.

“Your face,” he said while still laughing. “Priceless.”

Meanwhile, my heart was pounding irregularly inside my chest.

“Sis, relax.” His voice seemed to fade into the background as my head spun. “I was just kidding. I hated that piece of shit, but I didn’t kill him. There’s nothing I would’ve gained from his death anyway.”

Brandon was back to smiling softly, then he took my frozen fingers across from him on the table.

“I know you’re scared. Dad’s death was mysterious. Even I have no idea what happened. But you’re safe, okay? And the Kamarovs are big shots in this country. Sketchy, but I approve of them.”

I raised a brow. I didn’t know what to think of him. Was he pretending or being genuine? I couldn’t tell. As clear as the emotions on his face were, he was still a complete mystery to me. I searched his benign eyes and then came to a conclusion.

Brandon didn’t know anything about Father’s death—and neither was he aware that the Kamarovs were a formidable presence in the mafia world.

I did have to admit, though, that he was a bit unhinged.

Blowing out a sigh of relief, I laughed. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just being a paranoid ass.”

He nodded in understanding and squeezed my fingers before going on about how he had always wanted to meet me but couldn’t because of Dad. And according to Brandon, he was studying economics at the University of Chicago.

I found myself relaxing as time went on. He didn’t ask me any questions, probably because he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. He only talked about himself—right until my alarm woke me up.

My eyes widened in shock when I saw how much time had passed. I muttered a curse under my breath as I began to pack up my things.

Brandon looked surprised as he saw me stand up suddenly.

“I need to leave,” I told him. “But we’ll catch up, okay? I’ll call you,” I promised him right as he took to his feet, too.

I turned to leave, but then he grabbed my arm, clearly confused about why I was suddenly leaving.

“We’ve not even spent more than an hour together. I didn’t get you anything.”

I feigned a smile. “It’s fine. I just have a lot of things to do back home.” I then released his grip on my arm.

Brandon heaved a sigh. “Okay, but let me at least take you home. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Taking me home wouldn’t be bad, I presumed. It was just a few minutes past noon, and I was sure Rafael was still back at his office.

I gave him a once-over. Even if Rafael did see him, I could simply lie that he was my Uber driver. My subconscious self nodded in agreement.

And then I said, “Alright, Brandon. Lead the way.”

Brandon grinned cheekily, and after dropping a bill on the table, he led the way to a blue truck parked by the coffee shop. I said nothing, even though I thought he’d own something like a Ferrari or similar, but I guess he was serious when he said Dad had abandoned him.

I stepped into the musty truck that squeaked under our weights, quietly hoping Rafael wasn’t home. After giving him my address, Brandon started driving with rock music blaring from his speakers.

Brandon wolf-whistled as we approached the estate whose iron-bar gates were already wide open, and I felt my stomach drop. Suddenly, the truck’s engine died. I swung the door open, and I jumped out.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” I yelled to Brandon, whose head popped out of his window while he continued to bop his head along to his music.

“The way you’re acting is scaring me, sis—but I’m just going to let it slide for today,” Brandon shouted after me, and after giving him a thumbs-up, I slipped in through the gates.

Rafael’s Maybach was parked right in front of the building—proof that he was home. I braced myself for impact as I slowly approached the front door, pressing my thumb on the sleek black scanner.

The doors immediately opened after my fingerprint was scanned, and there he was—manspreading on the sofa just across the room from where I stood, with a lit cigarette in his mouth.

His expression was dark, like a panther ready to strike, as his eyes were fixed on me. I shifted under his burning gaze.

I didn’t have the energy to deal with him, so I made my way toward the stairway—only to stop in my tracks when his voice pierced through the silence.

“Who was that?”

His voice was gruffer than usual. Low—almost like he was trying to control a bubbling rage.

But this was Rafael. The same man who had cradled me to sleep. Surely, he wasn’t mad at me, right?

I rolled my eyes internally. Who was I kidding?

“My Uber driver,” I answered. “It was no one special, so just drop it, okay? I just went out to have lunch with Eleanor. It was—”

“You’re lying, so let’s cut the bullshit and you tell me who that fucker was in that truck.”

He stood up from his seated position, now towering over me, and I could feel his hot breath brushing against my face.

I lifted my eyes to him, my breath shallow, and our gazes met.

It wasn’t that I was afraid of him. I was afraid of what he’d do to Brandon if I admitted I was with him. Rafael Kamarov was a walking bomb. He held things in, and I could never tell when he would explode.

“I’m not a baby,” I began, but then he inched closer to me—too close.

“That man, Arlette. I need his name. And it doesn’t matter if you try to lie. I’ve watched you long enough to know you’re a terrible liar. And even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find him—and it’s up to you whether he lives or dies.”

“But he didn’t even do anything,” I cried out at the absurdity. “He’s—he’s my half-brother. He just wanted to see me.”

“Right.” Rafael nodded, chuckling darkly. “Your half-brother. And I thought I asked you not to leave this house until it was safe.”

He then lifted my chin, gently—yet I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves.

“I’m not a child, Rafael, and you’re not—”

I was cut short when he slammed his lips against mine.

The action was urgent and filled with a consuming rage that seemed to resonate with me as well.

It reminded me of our kiss in the cellar, but this one was different. I was angry too. I pushed hard against his body, with fire coursing through my veins and over our kiss.

And in just seconds, we were tearing each other’s clothes off, crashing into the furniture in the room as we each fought to take control over the other.

He didn’t bother being gentle with me as he bent me over the kitchen counter, pounding his already hard cock into my dripping pussy, which sucked in his full length.

Our breathless moans and groans filled the air, and skin slapped against skin as Rafael drove into me. Once again, his fingers found my clit, pinching and flicking as that ball of heat curled tighter and tighter. When we came, we did so together.