Page 44 of Baby for the Bratva King

“Answer my question first.”

“My apartment is too small to dance in.”

“What about those pole studio memberships I pay for?” He arches a dark brow.

“I wanted to dance here.” I fold my arms over my chest, sweat running down my body.

I had to dance in his house, to feel the music and let it resonate. I needed to let go, and what better way to do that in the enemy’s house as I imagine myself pulling away, detaching?

But feelings are attaching, and dancing won’t cut those ties. Not while I’m still seeing this man on a daily basis.

Something red catches my attention. I glance down at his shirt, immediately losing my footing.

“Woah, careful,” he says, catching me before I fall ass over face.

I wriggle out of his embrace, my pulse spiking, breath running thin.

Felix looks confused, eyes searching mine. “What’s wrong?”

“You have blood on your shirt.”

He looks down, working his jaw, like he’s pissed at himself. Like he fucked up.

I step back into the guest bedroom, hands out in question. “Are you going to tell me why you have blood on your shirt?”

“No.” Flashing me a painful look, he turns to walk away.

Like an idiot, I reach out and grab him. “Felix.”

“See? It’s not nice being walked away from.”

I let that comment ring between us for a moment. “Is the blood yours?”

“What do you think?” His searching eyes drift across my face.

I look at the shirt, the tattoos inked across his arm. Volya. Absolute freedom. The world bending around your control. I might not be able to see the infamous word on his back, but I know it’s there.

I stare into his silver eyes, the light hitting them just right, like a star in the sky; or a sharp blade when it hits the light at a certain angle.

“Volya,” I say, gauging his reaction.

“The pronunciation is spot on,” he says, offering me a smile. “But do you know what it means?”

“Freedom.”

The word hangs extremely heavy between us.

We hold eye contact, and it feels like we’re registering the broken parts of each other. The things we have been trying to chase, but never actually achieved.

“Freedom,” Felix repeats a beat later, and suddenly I see the truth.

“The mafia allegations…”

“They’re true,” Felix confirms, nodding at me.

I release a trembling breath, the world flipping. Freedom. Floating on the water searching for a safe haven. Free from harm.

I step forward, giving my body permission to do what feels right. My heart aches. My yearning for this man goes as deep as the ocean, but I don’t feel like I’m drowning.