Page 19 of Forced Mafia Bride
He spoke like a man who’d rather be outside punching faces than sitting in a club listening to exclusive gossip. He took a sip from his glass, swirling the Vodka with a bored frown. Although, deep down, we both knew he wanted any scoop on the recent buzz in L.A. He missed the action we experienced as a team as much as I loved it.
I lay back and allowed Anatoly to do the talking. He was more than eager anyway.
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the current Irish heir, Ronan Gallagher. His brother, Sean, passed away about a week ago, leaving the lunatic in the seat of power. So, he’s the one running things, and the first major thing he plans to do is marry off his sister to Tristan.”
Timur’s ears perked up like sharp antennas, and the wry curve of his lips was the sign Anatoly needed to know that he had my cousin’s undivided attention.
Timur dropped his empty glass on the table with a swag and crossed one leg over the other with his arms spread out on the rim of the sofa.
“Pause. What do you mean, a sister?”
Anatoly nodded, squeezing a slice of lemon into his mouth. “Half-sister.”
“And he wants her to get married to the beast?”
For reference, “the beast” was Tristan’s nickname back in his hometown. He was well known there for his callousness and brutality.
Anatoly affirmed with another curt nod, impatiently rushing through his narration to hit the nail on the head. “Wants her?Shovingher up the old man’s ass is more like it. But that’s not where the story gets all juicy.” He smacked his tongue, hissing at the intense sourness of the fruit. “The Irish princess needs a knight in shining armor to save her from the beast.”
Razor-sharp brown eyes left the narrator and settled on me. “She met you?”
“More like almost bought her way to see me.”
“So, she met you.” He raised a questioning brow. “And you granted the damsel audience?”
“More like she grantedhiman audience,” Anatoly generously added. “Candle lights, dinner, and red wine.”
For the first time tonight, Timur laughed, and suddenly,Ibecame the guy who wanted to be outside punching faces rather than sitting down listening to gossip.
My cousin swiped a finger over his brow and said, “You fucked her, didn’t you?”
I did.
I fucked Ronan’s half-sister.
But unlike before, when we’d rate our conquests and decide whether or not to see them again, that night with Rosalyn felt…like nobody else’s fucking business. I remembered that darn concern in her eyes, her naivety, and the soft shudders of her breath in my ears, and I got hit with an unexplainable urge of protectiveness.
When I kept mute, he deduced his own answer and fired off another question. “How exactly does she want you to save her?”
“She wants me to kidnap her before the wedding day.”
Suspicious masked his expression on his face. “Sheaskedyou to kidnap her?”
Irritation flooded my chest and rose in my throat like bitter bile.
“Am I supposed to repeat myself?”
He leaned forward, dropping his glass to show me how dead-serious he was. The corner of his lips turned to a firm, disapproving frown, and in that split second, he looked a lot like his father.
“Niko, that’s madness. There’s nothing logical about the sister of an enemy willingly offering herself to be kidnapped. Don’t tell me you are considering it.”
I had an answer ready, but someone called my name over the noise, forcing my mouth shut.
“Niko!”
Our heads turned to the tall brunette with the bright red lipstick dancing her way toward the VIP lounge.
“Anatoly. Timur,” she acknowledged off-handedly and crooked forward, her breath tinged with cherry and gin as she brought her lips to my ear, whispering in Russian. “Come on, Niko, let’s go dance. The floor is boring without you. We came here to have a good fucking time.”