Page 29 of Forced Mafia Bride
He pointed at the chessboard as if it wasn’t obvious enough. “Overthrowing Ronan, getting his people under your thumb, and in addition to all that, you get a hot wife.”
It was an offhand comment, but while he shared a laugh with Timur, my mind drifted to the first night I’d seen Rosalyn walk out of that building. Flaming red hair, a black dress that blended perfectly with the night, and those ridiculous flip-flops that didn’t match the occasion. That was the first night I’d fucked a woman and dreamt about it for days.
Anatoly’s deep, throaty snicker distracted my thoughts, and I sat upright to listen better. “What was that?”
Anatoly scratched his brow, repeating with a huff. “I said her bodyguard’s not so bad looking herself.”
“Hannah? That’s Aiden’s cousin. Don’t tell me you’re falling—”
“Falling?” He guffawed. Timur and I gave him a look that said we weren’t buying the façade. “Who said anything about falling? Men like me, we don’t fall. We fuck. And I’m just saying she looks like she’ll be worth the fuck. Doesn’t mean I have to take permission from him. She looks perfectly able to handle this.” He pointed at his chest, earning a sneer from my cousin.
“The desire to fuck has never been the problem. It’s whether she finds you attractive enough to give you the pass.”
Anatoly acted offended, and they started bickering about which of them had better qualities to be a ladies’ man. Not being biased, but Timur had the win. There was always a higher chance of Anatoly scaring off the women with his looks than attracting them.
I was about to intrude in their playfully heated argument to state that point in Timur’s favor when my phone beeped beside the chess board.
I picked it up from the table. It was a CCTV notification, security footage from my fiancée’s room. I had it set up two days after her arrival. It was foolish to trust a woman like her not to do anything stupid, like trying to escape.
Ignoring Timur and Anatoly’s deep chuckles and rash banter, which had quickly changed from a smooth conversation in English to a Russian debate, I jerked from my chair, kicking it back when I opened it.
And all the blood in my body traveled south when she took off her clothes.
Chapter 13 – Rosalyn
Off goes the scrunchie.
Dua Lipa moved on the flat screen while “Levitating”reverberated on all four corners of the room, and I followed, shaking my waist and flipping my hair like a prisoner who could see the sun again after a hundred years of captivity.
Off goes the shirt.
Her pitch soared, and I threw my hands in the air, bringing them down in a spiral motion, dragging them down my strappy, low-cut bra, allowing them to linger on the waistline of my flared jean pants. I paused, my lungs heaving like I had run a marathon, my heartbeat thumping against my ribcage as Lipa dropped the climax of the song.
Rewind.
This striptease plot initially started with a revenge plan borne from a bubbling pit of frustration. To get back at Nikolai, of course. His betrayal still stung like the bite of ten jellyfish—not like I’d ever been stung by one before.But it stung, nonetheless. I wanted to get back at him, to make him know what it felt like to be left hanging at the edge of a cliff with no remorse and not knowing what would come next. But he was the one with the power. I had nothing but awell-furnishedroom inhishouse, and…that was it. No weapon, no resources, no connections. Nothing to bring him down with.
Except I considered my body as a weapon.
It was the lowest move, but I knew it would work. I remembered the first time we were in the same room together and the night at the party, in the bathroom. The tension wasso thick that a knife could slice right through. I’d almost forgotten how he humiliated me in front of Tristan and granted him permission to take me on that wall. Then, thank God, I remembered the Taser in my purse. The attraction between us was as evident as the sun in the sky. Every touch sparked; every kiss journeyed straight to my core. Just thinking about it started a heat fest all over my body.
He didn’t know it, but I’d spotted the high-tech camera at the end of the room fixed between the ceiling and the wall. The head was so tiny that I might just have missed it. But living with Ronan had taught me to be vigilant for details, specifics, and things that could appear to meet more than the eye.
Perfect.
That was all I needed. He unknowingly set a trap for himself.
So, I turned on the television, selected the music channel, and set my plan in motion. I started with my hair, letting it down before I took off my shirt and jeans. I stood now, in the center of the room, in a pink sleazy bra and matching panties. He must have been expecting me to strip completely, but I had better plans. Another song came up, and I matched the energy, flipping my hair like an exotic stripper on a pole and swaying my hips like a professional dancer that I wasnot.
I fixed a finger between the elastic band of my panties, slightly tugging it down to show a glimpse of more skin. Then, for the element of surprise, I picked up my shirt from the floor, bunched it to a thick ball, and flung it with accurate precision to cover the camera.
But I kept dancing, and it had nothing to do with spite. When I started this revenge plan, I didn’t expect two things to happen.
The first one was actually enjoying the music and the freedom that came with living in Nikolai’s house. I was mad athim, yes, but I was away from that fiend of a brother, Ronan, and that prison he called a house. Although I was still trapped here, I didn’t feel the weight of the shackles bound on me. I welcomed the dance moves, the slow shakes of my head, and the rhythm of my feet.
The second thing I made no plans or expectations for was having Nikolai barge into my room looking like the mix of a sexy rogue gangster in an Armani businessman’s suit. His brown hair sat in a messy nest on his head, like he’d frequently run his fingers through, and a button below his dress shirt collar sat undone.
His presence sapped the breath out of my lungs. I stumbled, missing a step. “What are you….” I sounded like an airless pipe bag, so I cleared my throat and started over. “What are you doing here?”