Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

She frowns and tucks her blonde hair behind her ears. “You made it pretty clear how things operate when you locked me in my room for two days and separated me from my daughter.”

“Apparently not. I told you to wait at the table today, but what did you do?”

“I came over to stop you from making a scene,” she answers.

“And left your daughter to get manhandled by a waiter.” I clap my hands sarcastically. “Bravo. Mother of the year.”

She narrows her eyes. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you’d listened to me. So go on: tell me whose fault it isn’t?”

“What is this really about?” she asks. “Is this about what happened to Isabella or is this about Malcolm?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I scoff, “you really can’t listen. Maybe I should give you back to Malcolm. It would save me a bitch of a headache.”

A blush paints her cheeks, but she hardens herself and meets my eyes. “No, this isn’t what it’s about. There’s something else. Is it… Sofia?”

I stiffen at once. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” she asks. “I’m just asking a question.”

“And I’m warning you not to.”

“Malcolm knows what happened to her. It seems like I should finally be clued in. I’m your fiancée, after all.”

“My fake fiancée,” I remind her icily. “My temporary fiancée. And you’re getting a hefty reward in return. I don’t owe you anything else. Especially not answers.”

I’m done with this conversation. With all of this shit.

“Stay out of my way until the wedding. I have too much to do to worry about what you’re up to.”

I turn towards the door, but then I feel Emery’s small hand around my wrist. “Please, Adrik. Just talk to me.”

She couldn’t hold me back if she wanted to, but the fact that she tried is enough.

I jerk my hand out of her hold and spin on her, backing her up against the bed. “You want to find out what happened to Sofia?”

She inhales sharply, her throat bobbing nervously. Her eyes roam over my face. I know her well enough to know she’s trying to decide how far she can push me. She’s trying to decide whether she should rein it in or toe across that line one more time.

But I’m tired of her testing me.

“Then keep asking,” I hiss. “Keep pushing and you’ll find out exactly what happened to Sofia. But unless you want Isabella to end up an orphan, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Her face goes perfectly white. Like she’s seen a monster.

In every way that counts, she has.