The Bratva's Bride (Wicked Doms 2)

Or whatever the fuck.

All I know is, I could get used to making her come like that, making her flush and scream and writhe in ecstasy.

I’m going to enjoy bringing her tonight.

I dress her and lead her out of the room. We have some work to do before then, and I want to be sure she’s prepared. I have her in a gown with low heels, because she’s clumsy in the high ones typically worn at balls like this, but flats aren’t quite formal enough. I order a floor-length gown to be ready for her for this evening. Beyond the dining room on the main floor we have a large ballroom suitable for entertaining. She’ll have to dance on my arm and follow my lead. We have appearances to keep up, and her playing the part is crucial.

My plan was to have the dance instructor give her the basics while I met with my men, but when the instructor walks in, he’s a twenty-something college graduate with dark hair and eyes who looks at Calina appreciatively.

He will not touch her. He won’t come within a foot of her, because if this boyish pretty boy touches her, I’d have to kill him, and that could complicate the evening.

Fuck lessons. I’ll have to do this myself.

“Play the music,” I tell him, “And instruct her as we go.”

He knows who I am and why he’s here, so he does what I instruct without a second hesitation, fumbling to turn the music on so rapidly he knocks over the speakers.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Calina whispers in my ear.

“So?”

“So maybe stop growling at him so he can do what you tell him.”

I grunt, but try to school my features so he doesn’t wet his fucking pants.

Nodding, he does what I say, but minutes into the lesson, I realize he’s useless. I don’t need instruction. She does, and she’s following my lead.

“Go,” I tell him. “Leave the music. Go get lunch in the dining room. I’ll tell you when we’re done.”

He blinks in surprise and opens his mouth to argue, but he’s already being escorted out by one of my men.

“Your reputation precedes you, sir,” she whispers to me, and is it my imagination, or does laughter dance in her eyes?

“Good,” I mutter. “It makes things easier.”

We dance quietly for a moment before she speaks again. “Do you like being feared?”

I think before I speak. I want to tell her the truth.

“Of course,” I tell her. “I have no patience for common pleasantries and polite society. I’m no business man. I have very clear goals, and it’s best if I’m obeyed without question.”

“Right,” she says softly.

I hold Calina close and speak in her ear, taking her focus back to the dance. The clock ticks. “The most important thing is that you follow my lead,” I tell her. “Relax into the dance.” Streams of violin echo in the large dance hall as we step in tune to the music. She’s soft and supple in my arms, faintly scented like spring posies. I like the way one hand rests on my hip, her other hand clasped in mine. How she follows my steps easily. And for one brief moment, I close my eyes as we move to the music. I tell myself I’m preparing her for this evening, so she doesn’t make a fool of herself. In the brutal landscape of my life here, the tender moments are few and far between. I open my eyes, the momentary sentimentality vanishing because I can’t lose my edge. I can’t lose my utter focus on my purpose: her training, so I can do what needs to be done for the brotherhood.

“Keep up,” I snap when her footing falters. Her only response is to hold her head higher as she obeys. She’s a fast learner with good rhythm, and within an hour is following my lead with ease.

“We’re done here,” I tell her. “You’ll do fine on the dance floor. Now let’s go over how you’ll behave.”

I take her to a meeting with my men, and she sits obediently by my side. For a while, she behaves, her hands in her lap. I catch her trying to pick at her fingers, but a stern look stops that immediately. While we talk, I can feel she’s growing restless. Tapping her foot and looking around her, she freezes when her eyes come to the phone in my hand. I hold it out in front of me, pretending I don’t see the way she hungrily observes every detail. With deliberately obtuse movements, I enter my password. She captures her lip between her teeth.

She’s going to try to use my phone.

Of course she is. What made me think last night was a one-time thing?

Who is she trying to call? From our records, she has no friends outside the institution. What else does she need?