Forced By the Ruthless Bratva Beast (Tarasov Bratva #3)

Chapter 8 – Julia

“I only spoil women that I fancy, and trust me when I say I don't fancy many women,” his voice echoed in my head, prompting a small smile on my cherry-red lips.

My plan was working. He'd confessed to seeing me as someone special, and Roman was starting to take an interest in me. Excellent.

I smoothed down my tight black skirt, making sure the hem was adjusted to perfection. Knowing that my ideas were effective brought me some peace.

One of the ways to sneak into a man's heart was to fuck him in ways he'd not so easily forget. The plan was to make sure he had a great time with me; that way, he'd have a reason to come back, looking for more of me.

At first, I wasn't entirely sure that it would work, considering that I was a virgin and he must have had countless women before me. However, I knew it was one of my best shots.

Since I discovered Roman Tarasov was behind my parents’ demise, I'd been doing my homework on him, reading any and every article on him that I stumbled across. The idea was to know him better, at least to an extent, before going undercover.

While researching him, I came to understand that he was the type to enjoy the company of intelligent and beautiful women. Who wouldn't?

Luckily for me, I was both. I just had to build myself physically and mentally so I’d capture his attention whenever I appeared.

He was a businessman, I knew that for sure, which meant that in order to get him to notice me, I'd have to be a problem solver. Most of the time, when men like him came around the VIP lounge to relax, they would take some time to discuss pressing business issues before letting the hostesses help them drown out their worries and concerns.

So, I read widely. I read every business book I could find, making sure that I improved my mind to the point where men like him would have no choice but to listen when I spoke. I spent three hours every day feeding my mind with knowledge, which was more time than what I allocated to making myself look pretty.

I'd been waiting for an opportunity to practice all that I had planned, so that night, when one of his brothers had asked my thoughts on a business matter, I'd celebrated internally.

Up until now, everything seemed to be going according to my plan.

My intellect and the great sex we’d had brought him back, just as I'd intended. But I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

The next thing on the list was to get under his skin, and I killed it. Roman hadn't expected his next encounter with me to go down the way that it did. I could see the confusion in his eyes even though he tried to mask it. He was trying to understand how I switched from the sexy woman who was all over him the other night to a cold and infuriating bitch.

Being exasperatingly difficult to handle was part of my plan—it was yet another way to sneak into a man's heart and mind.

Roman was a mafia boss who wasn't used to defiance; people always obeyed his every instruction. They trembled at his voice, and his presence alone was intimidating to most. He was the type of man who always got whatever and whoever he wanted at will.

In order to keep his attention on me, I needed to be different from everyone else around him; he indirectly gave me permission to act this way the night we fucked.

As a regular employee, I had no right to be rude and sassy to my boss. But sharing a bed together—well, a couch, in our case—catapulted me to a level above the other employees. He clearly enjoyed my body, and I was using that to my advantage.

The look of shock on his face when I told him that I quit the job was priceless—if only I had taken a picture.

I didn't really quit; that was just me being dramatic. Quitting wasn't an option right now, and there was still much to be done.

However, tonight, I wasn't a VIP hostess at the club. I was an assistant at a luxury car auction.

Agent Anderson had gotten me a slot for this particular auction because Roman Tarasov was going to be here. The plan was to always be around him, in his sight but unavailable at the same time.

I heaved a sigh, standing poised on my heels and clad in my uniform—a white button-down shirt that clung to my contours over a black skirt that accentuated my shapely body.

My gaze swept the opulent auction hall, taking in the crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the marble floor and the floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes that adorned the walls, whispering luxury and style.

To my left, a sleek black Lamborghini Aventador stood poised, its glossy surface reflecting the hall's decor. A 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO stood nearby, its amazing design earning it the attention of aficionados.

Agent Anderson helped me prepare for this job, educating me about cars, their models, and how each operated in its own unique design. This mission to bring down Roman Tarasov was proving helpful to my mental growth in so many ways. I was learning a lot in different spheres of life, and each time it felt overwhelming, I reminded myself of the reason why I was doing this: revenge.

Soon, the impeccably dressed guests poured into the hall—men in tuxedos and women in elegant gowns. With glasses of wine in their hands, they mingled, admiring the high-performance cars on display.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed collectors and honored guests, welcome to the SLT Luxury Car Auction…!” The auctioneer's voice came through, his tone sweet like honey as he welcomed the guests.

I watched them glide around gracefully with smiles on their faces, their chatter soft underneath the auctioneer's voice.

My eyes roamed the hall for the one man I was here for, and just as he stepped in, my breath hitched in my throat.

There he was, Roman Tarasov, clad in a perfectly tailored black suit. His muscular build bulged out from his coat, his sharp eyes scanning the room.

He looked so dashing tonight, but I couldn't harbor such thoughts about him, so I reminded myself of what he had done to my family. The memory of my parents' lifeless bodies flashed in my head, nudging me back on track. My jaw clenched, fingers balling subtly into fists.

We locked eyes, and I felt a flutter in my chest, my heart racing as he wouldn't tear his intimidating gaze off me. His expression was blank, and I was unable to read him, although just before he looked away, his lips curled up to a smirk.

My eyes trailed him as he moved with his associates, checking out the cars on display, pointing and marking the ones he liked. My fists tightened as my stare transformed into a glare.

However, my expression softened the moment a vintage car caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat, my eyes misting, but I was quick to regain composure. It was a 1967 Aston Martin DBS—the exact one Dad used to own.

Memories of our family Sunday rides in that car flooded my mind, causing my heart to ache. My breaths were almost hard to catch as I fought to stay in control of my emotions.

I wasn't sure it was the same vehicle my dad used to drive until I saw the heart-shaped scratch somewhere above the left front tire. I'd drawn that as a kid—a testament to our family's love. Mom had scolded me that day, but Dad thought it was amazing to mark his car.

“Well, at least now, if the vehicle ever gets stolen, we have something unique to identify it with,” his voice echoed in my head, his smiley face flashing in my mind.

I blinked rapidly to hold back the tears that filled my eyes, my teeth gritting in the process. Discreetly, I drew in a series of breaths: in through my nose, out through my mouth.

After Dad was murdered, most of his property was sold off, and this car was no different. My blood boiled as I watched those greedy fucks admire the vehicle. The idea that one of those collectors here tonight would eventually buy my dad's Aston Martin DBS caused my skin to crawl, filling me with rage.

A scowl settled on my face, my jaw clenching as my brows knitted together, creating deep creases on my forehead.

But despite my fury, I knew I had to stay focused—I couldn't let my emotions get the better of me. No matter how angry I was, I wouldn't let it affect my mission.

The event had commenced, and guests were all seated, their attention fixed on the auctioneer.

“Bidding starts at $100,000; our first lot is the 1962 Ferrari 250…” the auctioneer began, standing on the podium.

As one of the assistants, it was my job to distribute the bidding cards to our esteemed guests, and while doing so, I navigated toward my target.

The plan was to stay in his sight, and I was working to achieve that goal. As I approached him, eyes avoiding his gaze, my hand trembled slightly, and the card slipped from my fingers.

It was orchestrated perfectly to look like an accident, and I immediately bent over to pick it up.

However, Roman's lightning-quick reflexes were fast enough, and he snatched the card from mid-air. My brows arched at his speed, my body trembling as his fingers brushed against mine.

Our eyes met, and he flashed a smirk, looking right at me. The intensity of his gaze made my heart race, my chest slowly heaving. His touch ignited a fire in me, and I stood frozen in shock at the feeling of ecstasy that jolted across my body in a split second. This sensation had caught me off guard, forcing me to swallow in anxiety, my eyes slightly widening.

I cleared my throat. “I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean to be—” My voice was low and soft.

“Clumsy?” he finished my statement, raising his eyebrows at me.

I let out an exhale, feeling my cheeks flush at the teasing look plastered on his face. It was sexy.

Shit. Julia, focus.

Extending a hand toward the card, Roman held it tantalizingly out of my reach. “You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were stalking me.” He squinted at me.

I cocked my head to the side, a small smile playing on my lips. “Well, you took the words right out of my mouth.”

“If I did that literally, I'd leave you breathless,” he said, his tone hushed and husky, sending shivers down my spine.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” I narrowed my eyes at him, savoring his enticing lips for a moment before getting a grip of myself.

Gracefully, I rose to my feet and stepped aside, returning to my position with a racing heart.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I shut my eyes momentarily, trying to compose myself as I struggled with the images of our naked bodies against each other.

The memory of that night had ambushed me, and it was all that I could think about right now. My pussy tingled between my legs, as did my fingertips and nipples.

No, this can't be happening.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes, my mind flooded with these illicit thoughts.

When he touched me, he'd inflicted me with this dark desire that had now stolen my attention and focus. I hated that I was feeling this way. I was supposed to have control over my emotions, yet I kept going back to that night. My own moans came echoing in my head, as did his primal growl.

Shit.

Fuck you, Roman.

I stole a glance at him, pissed by the way his touch made me feel good.