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

Chapter 12 – Julia

I wasn't sure this was a good idea.

Holding up a beautiful red dress to my front side, I stared into the full-length mirror, picturing the high-slit gown on my body.

It was my favorite outfit—a classy spaghetti-strapped dress with delicate, beaded lace that trimmed the neckline and hem. It had small sequins that sparkled like diamonds in the lights.

“Too much?” I muttered to myself, swaying left and right with a gentle motion as I checked out the dress.

My shoulders slumped in dismay as I lay the gown on the bed.

I let out a sigh, my head slightly bowed as I rubbed my fingers over my eyeballs, disappointed at my inability to pick an outfit. It was just a stupid date. Why couldn't I decide on a dress to wear? This was the third one, and still, my mind wasn't made up.

It was as though I was subconsciously trying to impress him.

I wanted to look good for him. It was part of the plan—getting him hooked. But this time, it was different. I could tell that I wanted to impress him, not because it aligned with my agenda but because, deep down, I cared about what he would think when he saw me. And that alone was scary as fuck.

I jerked my face up, looking in the mirror, clad in a white robe with a white towel wrapped around my head. “You're getting distracted, Julia. Focus.”

It felt like this was Julia Gray talking to Julia Sawyer. I was a fucking mess.

“You're on a mission—a quest for revenge. Stick to the plan, and you'll be fine,” I said, encouraging myself with a faint smile.

I took one last look at my reflection in the mirror before striding across the room and heading to the closet. I slid the door open, and the neatly organized array of shoes came into view.

“Hmm.” I scrunched my lips, index finger playfully tapping on my chin as I made a face, eyes scanning the row.

Eventually, my gaze settled on my favorite pair of heels—sleek black stilettos that added a touch of excellence to any outfit. “Perfect.” I grabbed them and glided back to the room.

Dropping my heels at the base of the bed, I slipped out of my robe, letting it pool around my feet. The fabric whispered against the floor as I stepped away, catching a glimpse of my toned figure in the mirror.

I removed the towel from around my head and reached for the dress on the bed. Sliding into it, I felt its fine, silky fabric crawl over my pale skin like a soft caress. The gown clung to my curves, highlighting my slender waist and contours.

I strolled back to the mirror, smoothing my manicured hands over the elegant dress, admiring how it hugged my skin and accentuated my figure. He'd love it, I was sure, and for some reason, that certainty prompted a smile on my face.

Damn. He's done a number on you, hasn't he? a tiny voice spoke in my head, and immediately, my mind was invaded by the images of his hands traveling up my thighs.

A flutter stirred in my chest, and a shiver ran through me as I recalled his touch back in the staff room the other night. There was a tingle between my legs, so soft and sweet that it had me biting my lower lip.

For the next few minutes, I let myself sink into the memory of that night, wondering what would have happened if my manager hadn't interrupted.

I still couldn’t comprehend how his touch had managed to ignite a flame of passion within me. I should have been repulsed by his touch or the mere thought of him—irritated, disgusted. But I wasn't, and that was the problem.

Does this mean I'm going soft? Does it mean that I'm…?

No. I'd rather not think about such things. He was the enemy, and that was all that he was ever going to be to me. Nothing more, nothing less.

This dinner date was just another way to get into his head, but it was still part of the plan.

Just as I reassured myself that it would all be in my favor in the end, that pesky little voice echoed in my head again: You're carrying his child; don't forget. Do you know how bad that is?

My breath hitched in my throat, and my eyes widened as I swallowed hard.

This was beyond terrible—it was a fucking disaster. I'd tried so hard not to think about it, considering I couldn't do much about the situation. But then I was reminded of this impending doom.

I had yet to come to terms with the fact that I was indeed carrying his baby. I was pregnant with the baby of the man who had killed my parents and put my brother in a hospital. There was no better way to put it. I'd messed up, and now it was important to fix this.

The only way out of this was to have an abortion, but I didn't think I could live with myself if I did that. The baby in my womb was innocent and had no part in all of this.

This was my fault. I should've been more careful. I'd laid my bed, but it was way too uncomfortable to lay on now.

Aborting the baby was a no-no. But I couldn't keep it either. I'd die of shame, and if, for some reason, I survived, I'd live a life of regret. My bad decision would haunt me for as long as I lived.

My hands flew into my hair, smoothing it backward as I tried to calm my nerves. The situation was worse than I had thought, and I was terrified of thinking deeply, dreading what I'd decide in the end.

From the way I saw it, there was no way that I was getting out of this unscathed. In the end, whatever choices I made would have a heavy price; they would cost me, and I'd have to live with the consequences.

I let out a sigh, staring at the woman in the mirror, Julia Gray, wearing a serious expression. “Whatever happens, you've come too far to back down now. We'll deal with whatever lies in the future when the time comes. But for now, we have a mission to complete.”

A smile spread across my face as I pushed the negativity to the back of my head.

A sharp exhale escaped my lips, and I brushed my fingers through my hair, giving it a final touch as it cascaded down my shoulders.

I glided over to the bed and sat on the edge as I slipped into the sleek black stilettos. The soft leather enveloped my feet as I bent over to lock the delicate ankle straps, securing them in place.

I rose with a gentle tug, shoulders squaring as I straightened. I walked over to my purse, which was resting on a table. With each graceful step, my heels clicked against the floor, and soon, I stopped in front of the table by the window.

A car pulled over outside my single-story apartment, the gentle hum of its engine filling the air.

Shifting my gaze out the window, I saw a sleek black Porsche parked in front of the building, its headlights flashing three times.

It was him. Roman Tarasov.

I held back the smile threatening to break through as I watched him step out of the car in his signature black suit.

He jerked his head toward my window, and we locked eyes, my heart skipping a beat. Roman grinned at me, and I couldn't help but return the favor—I couldn't stop myself this time, even if I wanted to. He leaned against his car, one leg effortlessly crossed over the other, his stylish nonchalance exuding poised sophistication.

His eyes were fixed on his phone, thumb swiping through the lit screen as the illumination cast a soft glow on his handsome face.

I looked away, picked up my purse, and headed out of my apartment.

While descending the steps, I let out a series of sharp exhales in an attempt to regain control of my emotions. “Calm down, Julia. It's not a real date. It's not a real date,” I said to myself over and over again.

Downstairs, I gave the front door a gentle push, and it swung open, revealing the fine man leaning against his car—a vehicle that could impress any woman.

Under the crescent moon and the twinkling stars, I sashayed over to him with a small smile on my lips. He looked so dashing in that impeccably tailored black suit, and as I drew closer, my eyes roamed over his masculine form. I swallowed subtly, drinking in the sight of this ravishing man.

His fitted black blazer highlighted his broad shoulders, their sleeves hugging his muscles. Meanwhile, his black undershirt and dark pants accentuated his sophisticated looks.

Roman straightened as I approached him, his eyes lighting up and brows arching. “Wow. You look amazing,” he remarked, lips curling into a sly smile.

A gentle warmth spread across my cheeks as they flushed at his husky voice, laced with admiration. His remark sent shivers down my spine, coaxing a genuine smile out of me.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, eyes darting to the floor.

With a fluid motion, he glided over to me, his steps graceful as he extended a hand to claim mine.

Slowly, I jerked my eyes to his rigid form, my lips trembling at the effort to suppress a smile.

He smirked, his gaze sweeping across my body. “Shall we?”

Finally, I gave in to the grin twitching at the corners of my mouth and took his hand.

Roman led me to his car, the moonlight casting a silver glow on the polished surface. We settled in, the plush leather crunching under our weights as I took the front passenger seat. The air, thick with the rich essence of premium leather, was cool and refreshing.

He started the engine, its gentle purr vibrating through the interior as the car came alive. His eyes stole one last look at me before he drove away into the night.

***

The car came to a halt outside a sleek modern building that shimmered in the moonlight. Its magnificent facade hinted at the luxury within.

He killed the engine and stepped out of the car while I did the same, my eye taking in the surrounding area. I watched him toss his keys at the valet, who caught them with practiced precision.

Roman appeared over at my side, taking my hand. As his skin grazed against mine, the contact ignited a spark within me. I drew a deep breath, savoring his touch with rapidly blinking eyelids.

Together, we headed into the building, with him holding up the door for me. My brows rose at the gesture; I honestly hadn’t expected him to be such a gentleman. I didn't know that he had it in him. Now, I was left to wonder what else he was hiding that I was yet to find out.

“Thank you,” I said softly, stepping inside with a wide smile that couldn't have been helped.

As we skidded through the restaurant's lobby, the ma?tre d’, a gray-haired man probably in his late fifties with a mustache, clad in his tailored tuxedo, greeted Roman by name.

“Good evening, Mr. Tarasov.” He smiled courteously, his voice dripping with a British accent and eyes warm with familiarity. “Your table is set on the rooftop as you requested.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Roman replied, his grin faint.

Alfred led the way, and we followed him through the crowded dining room filled with the soft hum of quiet conversations and occasional giggles. Glassware clinked every now and then as smiley faces engrossed in their conversation carried on with their activities.

A mix of expensive scents wafted through the atmosphere, adding to the interior's ambience. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their soft glow enveloping the space.

As we strolled behind Alfred, I could feel the eyes on me—heads turned as we passed by. Roman, noticing the looks in our direction, pulled me to himself with a possessive hold. He clearly was proud to show me off.

We stepped into the elevator, and all through the lift, his hand never left mine. Soon, a soft chime announced our arrival at the rooftop.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a breathtaking oasis above the city that melted my heart. The man might be an evil bastard, but he had good taste; that was for sure.

“Your spot, sir,” said Alfred, gesturing at a table nestled among lush greenery.

“Thank you,” Roman replied as we both stepped out of the elevator.

Alfred bowed slightly and excused himself, heading back down.

It was cold up here, and the view was insane. I could see the city's nightlife bustling, its twinkling lights stretching before us like diamonds. The sound of a gentle fountain, soft jazz, and distant sirens wafted through the air in a perfect blend.

“It's beautiful,” I said, drawing a deep breath as I felt the gentle breeze wash over my face, rustling my hair.

“I figured you'd appreciate the view,” he said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

A smile played on my lips, and I watched him pull out my chair, his hand grazing mine as he seated me. “Thank you,” I said, eyes dropping to the floor as I tried to mask the blush on my cheeks.

He took a seat across from me, his eyes never leaving me as I avoided his gaze.

The aroma of roasted vegetables and herbs from the dishes already set on the table filled the air, teasing my taste buds. The table itself was set with fine china glassware, a variety of dishes and a chilled bottle of 2015 Dom Pérignon nestled in a bucket of ice.

Among the dishes were a delicate plate of pan-seared scallops and a plate of perfectly grilled filet mignon paired with a rich demi-glace.

Roman lifted the bottle, expertly popped the cock, and poured the golden liquid into our glasses. Once done, he set the bottle on the table and handed me my glass, the bubbles dancing in the soft moonlight.

Our fingers touched as I accepted the glass, feeling a shiver run through my spine.

“Cheers to a lovely evening,” he said, his voice smooth and charming.

“Cheers,” I replied in the same tone, taking a sip of the fine wine; its fantastic taste danced on my tongue. “So,” I began, setting my glass aside, “you and Alfred seem cozy.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet scoff.

I fixed my gaze on him, a playful glint in my eyes. “Tell me, how many women have you brought here aside from me?”

He arched his brows with a smirk. “Why do you think I've brought women here?”

“I don't know,” I said, my eyes discreetly roaming his form. “Maybe because it appears you come here often.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head as he adjusted forward. “Yes, I do come here sometimes—to clear my head. It's a good spot to sit down and reflect.” He paused and added almost immediately, “But contrary to what you might think, I always come alone.”

I smiled, my cheeks flushing at the special treatment. “And you expect me to believe that?” I teased him.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “Because it's the truth.”

For the next few seconds, it was silent between us, and his eyes wouldn't stop boring into mine.

I was speechless, and despite my attempts to veer the conversation toward something less charged, I simply couldn't find the words.

“So, Julia Sawyer,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “What's the mystery behind you?” His eyes narrowed at me as he spoke.

My brows furrowed, my heart skipping a beat as I wondered why he'd asked what he did. “What do you mean?” I inquired, pinning my gaze on him.

He flashed a sly smile. “Well, you're like a complex piece of machinery—a puzzle that I just can't figure out,” he said, watching me. “It's fascinating how you always throw me off each time I think I'm starting to understand you.”

I laughed, relieved that he wasn't on to me. “I don't know if I should be worried or flattered.” I battered my eyelashes at him as I sipped from my glass.

He grinned, relaxing in his chair and drumming his fingers on the table. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'd like to know you better.”

“Hmm.” I savored the wine in my mouth before swallowing. “What do you wanna know?”

He hesitated for a while, brows arched. “Your family,” he said, eyes fixated on me. “Tell me about them. I'd like to know the people who raised an intelligent woman such as yourself.”

I felt a pang of vexation mixed with pain slowly swelling up within me, lighting my skin on fire.

How dare he ask me that? How dare he bring up that memory?

My jaw tightened slightly, and my chest was starting to heave. It was cold up here, but my blood was boiling.

Calm down, Julia, I chided. You can't let him see that you're upset. Roman's smart. We don't want him asking too many questions.

This was definitely Julia Gray talking.

I heaved a sigh, instantly cooking up a story. “Well, I never really, um…. I never really knew them that much, you know?” The slight pause came when I cleared my throat. “Turns out I was such an ugly baby that my parents rejected me.” I locked eyes with him, tapping into my hurt and pain so I could sell the story with more emotions.

“What do you mean?” he asked, brows knitting in confusion and gaze flashing with curiosity.

“They gave me up for adoption the moment I was born,” I replied, eyes misting with a nasty stinging. “Looks like I was too much of a burden, so they abandoned me. How can you abandon your own baby—your own blood?” Tears rolled down my cheeks at the thought of my parents’ death. I sniffed, drying my tears. “Anyway, I spent half my life in foster care—tossed around from one family to the other, rejected over and over again until I came of age.”

His expression was flat, his eyes still fixated on me. Roman was quiet and attentive, so I was careful not to flop, and it seemed like I was doing a good job at selling my made-up story.

“I've been on my own ever since, busting my ass out so I can make a name for myself.” My gaze bore into his, and I added, “So, I can achieve my goal…no matter what.”

A soft scowl settled on my face.

He had no idea I was talking about him in my last statement. He was my goal, my mission, and I would stop at nothing until he’d atoned for his sins.

I let out a deep breath, wiping my tears as I tried to remain composed.

“Hey,” he called out, leaning forward. “In the end, you turned out fine—more than fine. You should be proud of yourself for making it this far all on your own.” He smiled at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. “What didn't kill you only made you stronger.”

Ironically, his words and voice were comforting, soothing my broken heart. How could the one who had hurt me make me feel so comfortable? It didn't make sense at all.

“Anyway,” he said, adjusting in his chair, “let's change the subject, shall we?” Roman's lips curled up into a grin. “I saw the way you looked at the 1967 Aston Martin DBS during the auction.”

My eyes jerked up immediately as a myriad of thoughts overlapped in my mind.

Roman's gaze narrowed, his expression solemn for a moment when he asked, “Did you know the Grays?”

My breath hitched in my throat, and my brain shut down immediately.

Does he know who I am? Did my story give me away? Fuck.

Now, I was starting to question whether or not I was going to survive the night.

As he looked at me with that stern expression, I felt a strand of cold sweat trickling down my forehead. My legs had completely turned to jelly, and my heart was pounding in my chest.

Now what?