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

Chapter 13 – Roman

Her pupils dilated, the color draining from her eyes as she stared at me, her brows slightly knitting together. For a moment there, she seemed nervous, like my question had triggered something.

I watched her gaze flicker, eyelids drooping ever so slightly, and, as if thinking about her response, her lips parted, then closed. She blinked a few times, her hand reaching for her glass. Fingers brushing against the stem, she gripped it, eyes roaming my form.

Julia took a sip, her tongue darting out with a delicate motion to capture the lingering droplets on her enticing lips.

Her poise reasserted itself just before I could register her fleeting hesitation. Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned back in her chair, gracefully cradling the glass. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, a sly grin playing on her lips.

My head tilted to the side, brows arching at the sudden shift in her countenance that left me wondering if I'd imagined the subtle signs of her nervousness.

Julia was a wonder, an enigma—a master of reinvention, constantly shifting like a mirage. She was always one step ahead of my understanding of her. It was as though her mystery deepened each time I saw her.

Whenever I thought I was close to grasping a glimpse of her essence, she would switch so deftly, eluding my grasp and leaving me perpetually intrigued.

Her ability to become an elusive siren, luring me deeper into the labyrinth of her soul with little or no effort at all, was fascinating. She was a puzzle I had yet to solve, a puzzle whose patterns were constantly rearranging themselves, knocking me off course each time I got close.

“Why do you ask?” she questioned, her voice smooth and confident.

I relaxed back, my fingers drumming against the table. “That vintage car is one of a kind, and it belonged to Anthony Gray—CEO and founder of Gray Consolidated.” My gaze on her form lingered. “So, it's either you knew the man or his family…or you're just a sucker for good cars. Which is it?”

She sipped from her glass and set it down beside her plate. “You talk like you knew him–Anthony Gray.” Her eyes jerked to look at me. “Were you two close? Friends, maybe?”

An abrupt, dismissive laugh escaped my lips. “Friends?” My brows rose at the absurdity of her assumption. “I don't think there's a universe in the multiverse where Gray and I could be friends.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued, yet her expression was flat. “Why's that?”

I drew in a deep breath, hating the idea of having to talk about a deceased rival. “When he was alive, Anthony Gray and I…we never really saw eye to eye. I hated his guts as much as he hated mine.”

The man was dead, and despite our differences, the thought of him never triggered any emotion. None whatsoever. I was simply giving an honest answer to a pretty woman's question.

“But why, though?” she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity, her eyes never leaving my face. “Why did you hate him so much? Did he do something to you?”

“Well, now you're twisting my words.” I groaned lightly, leaning forward. “I didn't say that I hated him—I said that we hated each other. It was mutual.” I let out a soft exhale. “Anthony Gray was a formidable businessman, as was I. As such, we had conflicting ideas and interests, resulting in our enmity,” I further explained, my voice laced with condescension. “He was a self-righteous man who believed he could change the world by doing good.” A scoff came forth. “Look where that got him: six feet under.”

With both her elbows on the table, fists under her chin, she watched me in silence, her expression unreadable.

I poured myself another glass, the Dom Pérignon flowing like liquid gold into the crystal as faint whispers of oak and citrus wafted through the air. “I may have despised the man but he did have an impressive taste in cars.” I set down the bottle and yanked my glass by the stem. “Like the 1967 Aston Martin DBS.”

“Yeah,” she said, emptying her glass with a single shot. “The car is definitely one of a kind.”

“Refill?” I gestured at the towering bottle.

“Yes, please,” she said, extending her glass.

“I was so distracted during the auction that I didn't buy the car.” My eyes jerked at her as I poured more wine into her glass. “Perhaps I'll buy it from the man who did.”

She accepted her glass and took a gulp before settling it on the table. It was like she was trying to mask her emotions, and even though she was looking at me with a straight face, I could sense that something was off.

“You seem uncomfortable by my opinion about Anthony Gray,” I said, pinning my gaze on her. “Why?”

She hesitated for a moment, fingers rubbing over her eyeballs. “It's just….” Julia exhaled sharply. “It's terrible what happened to the Gray family—I mean, they were incredibly influential in Chicago.”

Yeah. They were, I thought.

“Gray Consolidated used to be one of the fastest-growing companies in the county, and then….” She scoffed, shaking her head, her voice rising slightly above normal as she spoke, “Poof! They lost everything. Mother and father, dead. The sister, missing. The brother, hospitalized.” Her tone softened, dripping with empathy. “So, pardon my reaction. I get uncomfortable with stories like this.” She grabbed her glass and took another sip.

“It was horrible what happened to the Grays. But shit happens,” I replied, my tone flat and devoid of emotion.

The fall of the house of Gray was beneficial to the Tarasov Bratva, so in the end, something good came out of Anthony's demise.

With Gray Consolidated being out of business, no rival was strong enough to oppose the Bratva. He had been our major competitor, and when he was finally out of the way, we had a million and one reasons to celebrate.

No hard feelings. It was just business.

I watched her lean back, heaving a heavy sigh as she tried to regain composure. The story about the incident with the Gray family had messed with her more than she cared to admit.

Obviously, she was the emotional type, and at least I was sure of one thing about her: She was easily triggered by painful stories—tragedies.

I wondered how she would react, knowing that my family and I specialized in ruining lives—especially the lives of those whom we saw as a threat to the family business. If she got triggered by stories about the oppressed, then she'd definitely freak out knowing that I was an oppressor to anyone in my way.

I wasn't sure whether or not she knew about my family business—the real deal, not the legal section I managed.

Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't.

“You seem to know a lot about the Grays,” I said, interested in her response.

“Yeah, there's a lot you can find out on the internet these days,” she replied, her tone smooth and confident. “Plus, in my leisure time, I like to read about powerful and influential families.”

“Is that so?” My brows arched at her revelation.

She nodded, a faint grin lining a corner of her lips.

Fascinated, I leaned forward, arms on the table with my eyes fixed on her. “Tell me, what other families have you read about?”

She edged closer, her gaze intent and flickering with mischief. “Is this a roundabout way of asking if I've read about your family?” Her tone was laced with flirtation, her eyelashes battering at me with a sexy look.

“Maybe.” My reply was casual as I stared right at her. “I'm curious to know what you read about us on your precious internet,” I added.

She chuckled softly. “Are you now?”

My smirk widened as I discreetly checked her out, drinking in her gorgeous body and pretty face.

“Well, from what I've gathered, the Tarasov family is a highly influential and respected business dynasty in Chicago—not to mention feared. I'm not sure why, but a lot of people seem to be afraid of your last name.”

That remark gladdened my heart.

She continued, “Your family's influence extends far and wide with interest in virtually every major industry in the city and has also established itself as a dominant force in American business.” Julia's lips curled into a smile. “If you ask me…that's fascinating.”

I didn't think I'd met anyone who praised my family the way that she did, and her words warmed my heart. She left out the mafia part of the family—the most important part.

Two things: Either she purposely avoided the subject, or she simply had no clue who we truly were.

“Anyway,” she said, adjusting in her chair as she cleared her throat, “I, uh…I asked to meet up with you because…I'd like to apologize for my behavior lately—especially the way I acted the other night at the club.” Her eyes dropped to the floor, then returned to my face.

My brows rose in surprise. “I'll be honest with you; I wasn't expecting that.”

When would I ever get to understand her? The woman was a piece of work.

“Well, the way I spoke to you was unethical and….” She paused, taking her eyes off me for a moment, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “I was outta line, and my behavior was inexcusable. I let my emotions get the better of me, and for that, I'm sorry.” She exhaled softly. “Please, don't fire me. I need the job.”

The corners of my mouth twitched, and I was sure a hint of amusement was dancing in my eyes as I held her gaze. “Apologizing, Julia?” I scoffed, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I leaned in my chair. “I didn't think you had it in you.”

“I’ve got bills to pay, and my pride won't cover them,” she said, her lips quivering as she tried to suppress a smile.

“I never had any intention of firing you, Julia,” I replied, my gaze unwavering. “You're a valuable asset to the club, and I'm not about to let you go.” My expression softened, eyes boring into hers.

A bright smile spread across her face as she relaxed in her chair. “Do you mean as my boss or…” she trailed off, leaving the question hanging.

I felt her foot slowly teasing my leg underneath the table. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her lips curled into a sultry, inviting curve.

The warmth of her gaze enveloped me, prompting a faint grin on my face as I looked at her with furrowed brows. “You're looking for trouble, girl,” I said, feeling the jolts of electricity surging through my blood.

She looked me dead in the eyes and smirked, her eyelids drooping slightly as she stared with a newly found sensation. “What if that's exactly what I'm looking for?”

My gaze locked on her, captivated by this sudden switch in her countenance.

She took her foot off my leg and laughed, picking up her cutlery. “Let's eat, shall we?”

Did she just tease me?

I scoffed, shaking my head as I grabbed my fork, ready to feast.