Caring for the Bratva: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari

Author:Flora Ferrari
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Dominik

We sit in the dining hall, under the gleaming chandelier. We don’t dine at the main dining table, which is long and designed for banquets. The whole room is huge, with a domed patterned ceiling and torch-effect lights set within the walls in gilded brackets.

My Dreamer and I sit at the table in the corner of the room, a small circular one made of oak, more intimate so we can be as close together as possible.

She’s wearing plain black pants and a pink T-shirt, but even those clothes get my blood stirring, especially when I can make out the outline of her bra beneath the T-shirt, begging to be grabbed and pulled sharply, freeing her breasts as I make her mine.

I suppress a growl as she takes a sip of orange juice, offering me a shaky smile like she still can’t believe this is happening.

I know the feeling.

And yet it is, and nothing’s ever going to stop me from pursuing her.

“This place is incredible,” she murmurs, looking around the vastness of the room. “Why did you decide to go so grand?”

I smirk. “You think it’s too much?”

She bites her lip, a flicker of worry moving across her face as she turns her gaze to where Lucky sleeps in the corner, curled into a ball with his snout buried in his body as though he’s purposefully not looking at us to give us some space.

I remember how foolish I felt thinking that before, but my woman agrees with me, and somehow that makes me feel far less insane.

“No,” she says after a pause. “I love it. I’m just curious.”

“You told me you’re an orphan,” I say quietly. “That you wanted to start your dog sanctuary because you never had a home of your own.”

She nods. “Yeah…”

“I’m an orphan too. Kesha and me. Our parents were killed by the Cartel when I was fourteen and he was just a little kid, not even old enough to remember them.”

She gasps and reaches across the table, laying her hand on my forearm and squeezing supportively. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Dom. That’s terrible.”

I nod, shocked at the emotion trying to flurry up inside of me. I thought I’d become an expert at pushing it down, at ignoring it, and yet now it surges around me oppressively, trying to make me think things, feel things I buried long ago.

It’s my woman, her touch soft on my arm, burning into my skin.

“My father was part of the Bratva, but he was a foot soldier, nothing more. They went to war with the Cartel and came out the worst for it, and he was a casualty. I was there when it happened, hiding in the closet with my arms around Kesha. Shit… I’ve blamed myself for not protecting them so many times—”

She squeezes my arm harder, staring at me with fire in her eyes. “You were a child too, Dom. Fourteen isn’t old enough to face down some Cartel madmen. And anyway, what would have

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