Owned by the Bratva: An Age Gap, Forced Marriage Romance (Bratva Billionaires Series) by K.C. Crowne

Author:K.C. Crowne [Crowne, K.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

Pyotr

Ben’s already texted me to inform me that the car has been pulled up in front.

I’m not entirely sure how to dress for this thing. It’s nowhere near as formal as a fundraising gala, but I’m not going to show up in a pair of jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, either. I settle for a navy-blue dress shirt and black dress pants, my sleeves rolled up to just below my elbows. The public might like to kick me while I’m down, but at least I look good while they do it. All I need now is my wristwatch and I’ll head downstairs to meet Alina.

My watch sits on my bedside table. Curious, I pull open the drawer to peer inside. My gun is tucked away, and my unused hearing aid sits in the middle. And in the back… I pick up the book with Eileen’s picture in it, flipping through the pages until I get to it. I wonder if Alina saw this during her little snooping session. If she did, surely, she would have asked me about it by now.

I pick up the photo and study it. It’s admittedly been years since I’ve looked at it. I’d all but forgotten it was even there. I used to look at it with a combination of bitterness and sorrow, and now… Now, I don’t feel much of anything. That chapter of my life is over and done with. What I had with Eileen is in the past.

What I have with Alina…

I fold the picture and toss it into the trash bin as I exit my room, descending the steps to get to the bottom floor of the penthouse. The curtains are all drawn, which makes the room somewhat gloomy.

I hear her before I see her. The soft notes of the Steinway fill the air. I don’t recognize the tune, but it’s gorgeous all the same. Holding onto the railing, I strain to get a better listen. Some phrases I catch and others I don’t. Deeper tones are easier to hear than the higher ones, so I’m only able to hear the base harmonies with any semblance of clarity.

Remaining perfectly still on the bottom step, I listen—enraptured.

Alina sits at the piano bench, her feet working the pedals as her hands fly over the keys. She moves with elegance and grace, fingers floating over the piano with ease and confidence unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Alina sways gently from side to side in time with the rhythm, just loud enough for me to hear her humming along with the melody of her right hand.

Without meaning to, I take a step closer. And then another and another, moving as quietly as possible so I don’t disturb her. It’s been forever and a day since anyone’s played this piano. Luka doesn’t know how to play and I no longer make the time. It seems rather fitting that Alina should be the one to bring it back to life.

When the song comes to an end, I surprise myself by saying, “Keep going.

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