"Bratva family dinner. You're coming."
"Lev, I can't just—"
"You can because I say you can." I move closer, crowding her space. "I want everyone to see you with me. To know you're mine. That means if anyone looks at you wrong, they answer to me."
Terror flickers in her eyes, but underneath it, there is also heat. "Wear the black dress I sent to your room."
She nods and disappears to change.
Forty minutes later, she emerges, wearing a simple black dress that hits mid-thigh — elegant and understated. Her hair is down in soft waves. She looks beautiful and a little frightened.
Exactly how I want her.
I keep my hand on her thigh the entire ride to Manhattan. Possessive. Claiming. She trembles slightly but doesn't pull away.
At Russo's, I keep my hand on her lower back as we walk inside. Making it very clear she's with me.
The private room is full. Everyone is here.
"Lev." Daniil Karpov stands. "You're late."
"Had business." I pull out Valerie's chair, then take the seat beside her. "Everyone, this is Valerie Novak."
"Welcome, Miss Novak." Daniil says.
"Thank you." Valerie's voice is steady despite trembling hands under the table. I find her hand, squeeze once. A claim, not comfort.
Dinner proceeds. After that, we move to the games table. Business is discussed in careful language: territory disputes, shipment schedules, revenue projections.
Valerie stays quiet, listening. I can see her memorizing names and faces, logging connections.
Halfway through, Pavel Moroznik, half drunk on vodka—leans forward.
"So, Lev. The girl. She your new whore or something more permanent?"
The table goes silent.
Valerie goes rigid.
"Careful." My voice stays conversational. "She's with me. Disrespect her, you disrespect me."
"No disrespect." His smirk says otherwise. "Just curious what makes this one special enough for family dinners. She spread her legs better than—"
Valerie's hand tightens on mine. And I feel it—that shift. Steel underneath fear.
She turns to look at Pavel directly. Eyes cold.
"I don't know what others you're referring to," her voice drips with sweet venom, "but maybe if you spent less time obsessing over who's spreading their legs and more time focusing, you'd actually notice everyone else on this table wiping the floor with you."
The table goes dead silent.
His face turns purple. "How dare you—"
"She dares because she's right." I lean back. "Your game tonight is shit, Pavel. In fact, have always been. Maybe address that instead of my personal life."
Daniil turns to him, trying to stifle his laughter alongside others at the table. "Pavel, you threw the first punch. Don’t flinch when it’s returned."
Pavel sits back, fuming but silenced.
