Page 30 of Brutal Bratva’s Owned Hostage

As we went to our bedroom, a decision settled into place inside me that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

I wasn’t simply reacting to this anymore. I was no longer chasing a threat after it had already struck the way I had with the raid, the way I had with the men in her hallway.

This time, I was hunting.

Chapter Thirteen

Valentina

Dmitri took me out that evening, and it wasn’t anywhere I expected.

It was not a casino. Not one of the private lounges tucked away behind velvet ropes and careful security. It was a small restaurant a few blocks removed from the Strip’s endless glow, the kind of place that felt normal compared to everything else that had defined my life for the past few weeks.

The absence of it unsettled me at first. No security detail hovering at a discreet distance. No low hum of tension threading through every conversation happening around us. Just candlelight, the smell of garlic and roasted vegetables, and the ordinary murmur of couples on dates who had never once had to think about federal raids.

I didn’t know how to exist in that kind of stillness anymore. It had been so long since quiet meant safety instead of the moment right before something went wrong. I found myself scanning the room and noting which patrons were the closest to us.

Dmitri noticed almost immediately, steering us toward a booth in the back corner where I could see the door. He didn’t explain why he’d chosen it. He didn’t need to.

“Would I be wrong if I said you like spice a bit too much?”

“That’s a rude comment to give a lady,” I pointed out, dropping my fork.

“I think not,” he retorted, grinning. “It’s not about your age or weight.”

I smiled at how easy he was to joke with in times like these.

“Yeah, I do, actually. I mean, if the spice isn’t almost jumping at you, the food is dead.”

He shook his head. “I’m not going to try to understand that.”

I laughed.

“I’ll eat whatever you want us to eat in my house, though,” he said, his eyes serious as they held mine captive.

We continued eating in silence.

Until I asked, looking around for the umpteenth time, “How did you even find this place?”

“Found it on an uneventful day,” he said casually. “It was just the only place in Las Vegas that came to mind when I thought of this date. The only place where you wouldn’t feel overshadowed by my world.”

A simple confession in more ways than one. The fact that he had thought and planned this despite all he had on his plate was one. The fact that he considered how I was finding belonging in his world was another. Not wanting to jinx either, I decided not to explore.

“So this is a date, hm?”

“Yes, dear wife.”

My smile came easier at the sound of that.

“Okay,” I said.

We were starting the second course when I asked, “What was growing up like for you? I don’t know, I somehow can’t imagine a younger version without the permanent smirk and sharp, unsettling eyes.”

“Oh, my eyes unsettle you?” he asked, his tone dangerously low.

“That’s not what I asked,” I said, half-rolling my eyes.

He went quiet for a long moment before he answered.