Page 58 of Owned By the Bratva

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.”

Alina jolts in her seat, turning with a surprised laugh. “How long were you standing there?”

I can’t answer her. I was so lost in the beauty of her playing that time stood still. “You’re an excellent pianist.”

Alina rubs her hands together, flexing her fingers. Her smile falters slightly, and I’m immediately overcome with a feeling of protectiveness. “It’s been a while since I’ve practiced,” she confesses.

Without thinking, I reach for her hands and bring them to my lips. I press a soft kiss to the backs of her fingers, doing my best to help her forget her mother’s cruelty.

“You’ll have to play for me more often,” I say.

“I’d like that.”

Alina smiles wide, forming cute little dimples on her cheeks. She’s so strikingly beautiful my chest tightens. I don’t think she’s ever looked at me that way before. I want to stare at her forever, but I know we don’t have the time. Still, I can’t help myself. I want to claim this smile for myself, so I dip down and kiss her.

It’s a slow and tender thing, but it’s also perfect.

Alina tastes so sweet and every inch of her smells like lavender. When she combs her fingers through my hair, the gentle scrape of her nails over my scalp sends a delightful shiver down my spine and goosebumps trailing down my arms. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sound of her soft sigh against my lips. What I wouldn’t give to hear it over and over again.

Something hungry awakens in me. I grip her waist and help her stand, pulling her flush against me. I have half a mind to rip her dress right off her, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her to my bedroom. At this point, I’ve forgotten all about the fundraiser. Maybe I’ll just send a check in the mail instead of delivering it in person. It’s the thought that counts—and right now, my thoughts are of a particularly horny nature.

“Let me see what underwear you’re wearing,” I mumble against her lips.

Alina laughs. “Don’t we have to get going? We can’t afford to miss the fundraiser.”

“We can settle for being fashionably late.”

“Husband,” she warns.

“Yes, wife?”

“I can’t show you my underwear, Pyotr.”

“Why not?” I growl, sounding almost childish in my pouting.

She grips the lapels of my shirt and pulls me down so she can whisper into my good ear. “Because I’m not wearing any.”

The sound that escapes me can’t be classified as human. My arousal immediately goes straight to my dick. “I’m going to bend you over this damn piano if you don’t behave.”

Alina gives me a coy smile and circles me, dragging her hand flirtatiously over my chest as she starts towards the elevator. “Be a good boy, Pyotr. We’ve got some computers to donate.”

I groan. “Why did my wife have to be an absolute bombshell?”

“What did you say?” she calls back to me as the elevator doors slide open.

“Nothing,” I grumble, dutifully following behind her.

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