Page 49 of Cruel Bratva King
With a radiant smile on my face, I strolled into the house and up the stairs to the master bedroom. What I didn’t count on was getting my joy dampened as soon as I opened the door.
My husband and head of the Russian Bratva, Sergey, stood at the center of the room visibly boiling with rage. His eyes darkened at the sight of me, and I was slightly frightened.
He clenched his fists by his sides, and I slowly dropped my purse on the bed. With the way his eyes observed my every step, I had to be cautious with every action I took.
I kicked off my shoes, slid my feet into a pair of comfortable fluffy slippers, and reached for my hair to pack into a bun. With my heart in my hands, I moved towards the wardrobe, gulping when the door creaked as I pulled it towards myself.
The tension in the room was so thick a knife could possibly slice right through.
The strangest part of it all was how patiently he waited for me to change into more comfortable clothes before clearing his throat.
“Lilianna?” He called my name like a warning in an icy tone.
Suspiciously, I raised a brow. “Yeah?”
I saw his muscle flex under the black short-sleeved t-shirt he had on. He cracked his neck and pressed down on his knuckles. “Where were you, and who did you meet?”
The clothes in my hand felt limp as I folded them, one after the other. I placed them on a shelf and closed the wardrobe.
I looked away from him and nibbled on my lower lip. “I thought I told you earlier today? I went out to register for prenatal careandmeet up with my best friend.”
He took a menacing step closer, and the hairs on my skin rose, but I tried not to show how frightened I was. “Lilianna,” he growled. “For the last time, I will ask this: who did you meet up with?”
I summoned the courage to turn around and look into his eyes. “And for the last time, I will tell you it was just a friend, Sergey. What’s the problem anyway? Is this interrogation necessary? I am seriously exhausted and hungry. I don’t have time for this. Besides, Finley was there. I thought you had your eyes on me the entire…”
The words gradually faded off into nothingness as realization hit me with the speed of a moving train.
Shit!
The cynical look in Sergey's eyes confirmed my suspicions, and dread suffocated me.
He nodded curtly and took my hand in his. There was nothing warm or loving in the manner in which he held me. If anything, he must have desired to squeeze the life out of my hand.
“Precisely,” he said. “Come with me. I have something to show you.Somethingyou will love to see.”
Sergey didn’t wait for me to comply. He grabbed me by the hand and led me out of the room, not as roughly as I expected—enough to detach my arm from my shoulder—but just adequate to send the message that he was not fucking around.
He hurried down the stairs, passed the grand entrance and a hallway that led to the kitchen.
“W-Where are we going?” my voice sounded like a squeak, and he sneered, gripping me tighter than before.
“Oh, look who is asking the questions now.”
That shut me up instantly but didn’t eliminate the fear that drenched me when we approached a staircase that led underground to the basement.
“Have you ever heard the saying that nothing good ever happens in a basement?” Sergey’s voice echoed in the narrow hallway as we stared at the door.
I shook my head. The pounding of my heart against my ribcage threatened to render me deaf. “No.”
“Yeah, I thought so. I made it up, but that doesn’t make it any less real,” he gestured to the door. “Please, do the honors.”
It didn’t sound like he gave me the option to refuse.
I pushed the door open, and the sight that met my eyes was repulsing.
A bloodied man lay curled up on the ground at the center of the room. There was barely proper ventilation, save for two stained windows fixed at the top of the walls. The room was damp, had the stench of blood, and something else that had a nasty smell.
“Are you scared?” For a moment, I forgot Sergey stood beside me.