All Chapters of A Taste of the Bratva King: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

SergeiThe drive to my house in the Buda Hills passes in silence.Tamara sits in the passenger seat of my BMW, staring out the window at Budapest's evening lights with the kind of exhaustion that seems bone-deep. Every few minutes, she shifts in her seat, and I catch the subtle tremor in her hands that speaks of adrenaline crash.When we pull through the gates of my property, she straightens slightly. The mansion looms before us, its façade a mix of modern architectural lines and traditional Hungarian motifs, crafted to evoke history while still feeling contemporary. Towering stone pillars frame the entrance, offering an imposing welcome beneath an intricately tiled roof that glints in the twilight. Money can't buy happiness, but it sure as hell can buy security."This is your house?" Her voice carries wonder mixed with uncertainty, like she's not sure she belongs in a place this luxurious."Da." I cut the engine and study her profile in the dim light. "It's too big for one person, bu

TamaraAs we leave the kitchen, my head is still reeling.I could practically feel his lips, before he pulled away with iron-willed control that left me breathless and aching."This way," he says, his voice rougher than before, and I follow him through hallways that seem to stretch forever.The man who rescued me from Tibor's groping hands is devastatingly beautiful. I can't stop stealing glances at him as we walk— the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair falls perfectly even when he runs his fingers through it, the broad shoulders that fill his expensive suit like it was tailored to worship his body.Which it probably was.Everything about him screams wealth and power, but there's something else underneath. Something dangerous and magnetic that makes my pulse skip every time his gray eyes find mine.I'm attracted to him. Wildly, inappropriately, dangerously attracted to the man who just saved me from Tibor's wandering hands. He's foreign, mysterious and completely wrong for s

TamaraThe possibility sits in my stomach like lead as I eat salad that tastes like nothing. Maybe I projected desire onto kindness, mistook professional courtesy for personal interest. God knows I'm lonely enough, desperate enough for real connection, that my mind could have fabricated the entire thing.When evening comes, I'm no closer to understanding him or this house or my place in either. I've arranged my belongings, familiarized myself with every accessible room, even started a mental list of small improvements that could make the spaces feel more lived-in.But mostly, I've thought about the way he looked at me this morning. Like I was a stranger. Like nothing had passed between us at all.Eventually, restlessness drives me to the one corner of the house that feels truly comfortable— a small balcony off my suite where I can watch the sun set over Budapest's ancient hills. The air carries the scent of jasmine and something cooking in a neighboring house, reminders that real life

Sergei"Where have you been?" I ask, genuinely curious, though I definitely haven't missed her."Working," she says bitterly. "Some of us have jobs, you know.""You're a model, Anett. You work maybe ten hours a week.""And you're a restaurant owner who could easily afford to move me in full time, yet you continue to fight it.""Fight what, Anett? I told you to find a place of your own.""But how can you do this?" she half wails. "We had something special. Sergei. Something that could be so much more."Chert voz'mi!This woman is never going to take the hint.She continues to argue, her voice rising with each accusation. My patience is wearing thinner with each word. The alcohol makes everything sharper, more volatile."That it! I'm done," I say finally, my temper at breaking point."What the fuck do you mean, you're done, Sergei?""You heard me. I'm breaking up with you."Breaking up? What the fuck am I even saying? We never had a relationship to begin with.She stares at me for a lon

TamaraTerror freezes my blood.Not only have I been snooping where I absolutely shouldn't be, but I got caught. On my first fucking day at work. Mental images of getting fired flash through my mind like a nightmare reel. What the hell am I going to do? End up on the streets of Budapest? I don't even have money to fly back to Boston.I spin around slowly, my heart in my throat.Sergei Sidorov stands in the doorway, filling the frame with that predatory stillness that makes my survival instincts scream in terror. His gray eyes are unreadable, but there's something burning behind them that makes my knees weak. The stone-cold expression on his face should terrify me— and it does— but in some twisted way, it also sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.What the everloving fuck, girl?My nipples are so hard they're practically drilling holes through my thin top. I cross my arms instinctively, but it's too late. His gaze has already dropped, taking in my body's betrayal with the precis