An Arranged Virgin for the Bratva (Zolotov Bratva #10)

Chapter 2 - Sofia

I stride away from the bar, my heels clicking against the polished marble floor. The weight of Vladimir's gaze burns into my back, and my heart flutters at that knowledge.

But I try to calm my racing heart. I can't afford to be distracted, not tonight. Not when this is my one chance to stay inconspicuous and spy on the Zolotovs.

We might be in an alliance, but that doesn’t mean I trust the whole lot. My plan to stay on the sidelines and catch glimpses of conversations would have stayed on track…if not for him.

"Focus, Sofia," I mutter under my breath, weaving through the crowd of glittering socialites and boisterous men. You’re not here to flirt with mysterious strangers.

My heart races traitorously, betraying my cool exterior. I spot the restroom sign and make a beeline for it, desperate for a moment alone to collect myself.

The bathroom is mercifully empty. I lean against the counter, studying my reflection in the ornate mirror. My green eyes are wide, a flush creeping up my neck. I look… affected. Dammit.

"Pull yourself together," I hiss, fumbling in my clutch for my lipstick. The familiar routine of reapplying my makeup steadies my nerves. "He's just a man. An infuriatingly handsome, intense man, but still just a man."

As I smooth the deep red across my lips, I can't help but replay our encounter at the bar. The way his black eyes had locked onto mine and seemed to see right through my carefully constructed facade. The low timbre of his voice as he offered me his name.

Why can’t I get that stranger out of my mind? There was something about him that drew me in, though. Where I’m accustomed to people either fawning over her or backing down at my coldness, Vladimir stood his ground without forcing his presence. He refused to be completely dismissed, and that made him all the more intriguing.

But all that means nothing. Chances are, I’ll never see Vladimir again.

"Ugh!" I slam my lipstick down, glaring at my reflection. I’m here for a mission, remember? Yet a traitorous part of me wonders what it would be like to let my guard down.

Nope. Not happening. Men like that are nothing but trouble, and I’ve got more than enough of that already.

I straighten my spine and smooth down my dress. With one final, critical glance at my appearance, I turn to face the door. It's time to get back out there and do what I came here to do. No more distractions. No more mysterious strangers with eyes like midnight.

***

I stride out of the bathroom, my heels clicking purposefully against the polished floor. The cacophony of the party washes over me, but I remain focused, my eyes scanning the crowd with laser precision.

"Where are you, Fedor?" I mutter under my breath, searching for my brother's familiar dark blonde hair.

My gaze darts from face to face, cataloging potential allies and threats with the efficiency born of years in this world.

A waiter approaches with a tray of drinks. "Champagne, Miss?"

"No, thank you," I reply coolly, barely sparing him a glance. My plan is to find Fedor and find out if anything interesting happened amidst the Zolotov clan tonight. He thinks I’m paranoid not to trust the Zolotovs, but I keep him close, seeing how his outgoing nature often gets people to open up to him.

And when they do, it’s only a matter of minutes before something interesting comes my way.

Finally, I spot him near the piano, talking to an elderly lady.

As I make my way toward him, I can't help but feel a prickle of awareness along my spine. Is someone watching me?

I turn around, and a familiar figure suddenly materializes in my peripheral vision. Vladimir. My heart rate quickens involuntarily, and I clench my jaw, irritated at my body's betrayal. I keep my gaze fixed ahead, determined not to acknowledge him.

"You left these behind," his deep voice rumbles, closer than I expected.

I turn, my eyebrow arched in practiced disdain. Vladimir stands before me, holding out a small crystal dish. The cherries I'd abandoned at the bar gleam mockingly under the chandeliers.

"How thoughtful," I drawl, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm not particularly fond of fruit that's been manhandled."

Vladimir's lips quirk slightly, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "A shame. They looked lonely without you."

I roll my eyes, fighting the warmth threatening to bloom in my chest. "I'm sure they'll survive the heartbreak."

"Perhaps," he says, his gaze intensifying. "But will you?"

The charged atmosphere between us crackles, and I struggle to maintain my icy composure. "I think I'll manage just fine without a handful of cherries, Mr…?"

"Vladimir," he corrects, his voice a low growl that sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze defiantly. "Was there something else you needed, Vladimir? Or did you simply miss my charming company?"

“You think you’re charming, huh?” He grins in my direction. The way his eyes crinkle sets my heart racing, gets my hands clammy. And the way my knees threaten to give way sends my anxiety sky-rocketing.

“What I am is busy,” I say, without sparing him a second glance. It’s better if I get the hell away from him as fast as I can before I find myself distracted.

I turn away abruptly, my heart pounding as I resume my path toward Fedor. Vladimir's presence lingers like a shadow, and I clench my fists, furious at my inability to shake off his effect. Each step feels like a battle against an invisible current pulling me back.

Get it together, Sofia.

I find Fedor near the grand piano, his eyes slightly wide, flicking between me and then past me. I don't need to turn around to know what—or rather who—has caught his attention.

"Sofia," Fedor greets, his tone neutral but his gaze questioning. "Was that Vladimir Zolotov making conversation with you?”

“Zolotov?” I ask, near-freezing.

“Yes. He’s second-in-charge to Abram. So what was he talking to you about anyway?” Fedor asks, his voice tinged with excitement for gossip.

Okay. I did not know that. Of all the people in the world, little did I expect to spend my evening with a Zolotov man. Don’t get me wrong. I love my sisters-in-law, but they’re more Orlov now.

I force a smile, keeping my voice light. "Nothing important. He seemed quite concerned about some abandoned fruit."

Fedor's eyebrows shoot up. "Really? That's… unexpected. Vladimir rarely engages with anyone at these events. In fact, I'm surprised he's here at all, and speaking to you, of all people."

"Oh?" I feign disinterest, though my curiosity burns. "Is he not a social butterfly?"

Fedor snorts. "Hardly. He's practically a hermit—a brilliant businessman, but he avoids the spotlight like the plague. Some say he hasn't been seen at a party since he set foot in New York.”

I process this information, my mind racing. "How fascinating," I say dryly. "Perhaps he developed a sudden passion for family gatherings and cherry-saving."

Fedor gives me a look that says he's not buying my nonchalance. "Just be careful, Sestrenka. Vladimir Zolotov isn't known for taking no for an answer."

I meet my brother's gaze, allowing a hint of steel to enter my voice. "I can handle myself, Fedor. You know that."

Fedor leans in, lowering his voice. "Speaking of handling yourself, have you made any… progress tonight?"

My heart rate quickens, but I maintain my icy composure. "Let's just say I'm laying the groundwork. These things take time, Brother dear."

"Of course." He nods, his eyes darting around the room. "But remember, we're on a tight schedule. The Yuri deal—"

I cut him off with a sharp look. "I'm well aware of our deadlines. Trust me, I haven't lost sight of why we're really here."

Even as I say the words, I feel a pang of guilt. Vladimir's intense gaze flashes through my mind, and I push the image away forcefully. I can't afford distractions, no matter how intriguing. Fedor is the only one who still doesn’t trust the Zolotovs wholly. I can’t risk him thinking I’ve gone soft.

He studies me for a moment. "Just don't let anything—or anyone—interfere with our plans to learn all we can about them. We've worked too hard to get this far."

I roll my eyes, injecting as much disdain into my voice as possible. "Please. You know me better than that. I'm not some lovesick schoolgirl to be swayed by a pair of dark eyes and a brooding demeanor."

"Good," Fedor says, but I catch a hint of doubt in his expression. "Because Vladimir Zolotov could complicate things in ways we can't afford right now."

I straighten my spine, meeting my brother's gaze with steely determination. "Oh, don’t get ahead of yourself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

I weave through the crowd, careful to avoid any lingering gazes or attempts at conversation. My steps are measured, unhurried. Nothing to see here, just another party guest stepping out for some air.

As I near the exit, a familiar silhouette catches my eye. Vladimir. He's leaning against a pillar, those dark eyes scanning the room. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he's going to intercept me. But he remains still, watching.

I slip past him, feeling the weight of his gaze on my back. My pulse quickens, but I don't break stride.

Once outside, the cool night air hits my face. I inhale deeply, trying to clear my head. I wait until the valet arrives with my car, taking off before saying any goodbyes.