Luca
Things couldn't progress any better than if I had planned it myself.
I have Mariya all to myself.
With predatory possessiveness, I watch as she downs
another glass of champagne. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes
sparkling as the alcohol strips her of the pressure of being a
bratva princess.
She still looks uncomfortable being alone with me, so I don't stop her when she picks up the cherry bomb shot the server just placed down.
When she's done downing the drink, I take the glass from her and set it on the table. Taking hold of her chin, I force her to look at me. "Just how drunk are you right now?"
Instead of answering me, she narrows her eyes. "Why aren't we friends?"
The way her words slur tells me she's drunk as fuck.
My eyebrow lifts. "Because you drew a line between us."
"I did?" Confusion mars her forehead as she leans closer to me, resting her shoulder against the couch. "So it's not because you don't like me?"