Page 35 of Forced Bratva Wife

“I want your thoughts about Pavel. I don’t like the attack yesterday. Something feels off.”

“Oh, like the big fucking hole in Igor’s leg. Yeah, you’re right, that is off.”

Uncrossing my leg from where my ankle rested on my knee, I leaned forward onto the dark wood desk, narrowing my eyes at Pietor as I took a sip of my bourbon.

With a glare, I swallowed, jutting my chin out at him. “So.”

He rolled his eyes, raking a hand through his already tussled hair. The guy needed a shower, the whole team did, and I knew that I’d been keeping them from the normal hygiene BS this evening.

“He’s definitely got more information about the Vadims. Info he’s probably spreading around to cover his debts with everyone else. Found some emails that gave a bit more clarity. And yes, the fucker is old and uses emails.”

I nodded. “I suspected as much. Pavel would be on everyone’s shit list if he was that bad at gambling and owed everyone money.”

“Precisely.” Pietor spun that ring on his finger, the inner black loop swirling around the outer one. “Still, I think he got a bit big for his britches. Liked how it felt to have an inside scoop on someone that he could use to extort people. Get his own slice of the pie.”

My stomach clenched, and I steadied myself with another sip, my grip tight on the glass. I set the thing down harder than intended, but the frustrated rage bubbling through my veins wasn’t going to be ignored.

“He’s trying to make himself a player?” I chewed out the words, shaking my head.

“Looks like it. He got those thugs at the office from somewhere. They were clearly not part of our team and they were the Italians, though he’s worked with them on a few loans according to the actual books. It appears he’s trying to diversify his portfolio.”

Brows sinking down over my eyes, I glared forward. “Oh, absolutely the fuck not.”

Pietor just nodded, reaching in his pocket for a stick of gum. His mismatched stare left mine for long enough to wad up the wrapper and toss it in the trash. When he looked up again, I could see the calculation behind his eyes because, despite his flippant attitude, Pietor was smart. A down-right crafty mother fucker, who I was very glad played for my team.

“Gotta hand it to him, though, right? Helluva move.”

I ground my molars, downing the rest of the bourbon. “Yeah, and one we must counter. Have the men ready for another swingby after the ceremony.”

“You’re still going to marry this chick? Even though it’s clear the leverage with Pavel is shit.”

Pietor cocked a brow, leaning on the arm of the leather chair to play with the ring dangling from his ear. Pierced, sarcastic fuck. Would a suit kill you?

“Parker is to be my wife, Pietor. So consider that before you call her a ‘chick’ again.” I exhaled hard through my nose, doing my very best and not crossing the desk and pinning my cousin to the wall. “Whether Pavel is interested in her is irrelevant. She belongs to me now, and you know how protective I am of my things.”

I gestured at the collection of items around me, taken from New York and delivered to Chicago with the utmost care.

“Sure,” Pietor dragged out the word, raising his brows with nothing subtle about his sarcasm, “protective. Look, I don’t give a fuck if you bang her, keep her in a closet, whatever. Just don’t get my ass shot or one of the guys because you thought you out-flanked Pavel and didn’t.”

He had a point about the distraction—and I didn’t like it.

Thankfully, a knock at the door interrupted our little “convo,” as he’d call it, and I was quick to get up and head to the door. Opening it wide, one of my guards held up a long garment bag, zipped up tight and still wafting cold air.

“The dress, boss. Just delivered.”

I took it from him, waving him away. “Excellent.”

At once, Pietor was standing just behind me, and his chuckle threatened the tenuous good mood I was trying to enjoy.

“You got her a dress. Jesus. First the clothes, now this? You are in so deep, you fuck.”

Spinning to face him, I pegged Pietor with a hard stare and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Shut it. I did not ask for your opinion on this, so you can keep your fucking comments to yourself. Get the men ready for departure at eleven.”

He rolled his eyes, saying, “Yeah, yeah.”

But I left the room, not waiting for his rebuttal. I had better places to be at present, and I was honestly looking forward to the upcoming "ceremony,” and I wasn’t about to examine why that was because I already knew one thing for certain—Pietor was right. I was in very, very deep.

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