Page 82 of Sinful Bride

“She has no enemies. Yet. Let’s see what the teen years bring.”

It’s only another few seconds before she’s got new information. I’m unable to focus on anything else due to the stress, so I practice my trash bin basketball shots with scrap paper.

“Yup.” Sofi must have grabbed her drink, because I can hear her moving away from the crowd and somewhere quieter. “You were right. Although thankfully, this is more of an oversight than a hacker issue.”

My stomach twists. “Let me guess: I need to replace the employee management software.”

“That’s what tipped you off, huh?”

“It was something Aubrey said that got me thinking. ‘Nothing’s been changed.’ And I get why, and I’m not mad about it at all, but… it’s all systems that Todd and Keith installed themselves.”

“Which means they have no problems logging back in, even without administrative access. They know the workarounds.”

I slump so far back in my chair, it’s close to toppling over. Right now, it wouldn’t feel any different than what’s happening in my brain. “They sold me out. Those sons of bitches sold me out.”

“Sukiny deti. Say it. You’ll feel better.”

“Sukiny deti.” I sigh. “You’re right. I do feel better. Those sukiny deti?—”

“Eti sukiny deti.”

“Eti sukiny deti sold me out!”

I didn’t mean to scream.

But damn, does it feel good to do it. And in Russian, no less. A language built for screaming.

“Don’t worry, Daphne. We’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t kill them!” I blurt it out without thinking. “I mean… shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, no. It’s good you did. Nevazhno, mal’chiki!” She breathes an airy laugh of relief. “That was a close one. So, what do you want to do instead?”

Oh… shit. They really were going to… Nope. Not going to dwell on that. “First and foremost, we need new software.”

“Already on it.”

“I don’t want them dead. Not physically, anyway.”

“But socially? Financially? Mentally? Emotionally?”

“On those fronts…” I exhale. “Obliterate them.”

31

DAPHNE

Karma is a bitch.

Karma, in my experience, is also a hot-tempered, overprotective Bratva boss named Pasha Chekhov.

“They’re still alive?!”

“Because I want them alive!” I press my hands to his chest in an attempt to calm him down. A feeble attempt, but worth a try. “Pasha. Baby. Look at me.”

He does. He’s still pissed all to hell, having just been filled in on the details when he arrived to pick me up from work. I didn’t call or text him earlier because I wanted to make sure I got everything ironed out with Sofi and Aubrey first.

I did this because I trust him.

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