Page 23 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“I’m sorry that you like her, Fiona,” Boris says, his eyes dark and serious, “but I have no proof that she’s not involved in the Allard business.”

It gets quiet between us for a moment. We’re standing a few feet apart, breathing hard and staring at one another.

“Is there really not a single cell inside of you that could believe she’s involved?” Boris asks, his eyes searching my face.

“Fuck you,” I spit before turning on my heel and stalking back to the house. Of course, he follows me the whole way, making sure I get to the bedroom. When the door closes, I hear him turn the lock. I roll my eyes—I could pick it with the bobby pin in my hair if I wanted to.

But leaving at this point isn’t going to help anything. If I’m going to stop Boris from hurting—or doing anything to—Olive, I’ll have to do it from the inside.

***

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of someone knocking on the door. I grab the lamp from the table and hold it up, ready to smash it over someone’s head if they so much as reach for me in the wrong way.

When I open the door, I see Ivan standing there in his suit, his hands clasped in front of him. He flinches when he sees me holding the lamp.

“Oh, sorry, Ivan,” I say breezily, setting the lamp back on the table. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Right,” Ivan says, tearing his eyes from the lamp and looking back at me. “Well, Mr. Milov would like you to dress and meet him downstairs in twenty minutes.”

“You can tell Mr. Milov to go fuck himself in the—”

“Fiona,” Ivan says, casting his eyes to the ground. “I know you’re upset about—something. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you be the one to tell him off or tell him no, or whatever it is you want to do. If I come back downstairs with anything but you, ready to go, there’s going to be hell to pay. But if you go down there and have your fight with him, he’ll see that there’s nothing I could have done.”

“Fine,” I say, thinking of the service jobs I’ve had—like waitressing and how much it sucked for the customer to tear you to pieces over a mistake the kitchen made.

I shut the door and go back inside, applying some mascara and putting on a simple outfit—a cute little white skirt and matching collared shirt.

Usually, I don’t dress like this. But I usually can’t afford nice outfits. And I typically don’t have a Boris with his heated eyes looking me over.

When I come downstairs twenty-five minutes later, Boris is standing with his brothers, talking about something. They all go quiet when I come down the stairs, and I see Anton whisper something to Roman, and then Boris claps both of them on the backs of their heads.

“Good morning, Fiona,” Anton says, “you’re looking—”

Boris punches his brother in the arm.

“Not another word,” he growls. “Get lost. Try to actually use your heads today. Did you get it? Figure out how the hell Allard got those guns from us. Or I’m getting rid of you and finding new brothers.”

“Good luck with that,” Anya says, dancing through the room. She’s wearing a two-piece swimsuit with a cover-up and looks amazing. There’s a basket in her hand that must have been prepared by the chef here. A picnic on the beach for her while I’m being whisked off to who knows where. “The Russian men in this city are abysmal.”

“Who says they have to be Russian?” Boris mutters. “Better yet, maybe I’ll just find more sisters. The women in this place are more capable than you.”

Viktor and Roman mutter something under their breath while Anton just laughs.

“Come on,” Boris says to me, touching my elbow gently before turning and walking out the door. I’d been planning to tell him to fuck off again like I did last night, but in waiting for his siblings to finish their banter, I’d forgotten to yell at him. Instead, I grumble and follow him out the front door, climbing into the passenger seat of his SUV when he opens the door for me.

“You’d better be planning to dump me in the river,” I say, eyeing him. “Because I am not doing anything cute with you right now. There is nothing on this side of the Mississippi that’s going to make me forget how much of an ass you are. And be warned—I’ll definitely fight you. Maybe I’ll take you in with me.”

“I’m not going to dump you in the river,” Boris says, “that would be at least an hour’s drive. Dumping people in the river isn’t a very secure method of—you know what? You already know that, you ass.”

“You don’t get to call me an ass!” I say, whirling in my seat and pointing at him. “You’re threatening to kill my best friend, Boris!”

“I am not threatening to kill her. I never said I was going to kill her.”

“Then what? Tie her up in your basement and let Viktor go at her with his tools?”

The thought of Viktor firing up his bone saw and getting it near one of Olive’s perfectly manicured fingers makes me queasy. When I was in the basement, listening to Viktor take that man’s finger off, I wasn’t even this nauseous. But just the thought of it happening to my best friend is enough to make me sick.

“No, god,” Boris says, “we don’t do that kind of stuff to women.”

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