Page 13 of Forced Pregnant Bride

Jay glanced around. “You’re sure they didn’t bug the house?”

“You’ve said a lot already, and you’re only worried about that now?”

He rolled his eyes, shifting closer. They’d obviously not had the house bugged; otherwise, we’d have probably been ambushed hours after they left.

“I know someone that can help us.”

I blinked. “Youknow someone who can help us against the Russian mafia?” I repeated like it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard because it was. “Who’s that powerful, Jay? Even the police will prove to be useless in this case.”

“The police?” He scoffed in disbelief. “Who said anything about the police? I’m talking about Matteo.”

Like I’d been smacked across the face, I flinched backward, my blood running cold. I’d heard many sayings, “It takes one to know one,” “Only those who have worn the shoes know the pinch.” It only made sense that Jay’s immediate solution to fight off Timur Yezhov would be another notoriousmob—the Italians. And now, I fully understood why it appeared like he knew them personally. He did.

Matteo and Jay were close friends. I, on the other hand, watched them from a distance. I’d never been a supporter of their friendship because of Matteo’s bloodline. He tried but couldn’t hide it. The normal-school-kid guide never worked where I was concerned because I knew of his father.

Enzo Colombo. One of the most feared humans to ever know. He, plus the people he led, were no better than the Bratva.

I shook my head. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?Jayden, we can’t start running away from one crime family to another. Matteo’s father is no different from the man who walked into our home five nights ago. It’s like trying to fight evil with evil.”

He paused, his eyes growing steely with determination. “Well, do you have a better idea?”

“I….”

“Exactly what I thought. You don’t.” Then, his gaze softened, and he left his seat to come to mine, throwing an arm over my shoulder and wrapping me in a warm side hug. “You don’t have to do anything; I’ll do all the talking. He owes me a few favors, so it’s nothing. What we need is to be far away from the Russians, at least for some time. Once they can’t find us, they’ll move on to other things. I’ve heard enough about Timur Yezhov to know he’s a busy man. No time to waste.”

“You really think Matteo will be able to help us?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m one hundred percent sure he can.”

I rested my head against my brother’s, feeling the weight on my shoulders lighten up. If it were up to me, I’d never want anything to do with either family, especially when Danger was their middle name. But we didn’t have lots of options.

I didn’t trust the Colombos, but I trusted my brother.

If he was sure they could help us, then I wouldn’t fight it. All I could do was hope that everything went according to plan.

Chapter 6 – Timur

Rafayel dealt the cards with that familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, but his face remained calm.

Clicking my tongue distastefully, I leaned backward on a chair, folding up my sleeves. We sat across from each other, the low rumble of thunder muffled in the background. It was supposed to be one of those rare moments when we had some peace, no business to deal with, no chaos to clean up—just a game of cards between brothers—until the clouds gathered.

“It still bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Rolling the cigar stick between my fingers, I trimmed the end with my cutter. “Sometimes.”

“And the dreams?”

I fixed the cigar between my lips, bouncing my feet up and down the rug. “Stopped about a year ago. Stop talking, and let’s play.”

Fucking lying through my teeth. The dreams hadn’t stopped. Not since that night after I was literally tied to a chair and forced to watch one of my father’s techniques for truth extraction. The aggressive thunderclaps, the artistic splash of red on the walls, red flowing on the wooden floor, brown hair, lifeless eyes—all of it had only gotten more real as the years passed by.

“Good to hear. Your move,” he said, tilting back in his chair and shuffling his hand with that same practiced ease he’d had since we were kids. At least, that was one thing the old man didn’t stop us from playing.

Rafayel had always been the talker between us, but like me, he had been deprived of showing emotions as an adolescent. While I was dragged into the old study for unrestricted participation, he watched through the cracks between the doors.

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