Page 21 of Married to the Bratva

“Yeah,” I mumble, sliding into the chair and wrapping my hands around the coffee mug she’s already set out for me. “But I’ll let you clean it up.”

“That’s so selfless of you, thanks.”

“What’s all that?” I nod toward the pile of bills and forms she’s sorting into two piles.

“Medical stuff,” she says with a sigh, finally settling into the chair across from me. “Paid.” She points at the small pile, then at the tottering about to fall over one. “And overdue. Looks like that doctor was only flirting to make sure I signed the check.”

“Like all men.” I let out a small laugh, but it feels hollow. “Let me help,” I say, reaching for the stack.

She puts a hand over mine, her grip firm despite the arthritis I know aches in her fingers. “Sophie, you’ve got enough to worry about. Let me deal with this lot.”

“Grandma,” I say, meeting her eyes. “I’m not letting you do it alone. Let me help.”

She shakes her head, her lips twitching in a reluctant smile. She pulls out her cellphone and hands it to me. “You can help me work out why this thing keeps switching itself off. If anyone can figure that out, it’s you.”

I nod, but the weight of her words settles heavily on my chest. Figuring things out. That’s what I’ve been telling myself since I moved in three weeks ago, but my life still feels like it’s in boxes. Literally.

A pile of them sits in the corner of the living room, untouched since the day I brought them here from Evan’s place.

It felt odd going to get them, wondering if he might leap out from the nearest closet. But from the looks of the place when I got there, he hasn’t been back since the day he ran off after attacking Maxim’s bodyguards.

He must have gotten lucky. How does a weasel like that down two trained Bratva guards?

I think about the ticking clock I left behind. Has Maxim got that file decrypted? He must have done or he’d have come for me by now. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Why is it even a dilemma. He killed two men right in front of me. I should be on the phone to the cops, not dreaming of him coming in and sweeping me off my feet.

“This thing is a museum piece,” I say, passing her cellphone back to her. “Battery’s sinking faster than the Titanic. Let me get you a new one for the love of God.”

“You can’t afford it.” She taps her fingers on the table. “You seem distracted this morning.”

I blink, shaking myself out of it. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what?” she asks, her tone light but probing.

“Work,” I lie, taking a sip of coffee. I get to my feet. “I’m going to take a shower and then head into work.”

“Bit early isn’t it?”

“I could do with the overtime if I’m going to pay off those bills of yours.” I give her a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll work all this out when I get back, I promise.”

16

SOPHIE

The office is bright and open, the walls lined with glass that does little to muffle the constant buzz of activity. Keyboards click, conversations hum, and someone across the room is laughing a little too loudly.

It’s not chaos exactly, but it’s far from quiet, and I wish once again that I was working for myself. Never going to happen now, though, and the sooner I accept that, the better.

My workspace is tucked into the corner near a window. A small desk, a monitor, and a tangle of cables beneath it. Anonymous, functional, and easy to walk away from.

My laptop hums softly as I scroll through lines of code, debugging an encryption program for a client who probably doesn’t even understand why this matters.

Normally, I’d lose myself in this. The rhythm of solving problems, the satisfaction of making something work the way it’s supposed to. But today, my mind keeps drifting.

Every time my phone buzzes, I tense, half-expecting to see a message from Evan or—God forbid—Maxim.

Just work emails or spam. But the anticipation still eats at me.

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