Page 29 of Married to the Bratva

I lean back in my chair, closing my laptop. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“I heard about what happened. A shootout in the middle of the day in your office. Are you safe?”

“I’m fine,” I reply. “Are you at home? You sound like you’re driving.”

“I’m being driven and you have your new boss to thank for that.”

I blink, stunned. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

“On my way to Rook’s Hollow,” she says, her voice softening. “Your boss arranged it all. Maxim, was it? He gave me this brand new cellphone too. Do thank him for me, won’t you?”

My stomach twists. “He did what?”

“He’s bought me a place in Rook’s Hollow,” she says, her tone tinged with wonder. “Said it was your only condition before you’d agree to work on that project for him for the next month. Thank you both so much. I’m so happy, I could burst.”

I grip the phone tighter, my mind spinning. “You’re welcome,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. “I’ll be sure to thank him for you.”

“And with his medical team ready for if I ever need them. You must drive one hell of a bargain.”

Part of me wants to argue, to insist that Maxim’s generosity is just another layer of manipulation. But I can’t do that to her. She sounds happier than she has been in years. “I better go, Grandma, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll send you some pictures when I get there, if I can work out how to use the camera on this thing.”

The idea of Maxim caring enough to ensure Grandma is safe and comfortable feels like a splinter in my mind. It doesn’t fit with the cold, ruthless image he projects.

“She’s safe,” a voice says behind me. I spin around to find Maxim in the doorway. “So you can focus on your work and not worry about her.”

“I get it,” I snap. “You didn’t do it to be nice.”

“Then you understand why this arrangement benefits both of us,” he replies, his voice steady but tinged with something personal.

“You better let her stay there, no matter what happens between us. It’ll break her heart to leave Rook’s Hollow. It’s where she grew up. She only came to New York to try and take care of my mother.”

He nods, his voice low. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“You think I’m yours?” I snap, my heart racing as he steps even closer.

“But for the next thirty days, you are.”

The heat in his gaze is suffocating, and I hate how it makes my pulse quicken, how it sends a shiver down my spine despite every rational part of me screaming to pull away.

“This is just a business deal,” I say, my voice faltering. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Too late,” he says, his lips quirking into a faint smile.

Before I can respond, he leans in, his hand brushing against my cheek. The contact is gentle, tentative, and it throws me completely off balance.

My breath catches, and I freeze, torn between the urge to slap him and the unbearable pull drawing me closer.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.

“Definitely not,” he says, his voice a quiet challenge.

His lips find mine, and the kiss is electric, a spark that ignites something I can’t control. It’s not soft or sweet—it’s raw, demanding, and utterly consuming.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me closer as every inch of me screams to pull away, to resist, but I can’t. I don’t want to.

The world tilts, the ground shifts, and for a moment, there’s nothing but him—his warmth, his strength, the maddening way he seems to own every piece of me without trying.

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