Page 22 of Married to the Bratva

“Hey, Sophie!”

I look up to see Clara, one of the project managers, heading my way with a coffee cup in hand. She’s always cheerful, always put together, and always asking questions I don’t want to answer.

That’s why I never told anyone here about my upcoming marriage to Evan. Glad I didn’t. Means no one has asked why it didn’t happen.

“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile as she leans against my desk.

“How’s it going?” she asks, her eyes scanning my screen like she has any idea what she’s looking at.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “Should be done in an hour.”

“Wow, I thought it was a week’s work there.” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve. “Why aren’t you like working for the NSA or something?”

“Sorry, have I missed something?” I reply.

She narrows her eyes, clearly not satisfied with my answer. “Come on, you can do shit in ten minutes that takes the rest of us all day. You must have had some kind of training, right?”

“I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”

She smiles like she’s not sure if I’m joking or not. “Listen, we’re all going for drinks tonight if you want to come with us. Celebrate the end of another week.”

I’m about to answer when I feel eyes on me. I stop, glancing around me. Nothing. Then I look out the window.

There’s a black SUV parked across the street. It’s not unusual in a city like this—everyone drives something big and shiny if they can afford it—but this one feels different. It’s been there for a while, and I swear I saw it pass by earlier. Is that him? Is Maxim watching me?

I lean closer to the window, trying to get a better look, but it’s hard to see through the glare of the sun on the glass. The car doesn’t move, and neither do I.

“Get a grip,” I mutter under my breath, tearing my eyes away.

“You okay?” Clara asks.

“Yeah,” I say forcing a smile on my face. “Better get back to it.”

Outside, the car remains where it is. It’s just a car, I tell myself even as the hairs on the back of my neck tell me it’s anything but.

17

MAXIM

The safehouse reeks of gun oil and stale air. I stand at the head of the table, my fingers tracing the worn grooves in the wood as I wait for Nikolai and Victor to finish their argument.

Their voices bounce off the concrete walls, sharp, clipped, both of them too stubborn to back down.

“She’s a liability,” Victor says, his tone as cold as the steel door behind him.

His gray hair catches the dim light, making him look even more like the ghost of every mistake I’ve tried to avoid. Am I Victor or my father? Too trusting or too brutal?

“We’re keeping her alive for what? Sentiment? That’s bullshit. She could go to the cops any moment. Kill her and be done with it.”

“We don’t kill women,” Nikolai snaps back. “You taught us that. What happened to the code?”

“The code only applies when we’re not all about to be busted.” He turns to me. “Why let her live?”

“It’s been three weeks,” I reply, my voice steady. “I've been watching her. She goes to work, shops with her grandma, goeshome. That’s it. Our guys in the precinct have heard nothing. She’s not talked to the cops. She’s not talked to anyone.”

“What happened to no mercy?”

“She’s done nothing to deserve death.”

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